#fic: bloody hands

[stylesispunk]

Oh my god honey! You did such an incredible job with this. The writing was beautiful and I could feel every emotion on this one. JUST AMAZING! 💌

bloody hands. l Joel Miller

Summary:  he didn't expect to find you in such a state

Warnings:  angst, but with a lot of sad moments, guns, knife and blood, two dead bodies, allusion to rape, nervous breakdown

A/N: I had a certain scene in mind and I really wanted to create something around it. something like this came out. scribbles. but I hope you'll be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

and once I wrote that, the thought grew in me to give these two something more... and now i'm unsure what to do with it next. help?

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The sound of the shot echoed through the building and Joel felt a shiver run through his body. He sped up and quickly climbed the next stairs, then headed down the corridor where he could hear the sounds of scuffling and Ellie's screams. Fingers tightened around the handle of the rifle, he pushed the door with his shoe and for a moment he didn't know what was happening.

Ellie was sitting against the wall with terror in her eyes. The body of one of the men was lying on the floor, and the other...

"Shit!" Joel hissed, lowering the barrel of the rifle.

You were breathing heavily, trying to fill your lungs with oxygen. You were still holding the knife in your clenched, bloody hand, sitting astride the body of the other man. Thick blood flooded the floor beneath him, his clothes were soaked in it.

"Hey, it's me."

Terrified eyes found Joel's face, you tried to brush your hair away from your face, but you stained it even more with the man's blood. It seemed that you weren't hurt so Miller quickly looked towards the girl squeezed against the wall.

"Are you okay?"

Ellie nodded and stood up "Those pricks tried to..."

She didn't have to finish. Joel quickly noticed the mess your clothes were in, the unfastened belt buckle on your pants - he knew what could have happened and a shiver ran down his spine again.

"It's over." he choked out and held out his hand to help you up "Let's get out of here."

Despite the daze you were in, you stood up efficiently and quickly gathered your things. You all wanted to leave this cursed place as soon as possible and return to Jackson. A few days of travel separated you from your destination, but at that moment everything seemed to be even further away.

It was already getting dark outside when you managed to find an empty small house near a stream. Joel checked the place out before sinking into the dusty couch with relief. Every muscle in his body ached, and his stomach was increasingly demanding food.

Ellie's footsteps echoed silently across the floor as she visited empty rooms. Joel noticed you after a moment when you brought a bucket of water into the house.

"I want to wash this off myself." You said quietly, seeing his questioning look. Your hands and face were still smeared with dried blood.

"Do you need help? We will eat something soon." he said, but you just shook your head.

"I'm not hungry, thank you." and you quietly closed the bathroom door behind you.

This evening was different, he could clearly feel it. You joined them only after some time, still saying that you weren't hungry, you sat on the couch, pulling your legs up and wrapping yourself in an old blanket. There were no evening conversations between you and Ellie, although the girl tried to pull you in, you were strangely absent.

Joel saw it all, he knew you so well. You had walked together not only many miles, but also many dangerous situations. This time, however, everything was different, and that worried him.

He didn't know what had woken him up in the night and only after a short while did he realize that it was the splash of water and... crying. 

He looked around the dark room, Ellie was fast asleep on the couch, but your place was empty. Joel threw off the blanket and quietly made his way towards the bathroom, the door was ajar. 

The night was cloudless and the moonlight reflected off the once white tiles, dimly illuminating the interior. First he saw your clothes thrown somewhere on the floor, and after a moment...

"Sweet Jesus." he whispered, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.

You were sitting naked in a bathtub half filled with water. The water was freezing cold, because Joel could clearly see how you were shaking, but it could also have been intensified by the crying.

"What are you doing here, sweetie?" he whispered, crouching by the edge and placing his hand on your back, "Fuck, you're so cold. Get out of here."

Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your damp hair was sticking to your face, and you were still sobbing quietly.

"I can't wash it off, Joel..." you groaned, your throat hurting so much that you could barely say the next words, "My hands... I can still see it..."

He took your icy hands in his warm ones, "They're clean, look. How long have you been sitting here? You shouldn't… Come on, I'll help you."

"But my hands..."

"Sweetie, everything's fine. You're fine. C'mon." He grabbed you carefully by the waist, noticing with despair how cold you were, you must have been sitting in the water for a long time.

He noticed an old towel on the floor and quickly wrapped it around you. Your body was shaking, but you didn't seem to feel it. All of this made Joel feel even more afraid for you. He didn't expect this, he didn't expect you to snap at such a moment. But maybe it awaits everyone sooner or later?

This was surprising to him. You were always tough, you didn't lose your cool quickly and Joel was sure that when you said "I've got your back." you always did it right. Now, however, he held in his arms such a fragile version of you that his heart broke with each of your quickened breaths.

This wasn't something you deserved, certainly not you. You grounded him, helped him not to go crazy. He probably never told you how important you were to him, how your presence soothed his heart and mind. How much he liked it when you fell asleep and your head fell lightly on his shoulder, how he felt more confident when you grabbed his hand. You always did it at the perfect moment, when fear began to take control of his body. Your fingers would intertwine tightly with his and then you would take control.

"You're shaking all over." he mumbled as he sat down on the floor with you, his hands rubbing your shoulders hard. "Why did you come here?"

Doe eyes found him, your eyelids were red from crying. "I couldn't sleep." you whispered. "I could still feel him on me. His breath, his hands, and then his blood... I was so scared."

"I know, I know..."

"I wasn't afraid for myself, but for Ellie." Joel swallowed hard. "I couldn't... She didn't deserve this. She shouldn't have seen this."

Strong hands grabbed your face tenderly. "You saved her. You did what you had to."

"I slaughtered them like pigs, Joel..." you groaned, your voice breaking. "What kind of person am I? I'm no different from them. I didn't expect something like this to be inside me... I'm scared, Joel."

He knew exactly what you were talking about. It was something he had been pushing out of his head for years, and in the meantime you had cracked. You were made from different, better clay.

"Listen to me." he finally spoke, his thumbs tenderly stroking your cheeks. "You're a good person, but sometimes you have to do bad things to save the ones you love, right? Don't blame yourself for this, you had no other choice. If it weren't for you, you'd both be dead by now." you closed your eyes as if his words were soothing you "We've been through so much together. I know what you're like, you're definitely not a bad person. You're good...and gentle...caring... and sensitive...understanding...patient..."

"Please..."

“I wish I could meet you in better times." he added quietly "I'd gladly take you to a cozy restaurant, or to the cinema to see some terrible movie."

You quietly burst out laughing, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. He wasn't lying.

Joel had long imagined how it all could have looked if nothing bad had happened, if your paths had crossed at a different moment and time. These dreams, however, were pushed far to the fringes of his mind, because they gave him nothing more than a sense of injustice and helplessness.

"I can't imagine you in a place like that." You said quietly.

"I definitely wouldn't take a gun there, you know." He snorted, and you smiled. "But everything else... I think I could surprise you."

"You think so?" His hands slid down, one of them now lying loosely on your thigh, stroking it lightly, the other brushing wet strands of hair away from your face. "I think I like the idea. It seems so...safe."

"I'll do anything to keep you safe. You know that, right?"

You nodded. "I guess I should get dressed. If Ellie woke up and found us like this..."

"Right, right." You both stood up from the floor, and you reached for your clothes. "If you need help..."

"Thank you, Joel. You've done a lot already."

A weak smile appeared on your face, but he knew it was costing you a lot. So he left, letting you get dressed in peace.

A strange feeling filled his heart the moment he lay back down, in his already cold spot. He felt a small spark of happiness and hope when he held you in his arms, but at the same time anger and sadness that you could only dream of such nice moments together. The world had taken everything you could have had together, and you could only dream of it on the cold tiles of a dirty bathroom in a house in the middle of nowhere. It was so unfair.

Quiet footsteps announced that you had returned to the room, and after a moment you laid down next to Joel.

"Feeling better?" he asked in a whisper, you nodded "If you need anything..."

"Can you hug me? Just for a moment, please..."

It wasn't a request, just a plea. Joel mumbled a quiet "C'mere." and after a while he felt your body next to his. He clung to your back, wrapping his arm tightly around your waist. But your hand found his again, your fingers intertwined and you brought it closer to your face, kissing the top of it.

"Thank you, Joel. For everything." You whispered.

And he buried his face in your hair, squeezing his eyes shut. He kissed your head and deep in his heart he regretted that this was all he could give you. And you deserved so much more.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[justaz]

a spell is cast on camelot that thins the veil enough for ghosts to appear. the catch? the ghosts that appear are spirits of people that were killed by the person they’re haunting. the knights have a good amount of bandits/raiders/whatever that they took down in battle, maybe a few shady knights have genuinely innocent people that they murdered and got away with. the executioner’s killings are transferred to the king since he was simply acting out the king’s commands. arthur has quite a few. uther has hundreds of sorcerers in various states of gore and horror. those who were hanged have perpetually bent necks, those who were beheaded have either no head or just a head floating a bit above their body, and those who were burnt are more charred remains (the most grisly of them all). merlin has more than anyone expected (which was zero) and all of them keep calling out for arthur/uther’s death and camelot’s downfall while also turning to merlin and calling him a traitor.

[daemon-in-my-head]

He hesitated, and I will never forget that he did.

My brain is absolutely fried. It's been 32° Celsius today. There's no coherent thought left, so I just played around with colours. Fuck backgrounds btw.

I wrote 5 words today. Then I collapsed in my chair. Yeah, I'm doing fineeee, summer is my vibeeeee, I'm absolutely not rotting awayyyyyyyy

[gothsuguru]

it’s midnight and i cannot stop thinking about butcher!sukuna and his beloved cannibal s/o… i think he would pick up a job as a butcher for his spouse just so he could provide them with all the raw bloody flesh they desire… i think he’d carefully carve the heart out of every creature that comes through and would feed it to his s/o from his hand… a metaphorical feeding of his own heart if you will

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

Chapter 1

chapter wc: 4.6k || rating: M (for now) || cw: blood, violence, reference to death of a minor original character, sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, homophobic language, derogatory language towards sex workers, sexualized use of “Daddy”, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve || ao3

summary: No UD. Years after being sold through a sex trafficking ring to a member of the mafia, Steve’s former master is deposed by one of the most feared men in organized crime, Don Kas the Bloody-Handed. Except, much to Steve’s surprise and horror, he knows him by another name: Eddie Munson.

~

An annoyed tsk left pale lips as the man picked at the drying blood on his thick, silver rings with his thumb from where he was leaning back against the sturdy mahogany desk. His legs were crossed before him in his repose, one bloody hand pressed against the disordered papers on the desk, uncaring that they were being marked by the deep red splattered across his palm and knuckles, already drying a dark hue not unlike the color of the desk itself.

After a tense, silent moment of the man examining his rings and nail beds, dark eyes flashed up to take in his captive audience. Quite literally. Though they were unbound where they were made to kneel on the floor, the men holding guns on either side of them and on the other side of the door let them know that escape was futile.

Steve was fucked.

The thing was, everyone knew of Kas. Kas the Bloody-Handed. That’s what people called him, at least, and looking at the glint of his silver rings smeared with the umber of dried blood, Steve could acknowledge that it was a fitting name. However, that was not his real name, and it was with mounting horror that Steve realized that that was not the name Steve knew him by.

No, to Steve, the man before him was none other than the boy Steve’s former best friend had taken the most sick delight in tormenting: Eddie Munson.

Munson looked different now, but there was no denying that it was him. He had more tattoos nowadays, including one curling up his neck to brush against his jaw and both his forearms covered in them as seen with his fancy dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up, exposing the dark ink. He also had close-cut facial hair now that was a slightly lighter color than the still long and curly dark brown hair he now had tied back into a low and loose ponytail with a piece of cord. There was a coldness to his dark eyes now too, his once more wiry frame now a little more filled out with compact muscle.

In another lifetime, Steve might have been able to acknowledge that the man was attractive, might have had another reason than fear making his mouth go dry and needing to thickly swallow. However, as it was, Steve could only flinch and duck his head further when those flint hardened eyes passed over him.

He was luckily not at the front of the group kneeling on the rug before their former master’s desk, in front of their former master’s fireplace in their former master’s bookshelf lined study. There were a little more than a half-dozen of them, all trembling with fear at the knowledge that whatever horror they had been living through before, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Munson, or Kas, was notorious, infamous even. He had been a nobody once, until suddenly he was a Somebody with a capital S. He swiftly moved up the ranks of his clan, earning respect borne of fear for his ruthlessness, until suddenly he was sitting on the metaphorical throne. He was not happy there, however, and all too soon he was making a name for himself amongst the other families too.

All too soon the other families began falling before him like dominos, one right after the other, bending the knee or—if they refused or otherwise displeased him—being eliminated entirely.

Which was what had occurred here to Steve’s former…employer. Not that Steve or the others got paid for what they did. Or had done to them. Steve couldn’t even say that behaving well and pleasing whoever they were sent to had them being treated better, since more often than not pain was part of their client’s pleasure.

