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amazingmaeve · 2 years ago

Text

FINDING COMFORT

queen maeve x fem!reader

summary — after maeve was ruthlessly outed by homelander vought had the bright idea to make one of the first sapphic superhero couple. that’s where you come in, and since you’ve been out vought has used you for profit so it’s not much of a surprise, what surprises you is the feelings that grow between you and maeve.

warnings — smut, oral (r receiving ), scissoring, some, bits of angst, fluff, and vought and Homelander just being really annoying

word count — 6,240 words

authors note — im so excited for this I’ve been wanting to write for her since I first started watching and finally I got to its. anyways I hope you enjoy this and happy reading. gif credits. also got some inspiration from @venus-haze fic kick it out so if you hadn’t read that please of because it’s amazing!

queen maeve masterlist | the boys masterlist

“Are you fucking crazy,” Maeve snapped as she stood in front of Ashley with her arms across her chest. Her face hardened as soon as Ashley said those stupid words. Maeve could feel the blood inside her start to boil and she had to refuse to punch her in the face.

“I’m sorry this is just what The Seven needs their first lesbian-,” Ashley began to say.

“Bisexual,” Maeve interrupted with a glare in her eyes.

“Bisexual superhero in The Seven and in a relationship with another woman. The world will love this, it will bring a whole new meaning to girl power,” Ashley ranted as her face was filled with excitement.

“I’m sorry I’ve done this shit already with Homelander why would I want to do this again,” Maeve questioned as the word ‘Homelander’ came out her mouth, er stomach was burning with vile and chest filled of vitriol towards the man who thinks he’s the best thing to ever be conceived.

“This will be different, this girl isn’t like Homelander, she’s actually not murderous and she won’t cause as much drama as him,” Ashley defended the idea she came up with.

Maeve sighed as she stood in Ashley's office, she didn’t know what to do, she hasn’t been with a girl since Elena, and yeah she’s had lots of sex with guys but girls are different. She had such a strong bond with Elena and she didn’t know if she could do it over again with this girl Ashley was talking about.

Not to mention that Homelander is a jealous prick even though Maeve and him aren’t together, he’ll cause her life a living hell and this girl as well. Maeve didn’t know if she could bring this random superhero into this already heated up drama.

“You know what Homelander is like,” Maeve muttered knowing that he could be listening at any moment and barge through the door. “You know what he might do to this girl and you want to bring her into this,” She questions.

“Trust me he won’t do anything,” Ashley reassured Maeve. “And plus I think this girl can handle her own,” She says.

“Who is the girl anyway,” Maeve asked, as she was piqued with curiosity. There weren’t many openly gay superheroes and she doesn’t have enough willpower to recognize all of them or she just wasn’t interested.

“Oh it’s The Traveler,” Ashley whispered and Maeve nodded. She’s heard of you, of course, you were one of the few lesbian superpowers. She knows that you can travel between time and make portals to travel place to place.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and Maeve's head snapped towards the direction and Ashley said, “Come in,” and you came through the door.

You walked through the door and Maeve couldn’t deny that you were a beautiful woman. You were dressed in your superhero costume, a black skirt and a black leotard for a top and leather jacket to cover it. There were purple gems glittering all over your outfit and the end of the outfit was topped with some black boots.

“Can you hurry up Ashley I don’t have all fucking day,” You snap as come to walk next to Maeve without even giving her a glance.

“I know you probably heard that Queen Maeve here is now part of the LGBTQ+ community and we wanted to make something good out of it,” Ashley told you and you rolled your eyes.

You had great sympathy for Maeve as she was outed on public’s television at the hands of Homelander and if you were in her position you would have never worked with a man as vile as he is. But you understood that getting out of the Seven and getting out of Homelanders sight is a hard thing to do.

Plus she wasn’t hard on the eyes.

“You mean you want to capitalize on her sexuality,” You say, letting your arms fall to your sides. It wasn’t surprising since it was what they do to you all the time. Having you do commercials for Vought as one of the lesbian superheroes. It was especially hard during pride month where they used you for monetary gain, having you speak at conventions and on talk shows about how you were so proud of your sexuailtiy and you were but you hated how they took advantage of you. But hey at least they pay you graciously.

Maeve looked at you covering her surprised face with her usual hard shell. You were right, they were just going to use her and bleed her dry until she was just a shell of her old self, as if she wasn’t already.

“You know that’s what I mean,” Ashley defended herself and you let out a huff when she said those words.

“Do we even have a choice,” Maeve questioned and you nodded alongside her. You were curious if you could even say no to Vought.

“Yes of course you do,” Ashley says.

“I guess I‘ll do it,” You muttered looking at the ground at your boot-covered feet.

“Maeve,” Ashley questioned, her tone dropped to a more serious tone.

“Whatever,” Maeve responded in her bitter tone and you understood it all too well. You were just like her when you came out and Vought used you, and plus she was a part of the Seven, she’d be more valuable and by proxy more profitable.

“Then it’s settled we’ll have the both of you post something to your social media about how you two were in a secret relationship and decided to be out as a couple in the public,” Ashely says, her eyes back on the iPad she had and her tone more happier.

Maeve rolled her eyes at the ‘decided to be out as a couple in the public’. Homelander outed her on fucking live television there was option as coming out but she swallowed her words as she always did with Vought. She didn’t like it but it was something she was used to and something she was starting to hate more and more.

You on the other hand were looking at her with sympathy, being outed sucks and you knew this. When you were younger your friends decided to out you as lesbian so you understood to an extent. She was outed on live television where most people watched and now everyone knew.

Letting out a sigh you look at the ceiling getting ready for the shit storm Vought was about to do and how they were going to get money out of it.

It’s been a few weeks since the ‘relationship’ between you and Maeve went public and least to say people loved it. Not the conservatives and the bigots who thought that the LGBTQ commiunity is infecting the youth. But you and Maeve were the number one trending Supe ship.

After the social media post went up the two of you went on talk shows and talked about how you were excited to finally be out and proud.

Obviously not meaning any of the words either of you said. It was just Vought scripts that were as lifeless as a corpse. Nor you or Maeve didn’t believe any of the shit Vought told you to say because you two weren’t in love. At least not yet.

The two of you got along well and you could tell that Maeve was closed off to you and you weren’t mad, you were closed off as well. But when you two did speak it was only for a few moments and it tended to be more awkward than anything, but you had a mutual respect for each other and that was all that you needed.

Maeve on the other hand didn’t want to get you hurt, you seemed like a nice person and you didn’t deserve the wrath that Homelander held, her on the other she felt like she deserved. You didn’t. So if she kept her distance with you unless the two of you were expected to show up somewhere or public dates the two of you go on.

To be completely honest Maeve was starting to like you, you were cute, you made jokes that made her stifle a laugh and that was more of a reason to distance herself. She couldn't get you involved her fucked up mess. She didn’t know if you liked her but you liked her enough to make small talk and to seek her out and ask her about her day. Even if you didn't, she needed to do what was right.

She couldn’t do that to you even though she was finding herself more and more into it, the more she found out the more she was interested. The more she was in this ‘relationship’ was way more comforting than the one she had with Homelander and deep down she was loving every second she had with you. But she would get a happy ending with you or with anyone.

The two of you enter an elevator after a long day of work, going out and stopping criminals and least to say the both of you were tired.

“God this day was really tiring,” You mutter leaning against the wall of the elevator.

“You can say that twice,” Maeve muttered, crossing her arms across her chest looking down at the elevator floor.

“Is it getting any better,” You blurted out the question that you've been wanting to ask her but didn’t want to be too intrusive.

“Is what getting any better,” Maeve questions even though she knew what you were talking about.

“Believe it or not I know how you feel with the whole outing situation but I can’t imagine what you’re going through, especially since Homelander did that to you. But all I know is after I was outed it took me a while to get comfortable in my own skin,” You say and Maeve does her best not to react to his name being brought up. She sure as hell knows that he’s probably listening so she’s going to have to be herself.

“Things are….. better,” Maeve says with uncertainty in her tone and you gave her a look of pity knowing that she was lying.

She had her walls built up higher than you can ever imagine and you wanted to help her break those walls down, so that she could look at herself and see what you see. A beautiful strong woman. You felt your heart start to race as it usually did when you were alone with her.

“Hey,” You say, approaching her and putting your hand on her upper arm and she tenses as you do so but she’s not willing to admit that your touch caused some sparks to go up her spine. “Just so you know if you need anything from me, or just to talk I’m always here for you, just because Vought is making us do this doesn’t mean I don’t care and talking about it really does help. So just remember that, any time of the day you need something, don't be afraid to knock on my door,” You say with a soft tone that almost made her melt, that almost made her just say screw it and kiss you but she held back.

“Thanks, right back at you,” Maeve says and you give her a soft smile before removing your hand.

“I’m gonna need to take something before I go and see Ashely because she is getting on my fucking nerves,” You say to break the tension.

“Trust me you’re gonna need a lot more of anything you have,” Maeve snorts and you let out a small giggle.

“I know and I’m hoping that she’s either too tired to talk too much or just is gone at her home because I can’t wait to go home and finally get some rest,” You say, resting your head against the hard wall.

“Or maybe she’s just getting fucked and even then she might be even grouchier,” Maeve blurts out.

“Maybe, just maybe she finds the love of her life and decides to just quit but hey dreamers can dream,” You shrug your shoulders with a slight eye roll.

“Cheers to that,” Maeve gives you a nod.

The elevator finally reaches level 99 and the two of you walk out and prepare to go your separate ways, no matter how much the two of you want to stay and talk the night away.

“See you tomorrow,” You give her a wave before heading to Ashley's office, getting ready for everything she has to say to you.

“Bye,” Maeve gives you an awkward wave as you turn around and she curses herself and shakes her head.

God she was so awkward with this, with someone she actually liked, not guys she brought up her to just fuck and to get her mind off everything. You were different and she was using all of herself to not just say screw it and try it with you. Because he would always be there and taunting her.

“See you two are getting along,” Homelander says walking up to stand next to Maeve.

Speak of the fucking devil.

“What do you want,” Maeve questioned, her hands turning into fists beside her. She did not want to deal with him right now, she didn’t want to deal with his condescending tone and him just bothering her when she didn’t want it.

“What I can’t see if my teammate is doing well in her relationship,” Homelander says feigning hurt and Maeve rolled her eyes at that. He didn’t feel hurt, he was just upset that he didn’t have her anymore.

“Why the fuck do you care, you and I both know that you’re not hurt by that, you were the who practically had it happen,” Maeve commented, telling the truth. If he didn’t out her, she wouldn’t be in this relationship with you, hell she might not even know who the fuck you are.

“That is true but is it so hard to believe that I hope you two are happy, that you guys happen to be just like the two of us. Starting out fake and ending up in a real relationship,” Homelander says putting his hands behind his back and Maeve had to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t tell him how much she fucking despised him.

“Just leave her the fuck alone please,” Maeve says her tone with an underlining of fear. Fear for you.

“Why would you think I want to hurt her? If anything I might thank her for making you happy, and who knows we all might be friends in the end if things work out right,” Homelander calmly says and Maeve could hear the subtle threat. Even if he wasn’t outright threatening you, she knew something would happen to you if she didn’t do something to protect you. Staying away was out of the question. She needed to make sure you were okay.

“Plus, you seem really comfortable with her, especially with that talk you guys just had,” Homelander says with a grin. Maeve could swear she felt her heart stop but she kept a straight face. “Hopefully she knows what she's in for when she signed up for this, literally,” He chuckles.

“Whatever, can you please just leave me alone,” Maeve snapped and Homelander gave her a shocked and surprised look.

“You know you might want to keep your eye on her, I mean who knows what could happen to her, especially at night,” Homelander says with a cryptic tone as his shoulders tense before he leaves.

Once Maeve made it to her penthouse she finally let out a breath of air that she’s been holding. She knew that he wouldn’t out right kill you right now, so she had some time to get a game plan. She had to protect you. No matter what it took.

Taking a swig of her whiskey she took a seat on her couch as her shoulders slouched with tiredness and stress. Besides everything she couldn’t wait to see you, no matter when.

It’s been a few days since that day in the elevator, but you don’t know what’s changed in Maeve. She’s been more into talking to you and you can’t say you’re upset. She’s been more of a comfort, and you loved that.

But she’s been flirting with you at least more outwardly.

You can’t lie when you say that you've been loving it. Ever since this relationship started a few weeks ago you’ve been trying to talk to her and now she’s actually talking to you. Whatever changed in her you loved it.

She’s also been very sad whenever you have to leave, whether it was to go to work somewhere else or go home. She always looked a bit upset and you didn’t know why, it couldn’t be she’d miss your presence. At least you didn’t think so.

But you've always reassured her that you’d be back whether it's the next day or a few hours from then. She seemed to like the reassurance you gave her and you’ve been using that so she doesn’t get so sad, upset, or hurt when you leave. It sometimes left you up at night wondering if she was just lonely or she acutely did like you.

On the other side of the fence Maeve has been keeping her eye on you after Homelander not so subtly threatened you. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy flirting with you. Even though it’s been a while since she has flirted, you seemed to enjoy whatever line she threw your way based on the shy smile you’d give her, or the tiny laugh.

Even though she enjoyed flirting, she’s been getting more and more clingy due to Homelanders eye now being on you. Asking you if you were going to be okay, or when you’re going to be back and you’ve always reassured her that you would be back and you were fine.

It helped but it didn’t help the thought that you may be dead the next day and when you walked in the room with your signature smile she felt herself relax. What usually helped her get through the night is alcohol but she hated drinking that shit even though it helped her clear her head.

On this particular night, Maeve sat down on her couch trying to just watch tv but her thoughts kept coming back to you. If you were okay and if you were, what were you doing? It was only 11 at night so you wouldn’t be doing much and she hasn’t had any alcohol today. So nothing stopped her when she stripped herself out of her costume and into some jeans and a flannel t-shirt.

Looking in the mirror she cringed a little, it’s been a while since she’s been in casual clothes.

Putting her hair into a ponytail and then she shook it out trying to figure out what to do with it. She decided to just leave it down and put some sunglasses on to make sure no one recognized it was her, people were probably already asleep or in their homes so hopefully they didn’t recognize her.

Walking out of the Vought tower she looked around to make sure no one knew her or even worse, if Homelander was following her. He’s been in and out of it recently so she hoped he set his eyes on something else.

She walked in the direction of the Vought owned apartment building where you lived. You told her where you lived, if she needed to see you or if she just wanted to talk.

In this particular moment she just needed some comfort, whether it be talking or just being in the same room as you. Anything would do, if she were there, she would be able to make sure to keep you safe. At least try.

Standing in front of the door she raised her hesitantly and stopped trying to control her racing heart, but she took a deep breath as she knocked on the door and took a step back waiting for you to answer it and took her sunglasses off as well.

No going back now.

At first she was worried that you weren’t there, or worse that you were just dead because you weren’t answering the door but she felt her shoulders drop as soon as she heard you walking to the door.

Once you opened you were surprised to see Maeve standing there, especially in casual clothes since you’ve never seen her in anything else. But you saw her give you an awkward smile and you licked your lips before deciding to say something.

“Maeve what’s wrong,” You question, clearing your throat moving out of the way so she could come into the apartment. Luckily you were still awake because you were about to go to sleep, she probably knew due to you wearing sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you, I just wanted to come over since you always said I could if I needed to,” Maeve awkwardly rambled as she entered the room and you closed the door behind her.

“Don’t worry I wasn’t asleep yet, I was about to but you got here just in time,” You reassured her standing in front of her.

“I just needed to talk to you, or to just be here next to you,” She says while shaking her head as she feels her body finally relax. You were safe.

“Oh well, I’m glad you did, I did say you were welcome here anytime,” You give her a cheeky smile making your way into the kitchen. “Want some water, or any other beverage,” You questioned.

“Water is okay,” Maeve answers, scratching the back of her head as she makes her way to sit on your couch. Your apartment was very homey, nothing like the lifelessness of her penthouse back at the tower. This place made her feel safe, like she could just live here with you.

“Okay here you go,” You say, giving her the glass of water before sitting down on the couch next to her leaning against the cushion and facing your body so that you were looking at her. “Since you are here, do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you or do you want to just watch tv, that’d be fine as well,” You question not wanting to feel too pushy.

“Let’s just talk,” Maeve softly replies before turning her body to look at you as well. It was pretty dark but not dark enough to see that Maeve looked really happy and that made you feel good.

“What do you suggest,” You ask, contorting your body so that one leg was under you.

“Uh what do you do besides being a superhero that works with Vought, or is this your full time job like me,” She asks.

“Well I do like to volunteer on my own time, without any cameras to talk to kids in children's hospitals, I just feel like Vought would just use that to monetize it so I just kept it to my spare time,” You answer looking down at your lap.

“Wow, so you're just a real superhero,” Maeve says, looking at you with adoration. She always wanted to be a hero and when she started, she felt like it, she really wanted to help people but Vought ruined it like they always do and soon she was just another person they could get money from.

“Well so are you, I mean you’re Queen Maeve for fucking sake, you make a difference even if you weren’t out in the front line,” You chuckle.

“I don’t think I do,” Maeve answers with a tiny cringe. She wishes that she was everything you said about her but she wasn’t and that just made her heart almost stop.

“Come on, you’re an inspiration to little girls all around the world and now you’re probably helping a lot of kids come to terms with their sexuality and trust me I wish I had someone like you to look up to when I was growing up,” You say, your tone full of happiness.

“I don’t see it,” Maeve laughs, taking a swig of her water.

“I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” You muse looking at her with such warmth that would make her feel like the only person in the world. You put your hand on her arm giving a smile caress.

“Vought just fucking sucks,” Maeve remarked and you give her small nod.

“That is true, I mean I’m only doing it for the money now,” You say with contempt. “It’s just another greedy corporation that doesn’t care about anything they say it does.”

“It just feels like I’m projecting this persona and no one knows the real me, with all the fucking scripts and talk show interviews, its just fucking tiring,” Maeve sighs, resting one of her hands on your knee just taking in the comfort you’re offering her. “It’s just one thing after another they want you to do and it’s never enough.”

“That’s true nothing will ever be enough for fucking greedy companies like Vought, but you knows what helps me,” You say leaning in a bit.

“What,” Maeve questions, using her thumb to rub figure eights on your knee as she unconsciously starts to move it a little higher.

“Knowing that someone out there, no matter who they are, and they need inspiration and we can give them that, even if it’s just to stand up to their fucking boss or kick a guy in his balls if he can’t take fucking no for an answer. People who just look up to us and know that we make that difference, I know it sounds kind of stupid but it really does help me sleep better at night,” You say knowing the stories your fans have told you, about how much you helped them.

Meanwhile Maeves had started to give your leg some goosebumps. You were already a bit hot and bothered due to her just being her and now she was teasing you.

“That makes sense, I just wish I could look through those lenses,” Maeve lets out a tiny giggle.

“I hoped that helped you though, because I totally see where you’re coming from,” You say with a bit of worry.