As for their master—or Daddy, as they were instructed to call him—he was the worst of the worst. The way he showed his favor was through far more than just simple pain. Pain was something Steve could handle. It was the attention that was the terrifying part. Yet, Steve bore that attention willingly, for it kept it off of all the others.

“Tell me,” the voice of their new master softly intoned, his voice like thunder in the tense silence of the room, despite being little more than a murmur. Munson’s voice was a little raspier than Steve remembered it being, but then it had been years since Steve had last seen much less heard the other man. The man had dropped out of school during his own senior year, Steve’s junior, and no one knew what had become of him. Now Steve knew, at least.

Every ear was straining to hear what their new master would say next, though every eye was trained on the ground before their master’s feet. Steve was suddenly thankful his hair was a little longer than he personally liked, grown to be easier to grab and manipulate the head to which it was attached. It also allowed him now to obscure his face ever so slightly as he swiftly lowered his head and his gaze when Munson’s eyes scanned over them.

“Tell me,” Munson said again, and even with his eyes on the man’s blood splattered shoes, Steve could tell that Munson had a sardonic smile on his lips. “Which one of you was Porzio’s favorite?”

Steve barely withheld a flinch. Of course Munson would want to know that. Unlike his former owner, Munson wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t be to get to where he was now. An idiot would only get themselves killed. Case in point: Carmine “the Uber Dead Asshole” Porzio, gone and soon to be forgotten in the year of our father…Christ, whatever year it was nowadays.

It was hard to keep track of time when you spent the majority of it on your knees or with your face shoved into a mattress.

But Munson wanted to know Porzio’s favorite. The one who he kept with him the majority of the time, the one used for his own personal pleasure, the pleasure of his most loyal lieutenants. The one who was treated like nothing more than decoration, as though their ears suddenly stopped working just because their mouth was filled.

It was a smart move, really. An excellent way to obtain secret gossip or information that might not be in the books. The favorite was a fount of information, but also a great liability. Sometimes it was better to cut the head off a snake before it could bite. Munson obviously knew what he was doing, which should be evident by now. The only problem?

Steve had been Porzio’s favorite.

He knew what he looked like nowadays. He hardly looked like the King Steve he had once been before everything, hardly looked like the rich and privileged jock Munson would have known him as. His own muscle mass was no longer what it had once been, the loss of weight only natural after everything he’d been through, and bruises littered his body where he’d either been punished or been used for pleasure. Sometimes those were interchangeable.

Not only that, but his clothing was far from what Munson would have last seen him in. No polos, no jeans, no letterman jacket. Instead, Steve wore what the others wore, his body hair waxed away in an attempt to add to his feminization. Aided, of course, by the short black skirt that exposed the majority of his thighs through the fishnets, and the red lace bustier top that only just covered nipples but left his midriff exposed. Matching red strappy heels laced up his calves, with a thick black collar completing the ensemble around his neck, a dainty little silver ‘V’ dangling from it like a license.

It was entirely possible that Munson wouldn’t recognize him. After all, they both might have made a name for themselves in school, but Munson hadn’t been there for the disaster of Steve’s senior year, and it wasn’t like they had ever directly interacted before. Tommy always did the majority of his bullying when Steve wasn’t around, knowing Steve didn’t approve of it, so it wasn’t like Munson and him had spent any great amount of time together.

It helped that the makeup he wore was smudged too, which would hopefully act as a camouflage. Perhaps, if he answered things in a way that pleased Munson, if Munson could look past the fact that he was a guy in this role he’d been forced into, perhaps he’d live to see another day.

His lip was already split and his cheek already bruised by Porzio’s earlier slap, so he wasn’t looking forward to having the rest of his face caved in by Kas the Bloody-Handed.

Swallowing back his nausea, Steve drew in a breath and began to lift his head to call attention to himself and away from the others, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I am, sir,” Janice called out, standing from her kneeling position at the front of the huddle. Steve’s head jerked to look at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her fingers twitched at her side, swiping horizontal to the floor ever so slightly, though she didn’t look at him. Stay quiet, that action said. Stay safe.

Steve’s stomach clenched painfully, and all the affection he felt for his girls surged through his bloodstream. He had tried, hard as he could, to protect them from the worst of things. He couldn’t do much, but he had made certain Porzio was focused entirely on him and none of the others. They worked as well, but Porzio was the most sadistic, the most vile; he would happily take it all on to save his girls from that.

To think that now, in the face of one of the most feared men in organized crime, they would try to protect him…it was beyond anything he’d ever known. No one had ever sought to protect him before.

Munson’s brow ticked up, his gaze sliding like oil over Janice’s trembling body, but she held firm with her head up. His sardonic smile only grew. “Are you now?”

He appreciated her help, he did, but he couldn’t let Janice risk everything for him. Before he could stand, before he could come clean with the truth, a firm hand was pressing down on his shoulder as Mona stood up from behind him, forcing him to stay kneeling.

“I was also a favorite, sir,” Mona says, making Steve wonder what in the I-am-Spartacus hell was going on. Still, warmth and fondness for his girls spread through him quickly as he looked around and noticed every last one of them had bunched muscles indicating preparation for movement. For him.

Munson looked a whole lot less amused, however, his brow dropping into a deep furrow as his gaze settled on the new apparent favorite. Kas was well-known for not taking fondly to liars and cheats. If he suspected that they were trying to pull a fast one on him…

Just as Munson was opening his mouth to say something, looking far less than pleased, Steve hurriedly shot to his feet. “It’s me,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly, wanting to say it before someone else decided to shout out Spartacus in a misguided attempt to help him. He moved to take a step forward and away from the others when he froze in place by the sound of a gun being cocked and levelled behind him.

Another tense hush fell as Munson stared at him, his eyes dragging over Steve’s form with both brows raised this time, an almost startled air to his mean smile. He waited a few moments more before flicking his wrist, the sound of the gun and man holding it returning to standby mode. Two fingers were then crooked at Steve to indicate for him to finish stepping forward.

Steve glanced at Janice and Mona, giving their beseeching looks a small shake of his head, and then they were slowly and reluctantly returning to their kneeled positions. Taking a deep breath, Steve crossed the distance and moved to take his place in front of Munson, kneeling at his feet without hesitation. “It was me, sir,” he murmured, keeping his gaze down. “I was Master Porzio’s favorite.”

It took all of his willpower (and training) not to flinch when Munson’s chunky rings came into view, his calloused fingers touching Steve’s chin to lift his face to meet his gaze. Steve couldn’t suppress the tremble at finally meeting Munson’s eyes for the first time, terrified of seeing recognition there.

Instead, Munson’s eyes stayed hard and flat, though with a touch of curiosity. A small smirk curled his lips. “Well now. Who would have guessed Porzio was a fudge packer,” he lightly sneered. His gaze moved over to the kneeling women before back to Steve. “And this is why they lied to me, to protect the fairy amongst them?” He snorted. “Who knew there was honor amongst whores.”

Munson’s thumb slid lightly against the edge of Steve’s bottom lip, and well familiar with the gesture, Steve parted his lips obediently. Something dark but pleased flashed behind Munson’s eyes, and praying he was doing the right thing, Steve let the tip of his tongue flick ever so softly against the pad of Munson’s thumb.

Almost immediately after, Munson pressed the rest of his thumb into Steve’s mouth, pressing down on Steve’s tongue enough to make him briefly gag. “Suck,” he ordered harshly, and Steve obeyed.

The familiar taste of sweat and blood filled his mouth as Steve’s lips wrapped around Munson, but he paid it no mind as he worked at fellating the man’s thumb. He kept eye contact the entire time, his hands curled in his lap, as he worked his mouth over the digit. He swirled his tongue over the thumb like it was a cock head, bobbing his head ever so slightly. Munson’s dark eyes watched him the entire time.

Just as Steve was beginning to wonder if he should start faking some moans, Munson pulled his thumb from Steve’s mouth with a slick wet sound, leaving a small trail of spit over Steve’s lips. Munson lightly snorted, lifting his gaze to look at his men. With silent communication, the men nodded and motioned for the kneeling women to stand, ushering them out of the room.

Steve could feel the eyes on him, knew his girls were looking at him, but he knew better than to return the look. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on Munson who now leaned back against the deck with his arms crossed watching Steve.

Once the thick doors clicked closed behind the others, leaving Steve and Munson alone, a wry grin curled over Munson’s lips. “I can see why you were the favorite, if you suck cock half as good as you suck thumb.” Munson shrugged, pushing off the desk with a small snort to walk around it, settling in the leather chair behind the massive thing. He reached forward and tapped the desk beside him.

Once more obeying wordlessly, Steve swiftly stood and moved around the desk, settling his ass just to the side of where Munson sat as had been indicated. A derisive laugh left Munson then, but he didn’t look like he was about to punish Steve for being what he was. Or who he was. Instead, he looked mildly contemplative as he rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, propping his chin up with his fist.

“Tell me, sweetheart, you got a name?”

Relief coursed through Steve so quickly he lost his breath for a moment, as though lightning had struck him down. Munson didn’t know his name, meaning he didn’t recognize Steve. Even better, Steve hadn’t gone by Steve in a while. He needn’t worry about someone slipping up and revealing that information when none of them knew it either.

“I’m Vee,” he answered, fingers moving up to lightly graze against the charm hanging from his collar. “But you can call me anything you want…” Steve swallowed quickly, glancing down before peeking up demurely through his lashes, “Daddy,” he finished on a soft breath.

A grin spread across Munson’s lips, and though it wasn’t quite as manic as the ones he used to smile back in high school, a spark of something like genuine amusement flashed behind his eyes. He leaned forward then, sliding his hand over Steve’s fishnet covered thigh until his fingers brushed ever so slightly under the bottom hem of his tight skirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind, precious,” he smirked. “And maybe you can keep your status as favorite, if you’re a good little boy.” His eyes traveled once more over Steve’s body, his smirk growing. “Though I bet there’s nothing small about you, Vee.”

Steve swallowed, feeling oddly flushed at being on the receiving end of Munson’s gaze. Of Kas’s gaze. He had to remind himself that this was more than just his former schoolmate; this man was perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive. His vast network spread far and wide, spies hiding everywhere.

“I’ll be good for you, Daddy. Promise,” he said softly.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, precious. I don’t tolerate failure.”

What was expected of him now? Should he slide into Munson’s lap? Move underneath the desk? Bend over the top? Wouldn’t be the first time he was in any of those positions in this very room. Munson simply continued watching him, however, indicating nothing.

Just when Steve was ready to beg for an order, Munson sighed and removed his hand from Steve’s thigh, settling back further into the expensive rolling leather chair, pressing his fingertips together into a steeple before him.

“We will be remaining here for several days as we go over Porzio’s records,” Munson stated, startling Steve slightly. He was unused to being addressed about any affairs other than what happened in the bedroom. Or anywhere else his master wanted him. Having Munson tell him what was going to happen now was thus unprecedented.

“You and the other whores will have your room guarded at all times and you will require, let’s say, a chaperone of sorts to move around the manor, at least until I can trust you,” Munson said with another small smirk. “Once I am satisfied with my acquisition of the estate, we will be moving to my main residence. Should you and the others please me during this transition, we can negotiate a reward for behaving so well. Do you understand?”

Though Steve’s insides always pinched at being called a whore, seeing as how neither he nor the others ever chose that particular career path, he had enough practice now to ignore such things. It wasn’t like someone of Kas’s reputation would care overly much about their sob stories. No, Steve gave such things only a passing thought, his mind caught on the end of his new master’s sentence.

“A reward?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Luckily for him, Munson did not seem to be particularly annoyed at his wagging tongue.

“The exact circumstance of which will depend entirely on you,” Munson agreed. “Consider it a quid pro quo situation. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I can guarantee that this is a far better deal than you had with Porzio. However,” he cautioned, holding up a single finger. “Any failure to comply or please me will make whatever Porzio did to you seem like a shy lover’s kiss.”

Steve swallowed down a grimace. That he understood perfectly well.

“I will also have a doctor visit to ascertain your health,” Munson added with a small shrug, clasping his hands before himself. “I have no use for spoiled goods.”

“Master Por—”

A loud smack of hand meeting wood startled Steve greatly enough that a small noise left him as he jumped, leaning away with wide eyes. Munson stared hard at him, leaning in with a small growl of warning.

“Porzio is not your master now, Miss Vee,” the man sneered mockingly. “You will no longer refer to him as such. You may call him either ‘Porzio’ or ‘that pig’ and nothing else, do I make myself clear?”

Steve swallowed, hastily nodding his head. “Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy,” he rushed to say, dropping his gaze and trying not to tremble too greatly. His—Porzio was never consistent. Whether he liked you timid or not could change at the drop of a hat, moving from one extreme to the other at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know if Munson would appreciate a fearful display, or become annoyed with it. Only time would tell.

“I-I merely wished to assure you that we receive regular checkups to ensure our optimum health,” he murmured quietly. “But we will gladly submit to any examination or procedure you wish of us.”

Munson sat back in the chair as he studied Steve with an unreadable expression now. He glanced down at his still bloodied hand and the rings there. He gave a small snort, moving to slowly and carefully pull the stained items off his fingers and settling them in a small pile on the messy desk.

“Clean those,” he ordered. “And then bring them to my room tonight.” He smirked then, his eyes sliding over Steve’s figure once more. “We have much to…discuss,” he murmured, his brows raising slightly. “And Vee,” he added when Steve nodded and moved to stand up, causing Steve to pause.

Munson’s smirk seemed colder then, causing Steve to shiver as though physically chilled. “While I appreciate your immediate acceptance in the change of leadership around here, know that how quickly you switched your loyalties has not been unnoticed. Should you ever attempt to switch them again…you will not find the outcome favorable. Do I make myself clear?”

Dread settled low in Steve’s belly as he stared at Munson with wide eyes. He was standing on the edge of a precipice he hadn’t known existed until too late. He should have realized things would not be as easy as he had hoped they would be, should not have grown complacent when Munson didn’t recognize him.

Licking his lips, Steve swallowed back the threatening rise of bile. He dropped his head, chewing lightly on his bottom lip before glancing at Munson through his lashes once more. “I had no genuine loyalty to…to that pig, Daddy,” he murmured. “He was not a respectable man. Unlike you, sir.”

Had it been Porzio, he would have attempted a coy smile. He had a feeling Munson would be able to see right through it, however, so he instead tried to look as earnest as possible without actively begging. He slowly slid off the desk, catching Munson’s eyes.

“We know who you are, Daddy. None of us would ever dare to oppose you. I know the loyalty of a whore means nothing, Don Kas, but I was the favorite. The other girls will follow my example, and I pledge my loyalty wholly unto you.”

Munson snorted, looking for all the world like Steve amused him. Like Steve was some insignificant insect with delusions of grandeur. The man rubbed at his facial hair with a wry smile that did not meet his eyes. “And what of your body, darling? What if I told you that your dear Mr. Porzio and I shared…similar predilections.”

Steve squared his shoulders, a more genuine smile on his own lips because he had already been expecting this, had known his career on his knees was far from over. One hand on the desk as he leaned over to grasp the waiting rings and the other on his hip, he offered a small shrug of a shoulder.

“My body already belonged to you the second Porzio thought to move against you,” he replied easily. “He was not my dear anything. Not when I was already yours, Master.”

Munson studied him for a moment, but something almost pleased curled at the corners of his lips. “I think I much prefer you calling me ‘Daddy,’” he replied, reaching out to grasp Steve’s chin again for the briefest moment. He withdrew almost immediately. “Go now. And wash your face of that makeup while you’re at it. Make yourself presentable for me tonight.”

It was as he expected. He could not be bitter or regretful when he’d known this was coming all along. It was, after all, much better than his own blood staining the rings he now held in his palm.

“Yes, Daddy. Should I prepare myself for you?” he asked easily as he straightened. He would play his own part well. He was used to this role he’d been thrust into ever since he put his trust in the wrong person. He had seen it enough with his own parents, making him wish that little high school Steve Harrington had known what he knew now:

Love is just a fairytale.

Standing from the chair, Munson let out a soft huff of laughter, amused by Steve’s words. “You really do have your lines down, don’t you?” he scoffed as though reading Steve’s mind. “No matter. We’ll see how well you play your part tonight,” he said in a tone that was almost teasing, his hand moving to settle over Steve’s lower back to guide him around the desk and towards the carved double doors.

He paused then with a hand on the doorknob, eyes almost black as he grinned a shark’s grin, and let his voice drop to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say that nothing you could do would prepare you for what I have planned tonight, sweetheart.”

Munson opened the door then, ushering Steve out with a slap to his ass, though the soldiers guarding the door didn’t react at all. However, Steve could not spare them even a passing thought as his blood turned to ice in his veins when Munson’s grin grew, uttering the words that sealed Steve’s doom.

“See you tonight, Harrington.”

As the door clicked closed, as his prison guard stepped forward to take him by the bicep to drag him away back to his gilded cage with the others, Steve felt that blade of ice pierce his chest with extreme certainty.

There was no escape for him. His fate had been sealed the day he had defied his parents, had fled town with the boy he had thought loved him, and he had only brought it all upon himself. Munson was going to kill him. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but one day. Perhaps even one day soon.

Thrust into the room he shared with the others, he felt the door close and lock behind him, heard the worried voices and careful touches of his girls as they frantically tried to make certain he was all right, but it was like hearing them underwater, like he was wading upstream through a deadly current. He was shaking, he realized, fat tears sliding down his cheeks.

Only belatedly did he realize his hand was hurting where he had curled his fist around the chunky rings. With an almost detached curiosity he glanced down as he released his clenched fist and stared at the rings he may very well be cleaning in preparation for his own blood and skull and brains to stain their surface.

Absently, he reached out with his free hand to pluck a strand of hair caught in the snarled teeth of a silver monster. There was a clump of bloody scalp still attached to the end of the follicle.

Steve laughed.

~

Next chapter…

~

This scene comes from an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. I don’t know if I’ll ever continue it as it is quite different from my usual stuff, but I do have some ideas for possible continuation and further backstory for our two leading men

Yeah nvm I’m gonna continue this, it won’t leave my thoughts

~

Fun fact: I almost named the second OFC Monica but then I realized that with the first one being named Janice that I was unintentionally writing it as a Friends crossover and I had to change her name before I named the next one Phoebe or something 😂 oops my bad

Also, Porzio means “hog”, while Carmine means “vivid red” lol

~

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[4th-make-quail]

Took some pictures around Krauser's tent! I was especially interested in this after seeing someone post a pic of the title screen which had an ashtray on it, so I wanted to see if that was actually in his tent!

The fact that it is... Is fucking me up big time. Krauser smoking? Hello???

Some of the other items here are interesting too. Obviously there's all the dogtags from his men, which make a complete lie of his words to Leon about how his seeking power isn't for revenge - why would he keep those tags, and out on his desk at that, otherwise? He's taunting Leon, trying to get a rise out of him.

The cream of celery soup cans are hilarious and depressing, poor guy. There's a few of those old books scattered around too, which makes me wonder if they're from Los Illuminados. No obvious symbol on them, but they look old enough to be that.

Ofc lots of military gear: webbing straps, bandages neatly folded in a tin with some hydrochloric acid (plus lots of bloodied bandages on the bed which is also interesting, I wonder if they're from his own transformations?), a battered old leather bag, and then two large weapon cases which must be for his bow since the smp he uses is very small.

All the tools scattered on the table near the first box are good, they imply that he really did spend all that time setting up the Ruins arena just for Leon - look, he even made all the traps and things himself! Anything for the pretty boy!

However my main takeaway from all this is still..... Krauser smoking...... Hrrrrghhhhhhh

[magicalmysteries777]

The Bloody-Handed and The Anguish of Loving Them - Epilogue.

Summary: Almost a year has passed since Eddie Munson died and it feels like the only person that isn’t moving on is Steve.

After spending the night studying a Dungeons and Dragons handbook, Steve is convinced he’s figured out how to bring Eddie back. Not only that, but defeat Vecna once and for all too. Now he just has to prove it.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Masterlist: Here.

Chapter: 10 of 10.

Chapter WC: 5.6k.

CW: Swearing.

This story can also be found on AO3 here.

Taglist: @ohmeg 🖤

July 14th, 1987 .

“My, oh my, Mr. Harrington - thou dost look ravishing on this fine evening.”

Steve smirked and adjusted his tie. “Mr. Munson, you flatter me.”

“One’s wit and charm knows nay bounds.”

“Eds. Voice.”

Eddie let out a small chuckle as he made his way over to the car door being held open by Steve. “Sorry. You know I go all medieval when I’m nervous.”

"Aw, you’re nervous,” Steve teased.

Eddie fastened his seatbelt and picked anxiously at the skin around his fingernails while Steve got settled in the driver’s seat.

“Would it help calm your nerves if I told you I had this?” asked Steve, reaching into the backseat to reveal a walkie-talkie with a large grin plastered across his face.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, Dustin’s finally starting to stand up for himself a lot more but I highly doubt he’s going to be able to come to the rescue when half of the people at Enzos realise they’re dining with the town’s murderer.”

“It isn’t Dustin on the other end of this and you’re not a murderer.”

“Yeah, well they still think I am, don’t they?” Eddie answered with a grumble, snatching the walkie out of Steve’s hand and pressing down on the receiver. “Hello?”

“Eddie?”

“Hopper?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Everything okay? Steve only left about half an hour ago, surely they’re not sharpening their pitchforks already.”

“Oh, um, no. Everything’s fine.”

“Alright, kid, enjoy your date. You know where I am if you need me.”

If looks could kill, Steve would’ve died right there in Eddie’s driveway.

“Steve, we can’t do this. Let’s just go inside and watch a movie or something.”

“Yes we can and we’re going to have a great time,” Steve countered.

Eddie ran his hands through his curls and rubbed at his temples. “Are you sure? Because I can think of, like, a million reasons not to go out tonight. Half of the town still wants to see me dead because they think I’m the head of a serial killing cult and the other half that doesn’t probably will once they realise I’m on a date with a guy. Aren’t you nervous? What if your dad finds out?”

“Are you done?” Steve asked, waiting patiently until Eddie nodded. “If anyone says or starts anything, anything at all, then all I have to do is get Hop on the radio and he’ll be down there in a heartbeat. He cleared your name the second he was reinstated as Chief, so the whole town can think what they want but at the end of the day you’re not a criminal in the eyes of the law. As for my dad, I don’t care anymore. I’ve spent too long letting him dictate my life. I love you and I want a life with you. I’m not hiding to make other people happy.”

“I’m definitely a criminal in the eyes of the law. Hopper would know,” Eddie smirked.

“Fine. You’re not a serial killer then,” he answered, chuckling as he took Eddie’s hand in his. “I mean it, Eds. I want this and I don’t care who knows it. Now, would you like to go and get some of the finest lasagne that Hawkins has to offer with me?”

Eddie stared at Steve for a couple of seconds, a soft grin slowly growing on his face. “I would.”

They spent the night talking each other’s ears off and laughing like they were the only two people in the entire restaurant before heading back to Eddie’s to sink a couple of cold beers with Wayne, Elizabeth’s blues records on in the background.

It was the best first date that Steve had ever had.

June 16th, 1988.

Eddie had been running around the house as frantically as a headless chicken all morning.

“Did you iron my robe?” he called from the bathroom which he’d been locked away in for the last thirty minutes.

“For the third time, yes,” answered Steve, the slight roll of his eyes earning a small chuckle from Wayne.

“And do you know where my cap is?”

“It’s on the kitchen counter. Come on, Eds, hurry up or we’re going to be late.”

After another five minutes of twiddling his thumbs and exchanging anxious looks with Wayne, Steve finally heard the lock on the bathroom door click open.

“What do you think?” Eddie asked, presenting himself to Steve and Wayne for a thorough inspection.

“I think you haven’t looked this well-groomed since you were about twelve years old. You feeling okay, kid? Let me check you haven’t got a fever,” Wayne answered, mockingly holding the back of his palm against his nephew’s forehead.

With a quick swipe, Eddie knocked Wayne’s hand away from his face. “Oh, ha-ha. Come on, I’m being serious. Do I look okay?”

“You look very handsome,” Steve answered with a smile. “How much hairspray did you use?”

“I’ll get you a new can.”

“That was full before you got your mits on it!”

Eddie laughed. “You’ve brushed my hair before. You know how hard it is to tame these curls.”

“Fair point. Get dressed, man, we’ve gotta go. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

-

Steve checked his watch for the final time as he pulled the car into the parking lot of the newly refurbished Hawkins High School.

“Ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. They’re all over there waiting for us, come on,” he instructed, pointing over to the party and Hellfire Club members eagerly awaiting their arrival. “Jonathan’s got the camera.”

The large group had barely had time to exchange greetings or pleasantries before Jonathan had begun ordering them about and putting them into position to get all the photos he had written down on his list.

“I want the individual shots first, then Hellfire, Eddie with the girls, Eddie with the guys, the group shot, and then family. Got it? Okay, good. Dustin, you first.”

It hadn’t taken long for Jonathan to work down his list, reaching the last items with five minutes to spare.

“Mr Munson, do-” Jonathan began.

“How many times do I have to tell you, kid? Call me Wayne.”

“Wayne, would you mind taking the group shot for me? Then I’ll get a couple of you and Eddie.”

They all lined up against the wall, Eddie in the middle and the taller members of the party on either side of him, the younger and shorter of the group crouching in front of them.

“Okay, ready? Smile,” Wayne asked, clicking the shutter on the camera. “Jesus, Eddie, I said smile. What the hell was that? Let me take another one.”