“Don’t worry you totally helped me, you just being here and listening to me helped me,” Maeve reassured you, giving her hand a squeeze on your thigh, she moved a bit closer to you as you felt your heart start to race a bit. “Can I uh try something,” She asked with a laugh.

“Of course, anything,” You say with a swallow.

Maeve leaned in closer til she pressed her lips to yours and you put your hand on her cheek and moved your lips along hers. It’s been a while since you’ve even liked someone so kissing someone felt like eons ago.

But it felt good kissing her and her hand lightly caressing your thigh as she kissed you hard and slipped her tongue in your mouth after you lost the battle of dominance. You moaned into her mouth as she started to trail kisses down your neck and started to suck a bruise on your clavicle.

You moaned as you felt yourself get wetter and wetter by the second and the only sound you could hear in the apartment was her heavy breathing and your moans.

“Where’s your room,” Maeve muttered the question as she started to trail kisses up your neck and right below your ear and started to make another hickey right there.

“Uh,” You began to say but moaned when she found your sweet spot on your neck. “It’s straight down the hall,” You say as you clear your throat.

Maeve then surprised you with your strength (which you shouldn’t be really surprised) and picked you up so your legs were wrapped around her waist as the two of you kept kissing as she made her way to your room. Her hand was on your ass and started to gently squeeze, making you moan into her mouth again.

She finally got your door open and walked to your bed and gently put you on the bed but not leaving you alone for a while as she made her way on top of you and started to kiss you again.

Your hands found their way into her long red hair as she ran her hands up and down your thighs which made you sigh into her mouth as her tongue started to explore what felt like every inch of your mouth. You started to grind up into her hips trying to get some friction you most desperately needed even though you were still in the confines of your shorts.

Making her way down your neck she started to pepper kisses along your chest and got frustrated when your shirt got in the way. She moved her hands to the hem of your shirt and you leaned up a little so she could pull it off you. She gave your chest a look of adoration before she started to trail kisses and started to leave hickeys along your chest.

You were letting out little whines and whimpers due to the fact that you felt like your pussy was getting more and more wet each time she kissed your body.

Her mouth finally made its way to your nipple and wrapped her plump lips around the tiny bud that was already hard due to it being a bit chilly. You moaned and arched your back a bit when she began to suck your nipple and you started to grind harder and harder against her own hips.

Moving away Maeve unbuttoned her own shirt and threw it to the side to where your shirt laid. You didn’t even have a little time to stare at her chest before she started to kiss down your stomach and around your belly button and started to toy with the strings of your shorts.

“Please,” You moaned as her hands moved down to your upper thighs and squeezed a bit harder but it definitely didn’t hurt you.

“Please what,” Maeve said with a cheeky tone that almost made you explode into pieces.

“Just touch me please,” You begged, jutting your hips up trying to get more friction on your pussy as you felt yourself get more and more wet if that was even possible.

Her hands made their way to your hips and pressed them down to the bed so you couldn’t move your hips and you let out a whine at that. You felt like you were about to burst into pieces.

“Just relax and have some patience sweetheart,” Maeve said with a sultry tone that made you whimper.

You nodded and decided to relax against the pillow which made Maeve give you a little smile. She moved back to your lower stomach and returned to kissing your body and you closed your eyes and let out tiny moans whenever she decided to give you a little nip.

Once she decided she was done with teasing you which felt like an eternity, she pulled down the shorts and let out a little laugh when she saw that you weren’t wearing any panties. While you moaned as the cool air came into contact with your wet pussy.

“God you are so fucking hot,” Maeve cursed as she moved down little and started to tease your inner thighs and decided to resume her kissing as she slowly made her way up.

You moaned as she sucked another hickey right above your aching clit that was throbbing. Her hands were still on your hips so that you could grind your hips up and that level of strength she held made your insides heat up. She chuckled against your skin as she felt you try to but she didn’t let up.

Once she did decide to take mercy upon you and press a gentle kiss to your kiss, you let out a tiny moan due to the sensitivity. She dragged her tongue along your wet folds, that made you moan and squeeze the blanket that you were laying on and your hand turned into fist.

Her tongue started doing wonders as she ran it up and down your folds multiple times and went up to your clit and your hips stuttered a bit when she wrapped her lips around your clit and started to softly suck on the soft nub.

“Maeve,” You moaned louder this time, that your neighbors might hear you.

Meanwhile Maeve had her thoughts clear of Homelander once you started moaning and she already adored the way she could make you melt with a couple kisses and touches.

Due to her teasing you, you could already feel your organsm rising and you would feel a bit embarrassed but Maeve seemed to know and started to suck harder and her mouth left your clit once which made you whine a bit but was quickly reassured when she ran her tongue up your folds and sucked your clit harder this time. She ran her tongue all around the little nub that she could feel throbbing.

“Maeve, I’m about too-,” You say your voice a little high pitched.

Maeve gave your hips a squeeze and nodded her head in reassurance without removing her lips from the tender muscle. So you just let your body do your thing and you let out strings of moans and yelps as Maeve started to suck faster and harder and with another single suck you let out a loud moan as you came all over her tongue.

Even though you felt like you blacked out, you could feel Maeve dip her tongue into your folds, deciding to clean up your release and moaning at the taste of you. You winced at the overstimulation and put your hand on her arm tugging her back up and luckily she did.

You could taste yourself on her mouth as she started to kiss you again and your hands started to move to her hips wanting to return the favor.

“Come on, take your pants off and let me help you,” You mutter against her lips, which makes her moan into your mouth. She nodded against your lips.

Once she got her pants and panties off and she returned to kissing you, your hands made their way to her hips again and started to move around to her thighs. But deciding that she still wanted to be in control she moved her hands to yours and put them to the sides and gave them a squeeze which made you moan into her mouth.

“I just want to help you like you helped me,” You whimper against her lips.

“I know but just trust me with this,” Maeve muttered moving her lips from yours.

The next thing you knew you felt her grinding her pussy on top of yours and her clit dragging across yours. You moaned but that was quieted once she decided to stick her tongue down your throat again.

You weren’t complaining.

Her grinding didn’t stop or show any hesitance as she felt her own release start to rise. Her clit throbbed against yours as she felt the knot in her stomach start to tighten even more. And due to the fact that she’s been wet ever since she kissed you it didn’t even take one more thrust before she came against your pussy with a strained moan of your name.

You smiled against her lips and kissed her neck and shoulder as she came down from her own release.

Once she felt legs stop shaking Maeve pulled the blankets over both of your nude bodies and wrapped her arms around and rested her head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Feel better,” You quested drawing random things on the arm that was wrapped around your waist. You felt her chuckle against your neck and pepper a few kisses below your ear.

“Feel amazing,” Maeve whispered in your ear which made you let out an airy giggle.

“Well I’m glad I could help,” You laugh as you put your hand on top of hers.

“You definitely did more than help,” Maeve says as her eyes look over your nude form. Even though she couldn’t see much she saw something that made her let out a giggle.

“What are you laughing at,” You smile, twisting your body a bit so you could get a better look at her. But you had to admit a smile looked amazing on her.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Maeve says between little laughs.

“For what and you don’t seem sorry for whatever it is,” You laugh along with her.

“I just wanted to say sorry for the bruises,” Maeve sheepishly says and you look down to your hips and you could feel yourself already get more wet by looking at them.

“No need to say sorry, It’s kinda hot,” You say with a smirk.

“You dirty dog,” Maeve laughs, resting her head on the pillow.

“Says you,” You laugh and for what feels like ages you finally feel happy.

#queen maeve x reader #queen maeve x you #queen maeve x oc #queen maeve #queen maeve smut #queen maeve headcannon #queen maeve gif #queen maeve oneshot #queen maeve gifs #the boys x reader #the boys x oc #the boys x y/n #the boys x you #the boys smut #the boys headcanons #the boys imagine #the boys oneshot #the boys

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steddieunderdogfics · 3 months ago

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12/13 - fics you reread

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55712731

It's not like I'm in love with you by valosomwrites

@valinwonderland

Rating: Mature

6,054 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Bisexual Eddie Munson, You can read Steve as whatever, Jealousy, Going on a blind double date with your crush, But you're not their date, The stuff of nightmares, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Getting Together, No beta we die like Barb, Misunderstandings, but not really, POV Eddie Munson, idiots to lovers, idiot4idiot, Song: Not Like I'm In Love With You (Lauren Weintraub)

Summary:

In the months after Vecna, Eddie had all kinds of nightmares. But this one? This one takes the cake. He spent the last five days agonizing about whether his dinner-and-a-movie plans with Steve on Saturday night are supposed to be a date or not. He knew better than to get his hopes up, though there is a part of him that really wishes this could be the exception, not the rule. So when Steve picks him up at his door with a shy smile, and ogles him as he puts his leather jacket on, he's almost almost certain he is about to get everything he wants. He can almost feel it. “Ready, Munson?” He nods, not wanting his voice to shake. “Come on, dude! The girls are waiting.” If there was ever a record-scratch moment in Eddie’s life, that was it. The what now?!

His prospect of a date with Steve turns into his worst nightmare: a double date with two girls he’s never seen before. But Eddie is no stranger to turning the sourest of lemons into lemonade.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of our Birthday Celebration Challenge Week! The challenge for today was FICS YOU'VE REREAD.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddieunderdogfics #challenge #steddieunderdogfics birthday celebration #rated m #jealousy #getting together #idiots to lovers

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tactical-jellyfish · 3 months ago

Text

For Joanna (pt. 1/3)

Warnings: Mild injury to reader (they are stupid an thwacked themself with a tool or fell or something)+ Nikolai is a depressed bisexual man.

There are a lot of things Nikolai knows that he can never hope to understand.

One of them is how many truly brilliant individuals lie unknown, being that single guy at the end of an "I know a guy" trail that's always way harder to follow than it sounds.

Price had said he knew some other tech who knew someone who was nothing short of a genius with a toolkit. Nikolai had never met them, but when Price showed him a gun that this mystery person had worked on, the Russian was sold, no contest.

So, now he stands before an only slightly rusted hangar space, cloaked by the depth of night and shielded from the chill by his leather jacket. It's small, for aircraft, but it will definitely fit his Joanne. He knocks hard on the shutter, and hears an almost girlishly loud yelp over the buzz of tools that sounds out despite the stupid late hour.

In a minute or two, the shutter opens, to reveal a very much upset person behind it.

They're wearing a thick shirt, probably flame retardant considering a welding torch was in their hand, turned off only recently.

"You better have a good reason for fucking up my last electrode and my gas shield, you little-"

"Привет."

Seemingly, they had not planned on Nikolai being there, because they quiet almost immediately, and swallow.

"I don't know you."

Nikolai fights back a small chuckle at how flat your voice is, just noting a fact right after being seemingly ready to tear his throat out and throw it in his face.

"Correct, you do not know me."

You seem to pull back a little bit at his voice, eyes opening just a bit more before your face hardens again, steeled even under his piercing eyes, catching the light of the moon.

"You're... very Russian."

This time, Nikolai does chuckle, but your brows pinch together, and you snip back at him.

"You heard of me from a man named Johnathan Price, didn't you?"

That makes Nikolai freeze in place, some mix of confusion, anger, and... a sort of fear in his eyes. Price had referenced you to him once, two and a half years ago, said he'd had a short conversation with you, nothing crazy.

And now, you stood before a man you didn't know, correctly identified why he was here, and knew exactly how he found out about you.

Seemingly, his pause brings you some sort of satisfaction, and you give a chuckle. It's a sharp, almost mean sound, like a cat batting a bloody mouse around in its paws, sinking its claws into flesh.

"Bring me my project in a week. Saturday, no later than 8 pm, or you're moving to the back of the line. Check only, don't bring cash."

Nikolai feels something bubble in his guts. It's hot, but not like anger, it doesn't twist and pull like lust, but it's close to both. His throat feels like it's been shrouded with drought.

He swallows, and you seem satisfied enough with yourself to let the shutter fall closed again, and Nikolai hears a lock click.

God, what is he getting himself into?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This client was... odd.

Even weeks into the repair process, even after acknowledging that he thought you were good at what you did, Nikolai hung in the corners of your hangar, always in a radius of Joanna, like it hurt him to be parted from the dinged-up thing for more than five fucking seconds.

A Pave Low, which you knew wasn't cutting edge anymore, named Joanna. And it's not uncommon to name a plane, or, in this case, a helicopter, but... it feels different, here, solemn. But that story isn't your job, fixing the little shit is. So that's what you'll do.

Your drill is whining under the force it takes to screw in yet another loose panel, but Nikolai remains in his spot, unmoving.

It's starting to annoy you, enough that you lose your focus for a critical moment, you don't pull away the drill fast enough.

Right as you turn to cuss at him, maybe just kick him out of your shop altogether, the screws holding the panel steady snap under the force of being bent, and your drill gives out, sending half of the thing flying toward you.

Your eyes widen, and a portal to hell seemingly opens in your throat as you fall backward, hand stinging and ground fast approaching.

"FUCK!"

Nikolai lets out a matching noise (much deeper, of course, and somehow still accented), and rushes forward.

He isn't fast enough.

It wasn't a long fall, but the air is knocked out of you anyway, leaving you panting and teary-eyed as you desperately try to coax air back into your lungs.

Your hand is at a, frankly, terrible angle, and as Nikolai stand over you, you try to move more.

Biiiiiiiiig mistake.

It's sprained, badly, but not broken. After your entire career up to now, you've (majorly) injured yourself at work with your least favorite client rushing to try and make sure you're not fucking dead.

"ты в порядке?? Are you dead??"

You choke on a sniffle, and cough to clear your tight throat, finally managing a full inhale.

"'M-" When you try to push yourself up onto your hands, you grunt in pain, prompting Nikolai to stoop to a knee before you, set his big hands on your back instead.

"M' fine. Just fuckin' dandy." You finish, despite not at all being dandy. Nikolai knows it from the way you grit out your voice, and you know it because you think you might have a broken tailbone.

It's that night that Nikolai starts forcing himself into your work day.

This first instance, it's... obnoxious, but acceptable, sitting in your spinny chair and letting the big man wrap up your hand, nice and tight, and hold some ice to it.

It's then that you finally get a good look at him. After weeks, yes, you're a little late, but you finally do.

He's... uncomfortably pretty, for a grown-ass man. There's a slight bump in the bridge of his nose, like it's been broken and healed before, thick but short-trimmed, scratchy stubble and neatly-combed-back hair.

It's professional, but almost boyish, antithetical to everything he should be on paper. He's military, or close to it. Russian, and you have never once met someone entirely content who had grown up with such boring, brutalist architecture.

But he still talks your ear off for the rest of the night, sends you home dizzied and confused, with a lot more knowledge on how to wrap up an injury.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After that, you had thought (maybe stupidly) that Nikolai would fuck off a bit, maybe leave you the hell alone while you work on his trash-copter and honor your little "alone space".

He does not. You have decided, in all your wisdom, that this is an act of the highest disrespect because he not only doesn't trust you but distrusts your methods and your work.

So, you work doubly, hard, doubly good, just to get him off your ass for the next few days of repair.

Little do you know, Nikolai stand in that corner for a different reason now. He stand there to admire, to watch you do what he can't, and, to some extent... protect you.

He had been too slow, that day. He had been too slow and you had gotten hurt. Not only had it slowed the progress on this project, but he could still see you wince when you tightened down bolts with your dominant hand, grimace when you moved your wrist too far in any direction.

The final day rolls around faster than either of you think it will. You're excited to never talk to him again. Nikolai wants so dearly to thank you for saving his most prized possession.

It's a shock when you see the Russian bring more than a check and a few choice words as payment.

He's holding a small packet of biscuits, brightly colored, with a little cartoon cow on them, some Russian word you can't read in gold cursive. It looks cheap, but charming, like a childhood snack.

Seemingly, your look of question doesn't deter him, because Nikolai talks before you can question his intentions any further than you already have.

"For you. Because you did such a good job repairing her."

You feel... something odd in your mind open a set of floodgates, and realize that you've been misinterpreting at least three months of interactions.

This is nothing someone would do for someone they disrespected, this was a gift on top of a check that is at least two-hundred dollars more than what you had been asking, and even that price had a little wiggle room for your sake.

This is a present.

You take the biscuits into your hands first, trace the smooth, embossed letters of the packaging with a callused finger.

And, for the first time in a while, you find yourself... thankful.

You look up to Nikolai, see big, warm brown eyes looking back at you.

"Yeah... come back any time you need, alright? My door's open for you."

He nods. Nikolai, that motherfucker, he just nods like he hasn't uprooted every thought you'd had of him and turned it on its head. He smiles, like you didn't hate his guts before this conversation.

But you'll keep this promise anyway.

Nikolai is you best customer, after all, who would you to turn down... a friend? Yeah, a friend.

#nikolai cod #nikolai x reader #theyre both idiots #emotionally unaware reader #yes they are stupid #for a certain silly #you know who you are

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xxfaggatronxx · 10 months ago

Text

Inspired by @yakowo ‘s drawing

Daddy Dom Price x Baby Gay Gaz

Part 2: Gaz

Gaz never thought he was gay. Or bisexual. Or whatever it was called. Sure, he had taken a few peeks in the communal showers on base, but who hadn’t? And as a kid his mom had let him try her makeup, but she was always sweet and kind. The one thing that changed everything was his Captain, John Price.

Maybe it was the way he was so kind and fatherly, a presence Gaz had missed in his life when his father passed at the age of eight. Or it could have been the time Price had given him praise, was patient when he had adjusted to the task force. But, it was probably the time he saved his life.

A mission going sideways, Price flinging himself on top of Gaz to keep him covered from enemy fire, the feeling of the warm weight pressing on his body, the thick thighs straddling his hips, so similar to…. Other experiences his hands had flown up with muscle memory, resting on his Captain’s hips while Prince yelled for backup.

Needless to say, Gaz left that mission with every excuse to keep his lap covered.

But going to a gay bar? That felt like a monumental step. One he felt like should be taken with a couple shots and… maybe a few more for good measure. ‘Liquid Courage’, as Soap called it anyways.

Stepping into the bar…. It felt like any other bar. Gaz hadn’t known what he was expecting; maybe a strip club with skinny, pale men shaking their asses on poles with lots of makeup? Because that certainly wasn’t it. The lights were dim, colors flashing with the smell of sweat, booze, and too many body sprays. Just like the barracks.

He was greeted with the sight of most people… simply relaxing. Some were dancing, sure, but some were curled up on each other’s laps, odd dog-like masks obscured some people’s faces, and there was even a small group of people in dresses, and he had to do a double take when he saw a man with a beard and belly in a skintight dress.

He saw a man with his back towards him, and an odd green cloth in his left pocket. Lots of people had little bandanas in their pockets, actually. He approached the man, and saw people touching him, so it was probably okay, he figured. Gaz hesitantly laid his palm on the man’s lower back, tracing down until he reached their ass, giving it a firm squeeze before stuffing a ten into the back pocket. “…Care for a dance?”

The guy even leaned back into the touch, humming deeply until Gaz felt the leather of his jacket tickle his nose slightly, the rough feel of a beard rubbing against his jaw as the man backed up, pressing his round ass against Gaz’s crotch. Good god, this was *fun*, why hadn’t he done this before?