Jonathan took the camera from Wayne and positioned him next to Eddie, instructed them to smile, and snapped a couple of photos of the two together.

“All done. I’ll get these developed for you tomorrow. Maybe the day after depending on how hard Eddie has us all partying tonight,” Jonathan told them, beginning to tuck his camera back into its bag.

“Not so fast,” said Wayne, stopping him in his tracks. “We need one more. These are family photos, aren’t they? Get in here, Steve.”

With the final photo taken, the large group filed into the auditorium to find their seats.

Steve was beaming with admiration for his boyfriend when Mr Higgins called him up onto the stage to receive his diploma, even if Eddie did flip him off right after and run straight into Steve’s arms cackling like a madman.

September 3rd, 1992.

Steve had never seen Jonathan so stressed out.

Between accepting deliveries, taking multiple phone calls with various vendors, and trying to keep Joyce’s motherly tendencies at bay, the poor guy had barely had a chance to eat breakfast or take a sip of water all morning.

“Here, eat this,” instructed Steve, shoving a granola bar into Jonathan’s hands. “You’re white as a ghost. You feeling okay, man?”

“I feel sick,” Jonathan admitted, fumbling with the packaging. “My hands haven’t stopped sweating all morning.”

“Eat that and go outside for some fresh-”

Jonathan’s phone began to ring for the umpteenth time that morning, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. “Hello? Yes, this is Jonathan,” he answered, once again exiting the hotel room to take a nervous lap of the corridors.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, staring down the corridor after Jonathan. “Jesus, he looks more nervous now than he did in the Upside Down.”

“He’s about to marry Nancy Wheeler, what did you expect? Besides, what sort of a time do you call this?” Steve asked sternly, looking at his watch.

“Technically not late,” he answered, the smirk on his face disappearing.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“Could you?” Eddie asked, holding out his bow tie for Steve to fasten.

“I could… But you were late.”

Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Please?”

“Joyce!” Steve called loudly, knocking on the wall.

“Steve, no,” Eddie reasoned frantically. “Steve-”

“Joyce, we need your help!” Steve called again, slowly retreating to the doorway to greet her.

As they heard the door to the hotel room next door open and close, Eddie let out a deep sigh, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

“What’s wrong, Steve? Oh, Eddie, sweetheart,” Joyce began, looking him up and down. “You look lovely. Have you been borrowing Steve’s hairspray again? Your curls haven’t looked this tame in years.”

“Yeah, well, it is a special occasion,” Eddie answered, glaring at Steve.

“I need to go check on Jonathan, I think the caterer just called. Could you help Eddie with his bow tie, please?”

“Of course,” Joyce answered, walking over to Eddie with her hand outstretched. “Give it here, son.”

Steve lingered in the doorway for a moment, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as Eddie stood there awkwardly, trying his hardest not to fidget with the inevitably too-tight bow tie around his neck, each attempt at adjusting it earning a quick swat of his hand from Joyce as though she was trying to get rid of an annoying fly.

It had been a shock for Eddie when Joyce and Hopper inevitably accepted him into their little makeshift family of waif and strays with open arms, something which, many years later, he was still not used to.

He wasn’t a stranger to motherly love by any means. His mother, Elizabeth, had always been hands-on and caring when he was younger, eagerly doting on him from the moment he was brought into the world. She shared all of her kindness and compassion with him, along with a strong sense of justice and a love for music, fundamentally shaping him into the man that he would later become. Then she passed away when Eddie was six, leaving him to also be shaped by the cold, cruel hands of his father, Alan. So, a stranger to motherly love he was not - perhaps more like a distant friend.

“It’s fine, Joyce. Really,” Eddie reasoned, still trying to struggle free from her grip.

Joyce pursed her lips and stared at Eddie for a second, causing him to instantly relax and make his peace with the situation. “I just need to straighten it out, it’s crooked.”

Making his way down the corridor still chuckling to himself, Steve found Jonathan talking on the phone with the uneaten granola bar in his hand. “Jonathan Byers, you give me that phone right now,” Steve ordered, his hand outstretched. “And eat, for fucks sake. You look ill.”

-

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

With the guests in their seats and the bridesmaids and groomsmen in place, a beautiful piano rendition of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ started to play and Nancy, her arm linked with Ted’s, began to make her way down the aisle. As expected by absolutely everyone, Jonathan began to blubber the second he laid eyes on her.

Once vows were exchanged and rings were on fingers, the newlyweds, along with their friends and family, made their way into the beautifully decorated Reception Hall to begin celebrating.

After a couple of hours of photos, drinks, what could only be described as a small feast, many speeches about the happy couple, and a cake cutting, Nancy and Jonathan were called up to the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife.

As ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears For Fears began to play, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Nancy’s waist and began to sway, mouthing the words silently, unable to take his eyes off of her. Halfway through the song, the guests were called up to join the couple.

Eddie took Steve’s hand in his own and guided him to the dance floor, the two of them swaying along to the music.

“Marry me?” Eddie asked, his voice merely a whisper.

“What?” Steve replied, dumbfounded.

Eddie looked at him softly. “Marry me?”

“You know we can’t get married, you big idiot.”

“Not right now, obviously. But one day, whenever those stupid fuckers at the Supreme Court decided we’re worthy of loving each other, marry me?”

Steve stilled for a moment and looked into Eddie’s big, brown eyes. “Like you even have to ask.”

January 24th, 1997.

Living life on a bus was something that Steve was sure he’d never be able to get used to.

Constantly being within arms reach of at least six other people, not to mention being able to smell them and their bathroom habits, for eight weeks was far too much for him to handle. A couple of days in the Winnebago with the party was enough to make him reconsider the whole ‘six kids and a road trip to Yellowstone’ thing, the bickering alone would have been insufferable, but a week on a tour bus for a two-step plan to surprise his fiancé for their upcoming tenth anniversary was very much doable in Steve’s book.

He’d first surprised Eddie by driving to Ohio and waiting outside the venue for the band to finish playing and come to sign autographs. He’d been in for a bit of a surprise himself when he learned that he too was now semi-famous purely because their relationship had gone public, a large number of the crowd outside asking for his autograph on posters of Eddie’s face while they waited. Damned gossip rags had nicknamed them ‘Steddie’ and plastered a photo of them holding hands on the front page.

The moment the doors opened and the band stepped outside, Steve got lost in the chaos and scrambling of screaming fangirls fighting to get to the front. Resigning further backward down the queue with his Eddie poster gripped tightly in his hands, he waited patiently alongside the calmer members of Corroded Coffin’s fanbase. That was another thing Steve was sure he’d never be able to get used to - fan culture.

Eddie, who had barely looked up from the last poster he’d signed due to the intensity of the line, hovered his pen over the picture of his face. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Steve.”

“Okay, Steve, here you go,” Eddie mumbled, scribbling his signature on the poster. He tucked the pen behind his ear and with an outstretched hand, finally made eye contact with Steve for what Eddie had dubbed ‘the thirty-second rule’ at meet and greets. “Holy shit!”

“Surprise!”

Eddie pulled him close into a long, passionate kiss, earning a few wolf whistles from the remaining crowd, before maneuvering him toward the crew and gesturing for someone to get him a pass. He very politely, although rather quickly, signed the rest of the posters and posed for pictures before telling the crew and his bandmates to make themselves scarce for an hour, dragging Steve onto the bus by the collar of his shirt before he’d even finished his sentence.

A text from Eddie’s manager an hour later revealed that the rest of them had gotten rooms for the night and the two of them could have the bus to themselves. Another text arrived two minutes later telling him not to break anything and to tidy up before morning.

His second day on the bus had been spent listening to an impromptu songwriting session whilst they drove to New York, arriving at the hotel three hours later. Luckily for him, New York had sold out so quickly that management had arranged another concert for the following night, meaning that Steve got a small break from squeezing into a bunk and could get a night’s sleep in an actual bed.

The morning of day three was spent nursing a hangover, thanks to one of Eddie’s after-parties with the entire crew, and trying to get a minute alone with Gareth regarding step two of his plan. When Eddie finally felt brave enough to go outside and attempt his morning cigarette after breakfast, Steve seized his chance and leaned in close enough to Gareth to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. “The eagle is in the nest. Operation Switch is a go.”

Gareth beamed up at him. “Man, I can’t wait for this. His face is going to be a pic-”

“I can’t do it,” Eddie announced, making his way back to the table looking pale. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

At ten to eight that night, Corroded Coffin congregated backstage to begin their pre-show ritual for good luck before they began to hype themselves up to go onstage.

“Eds, can I borrow you for a second?” Steve asked, gesturing for Eddie to join him over by the spare amp he was sitting on.

“What’s up, handsome?” Eddie asked, adjusting the strap on his guitar.

“I know it’s early but I’ve got an anniversary present for you,” Steve began before Eddie promptly cut him off.

“Early? Shit, Steve, it’s months away. I haven’t even begun to think about what I’m getting you.”

“I know, I know, but I have to give you it while we’re here in New York. It’ll make sense, I promise.”

“Do I get it now?”

“Later.”

“Harrington, you tease,” Eddie answered, eyeing him suspiciously. “Right, I gotta get up there. Wish me luck?”

“It’s gonna be a great show regardless, but good luck,” Steve answered, kissing him on the cheek before pushing him back toward the band.

As always, Corroded Coffin put on a great show. The songs were heavy and the stage effects were hot, quite literally, ever since Eddie decided they needed to include pyrotechnics in the set. Eddie sang his heart out and jumped around the stage during solos, his energy radiating into the crowd as they jumped up and down, screaming his lyrics back at him.

Halfway through the set list, Eddie’s actual surprise arrived backstage with a VIP pass around their neck.

“You ready?” he asked as Eddie began to finish up the song.

“Hell yeah.”

As the last few chords faded out and the crowd began to applaud, Steve stepped out from behind the curtain and made his way to the center of the stage. A perplexed Eddie furrowed his brow at Steve as he stole the microphone from him.

“Let’s give it up for Corroded Coffin everybody,” Steve declared, causing the crowd to erupt again.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked, completely unaware that Gareth was sneaking off stage behind him.

“Sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen,” Steve began, turning back to the crowd. “But I’ve got a little surprise for Eddie here and for you too. If you could all turn your attention to my left here and give a big round of applause for an honorary member of the band, I’d like to introduce none other than Ronnie Ecker to the stage.”

Eddie’s face looked exactly how Steve had thought it would as Ronnie walked over and hugged him before settling behind the drum kit. A mixture of pure shock, happiness, and overwhelming gratitude.

“You sneaky little shit,” were the only words he could find as he placed an arm around Steve’s waist and guided him back to the side of the stage. “Thank you.”

October 7th, 2014.

The doorbell would not stop ringing.

“You go,” Eddie argued, half asleep.

“You go, it’s your turn,” Steve retorted, pushing Eddie’s sprawled legs off of him and out of the bed.

Eddie let his body go limp as he slid onto the floor, landing with a small thud. “You go.”

Steve sat up and glared at him. “You’re already out of bed.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighed dramatically, picking himself up and walking towards the door.

“Pants,” Steve called after him, throwing a pair of boxers at the back of Eddie’s head before flopping back down onto the pillow with a satisfied grin.

No less than a minute later, Eddie flung himself back onto the bed face down. “It’s for you,” he grumbled.

Steve sat up again and his eyes landed on a rather excited-looking Robin and Vickie stood in the open doorway.

“Jesus, guys, it’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Steve said, his eyes now fixed on the alarm clock on his bedside table. “Surely whatever you’ve got to say could wait until a more godly hour.”

“Didn’t you hear?” asked Vickie, so giddy she was bouncing up and down on the spot.

“Hear what?” Eddie grumbled, his face smushed into his pillow.

“The Supreme Court declined to consider the appeal in the Baskin vs. Bogan case,” Robin answered.

“Buckley, for the love of God, get to the point. I should still be asleep,” Eddie argued.

“Fine. This should wake you up a bit,” she answered. “Same-sex marriage is officially legal.”

Eddie shot up, his eyes now wide and fixed on Steve. “Courthouse?”

“I guess I’d better find my good suit then, huh?”

-

After a long three-hour wait outside the Courthouse with Robin and Vickie, as well as fifty other couples, Eddie and Steve were finally at the front of the queue.

“Fill these forms out and take them to that window over there,” instructed the clerk, handing Eddie some papers from a large stack in front of him and pointing to the other side of the room.

“You don’t even know why we’re here,” replied Eddie, one eyebrow raised.

The clerk looked up at Eddie, glanced toward Steve, and then back to Eddie. “I’m going to assume you’re here for the same reason as everybody else? Getting hitched?”

“Yeah.”

“Fill these forms out and take them to that window over there,” he repeated. “Next.”

The two couples filled out their paperwork and made their way over to the other window, their identification and fee money in hand. With everything processed and appointments made for an hour later, they wandered out onto the street to find some food to kill the time.

“I’m gonna call Nance and get them down here,” Robin told them after they situated themselves on a bench to eat their food.

“Reckon we should call the lads?” Eddie mumbled through a mouthful of hot dog, promptly spilling mustard on his tie. “Shit.”

Steve grabbed a napkin and wiped it away, shaking his head as he smiled at Eddie. “Probably should, we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t.”

“Ring Joyce as well, I can’t bear the thought of being told off by her again. I’m not gonna lie, she scares me a little bit.”

“Me too, Eds. Me too,” Steve replied, already dialing her number.

An hour later, in a small room filled with friends and family, Steve and Eddie stood hand in hand before the officiant.

“Steve, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Eddie, take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“By the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of Indiana, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

“Gladly,” Eddie responded with a glint in his eyes, pulling Steve in close.

March 3rd, 2015.

It had been three weeks since Steve had got the call from the adoption agency confirming that he and Eddie were going to be parents.

He’d got the call at lunchtime and ran straight to the principal’s office, blurting out ‘I’ve gotta go. Now. Can you sort a substitute for the rest of the day?’ before bucking it to his car and racing home to tell Eddie the news.

“Who died?” Eddie asked, panic-stricken at the sight of Steve flinging the front door open so quickly he thought it might come off its hinges.

“No one,” Steve replied, panting slightly.

“What’s got your undies in a bunch then?”

Steve threw his bag on the ground and loosened his tie. "Janelle called.”

“Oh god. The application fell through, didn’t it?” Eddie assumed, running his hands through his hair. “I knew it.”

“Eddie-”

“It’s because I keep going away, isn’t it? Maybe I should cancel next year’s Europe tour?”

“Eddie, look at me,” Steve told him, taking his hands in his. “We’re going to be parents.”

“Shut up, we are not.”

“In three weeks, we get to bring Oscar and Rose home.”

“No we’re not, you’re lying,” Eddie answered, tears welling in his eyes.

A tear rolled down Steve’s cheek. “I promise you, I’m not. We’re gonna be dads.”

They’d begun decorating the two spare rooms along with buying furniture and everything thing else they’d need almost instantly, along with recruiting the help of Nancy and Jonathan who, in Eddie’s opinion, were ‘pros at the whole parenting thing’ after raising three children to be ‘somewhat normal’ people.

After two days of staring at paint samples, they opted for baby pink on the walls in Rose’s room and ocean blue in Oscars. Surprisingly, the painting portion of the preparations was rather unstressful given Eddie’s previous history of dramatics when it came to decorating. After four different colours on the living room wall in two weeks when they’d first moved into their new house, Steve had vowed that he would never paint again. The stress came in twofold when it was time to build the crib.

As the days passed, the two had become increasingly more anxious. If they weren’t bickering about what furniture should go where they were bickering about the usefulness of bottle prep machines and diaper bins.

“I just don’t see why we can’t put them in the normal bin,” Steve reasoned for the third time.

“Are you going to walk all the way downstairs to the kitchen bin after you’ve just changed a shitty diaper, half asleep, at three o’clock in the morning?” Eddie argued.

“Yes.”

“Liar. I still think we should get one.”

“Fine, but you’re building Oscar’s bed by yourself.”

“Gotta be easier than the crib, right?”

“I doubt it,” Steve answered, placing an allen key in Eddie’s hand with a smug grin on his face. “Have fun. I’m off to work.”

With a week to go, Steve called an intervention after finding Eddie repainting the banister at four o’clock in the morning.

“It needed doing,” Eddie defended.

“Eddie, babe, come on,” Steve reasoned.

Jonathan let out a chuckle. “Reminds me of the time I found Nance scrubbing the kitchen floor in the early hours when she was eight months gone with Barb.”

“See!”

“He’s nesting, Steve. It’s normal, trust me,” said Nancy.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. “You know he’s not pregnant, right?”

“Of course, I do. I know how biology works. That doesn’t mean he can’t nest. It’s just one of those expectant parent things.”

“Cleaning the kitchen is normal, I get that, but Oscar can barely reach the banister and Rose can’t even crawl yet let alone get up the stairs by herself.”

“Just let him have this, Steve,” Jonathan told him, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder. “And thank god you’re only doing this once.”

“Hey! I was nothing short of delightful during my pregnancies,” Nancy replied.

“Of course, darling.”

The last few days flew by and before they knew it, they were standing on the front porch watching Janelle walk down the garden path with the handle of a car seat in one hand, Rose bundled up inside of it, and Oscar’s hand in the other as he skipped along beside her.

Steve had always thought his love for Eddie knew no bounds and that he’d rather die than lose him again, but at that moment, looking at his three-month-old daughter and his four-year-old son, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d use Eddie as a human shield to protect his children if it ever came to it.

5th September 2024.

Steve pushed his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose, placed his book on the bedside table, and got out of bed.

He should be tired. He knew he should be tired but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t seem to drift off, a promise he’d once made over three decades ago weighing too heavily on his mind.

It had been a very long day.

A suggestion made by Eddie over their morning coffee that a picnic in the park with the entire party would be a great way to both catch up with friends and let all the kids blow off some steam seemed like a good idea at the time. That very same good idea would later turn out to be full-blown chaos.

He loved his family, really he did, but there were only so many times you could hear the words “Dad!” or “Uncle Stevie!” followed by some variation of “They did this!” or “They did that!” without questioning how much of your sanity was still intact at the end of the night.

They’d piled into the park at dinner time. Robin and Vickie were already there, waiting for them with an eager wave. Jonathan and Nancy arrived five minutes later, their children and the newest member of the party, a granddaughter named Joy, in tow. One by one the rest of the party and their small tribes of children and grandchildren arrived, half of which were traipsing behind in typical pre-teen fashion. It would appear that hanging out with your parents and their friends in public isn’t considered “a fun way to spend an afternoon” these days, even if one of them is a world-famous rock star.

It took two hours for all hell to break loose.

“Who’s idea was this again?” Jonathan mumbled, an ice pack from the cooler held against his eyebrow.

“Eddie’s,” grumbled Steve, Lucas, Max, and three of the teenagers.

Eddie peered over the top of his book to address the group. “Come on, guys. We’re having a great time.”

“Are we?”

“The kids are and I suppose that’s what matters, right?” he countered. “Besides, you took that truck to the brow like a champ, Jonathan. You ought to be glad you took that ring out of it.”

Jonathan cringed at the reminder. “It was a phase. We promised not to talk about it again.”

“Phase?” queried Nancy, finishing up tying her umpteenth shoelace of the day.

Barbara raised an eyebrow at her father. “You were twenty-six and you kept it in for ten years.”

“Will, how’s the new house?” he asked quickly, changing the subject.

They sprawled out on the grass for hours until the sun began to set.

The eldest of kids sat away from them, deeply engrossed in an impromptu game of Dungeons and Dragons led by Oz who, much like his father, always had a bag of die handy and could create a campaign on the spot. In between playing with and taking care of the many children that were terrorising the nearby play area, the adults talked and laughed amongst themselves, catching up on all things life and work.

After three tantrums from three different children all within the space of ten minutes, resulting in two bumps to the head and a grazed knee, Erica made the executive decision to disband the group.

It was on the way back to the car, his husband’s hand resting in his and their children strolling beside them, that the promise was brought back to the forefront of Steve’s mind.

“Dad, can I go to Jackson’s tomorrow? He wants to carry on playing D&D,” Oz asked.

“Yeah, sure, but only if it’s okay with Max. I’ll drop you off on my way to Wayne’s,” Steve answered.

“Can I come too, Oscar?” asked Rose.

“I told you not to call me that,” he replied, prompting a chuckle from Eddie.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Can I come too, Oz?”

“Maybe.”

Eddie unlocked the car and opened the door, still chuckling to himself quietly at his son’s outburst. “So, you’re going to Wayne’s tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, climbing into the car. “I promised I’d cut the grass for him. You know he can’t do it himself now that he’s getting on.”

Eddie let out a chuckle. “You two and your promises. I swear, you’re over there every other day helping him out with something. You get on better with him than I do.”

“I’m a man of my word. Kids, seatbelts.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m not sure if you remember but a long, long time ago you promised to tell me a story. I’m still waiting.”

Steve pondered for a moment, snippets of memories from the Upside Down flashing through his mind. “I did, didn’t I?”

So that’s why later on that night when Steve couldn’t sleep, his mind heavy and his heart full, he found himself sitting in front of his computer staring at a blank document instead of sitting in his usual spot on the porch. To keep a promise he once made a long, long time ago.

Tell Eddie all about The Bloody-Handed and the anguish of loving them, and how every single second was worth it.

A/N:

Elizabeth Munson, Eddie's mother, is a character from from the book 'Stranger Things: Flight Of Icarus'. We learn about her briefly and about how she passed away.

Ronnie Ecker, Eddie's childhood best friend, is a character from from the book 'Stranger Things: Flight Of Icarus'. She was the original drummer for Corroded Coffin and a member of The Hellfire Club until she graduated in 1984 when she moved to New York to study Law.

★★★★★★★★★★

And with that, we're done.

I've had an absolute blast writing this and as happy as I am that it's finally finished, I can't help but feel a little sad to be closing the book on this story and its characters.

I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who has left likes and reblogged the story. I truly hope that you enjoy the ending as much as I have and that I've done it justice.

Thank you. 🖤

[xenon-demon]

Something something steddie role swap AU. Steve and Eddie swap places for the final fight against Vecna (because you don’t really need to be able to play the guitar to make a distraction with one, and Steve is already injured while Eddie is Not), things proceed as in canon - the bats get in, Steve is self-sacrificial because that’s the Steve Harrington Agenda™, Steve gets himself killed.

Dustin has to watch his older brother die in his arms. Robin has to come back from a fight that she’s pretty sure they lost to find the other half of her soul is gone. Lucas finds out that not only has he lost Max, but he’s also lost his role model, one of his biggest supporters. Eddie is stuck in a town that’s falling apart, filled with people that hate him, and the only people who will understand are mourning someone Eddie barely knew. Someone whose shoes Eddie is never going to be able to fill, even when he feels like he has to try because that’s what he does; protect his people. And no matter how fucked the circumstances that got them here are, he’s decided these are his people now.

(They have to be, now that not even Uncle Wayne can calm him down when he has the nightmares, seeing Chrissy’s lifeless eyes staring down at him as he hears her bones crunch and twist-)

Eddie can’t breathe with how the gaping absence of Steve Harrington is threatening to swallow him whole. It’s always there, in the way Robin is isolating herself, sleeping over in Steve’s empty house whenever she can, and no one can get her to talk about it. It’s in the way Dustin, overcome with grief, keeps oscillating between blaming Eddie for agreeing to switch places and blaming himself for suggesting it in the first place. It’s in the way Eddie wonders sometimes, as he turns the events of Spring Break over in his mind, if maybe there was something there, or could have been something - and then he’s immediately overcome with guilt, because he’s lusting after a ghost. A ghost of someone he didn’t even know, really, as he’s learning more and more every day about the ways Steve has changed since high school.

So after a few weeks of this, especially with the added stress of Hawkins falling apart at the seams and being constantly invaded by hellbeasts from the gaping portals all over town, Eddie does what he does best.

He runs away.

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going, just puts one foot in front of the other - even as he crosses over a portal into the Upside Down, one near the trailer park, he doesn’t let himself stop and think. If he does that, he’s going to have a panic attack, and having one of those here in Hell is absolutely going to get him killed, the otherworldly hisses and screams echoing around him amongst the trees are a pretty potent reminder-

There’s a snap behind him, sounding way too close for comfort. Eddie spins around, heart racing in his chest, tensed and ready to run if he has to.

There’s nothing there. Nothing living, at least, because Eddie can see a broken branch just dangling down from one of the trees he just walked past. From this far away, it looks like something has pulled down on it, snapping the top part of the branch and leaving it attached at the bottom by just a thin layer of wood. It’s such a tenuous connection that the branch is bobbing slightly under the weight of gravity, and it looks like at some point it might just break under its own weight.

The main problem with this is that it was definitely a whole, intact branch when he first walked past it.

Eddie finds himself taking a few steps forward without really thinking about it. As he gets closer, his heartbeat gets louder and louder until he can hear it pounding in his ears. He feels a deep sense of wrongness here, like something - someone, maybe - is watching him, waiting for some kind of trigger. It crawls up his spine like a spider, making his skin crawl, his shoulders twitching involuntarily.

The feeling only intensifies when he’s within arms reach of the broken branch. It’s like a block of ice gets dropped into his chest, the way he suddenly goes cold; from this distance, he can see the branch is thicker than his upper arm. Whatever it was that did this, it’s stronger than a human, that’s for sure. Eddie feels the sharp buzz of panic begin to settle over his body, is dimly aware of a hysterical noise starting to bubble up within him-

The breath is slammed out of his lungs, too quickly to even scream. At the same time, he feels pain bloom across his upper body from being grabbed by the shoulder and shoved up against the tree. Eddie feels pinpricks of pain all up his back, his thin Iron Maiden t-shirt doing little to protect his skin from the tree bark.