His hands rested on the strangers hips, pulling him back to grind on him slowly, resting his chin over the man’s shoulder with a soft, shaky sigh. He ran his hands over the man’s front, thumbs dipping between their belt and hips as he heard a familiar chuckle, and a husky, low voice whisper in his ear. “You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?”

Gaz froze, swallowing thickly. “….Captain?” By the way his ‘dance’ partner froze, he realized that he had been recognized too. Price stepped off to the side, eyes wide as he stared at Gaz, as if shocked to be seen like that: leather jacket, leather cap, tight gray jeans and with money stuffed into his pants like… like a stripper.

His boss… his captain was frozen in front of him, and took another step back. Gaz took a step towards Price, reaching out to place a hand on his waist, pulling him closer until their hips were pressed flush. “Wait…. I… can I have my dance still… sir?” Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he felt rough leather under his chin, lifting slightly as he gasped.

That damn crop. Price leaned in, his beard scratching Gaz’s neck, making the younger shudder and his eyes flutter closed. “Please… Sir,” Price returned a smile, pressing a kiss to his neck, and Gaz’s hands slipped to his boss��s waist, holding him with shaky hands. Price chuckled, smelling like leather, tabbaco, and rum. “…You asked so nicely, Kyle… I think you deserve a reward…”

#john price #cod price #captain price #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #price x gaz

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christinesficrecs · 1 year ago

Note

Hell beautiful person! I’m looking for Sterek Fics set in High School where Stiles and Derek are the same age! Always a happy sterek ending, all fluff, angst is okay to as long as they are together at the end. No cheating please! Thank you so much!

High School fics are so fun!! 😍

The Lawn Ranger by Snowjob | 47.8K | Mature

In which Derek is an adolescent werewolf with a penchant for chocolate bunnies, and instead of the dream summer of lazing around the house playing video games and nibbling on his hoarded supply of easter candy his mother makes him get a job.

In which Stiles is a showoff jock with a broken arm and an embarrassing crush who can no longer push the lawn mower around the yard.

When You’re Close I Feel the Sparks by Leslie_Knope | 39.6K

The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles’ poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year.

“We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme by xiaq | 61.8K

“Carry me,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“But I’m injured.”

“You have a rash,” Derek says. “On your arm. Your feet work just fine.”

“Please?”

“No. You weigh almost as much as I do. And you ate a pound of chicken at lunch.”

Kingdom By The Sea by kilaem | 4K

Lydia grabs his arm and pulls him down in the seat next to her. “When the hell did you find time to bag a guy like Hale?”

“We’re friends,” Stiles feels his face heat up, and then the team are running out and Derek sees him and smiles. His blush gets worse.

“Oh really?”

“Our moms were friends, okay? We’ve been in diapers together.”

“I thought you two hated each other.”

What Good Are Rules (If You Can’t Break Them) by wishingonalightningbolt | 9.5K | Explicit

In which Derek and Stiles engage in no-strings-attached sex. It works out about as well as you might imagine.

Option C) Some Bad Guys are Werewolves, but Not All Werewolves are Bad Guys by calrissian18 | 9K

Derek Hale—the Incredible Meat that Thinks—needs a math tutor. Stiles Stilinski needs something that will look better on his college applications than ‘passable D&D Dungeon Master.’

It’s a match made in heaven. Er, right?

Let Me Be Yours by EvanesDust, isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 30.3K

What if Stiles did end up believing one day and he got a soulmark and it... wasn’t Derek’s? What if it was a completely different design? Derek would hate the other person on principle because they would’ve gotten what he wanted.

Hadn’t he earned Stiles? He’d been there for him for years, and they were both such good friends, and had stuck by one another regardless of their differences. He was sitting in a fucking movie theatre to watch a movie he wasn’t at all interested in instead of playing ultimate frisbee with Boyd and some other friends, for fuck’s sake. He loved ultimate frisbee! Much more than superhero movies!

But not more than Stiles.

He couldn’t possibly love anything more than Stiles.

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleepobleep | 10.5K

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

John Hughes Did Not Direct My Life by nascentgalaxies | 48.6K | Explicit

Stiles and Derek are childhood friends who drifted apart. When Stiles joins the lacrosse team against his will, the universe (with a little help from Laura and Lydia) chooses to push them back together.

Chocolate & Pomegranates by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 9.6K

Derek has been an Omega for what feels like centuries. He is constantly hounded by Alphas and Betas who can't control their hormones. He's thankful for Laura defending his honor, but there is one person he's always dreamed of giving himself to.

Too bad Derek is certain Stiles doesn't know he exists.

It’s Always Been You, Dumbass by stilinskisparkles | 11K

“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands.

“We should?”

“Yeah!”

“But… Do you even care about photography?”

“Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”

This Might Be Irony by thepsychicclam | 38.3K | Mature

Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents’ death. But Derek’s in the popular group, he’s a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn’t have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship.

And it all begins with two white boards.

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo | 32.7K

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

But Then What… by Stoney | 24.3K | Explicit

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He’s someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn’t like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn’t attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #high school fics

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sky-neverending · 1 year ago

Note

NERDY PRUDES HEADCANONS GO (specifically Richie)

ok my main Richie headcanon is trans!Richie!!! i’m like a huge fan of ftm Richie idk why, it just makes sense. like. ugh. yesss.

Richie became the mascot around the time he transitioned fully and no one really knew who he was under the mask so when someone saw him they were like oh it’s that nerdy boy and he was like BOY?!?!? anyway trans richie yes

also, not really a headcanon, but i have this fun theory (that i’m writing a fic for) that the school also had whatever spell the Waylon’s put on the house, so Richie could also come back as a ghost demon thing.

richie and max were childhood friends until middle school, when max’s parents learned he was trans and made him drop him.

despite what she says, grace’s first kiss was ruth when they were in middle school. she doesn’t admit it EVER and ruth pretends it never happened bc she doesn’t want grace to get all defensive and hurt her feelings

steph and pete have sat next to each other since the second grade and steph used to steal his pencils as a kid to get his attention, and then would tell him to stop looking at her.

pete has a secret collection of leather jackets in the back of his closet. not to wear, just to look at. for fun.

ruth and pete met during dance class

pete was the first kid to accept richie for who he was and he gave him his old clothes until richie decided to buy his own because he was tired of wearing bow ties. also they bonded over getting bullied for their last names

richie and steph actually get along splendidly and they talk about random internet drama together while pete drinks his hot chocolate and tries to understand what the hell is going on

max is a secret bisexual i don’t make the rules

i think that’s all tbh i came up with most of these on the spot but ermmm i think they are all great and fit well.

trans richie FTW!!!

#sky’s stardust #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #nerdy prudes spoilers #nerdy prudes #nerdy prudes headcanons #npmd headcanoms #richie lipschitz #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #steph lauter #ruth npmd #max jagerman #trans richie lipschitz #team starkid #starkid #starkid npmd #ask box

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little-annie · 5 months ago

Text

Metal Health Will Drive You Mad

Part 2 of Running with the Devil, a Steddie role reversal series

M | 4.3K | Steddie Role Reversal

Tags/CWs | Pre-Relationship, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Past Child Abuse, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Confident Steve Harrington, Confident Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Sexuality Crisis, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Drummer, Steve Harrington is in a Band, And it's Called Pierced Septer, .... I Wonder What That Refers to, .... Casually Looks at Steve's Crotch, Steve Harrington is a Drug Dealer, Steve Harrington Trades Sexual Favours For Tattoos & Piercings, Bonfires, Party, Vomiting, It's Breif & Nondescriptive But It's There, Fanart, Series

Read now on Ao3, and be sure to check out @tinytalkingtina's Part 1 from Eddie POV, Born to Run

Noise isn't a new concept to Steve Harrington. The whirling, clashing, clanging bang of thunderous voices and melodic notes. The emotion and the tenor, the scream that's so loud it feels like it's come from a man's soul.

Boisterous and bruising.

Vicious and violent.

Noise isn't a new concept, but the tune of such reaching his ears is.

It's no longer the trickle of piano keys or the sharp crack of a ruler to his knuckles. Nor the shrill cry of his mother's tears or the heavy handed smack of his father's hand.

Now, it's the voice of Ozzy Osborne, the guitar solo of Kirk Hammett.

Now, it's a life surrounded by a noise that's much lovelier than the dull drone of what he once knew.

Now, life seems a little more vivid.

Switching out one tape for another, Steve pushes back his messy mop of hair and presses play. Sighing with ease as N.I.B by Black Sabbath begins to float through the air, he walks backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he falls with a graceful thud to plaid sheets.

Steve remembers stealing the tape when using his dad's credit card started to feel too dull. The what was once a sense of rebellion and thrill, having faded until the moment that cassette made its way to his jacket pocket.

It's not like he had to steal it; in the Harrington home, money knows no bounds. But what's the fun in that?

Sure, he'd lift his dad's card from the leather confines of the man's wallet on occasion but it was never the same. And when his allowance was cut off due to his plummeting grades, Steve eventually just started feeling pathetic, relying on the money his father had in heaping quantities. It's not like he noticed it was missing in the first place.

Now Steve steals for the thrill and trades for the ease.

Pocketing a cassette is easy, a magazine or bottle of booze a little harder, but it's not like he can steal tattoos or piercings.

On his first trip out of state, Steve had used his father's card. He hadn't a plan for the ink he wanted embedded in his skin, but once arrived at the tattoo shop, one of the flash pieces was good enough.

The same was true for his next visit.

And the one after that.

But just like it had before, when the vanity of stealing from his father had lost its shine and Steve hadn't made enough money yet through dealing, he’d found other ways to pay for his needs.

Sometimes it was a bag of coke, others a dash of K, or a few grams of weed.

But then there were the times when Steve found himself needing more. That the thrill of an altered form wasn't enough, and through heavy glances and gasping breaths, Steve found himself trading services of his own in exchange for his newest tattoo or hole in his skin.

Lying on his back, his black painted fingers playing with the newest metal addition to his ear, Steve catches more than just the voice of Ozzy Osborne as noise permeates through his room.

Through the open window, Steve can hear the chatter coming from his neighbours back yard. The blare of poppy music mixing horribly with the low tone of his own. Not even Ozzy can drown out the grating pitch of Carol Perkins' cackle.

With a sigh Steve remembers how he used to be the cause of that laugh.

When they were younger, that is.

When life was nothing more than pulling pigtails and jumping in puddles. When Steve's father hadn't yet a reason to raise his hand, nor had his mother found one to cry.

They were just neighbours, children who met through the joy of summers in the sun.

Carol was his first real friend.

The first to listen to his woes which then only consisted of trips to the family doctor or dinners of meat and potatoes rather than his preferred pizza.

Many a days were spent in one another's company, whether that be in pools or the comfort of a cosy couch surrounded by snacks and a TV before them with the latest movies money could buy. Often, they would find themselves in the forest surrounding Hawkins, leaping and bounding through the thick brush and over the fallen trees. They'd find themselves at Skull Rock, telling scary stories of their own or meeting there with the purpose of enjoying a poorly packed picnic of junk food and snacks.

Nowadays, Steve finds himself at Skull Rock with much less innocent intent.

He doesn't really remember the moment they drifted apart, but the presence of Carol Perkins in his life gradually became less and less until it was nothing more than nods in the halls of Hawkins High or snarls passed his way from her ever-present bratty bottom of a bitch boyfriend, Tommy Hagan.

Steve never really understood the appeal. Granted, it's not like he's had the opportunity to ask Carol anyways.

Great ass, but not even that can make up for the guy's personality.

Between Carol's cackles and Tommy's incessant nattering, there's a third voice. One much deeper and raspier than the others surrounding it.

It draws Steve's attention, so much so that he gets up to turn down his stereo and finds himself perched on the windowsill overlooking the Perkins property with a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

Everything seems to be normal. Carol bathing in the sun, Tommy attempting to man the barbecue, and the late summer breeze blowing through the air. But as the dying leaves rustle in the tree nearest to Steve's window, he hears that voice again, and not a moment later he sees just who it is that it belongs to.

Track Star Eddie Munson.

Steve shifts in place, pulling his knees closer to his chest and taking another drag of his cigarette as he listens.

He's talking about a party, another one of his famous ragers to be held this Friday after some important meet. Kegs hauled out to the woods, wooden pallets piled high only to be lit aflame with the aid of gasoline. There's always a swarm of jocks and those remaining high on the food chain at Munson's parties: the rich, the wealthy, those that live lives not far off from Steve's own. Though it's not like he'd ever consider himself part of that crowd. Thankfully.

But that doesn't mean he won't show yet again for another opportunity of a good sale or a good lay.

Munson's party two weeks ago proved to be fruitful— maybe this week's would be too.

There just seems to be something about sports that makes these jocks extra ready and raring to go. Whether that be a line of coke, or dropping to their knees on the forest floor, Steve's happy to take part in influencing either.

From his perch, Steve can see the way Tommy's eyes follow Munson as he talks with flying hands and a manic smirk. It's more elevated than Steve's seen him at school, but he supposes people act differently in public than they do with their friends. Tommy's heavy gaze though, that never seems to fade.

Steve's heard the rumours, of Munson and his mouth. He can't help but wonder if Tommy's gotten a taste.

That train of thought doesn't last long as Steve hears laughter. A bright, beautiful thing that settles deep in his bones and jerks him back to reality.

His eyes settle on the source: brown eyes, tied back russet curls, and a deadly smile. Regrettably, Steve feels warmth rise to his cheeks.

Fucking jocks.

Read more on Ao3!

The worms got us and now there's a series! Be sure to subscribe for updates, Tina and I can't wait to share with you this universe we've created!!

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fandom #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie role reversal au #metalhead!steve my beloved #trackstar!eddie my dear

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fallingrealms16 · 1 year ago

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Sterek Fic Recs PART 7 <333

I cannot believe I have read enough sterek fic to be able to make a part 7?!?! It's been over a year and between work and my social life all I do is read, read, read!

Well here it is, sterek fic recs part 7, LETS GO !!

(ps. this is a long post so buckle in)

This Might Be Irony by thepsychicclam

38K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // Hits: 190K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents' death. But Derek's in the popular group, he's a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn't have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship. And it all begins with two white boards.

But Then What... by Stoney

24K Words // Chapters: 3/3 // Hits: 182K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him. Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

When You're Close I Feel the Sparks by Leslie_Knope

39K Words // Chapters: 4/4 // Hits: 156K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles' poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

What To Expect When You're Expecting (A Litter of Sourwolf Puppies) by Brego_Mellon_Nin

17K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // Hits: 176K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

The Sheriff sighs and plops down in a chair opposite his son. “Stiles, I’m going crazy here. We need to get you to a doctor. You sleep like you’re trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records, and your eating habits are bizarre! You vomit around the clock and for some reason only the tea your mother used when she was pregnant will get your stomach to settle down for any length of time. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Can werewolves get guys pregnant? I’ve noticed how you look at that Hale kid-” Stiles meeps and flails, sloshing tea down his front. Luckily it’s not scalding anymore, but still hot, so he jumps up and wrenches his shirt off. “God, dad, no! Guys can’t get pregnant, that’s ridiculous, it’s like...” “Like werewolves being real?” his dad questions, deadpan.

More Than Biology by DiscontentedWinter

45K Words // Chapters: 13/13 // Hits: 60K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Stiles is a teenaged, unmated omega whose sixteenth birthday is fast approaching. Derek is the beta who loves him, and promises to claim him. And then it all goes to hell.

SPECIAL FIC RECS:

The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

163K Words // Chapters: 9/9 // Hits: 74K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ “Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Whisper Through the Din by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)

38K Words // Chapters: 4/4 // Hits: 11K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

He wasn’t good at knowing the best thing to say, knowing how to comfort someone. He never had been. That had always been his mom or Laura. He thought of them then, of his mom’s warm eyes and Laura’s thoughtful expression. He remembered that night she’d tucked him into the Camaro, smoke still clinging to their hair and clothes, remembered what she’d said and he thought those words would stick with him until the day he died. He watched Stiles for a long heartbeat; his own head slightly cocked as he listened to Stiles’s heart simmer back from the enraged crescendo it’d worked itself into. When it settled back to something sad and steady, like the vibration on a string instrument, Derek offered an uncertain echo of Laura’s words. “We’ll work this out, Stiles.”

This isn’t the OK!Cupid I thought I was signing up for by changez

21K Words // Chapters: 12/12 // Hits: 8K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Stiles and Scott are enjoying their relatively quiet life on the East Coast, but everything is turned upside down by the appearance of a very familiar black wolf stalking the nearby woods. A lone hunter forces Derek to make a last second decision to give Stiles the bite to save his life, but the circumstances bring a seemingly fairytale legend to reality. Derek feels remorse for what he’s done to Stiles, but before he can make amends, he’s captured. Stiles will have to come to terms with more than just the bite before it’s too late.

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boffeeceans · 3 months ago

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Sacred Heart

Pairing: Mungrove Tags: Break Up, Non-Explicit Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse, Sad with a Happy Ending, Eddie has a one night stand with an unnamed character, Bisexual Eddie Munson Summary: Eddie doesn't belive in soulmales or one true loves but- but Billy was special, even if others couldn't see it. Billy was special to him. Or, After Billy moves back to California and leaves Eddie behind, Eddie falls apart and has to pick himself back up Word Count: 1,362 Ao3 Link

Eddie never thought Billy would stick around, has known he would leave Hawkins in his dust the second he got the chance. Had been hopeful he would be going with him, hadn't been banking on failing his senior year a second time. And, when summer was coming to an end with Billy still in Hawkins, had thought that maybe he would wait, rough it out for another year.

It would have been nice to get a heads up, just week, a few days, one day even, to take it in, really let it sink in that Billy is leaving. Instead all Eddie gets is hours, when Billy pulls up to the trailer, the back seat filled with his belongings. It's only a box or two but it's all Billy owns. Minus Eddie.

Eddie won't let him tell him, doesn't let him say the words "I'm leaving", shuts him up with his mouth on his before he can even think it.

Once their clothes come off they don't come back on. And Eddie has never been one to cry during sex, that was more Billy's thing, but how can he not? Eddie clings onto Billy all night, wraps his legs around his waist tight, kisses him because it's last time, sobs into the crook of Billy's neck.

Billy wipes the tears off Eddie's cheeks and Eddie does the same in return, the ache soothed only a little by the knowledge that saying goodbye hurts Billy as much as it does Eddie.

Eddie lies with his head on Billy's shoulder, sticky with sweat. They pass a cigarette back and forth and Eddie tells him how much he loves him. Eddie does not tell Billy that he doesn't want him to leave. He tells him that he'll probably drive out to Indy some day soon, buy Dio's new album. He does not ask him stay, to come with him.

Billy does not tell him that he'll probably get it somewhere in California. Billy tells him how much he loves him.

He doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to let go, but at some point his eyes start feeling heavy and he struggles to keep them open. Billy isn't helping, gently running his fingers through Eddie's hair, over his scalp, his voice fades into background noise.