Eddie’s eyes are screwed tight as he waits for the inevitable; he’s seen enough of this place to know he doesn’t want to see whatever it is that’s about to kill him. He feels something sharp scrape against his neck, followed by a pressure along the underside of his jaw, and his last coherent thought is, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I’m leaving Henderson fatherless.

Except... he doesn’t die. Eddie Munson keeps breathing, quick and shallow gasps with his eyes still tightly shut. It doesn’t make any sense, his brain can’t even begin to process what’s happening to him, so after a few seconds - when he’s sure he’s actually still alive, and not just having a delayed reaction to being eaten - Eddie opens his eyes. Immediately he feels like throwing up.

Because there in front of him, mere inches away from his face, face twisted into an utterly chilling smile, is Steve Harrington.

Or at least - something that was Steve Harrington, once upon a time. The creature now in front of Eddie has- christ, where does Eddie even begin. He doesn’t know where to look first, his brain overloading trying to take it all in - Steve has fangs now, that Eddie’s certain of, sharpened canines that jut out under Steve’s top lip and glint whenever lightning crackles overhead. He can see streaks of what looks like dried blood trailing down Steve’s chin from the fangs, following his neck downwards until they’re lost in the ring of scar tissue and dried blood at the base of his neck where he got choked by the demobats.

Most captivating of all, though, are Steve’s eyes. Once he makes eye contact, Eddie can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. Steve’s eyes have always looked pretty to Eddie, in that strange middle ground where they look brown in some lights and almost green in others, but now they shine with a soft golden glow in the darkness. He’s not quite sure, it’s hard to focus enough to be sure, but Eddie thinks his pupils are no longer human-like, instead vertical slits like a cat’s eye.

Now that Eddie’s made eye contact, out his peripheral vision he sees Steve’s grin grow impossibly wider. At the same time, that pressure around his neck gets worse momentarily as Steve squeezes, oh fuck, he has his hand around Eddie’s throat. That sharp prickling sensation is back again, too, and Christ Almighty he’s pretty sure Steve has fucking claws.

Steve leans in even closer, and Eddie feels his breath fan across his face as he drawls, “Did you miss me too, baby?”

[thyeternalhunger]

Commision I got from @S-L for my Kas/Vecna fic

The Accolade

"He awaits. Dubbed a black sword on his shoulder. Upon the unsheathing moment, he even heard the thunderous crash of a shooting star and the laughter that stirs his thirst. In the names of the Undying King, Lord of the Rotted Tower, Master of the Spider Throne and the Occluded Empire, Emperor Vecna proclaimed Kas of Tycheron as the Regent, commanding his General to bow and receive the bestowed black sword with both hands. And within his mind, his unholiness whispered:

      Henceforth, you too are Vecna."

(“他等来了一把点在他肩头的黑剑，出鞘的那一刻他甚至听到了流星坠落人间的巨响与牵动他渴盼的晒笑。以不朽之王、腐塔之主、隐秘帝国与蜘蛛王座的主人之名，不洁的维克那皇帝陛下宣布提雪龙的卡斯代为摄政，令将军俯首，以双手受赐黑剑。并在脑内告诉他：

      从今往后，你也是维克那。”）

[cinderflower]

Loosely inspired by “The One You Kill For” Read it on Ao3 here!

Lothric/Lorian *nsfw - full image at the main link

[criscura]

Smut in my step and yaoi in my heart

[foggysirens]

Going months without Din was like getting rain on Tatooine. Unfathomable.

-

Or, Luke returns home.

-

Written for Day One of the @dinlukepositivityweek prompts: Reunion After a Long Time Apart!

[eightysixbaby]

Two weeks ago, you lost Eddie to the Upside Down.

Tonight, after you've fallen asleep, someone - or something - creeps through your window.

But this isn't the Eddie you knew and loved. This is something different. Something with a deep, dark, dangerous hunger for what only you can provide.

[perfectly-clear-from-here]

things I've had to google writing chapter 4 of my fic:

binary stars

is there a posh part of sheffield??

kings in the corner card game

sunset time in january england

tile patterns

is leather water-proof

difference between whiskey and whisky

[mrspasser]

Finding solace in you

On A03

Listen. Steve is not an idiot. No matter how many times someone calls him stupid, he’s not an idiot. It’s not his fault his friends are all certified brainiacs and that the ones that aren’t on the honor roll have either supernatural (El) or supersarcasm powers (Max). Steve is just Steve. Not good enough to get into college, not good enough to hold his parent’s attention for more than a fleeting moment, not even good enough to make his first real love love him back. But Steve is Steve. He has some good qualities. He can swing a nail bat, for instance. And the person or monster who broke into his home at 2 A.M. and is making a ruckus in the kitchen is gonna see how well Steve can swing that bat. 

Steve is not an idiot. He quickly puts on jeans, a sweater and his tennis shoes, so he doesn’t have to face whoever it is in his boxers. He doesn’t make a noise when he tiptoes down the stairs. He doesn’t turn on the lights. He doesn’t call out a tentative “Who goes there?” and he most certainly doesn’t wait to raise his bat to a swinging position. 

Steve is an idiot.

Because Steve is seeing Eddie in his kitchen. Eddie Munson, who died in Dustin’s arms in the Upside Down and whose body they couldn’t bring with them when they returned to the real world. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, who fought off a swarm of Demobats with nothing but a spear and a shield. Eddie the Banished, who was hunted down by an angry mob because they thought he was a satanic, murderous cult leader. Eddie the Hero, who gave his life to save his friends. Eddie with the expressive face, who gave Steve his vest ‘for his modesty’ and hunts Steve’s dreams every night. Eddie with the doe eyes, who fills Steve with regret about things that never happened but possibly could have, if only if they had more time. More time together.

“Hey man, sorry to wake you,” Eddie says, like he has just seen Steve yesterday instead of four months ago. Like he had not died in Dustin’s arms, his lifeless body too heavy and limp to move with them through the portal. Like Steve hasn’t been living with an overwhelming sense of guilt that clamps down uncomfortably on his chest every time he has a moment to think. Guilt that has him making himself run haggard, keeping himself busy, tiring himself out to the point he can no longer think. 

“Sorry about the glass,” Eddie winces. He holds up the bottom half apologetically, the shards that formed the top half scattered on the floor by his feet. He’s bare footed, only wearing ripped jeans and a torn up shirt. The fingers around the glass are long and pointy, the tips dark. They look like claws. “I was thirsty, wanted to have some water.” He looks at Steve sheepishly, his eyes gleaming in the low light of the moon that comes in through the kitchen window. “I can replace it.”

“Don’t bother. We have a cupboard full of the same damn glasses.”

Steve is an idiot. He shouldn’t be talking to whatever it is that is standing in his kitchen, he should swing his bat and kill the damn thing that wears Eddie’s face.

“Okay.” Eddie moves to put the remnants of the glass back on the counter. It lands on its side, rolling into the sink with a clang. Eddie doesn’t react to it, he looks around the dark kitchen and asks where Steve keeps a broom and a dustpan. 

“Bottom cabinet in the corner,” Steve points.

Eddie nods eagerly and turns on the spot to go where Steve points him. One of the leathery wings on his back rakes over the kitchen island and mows down the decorative ceramic dish that Steve’s mom uses as a fruit basket. It’s been a while since she’s been home, so it’s only the dish that hits the floor, not any fruit. The ceramic shatters when it hits the tiles, small shards flying as far as Steve’s feet.

“Oh shit. I’m really not doing this on purpose, I swear.” It’s a strange thing to see Eddie so meekly, his clawed hands balled in front of his chest, his wings almost drooping.

Steve is an idiot. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t like that thing anyway.” It’s true, he always thought the dish with the frumpy vines painted across the surface was ugly. “Stay where you are, I’ll get it.” 

Steve places his bat on the counter and flicks the light switch for the lights above the kitchen island so he can see better. Eddie doesn’t react to the yellow light that floods the kitchen. Steve moves towards the bottom cabinet that holds the broom and dustpan while Eddie makes himself as small as possible in the space between the sink and the kitchen island. He sweeps up the glass and ceramic, noticing that Eddie’s toes are as black as his fingertips when he crouches down by his feet to get the last bits of glass. The nails are longer and pointy. Claw-like. 

Steve sets the dustpan on the counter and gingerly fishes the broken glass out of the sink. Eddie follows him around the kitchen with his eyes, only speaking up when Steve has everything tidied up and puts the dustpan and broom away again. “I’m thirsty.” 

“Water?” At Eddie’s nod Steve grabs a glass from the cabinet - the exact same as the one Eddie broke - and moves over to the tap. It brings him close to Eddie again, who is still trying to take up the least amount of space as possible. He’s fidgeting with his rings, Steve notices, the blackness of his fingertips extending down to the large metal rings. Eddie’s wearing his Hellfire shirt, but it’s filthy and it has a large tear down the collar. Eddie’s collarbones and part of his chest are visible, covered in dirt and tattoos. He’s not wearing the guitar pick necklace, because Dustin took that with him when they left Eddie’s body in the Upside Down. Steve wonders if Eddie misses it. “Here you go,” he says, handing the other man a glass of water.

“Thanks.” Eddie shuffles a little closer and takes the glass gingerly, clearly trying to not break it again. He downs the entire glass in one go and makes a face. He thrusts the glass back at Steve. “More please.”

“Sure.” Steve fills the glass with water again, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie who keeps crowding closer, inch by slow inch. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Eddie responds, “just thirsty.”

“You have wings.” It feels like a stupid thing to say, so perhaps everyone was right and Steve really is stupid.

Eddie looks at him quizzically as he puts the refilled glass to his lips. “Wings?”

“Nevermind.” Steve is not surprised when he has to fill up the glass again. Eddie is standing really close now, he looks over Steve’s right shoulder to see how he moves the glass underneath the tap and fills it up. He toys with a lock of curls, twisting it around his black finger again and again. When he bites his lip his teeth are sharp and pointy like his nails. The skin breaks and a drop of dark blood pearls on his lip. Eddie doesn’t show any sign that he even feels it and licks the blood away with a quick flick of his tongue, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face.

It’s disconcerting how much the thing still looks like Eddie, still sounds like Eddie. It’s Eddie’s doe eyes that stare at Steve, it’s Eddie’s lips that curl into a grateful smile when he hands him another glass of water. It’s Eddie’s voice that thanks him, that tells him that he’s “still so thirsty.” And: “Can I have another one, sweetheart?”

By the fourth glass Eddie has moved from twisting his own hair around his finger to scratching his nails through the hair at Steve’s nape. He can tell it’s meant to be done gently, but the nails are sharp and they burn where they make red marks on his skin. He leans against his hands braced on the edge of the sink, his head hanging down between his shoulders. Eddie is a firm line against his back. He’s not exactly warm, but he’s not cold either.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” The scratching at his nape stops for a second and then it picks up again.

“For leaving you behind.” His voice catches in his throat. “For not being able to save you.”

The hand leaves his neck and two arms wind around his waist, mimicking a hug. It’s all done carefully, almost lovingly, yet the pointy nails still catch in his sweater and he can feel them lightly prick his skin when Eddie pulls himself closer against Steve’s back. His breath is hot on his neck when he speaks. “I’m here now, Stevie, aren’t I?”

Steve sighs, leaning into the treacherous embrace. “Yeah.” 

Steve is an idiot.

Eddie hugs him even closer, making Steve stand more upright and pressing him against the sink. Steve has one hand on the sink to brace himself, the other is holding on to Eddie’s arm where it is pressed against his chest. The hand with the black finger is splayed across his heart, rubbing the fabric of his sweater against his skin. Eddie noses behind his ear, nuzzling against him in lazy movements. “You smell so good, sweetheart,” he whisper-sighs. 

Steve is an idiot.

He closes his eyes, listens to Eddie telling him how nice he feels, how sweet he is, how he wants to climb inside him and live there. His nail bat lies forgotten on the kitchen counter. There’s a fleeting sense of regret when he thinks of Robin, of Dustin and the other kids, but it’s forgotten when Eddie’s hand caresses his throat, his lips traveling the line of Steve’s jaw.

“I’m so thirsty, sweetheart,” Eddie croons in a quiet voice, only for Steve to hear.

Steve doesn’t open his eyes. He feels drunk and lucid at the same time. “I know,” he whispers back.

The hand on his throat moves up, sharp nails scratching his cheek but only barely, coaxing him to look at Eddie. Dark, half lidded eyes catch his and cool lips press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I want you to be mine, Stevie, mine alone.”

Steve shudders, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t try to move away from Eddie’s hold, feels himself sinking into it instead.

“Do you want to be mine, sweetheart?”

“Y- you promise?” It’s more a breath than a whisper, but Eddie hears it anyway. More importantly, he understands. He breathes in deeply, humming softly, happily. 