It takes Eddie three days (three days too many) to see it, to see the sleeve of Billy's denim jacket sticking out from under his bed. The only thing Eddie can think of doing is put it on, bring the color up to his nose and breathe in Billy's cologne still clinging onto the fabric, smell the faint hint of sweat and cigarette smoke.

There's still half a pack of Marlboros in the left breast pocket, the Ratt pin Eddie got him at a concert last month is gone. There's something rectangular in the inside pocket.

Eddie pulls it out and he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. So he does both as he slips Dio's Sacred Heart into the tape deck and presses play. He sits by the speaker, legs pulled up to his chest with Billy's jacked wrapped around him. He light up a Marlboro, closes his eyes and imagines Billy is there with him.

He makes a copy, not wanting to play the original to death.

(It takes Eddie two more days, when the last of summer's heat starts to dissipate, to realize his own leather jacket has disappeared.)

Eddie listens to it every chance he gets for months, switches if from his cassette deck to his van to his Walkman and back again. He listens while sitting on the couch, guitar in his lap, one eye on the phone, hoping, wishing to hear from him.

In one unfaithful week in December, between Christmas and New Years, Eddie starts drinking like his dad. He drowns his feeling in alcohol, ruins his throat with cigarettes (he finised the pack from Billy's jacket, bought another, and another.) When he isnt drunk he's high and maybe Eddie is overreacting, it's not like Billy died, but it hurts all the same.

He strikes up a conversation with some hot blonde with striking blue eyes he meets at The Hideout. She loves Dire Straits and Foreigner, she used to be on the track team in high school, she takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom.

Her lips are soft, sticky with gloss. She smells like flowers and tastes like strawberry vodka. His fingers dig into her slim waist, he can feel her soft hand at the back of his neck. She feels warm and wet and she's nothing like Billy.

Eddie has the most sad and pathetic orgasm he's ever had.

He sinks to the ground and she comes down with him, let's him sob on her shoulders. She asks him what's wrong, and Eddie, too drunk to take the possible consequences in considering, spills.

Eddie doesn't believe in soulmates or one true loves but- but Billy was special, even if others couldn't see it. Billy was special to him. And Eddie doesn't know if he'll ever see him again.

She's incredibly nice about it, wipes his tears and tells him he'll find some new when the time is right. Or, if faith will have it, he'll come back to him.

They end up crashing in the only booth The Hideout has, say their goodbyes in the morning. Eddie never sees her again.

In January Eddie goes back to smoking Camels, he quits drinking all together, makes himself promise to only get high on the weekends. New Years Resolutions and all that (until graduation, at least.) '86 is going to be his year.

In March Eddie switches out Sacred Heart for Master Of Puppets and DM's his last session of his last campaign for Hellfire before handing the mantle over to Gareth.

In April Eddie toys with the idea of packing his shit up on the spot and heading to California, see if he can find Billy. It's a dumb idea, California is a big state, Billy could be anywhere by now.

In May he battles through finals, not convinced he's going to make it. He tries not to think too hard, writes down the first thing that comes to mind, checks the box that feels right.

In June he walks the stage, he flips Higgins the bird instead of shaking his hand, all too happy to never have to see his ugly mug again.

Henderson nearly knocks him of his feet with a congratulatory hug. When Wheeler and then the rest of Hellfire joins they succeed.

Wayne looks at him with his diploma with all the pride of someone who should have been his father.

Max punches her in the shoulder and tells him he's not as stupid as she thought.

Eddie poses for pictures and right when he starts whishing Billy was here he hears it; the all the familiar sound of Sacred Heart's title song. Eddie whips his head in the direction of the sound. Faith, he thinks faintly, is a red rental car.

The driver side door opens and Billy steps out, wearing Eddie leather jacket, the chains on the sleave glinting in the sun along with a pin on the lapel.

Eddie doesn't think, even sober doesn't care about the possible consequences, he runs as fast as his legs are willing to take him, right into Billy's arms. He wraps his legs around Billy's waist and kisses, everyone who thinks they shouldn't be damned. Eddie kisses Billy as if it'll be the last time until his lungs burn.

Eddie pulls back, catching his breath, runs his hands through Billy's slightly damaged hair (saltwater, Eddie think) and takes him in; his tan, his freckles, his beautiful smile. California was good to him, and still he came back.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie asks.

"Didn't think I'd leave you here, did you?"

Eddie did, he really did, has a feeling that it was the plan. He doesn't say that. Plans can change.

"I'm never letting you out of sight again."

Billy laughs, the sound better than any song. "I'm betting on it."

#eddie munson #billy hargrove #mungrove #bat writes

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butterfly-stitches · 7 months ago

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SESSIONS.

[18+ MDNI]

AO3

Masterlist

Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish / Simon "Ghost" Riley Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & John "Soap" MacTavish Ensemble: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Kate Laswell, Nikolai

Warnings: Heavy BDSM ⛓️ BDSM ⛓️ Dom/sub ⛓️ Size Difference ⛓️ Rough Sex ⛓️ Rough Oral Sex ⛓️ Oral Sex ⛓️ Anal Sex ⛓️ Anal Fingering ⛓️ Rimming ⛓️ Hand Jobs ⛓️ Size Kink ⛓️ Kink Negotiation ⛓️ Orgasm Delay/Denial ⛓️ Collars/Leashes ⛓️ Minimum Effort Aftercare ⛓️ Porn With Plot ⛓️ Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish ⛓️ Top Simon "Ghost" Riley ⛓️ Simon "Ghost" Riley is Bad At Feelings ⛓️ Bisexuality ⛓️ Touch-Starved ⛓️ Denial of Feelings > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

← Previous | Next →

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Chapter 2: muse.

Words: 8,111 Summary: In which he finds inspiration…

Soap couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning on his mattress, sheets tangled around his legs. Flipping his pillow to the cool side and back again until both sides were warmed. It wasn’t a new experience for him, insomnia. It was like a bedside companion, a nightly occurrence at this point. Wide awake, lying supine in bed for hours and staring at his ceiling until dawn came. If he was lucky, Soap could get a few hours in just before the morning. And if he was fortunate, he could eventually fall asleep before inevitably waking up again and so on, repeating throughout the night.

But tonight Soap was neither lucky or fortunate.

Condemned instead to something worse than just sleeplessness. Thinking. Constant, incessant thinking. By a restless mind that refused to quiet down, whirring nonstop; all mind power, all cerebration consumed by one thing. One man. No matter how hard he tried to steer his mind away and divert it to anything else other than him, like the pull of a planet, he was hurled back, caught in the masked man’s orbit. Caged his mind like purgatory. Plagued his thoughts, occupied his headspace – involuntarily.

That night, their encounter. It all replayed in his head like a damaged record, reliving each moment as if anew. That fear, the thrill. The overwhelmingness he induced in Soap. Even days later, Soap could still feel the intensity of his gaze. The bitter aftertaste of the smoke on his tongue. Body heat diffused into his own until he sweltered in his jacket. The way Soap’s fingers brushed against the roughness of a gloved hand. The way the man stood over him, cornering him like an easy quarry. The way the smoke filled that mouth, the man’s lips wrapped around the end of Soap’s cigarette…

He flipped onto his side, shifting about in bed uncomfortably, as goosebumps rose along the skin. He bunched his pillow under his bicep only to revert it back flat under his head. Soap rubbed a hand against his face. Fingers twitched, an ache within the muscle – an eagerness to express. With those same fingers, Soap pressed against his temples, trying to evict that specific moment from his head. But it was of no use, powerless at the moment against his mind’s will. He laid there for a while, fidgety. Staring up at the ceiling, stuck in his own head. Soap blew air harshly through his nose before his body sprung up. Grown sick of not being able to stop thinking about the man or that night of their meeting. It was an energy that needed to be exhibited, expelled. Something to tire out him and his brain.

His fingers instinctively flexed, itching again. Soap got up and flicked the lamp on his writing desk, frantically scouring the top for his materials. Brushing ripped, crumpled pages of unfinished and half-assed abandoned sketches and drawings in his search. Uncaring as they flew down onto his carpet in a flurry of tattered paper. He opened the top drawer then another, descending down until a sigh of relief. Among the last drawer’s clutter was his leather-bound journal tucked away, collecting dust. Soap grabbed it and the metal tin pencil case underneath it. With a now cleared desk, he laid it open. Flipping through the used cartridge paper pages full of old drawings and forced attempts until he found a blank canvas.

The freshly sharpened graphite pencil in hand, cradled in his fingertips, felt foreign in his hands. His eyes stared at the empty page. Hesitant; months and months of a creative slump lingered, a doubt given strength. Self-loathing, unworthiness there. He peered down at his wrist where the gray tyvek band still remained. It was worn thin now, the material bent like string and the color had faded away. With little effort, Soap could easily tear it off but he found himself not wanting to do so. Seeing it as a memento of sorts. Despite its lightweight, it felt heavy on his wrist like a shackle; bound to him.

Underneath the skin, he felt it – that underlying urge to draw. To draw him. Soap could visualize him easily: a shapeless figure between the shadows of the tenfoot. Etiolated bone against the moonless night. Eyes that swallowed all light and life like dark mirrors, for which Soap could see a reflection of himself. Pierced through him and disturbed the still waters of his soul; stirring the depths. Sent ripples across the surface.

A soft breath as Soap lightly pressed against the thick paper and drew a circle. A scant lopsided and oblong from a rusty hand that made his unsurety emboldened. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed his eraser block and gently erased it away. Continuing to draw the circle over and over until satisfied. With a shaky exhale, Soap drew a single horizontal line that he crossed with a vertical strike, cutting the circle into even fourths. Then finally, sketched a square inside the divided circle.