“I will be so good to you, Stevie,” Eddie promises. “You will be mine and I will be yours.”

Steve knows that what Eddie is promising him is not good. That there’ll be pain and grief and despair. But that’s familiar. Steve knows pain and grief and despair. And he knows loneliness. So when Eddie asks him again: “Do you want to be mine?”

“Y-yes.”

Eddie’s teeth are sharp and it’s more tearing than biting. His blood is warm when it runs down his throat. Steve feels his body growing colder, his vision swimming. But Eddie holds him close, keeps pressing bloody kisses to his skin, keeps telling Steve the same thing over and over again: “You are mine and I am yours.” 

Right before everything goes black, Steve knows that it’s the truth.

“You are mine and I am yours.”

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

Chapter 4

chapter wc: 5.3k || rating: E || main tags/warnings: alcohol/drug mention and use, sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, violence/blood/bruises, mean dom!Eddie, mob boss!Eddie, (forced) sex worker!Steve, feminized!Steve, see ao3 for full list

Though nothing Explicit has technically yet taken place, I’m gonna go ahead and bump up the rating just to be on the safe side due to the conversations that are taking place.

cw: violence, threat of sexual violence, homophobic language, Steve acknowledges past rape

1, 2, 3, 4, …

~

Steve sat curled up against the headboard of the bed, his brows furrowed in confusion as his hands cradling a glass of ice water. It had been ordered with an exaggerated roll of eyes by Munson when, after trying to talk further, Steve had exploded into another round of coughing from his abused throat. A quick call down the hall later for where his men had gone to wait, and soon he was thrusting the glass into Steve’s hand with a mocking lilt of his brow.

What the hell.

Munson was going to give him whiplash with how quickly his attitude kept changing, going from sexually charged, to mocking, to almost humored, to a flying rage, and back again to one of the others in no particular order and giving Steve a headache in the process. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen he’d experienced.

It wasn’t the first time Steve had been choked, however, and as restrictive as his breathing had been, there was no denying that Munson had avoided putting crushing pressure to his trachea like Porzio had done on more than one occasion. It had been brutal, and absolutely terrifying at the time, but there had been less threat of a collapsed windpipe and larynx than he had believed at the time.

It was certainly a sobering experience, however.

Which was another thing. Munson had also ordered a wet cloth, tossing it at Steve and telling him to clean himself up from where he’d spilled the bourbon all over himself. Steve would have expected at least a slap for wasting the expensive and rare alcohol, with or without the rings, but Munson had merely waved his stuttering apologies away.

So now here was Steve, naked under the soft dressing gown thrown at him that practically swallowed him up with its size, curled up on his master’s bed, yet said master was making no move to claim what was his. Instead, he’d given Steve a chance to clean himself up, soothe his aching throat somewhat, and ordered him instead to tell Munson everything he knew about Porzio’s operation and the secret dealings he had with Munson’s mole.

It wasn’t a lot. Sure, it was certainly more than what any of the girls knew, probably even some stuff some of Porzio’s lieutenants hadn’t known, at least of his secret dealings. But it wasn’t like Steve had been part of the discussions. He’d just been in the room, either under the desk or draped across it, or wherever else Porzio wished him. But he had old Munson what he could.

There had been one time he’d been stretched on his front across the bed, arms still trapped in the bindings attached to the hook at the foot of the bed where he’d been left after Porzio finished with him, mercifully granted a repose of sleep to recover.

Except Steve didn’t sleep, though he pretended to do so. It had allowed him to overhear Porzio talking to someone about the offshore accounts, about how he was finally going to get one over on Kas the Bloody-Handed.

Steve couldn’t help snorting at where that particular plan had led Porzio. From what he’d heard, Munson hadn’t even left behind enough to identify the man through dental records.

“Something funny?” Munson asked from where he leaned against the bedpost at the foot of the bed, where he’d listened to Steve’s recounting of information, a note of warning in his tone.

Denial was on the tip of Steve’s tongue, a habitual and learned response, but he pushed that down while he took another shaky sip of the blessedly cold water he clasped in his hands. Clearing his throat with a small pained wince, Steve gave a half-formed shrug.

“I was just thinking about Porzio,” he admitted, and though his throat was doubtlessly already showing signs of bruising peeking out from his collar, it still was not as terrible as he had done to him before, his voice hoarse but not as painful to get out as he had expected it to be after everything. Less painful than a round with Porzio at least.

Munson’s brows lowered into a glower. “And what about him, pray tell, are you thinking about?”

Unable to help himself, Steve flashed Munson a quick grin. “He had been so certain he could best you. Make you his bitch.” Steve took another sip of water without bothering to conceal his smirk. “Honestly, I think he got let off easy.”

Munson’s brows next shot back up into his hairline, and Steve wondered briefly if the man knew how expressive his face could be when he wasn’t staring like a blank mask. “Easy? Never has anyone claimed I let anyone off easy before. And what would you have done, Sweet Vee? Released him to the police to answer for his crimes?” Munson drawled mockingly.

“Oh god no,” Steve snorted. “The entire institution of police is corrupt, and that’s not even touching on the number of officials in mobsters’ pockets. I’m sure you have your own fair few on your payroll.” Munson shrugged but did not deny the claim. “No, I’m glad Porzio is dead. But a quick albeit brutal beating isn’t enough. I would have cut off his balls and made him eat them.”

Munson started slightly at the ease in which Steve made his proclamation, his eyes taking in the bruised jaw, split lip, at the familiarity Steve had with this very room. His eyes then dropped to Steve’s neck, then his wrist peeking out of the sleeves of the dressing gown, letting out a small snort of his own.

“I suppose it’s true that you’re no longer the same boy ruling the roost of Hawkins High,” he murmured, stroking a hand over his short facial hair, but Steve didn’t miss the blink and you miss it quirk of Munson’s lips in a surprising smile that lacked any of the mockery Steve had already grown used to seeing.

So, Steve gave his own mocking look as he waved a hand over his body. “Clearly,” he dryly said, because he was as far from who he had been in high school as he could possibly get. He turned his thoughts away from what had put him on this path, however, to lower his gaze and fidget with the glass in his hands. Clearing his throat once more, he reached over to set his glass on the bedside table nearest to him.

He was still waiting for Munson, who seemed to purposely be keeping his distance, to start in on him. He was naked under the gown he hadn’t even been expecting to be given, and Munson was very clearly attracted to him, yet he made no move to push Steve’s legs open or order him to his knees. It was honestly kind of nerve wracking. He didn’t know what to expect next with Munson’s hot-and-cold treatment.

“Do you want me to pretend to be him, Daddy?” he softly asked, because that had to be it too, right? Munson had to be gloating that he had someone like who Steve used to be under him. “You could get me a little jersey to wear, I could talk about shoving freaks into lockers or whatever it was they did.”

A genuinely amused snort left Munson at that, causing Steve to look up at him with a small frown, mildly offended though he didn’t know why.

“As much as I would enjoy seeing you wearing those tiny little shorts again…that’s not quite what I had in mind.” Munson moved around the bed then, giving Steve once more the mental image of a predator stalking its prey. “You know, even here where no one knows my past, they still call me a freak. Among other things,” Munson smirked, settling on the bed near Steve.

It took all his power not to draw his legs up closer to himself, to not shy away from the man who was almost playful one moment and then a savage beast the next. He didn’t even know what could set the man off again to prevent it. So, instead Steve forced himself to relax, to settle back against the headboard and stretch out his legs, trying to indicate that he was open to his master’s whims.

“Tell me, Sweet Vee,” Munson said with a smile that did not match the hard look in his eyes. “Does it sicken you to be touched by me? By someone you knew in the past? Someone so far beneath your social standing?” His pale hand reached out, his fingers walking across the silken material of the dressing gown draped over Steve’s thigh, sliding the material off the dotted skin there.

Swallowing thickly, Steve forced his muscles to remain relaxed, letting his thighs open slightly until his leg was exposed almost fully. Munson made no move to expose him further, however, instead simply grazing his calloused fingertips over Steve’s inner thigh.

“That was high school,” Steve murmured, trying to be careful with what he said lest he send Munson into a flying rage again. Besides, it wasn’t like he finished school all that high in social ranking anyways. Though, Munson wouldn’t know that, he realized. Munson had skipped town before everything happened.

Forcing himself to remain relaxed, Steve risked giving Munson an almost teasing smile. “Besides. The roles have certainly switched, Daddy. You’re the one with all the power here.” Steve picked at the edge of the dressing gown on his chest, dropping his gaze down to his fingers. “I think we can both agree that we’re not the same people we were back then.”

Munson let out another surprising snort of amusement, his fingers tracing a pattern between Steve’s moles, Steve realized. It was almost…pleasant. Soothing. If one ignored the fact that those same fingers had killed countless men. Would kill him one day too, he was certain.

“That much is true,” Munson allowed. “Though had I known you were so good at taking it up the ass, I might have spoken to you sooner,” he added with a dark smirk. Steve tensed then beyond his control, Munson’s fingers tightening in their grip on his thigh. “Would you have called me ‘Daddy’ then if I fucked you in the back of your precious car? You’ve always been a slut, haven’t you?”

Steve had to clench his jaw tight so he didn’t hurl an insult at Munson. That definitely wouldn’t end well for him. Sure, he’d been a bit of a slut in high school, but there wasn’t anything wrong with being sexually liberated. It wasn’t like he’d slept with every chick that looked his way anyways. If anything, it had been more rumors than truth, but he’d let them tell their tales. Whatever. It helped his reputation at least.

Except Munson was here now, calling him a slut in a way that made his stomach squirm unpleasantly because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed sex, the last time he’d had sex because he wanted to. But that didn’t matter to people like Munson, did it?

No, all they saw was the whore who sucked and fucked and acted like it was a choice.

They never saw the victim.

Why would they, when they were the ones who created the victims in the first place? Who snatched the victims from the streets, who sold them to the highest bidder, who took whatever they wanted until they left nothing behind but a husk of who the person the victim had used to be. There were no real survivors here. Only a shortened lifespan.

And Steve knew. He knew he was reaching the end of his. His lifespan had been shortened already in this lifestyle simply by being a man, but he’d been doing this for so long already. He might only be in his middish-twenties, but for someone like him? Those were geriatric years.

Steve knew he was going to die here with Munson, one way or another.

“Yes, Daddy,” Steve answered the only way he could. He once more shoved whatever was left of Steve back down to be the whore he was supposed to be. “You had a van though, didn’t you?” Steve vaguely recalled the monstrosity in the school parking lot. “I’m sure it’d be much more spacious.”

Something changed in Munson’s expression, but it was so minuscule that Steve couldn’t even properly tell for certain that it had. He worried he’d said something wrong, those icy prickles causing his chest to seize up once more at the memory of fingers at his throat.

“Would you have taken me in the back, Daddy?” he murmured, putting on a coy smile, hoping to distract Munson from whatever mistake he’d fumbled into. “Right there in the parking lot where anyone could hear us?”

He carefully settled his hand over Munson’s on his thigh, biting his lip suggestively as he looked up through his lashes. He could do this. He could make himself worthwhile to keep around for a little while longer.

“I can get so loud, Daddy. You’d have to gag me with something,” he purred, sliding Munson’s hand up higher on his thigh, arching his back slightly as he drew his other knee up and open. The dressing gown slipped open further, putting himself fully on display. “I could show you how good at sucking cock I am. Choke me with your thick, hard—”

Except the robe had slipped open. Had put himself fully on display. Including his undeniably soft dick. Though his voice and mouth and expression spoke of sexual want, Munson’s eyes had snapped immediately to the part of Steve that couldn’t lie about how he felt in that moment. It was so hard to get hard when you were scared for your life.

Munson ripped his hand from Steve’s grip, standing from the bed in a fluid motion that caused Steve to flinch. He was barely able to swallow back a whimper when Munson grabbed him by the bicep and flung him over, sending him sprawling across the bed on his stomach. Munson was right there after him, climbing on the bed over him.

Steve’s muscles tensed in fearful anticipation. This he knew. His fingers dug into the duvet as he clenched his teeth, waiting for the dressing gown to be flipped up, to expose his ass for Munson’s pleasure, to be torn and stretched and claimed by his new master.

“Is this what you’re expecting?” Munson breathed hotly into his ear where he lowered himself over Steve. “To be fucked into the mattress until I tire of you?” Munson’s knee moved to rest between Steve’s legs, leaning in to brush his hip along Steve’s ass. “I can feel you trembling beneath me. The thought of me touching you is repulsive, isn’t it?”

“No!” Steve gasped out, cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken the pills to give himself an artificial erection. Porzio didn’t always care, they were more for when he had to fuck one of his girls, or otherwise humiliate Steve, but maybe Munson did. “Please, Daddy, I w-want you to touch me,” he whispered.

A humorless chuckle left Munson at his words. “You’re such a fucking liar, Vee,” he murmured into Steve’s ear, his weight pressing Steve into the bed. “I could fuck you raw right here, fuck you until you’re raw and bleeding, and you’d still tell me how much you want me, isn’t that right?”

Of course it was. Unless…fuck. Did Munson get off on the struggle? Did he want Steve to fight back? Did he get off on fully acknowledging this for what it was: rape?

A choked sob caught in Steve’s throat, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut at the warmth of more encroaching tears. He tried so hard not to acknowledge for himself what this was, even though of course he knew. He’d always known.

He’d known since the first time he’d been forced to see to another’s pleasure even though he didn’t want to, even though he felt betrayed by the person who should have protected him. He knew from the moment he was first sold into the goddamned trafficking ring, broken and trained until purchased by his first master.

Knew when he was sold again, knew when Porzio claimed him, and knew now when Munson had him pressed against the bed he’d been violated against time and time again. He knew it all along. Knew it still.

“P-please,” he whimpered.

“‘Please what’, whore?” Munson growled, his hand coming up to once more fist into Steve’s hair to pull his head back slightly until his neck arched.

Steve let out a small gasp, a tear of pain escaping past his eyelids to drip down his cheek. ”Please tell me what you want from me. I-I’ll do it. I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Daddy. Master. Please.”

Munson was quiet for a moment, as though actually considering Steve’s words. Steve just had to figure out what Munson wanted from him and then he could be it, could do it, and maybe he’d live to see another day.

But, with a huff of exasperation, Munson was then roughly releasing him and moved off of his back, climbing off the bed as he moved back towards the drink cart and pouring himself a fresh glass by the sound of it, not that Steve could actually see behind him. No, Steve stayed in exactly the position Munson left him in, not risking moving a single inch.

After a moment’s silence where the only sound was Munson’s thick gulping, the other man let out a heavy sigh. There was another glub of pouring liquid in a glass, but Munson kept his distance. For now.

“Get up,” he huffed.

Steve immediately scrambled off the bed, trying not to trip on the excessive material of the dressing gown, not knowing what was going to happen. He did know, however, that he had to push everything else away and be on his best behaviour if he wanted to survive. He stood there, dressing gown hanging open, head bowed submissively with his hands clasped before him. Except that just caused Munson to let out another heavy sigh.

The sound of glass meeting the mirrored top of the drink cart, and then Munson was moving closer. Steve tensed despite himself, readying for the next…whatever, sucking in a short breath when Munson batted his arms aside so that he could grab the edges of the dressing gown. And then, to Steve’s utter shock and confusion, he closed it, looping the hanging belt into a knot to keep it shut.

“You’ve told me enough for the night,” Munson said eventually. His voice sounded calmer now, flatter, lacking either ire or mockery. Lacking pretty much anything. “I think it best if you returned to the others tonight.”

Steve’s head shot up at that, his hands darting out with their own volition to grasp Munson’s wrists before he could withdraw his hands, though a part of Steve quailed at his presumption.

“Please don’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll do better. Let me make up for my mistake.”

Munson let out a humorless laugh, shaking off Steve’s grip on his wrists but didn’t strike out in retaliation. Instead he just rolled his eyes, taking a pointed step back from Steve.

“Trust me, darling, we’re far from over. But I’m in no mood for a whore tonight,” he scoffed. “So you’re going to go back to your room until I summon you again. Understand?”

Steve blinked wide eyes at Munson, completely confused by everything that had gone on tonight, the buzz of anxious anticipation unpleasant beneath his skin. Munson was still playing with his food, it seemed, making Steve even more apprehensive about when his new master would finally snap. Would take what he was owed.

“I said, understand?” Munson repeated, a harder edge to his voice.

Steve could only nod rapidly for a moment, heart stuttering in his chest. “Yes,” he finally managed to croak out. “Yes, Master. Daddy.”

“Good,” Munson said with what was almost a scoff. He walked over to the door, knocking on it hard enough to draw the attention of his waiting men, and shot Steve a slightly mocking look. “Leave your clothes and go.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Steve was barely given time to wonder at Munson’s words before the door was opened to one of the men from earlier entering. He kept his eyes professionally leveled at Munson, ignoring Steve like the insignificant thing he was.

“Take Vee back to his room,” Munson ordered with a flippant wave of his hand as he moved to reclaim his drink from the cart. “Keep someone posted outside like usual but do not enter, and let none of them out unless you hear my express orders.”

“Yessir,” the man intoned, only then casting his eyes Steve’s way. His gaze quickly took in Steve’s appearance, but there was no smirk or sneer, merely a hand indicating for Steve to walk out the door.

Still utterly confused about everything going on, having never gone this long before he was claimed by a new master, Steve could only send Munson a small, furrowed brow look before he was gathering the dressing gown in his hands enough to walk without tripping over the slippery material.

With one last look sent towards Munson’s back, Steve ducked his head and left the room that haunted his nightmares. Though more of his skin was being covered than he ever remembered it being, he felt more exposed than ever as he walked the vast halls of Porzio’s—now Munson’s—mansion to his room with his girls.

His guard didn’t harass him at all, however, didn’t even send a disgusted leer his way, merely escorting Steve back to his room as ordered. He didn’t even shove Steve through the doorway when they arrived, merely unlocked the door and held it open for him.

Steve hesitated only a second before he stepped inside, drawing in a shuddering breath when the door shut behind him with a finality that vibrated through his bones, the lock clicking into place.

There was a moment’s pause, a second of quiet, and then suddenly it was like déjà vu as he felt gentle hands reaching for him, soft voices asking him if he was all right, and suddenly he just wanted to cry. He didn’t, of course. He might have only released a few tears from pain and fear earlier, but it had already been far too much.

“Vee,” Janice breathed, the others parting for her to step forward in front of him. She was the oldest of them all, and the one that had been there the longest. They had discussed more than once the likelihood of this being their final year.

Janice was very nearly 30, or perhaps freshly 30; it was hard to keep track of dates doing what they did. Being what they were. Not whores, not really. Not anymore, at least. Janice actually had been one once, had been working the streets because she wanted to, her own boss who chose who and when and where. She had enjoyed it then.

Then one of her johns had decided she was too pretty, too good, too profitable, and then she had found herself drugged and bound and hadn’t seen the free world since.

Steve could somewhat relate to that. He had been something close to a prostitute as well, though not by choice. No, he hadn’t enjoyed it then either. He had trusted the wrong person, however. Maybe his parents had been right all along. Maybe he was just too stupid.

“Vee,” Janice repeated again, her hands coming up to lightly clasp him by the upper arms. There would be a new bruise there as well, he was certain, from where Munson had grabbed him to throw him over the bed.

Without much thought, Steve threw himself into Janice’s arms, burying his face in her neck. He wouldn’t let himself cry, but as her arms wrapped around him, his breath might have been the slightest bit shaken.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, which wasn’t a complete lie. He had certainly expected the worst when he went to see Munson. A slap, a few bruising grips, a reminder that he was absolutely nothing…all of it was a favorable outcome when the other option had been a painful and bloody death.

“Are you really okay?” Tiffany quietly asked, her soft southern drawl a little more evident with her worry. “You know you don’t need to be brave for us.”

Yes he did. He knew they worried for him, knew that they wanted to take care of him just as he took care of them. That was more than evident by what they tried to pull that morning. He needed to keep up the brave face, keep up the mask he’d been wearing all his life.

“Honestly, I’m okay,” he said with more feeling, shoving everything down deep. He survived the night. This was good news.

“What are you wearing though?” Selena asked with a slight grimace, delicately pinching the sleeve of the dressing down between her fingers as though to examine it further.

“Definitely not Daddy Kas’s,” Fen snorted, taking in the obvious size of the garment.

Steve rolled his eyes, stepping back from Janice’s hold to shake himself loose. “I spilled some drink on myself, so Daddy Kas threw me something of Porzio’s to cover up with. I’m pretty sure he picked the ugliest one on purpose,” he lightly complained.

He didn’t miss the way all their eyebrows went up at his statement. It was Mona who finally asked the question he knew they were all wondering, however, though it was Zuri who led him back to his own bunk.

“What did he do to you?”

Steve sighed, collapsing on the bottom bunk and leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the faces of his girls. It was obvious that, while they had been settled in for the night judging by the pajamas they were wearing and Zuri’s bonnet, they had been waiting anxiously for news of Steve, even though it had been likely he wouldn’t be back that night at all.

“Nothing,” he said honestly, before giving a small shrug. “At least nothing sexual, not really. We…talked.” He couldn’t tell them about what exactly, at least not everything. Not about the part of knowing him still. “He wanted to know what I knew about Porzio’s business.”

“He had Miss Vee all naked in his room and he didn’t cop a feel?” Fen asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the frame of the bunk bed. She quirked her brow in disbelief. “He doesn’t have a limp dick does he?”

All the girls shuddered at that, knowing what men who couldn’t get it up tended to do to them.

Steve burst out in a laugh. “No!” He paused, frowning a little as he considered that. “At least…I don’t think so.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t really been given the opportunity to check. Even when Munson was pressed against him earlier, it had been his hip, not his dick, covering his ass.

Huffing another sigh, Steve sat up fully again and finally reached up to begin undoing the collar around his neck. It was fucking uncomfortable to sleep in, and if he wasn’t entertaining their master, then he was going to take it the fuck off. It would also give the growing bruise a moment of relief as well.

“He just wanted to know what I knew, what I had overheard,” he murmured, rolling his eyes at Janice’s look as she took in the growing bruise at his neck. “I…pissed him off a couple times, but beyond a few hits, he didn’t really do much to me. I think he’s more interested in what I know. For now, at least.”

He caught Isabel’s gaze, the way she worried her bottom lip as she looked at him. She was still so young, barely out of her teenage years. Porzio was her first master, snatched outside her job where she bagged groceries after school before being broken and trained and sold to the highest bidder. She was far too sweet for this life.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, hoping to reassure her and the others. “I’m here aren’t I? A couple new bruises aren’t anything new. He didn’t even hit me with his rings. He just wanted to talk.” He just hoped he hadn’t cost them breakfast. They hadn’t really eaten all day and he knew they’d need their strength.

“Besides,” he grinned. “I got to taste some of Porzio’s good shit. M-Master Kas didn’t even punish me for spilling it,” he said, hoping his smile didn’t waver at the near slipup of Munson’s name. He pointedly didn’t look at Janice. “He just got me a wet cloth to clean up and had me cover up in this.” He plucked at the dressing down as he tossed the collar on the shared beside table.

“Huh. And we are certain he’s a poof too, right?” Zuri teased. “Because having your ass right there and not taking advantage of it?”

Steve shot her a glare without heat. “Trust me, he’s some kind of queer. He just…” Steve could only shrug again. Why hadn’t Munson taken advantage of him? Even straight guys had used his services before when they were offered.

A mouth was a mouth and an ass was an ass, after all, especially in the dark. It helped with his hair being longer, and being forced to wear the clothes that he did.

“I think he was focused on learning what I know. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll have me ass up soon enough.”

Fen let out a throaty laugh, moving to climb into her top bunk over Zuri’s. “Should draw a smiley face with your moles on your ass cheek for when he does,” she teased across the aisle at him.

“I’m going to smother you one of these days,” he flatly replied. His lip twitched when she cackled and slid under her covers though, grateful to her that she was still trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. He much preferred that over everyone fussing over him.

“Smother me with your thighs, darling,” Fen purred, waving a dismissive hand his way.

“And what a way to go,” Selena laughed. “I call dibs on second to die via Vee’s thighs.” She followed Fen’s lead, dragging Isabel back towards their own bunk next to Steve’s and Janice’s, which encouraged the rest to move as well. Steve was thankful for it.

“You would be so lucky,” Steve huffed, but he was feeling better at his girls’ antics. He had somehow survived his night with Munson with barely any injury to show for it. Sure, his throat still felt sore and he had a couple new aches, but those were minimal things compared to what could have happened.

Slowly but surely, everyone settled in for the night, bedside lamps switched off and whispered goodnights given. Isabel still quietly prayed each night, a soft susurration that Steve had grown used to beside him, though he wondered how much longer until even she stopped believing in something greater out there.

They had all held beliefs of being rescued one of these days, at least at the start. Everyone had hope at first. Steve wondered if his parents even knew he was missing. Wondered if they would even care, or if they would rather believe that this was some sort of divine punishment for his deviancy.

Steve rolled over onto his side, facing the opposite way from Isabel. His fingers found the bruise growing on his other wrist, his thumb trailing over the inked brand there.

He stared into the dark, his mind on his new master who was perhaps as much of an enigma to Steve as Steve was to him. His fingers tightened where Munson’s had been, the ache filling him, and in the shroud of secretive darkness, he finally let his tears fall.

~

I’m considering making a little character piece for Steve’s Girls, little descriptions and basic info that might not make it into the fic. Let me know if anyone is interested in that, or if you would rather it only being revealed in the fic itself.

My permanent list is currently open, so please let me know if you would like to added. Or removed, or merely removed from this fic’s notifications. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

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