Soap stared at his journal in front of him, feeling adequate at his beginning of the Reilly Method, a renown formation of shapes on paper. A sudden burst of energy coursed through him, tingling through the tips of fingers, shaking away his diffidence. Soap’s hand was frenzied as he suddenly began to draw. His mind was overloaded with key moments of his encounter. Hyperfocused on every movement, every moment. Drawing, sketching, erasing mistakes… again and again to get it right. To get him right.

Before he knew it, time passed quickly. The night eased into the onset of morning. The color of dawn began to unfurl, blooming on the horizon. Peering through his blinds onto the wood of his desk. Soap leaned back all the way into his chair, puffed cheeks slowly expiring air from his mouth as he relaxed. Slowly coming down from the high of his afflatus. As he basked in it, reveled in the triumphant feeling, the after effects of his illustrative toil only became more noticeable. Soap’s dominant hand was cramped. Fingers ached at the joints, smears of graphite stained his palm and fingertips. The stiffness of his neck, shoulders and spine ached from him slouching over his desk for hours on end. Too focused as he drew. Drained both mentally and physically, but most importantly, Soap was relieved. A strange sensation after all this time. To finally be satisfied with his artist's impression.

The paper page, once blank and daunting. Now rendered by his hand in meticulous detail, in monochrome, was as Soap remembered him that night. Emerging from the dark like he was made of it, skull stark against the thick paper and the dark shading from graphite smudging. A composition that even still had his blood pumping, his mouth dry. But Soap didn’t have time to admire his work as a single ray of the early morning sun slipped through the slats in the blinds and illuminated his room.

And he knew he was going to be late for the metro…

Soap jumped up from his desk. Rushing around his room for clean clothes, throwing stuff from his hamper all onto his bed and carpet floor. With a quick brush of his teeth and a splash of cold water onto his face, he grabbed a protein shake from his fridge, his phone on his desk. And with one last look at the drawing, Soap shouldered his bag and hurried out the door.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was another sleepless night.

Still not surprising and still unwelcome. Sleep deprivation had started to weigh down on Soap now, clouding his clarity and judgment. And his mind only became more restive, his thoughts more intrusive. The only remedy he could come up with was a visit to the pub for some drinks; a night out was desperately needed but Gaz was busy working the night shift the rest of the week. Catching the drunks instead of becoming one – the bloody peeler. The option of going out and drinking alone wasn't ideal either. There was no fun getting sloshed all by yourself.

So here Soap was. At home and in bed on a weekend night like an old man. Too tired to watch a movie or show to make his night worthwhile, but not tired enough to fall asleep apparently. Still unlucky and unfortunate was Soap. He turned, plopping onto his back with a hefty sigh, eyes to the ceiling where faint strips of moonlight streaked across the plaster. He watched above as it wavered, bending in shape as the moonbeams stretched and compressed with the rise of the crescent moon peeking through the slits of his blinds.

He reached down, blindly feeling around the carpet for his jacket thrown somewhere by his bed. The edge of it was just out of reach. Soap leaned over, partially falling out of bed, until he was near enough to grab the hem. With a groan, Soap pulled himself back onto his mattress with his jacket in hand, fishing around its side pocket as he settled back in his covers. From it, Soap pulled out the zippo and tossed his jacket away on his desk chair. Cool metal against his skin. Soap ran a thumb across the smooth surface, his palm warming the dark steel casing as he held it.

He stopped at a rough edge along the curvature. There, he thumbed over the deep jagged grooves of a carving. A small skull carefully etched into the metal casing. It served as a signature of sorts, a brand of ownership. Soap realized when he first discovered it the night of. Over and over, he absentmindedly followed along it. Memorizing its profile: the turns, angles, corners and ends. Mind raced away as he did so. The action was strangely comforting to him.

The moonlight drained away with passing clouds and his room grew dark. Soap squeezed the lighter in his hand until it pressed deep into his palm. Holding it above his chest, Soap flicked the hood open and rolled the sparkwheel until it clicked, producing a little flame. It burned like a candlelight, a soft glow that ate away at the edges of the dark in his room. Soap watched the flame burn, intrigued by the fire in the cusp of his hand. An uneven breath and the flame flickered, licking at his right thumb tip pressed down on the button behind it, burning the skin. With a hiss, Soap quickly let go and the flame extinguished instantly, the zippo falling from his hand. He shot up in bed and popped his thumb in his mouth, easing the searing pain with his tongue. Hoping it wouldn’t blister. But the skin still stung and the nerves felt aflame.

Soap rolled out of bed, flicking his wrist loosely at the joint, as if to shake off the burning pain. He went across the hall to his bathroom, immediately turning on the sink and running cold water onto the afflicted thumb. The coolness soothed away the sting but the pad of his thumb stayed reddened, tender and inflamed. Throbbing with a dull pain and still hot as if an ember burned underneath the skin. More peeved than anything, he walked back to his room with a huff. Chastising himself for his injury like his mother would when he was being petulant as a child.

His desk lamp was flicked on, the light making him blink a couple times as his eyes adjusted to its brightness. A glint caught the lamplight in his peripheral and Soap looked down at the foot of his chair where the cause of his injury was laid. Tucked slightly underneath the leg. He reached down for the lighter, settling it gently in his palm even though he just burned himself with it only seconds ago. Turning it this way and that, he admired it thoroughly underneath the lighting as he leaned over his desk.

The lighter was expensive, he could tell. Personally customized, not like the cheap plastic ones from a petrol station or a store. Even than the more expensive ones they sell. The ones with cheap, thin metal casings were nothing in comparison. This lighter was fully made of a dark stainless steel and was heavier in his hand. And significant to its owner by the carved skull on its surface. His eyes flicked to his desk, to his journal laid open in front of him. The past few restless and sleepless nights were documented there. Evidence presented to him and clear on its insides.

Pages upon pages that were once empty and bare, were now chock-full of his musings. Gibberish penned on paper, portraits and sketches of a ghost with the shape of a man. Small drawings and doodles of the same man in the corner of the pages, in the center of his nonsense writing that warped around it. The drawings of dark hollow eyes over and over, trying to get the shape of them right. Soap flipped to his most recent drawing from the night before. One of the man smoking. Head tilted up as the man leaned back, clean-shaven jaw exposed from underneath the pulled up mask. Lips pursed from a pulled away cigarette, smoke filling his mouth from his intake. While strands of it escaped into the air.

A sudden wave of shame overcame him. Taken back by the realization as it dawned on him. Soap was appalled at himself, growing scandalized at his work. Of a stranger that he met briefly all those nights ago no less! He didn't even know his name. Soap rubbed a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and blew out a harsh sigh.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, MacTavish?”

It was a self-aimed rhetorical question. But Soap couldn’t help but think about it, moving his hand to his head. Fingers threaded through his mohawk before tugging at the strands until it stung as if in self-flagellation. A curse of a muse, he concluded. Or was it just the workings of sleep deprivation catching up to him? Or had he simply grown too passionate, clinging to what.. who inspired him like a lifeline? He couldn’t really tell. But either way, he was out of his bloody mind.

Mortified, Soap closed his journal to hide away his shamefulness. He traced the lighter’s engraving with his injured thumb again, feeling the lingering sting grow against the press of the grooves. And stood up straight, craving a smoke to clear his mind. From his jacket pocket he grabbed his carton, taking out the last cigarette from inside. Surprised at its emptiness and the fact that he was already finished with his carton for the week. He would have to wait for his paycheck for a re-up unless he could scrounge up some change for another. But for now, Soap would have to savor this last one for the time being.

Holding it between his lips, Soap took the lighter that wasn’t his with him to the living room. With no balcony to smoke off of and too lazy to walk out his flat to smoke, Soap opted instead to a large window overlooking the backstreet near his laundry room. An old fancy tea cup saucer sat in the far corner of the dusted windowsill. Its matching cup had broken years ago and now it served as his makeshift ashtray. Evident of its new purpose by the remnant cigarette butts, old tar marks, and plys of ash littering inside.

Soap leaned against the window’s ledge and with a quick motion, he lit the tip of his cigarette over the conjured flame. An inhale, and the taste of tobacco filled his senses. It was calmative throughout his body, letting a hazy mind finally think clearly. The repetitive motions of inhaling and exhaling the cigarette grounded him. Letting his weight settle on his forearms, Soap’s body began to ease up and he leaned himself fully onto the windowsill. Staring out at the alleyway on a surprisingly mellow night. Balmy, a soft breeze with it. Not strong enough to blow the exhaled smoke back in his face but it was enough to waft it – and the faint musty smell of dumpsters and sewage from the alley – away into the night air.

As he smoked, Soap finally felt his mind hush. More keen on getting his fix and on the repetitions of him respiring the residual smoke. In his other palm Soap still held the lighter, a burned thumb slightly raised away from the surface to not irritate the inflammation. An exhale of smoke, a tingling thought at the back of his mind, and he looked down at the zippo in his hand. Loosening his grip on it as Soap moved his thumb away to open up his palm. He tilted his palm up more, squinting his eyes, and using the glow from his lit cigarette to see better. Only to see the ball of his thumb was indented with a mark. Tingling in the open air. The etched skull now etched onto him. An intrusive thought at the back of his mind, a traitorous feeling that made nausea settle in his gut. A strange fascination mixed with revulsion.

Soap's thenar stung with a burning emboss of it; a brand set deep into the skin. And all he could do was stare. Flakes of ashes from the cigarette falling onto the windowsill, the ember flickering until it began to dim. And his cigarette went out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It wasn't until the following night that Soap decided to do something about it. More so, the idea of being a Good Samaritan and returning the lost lighter to its rightful owner. Rather he was pursuing the path of penance. For what, Soap didn’t really know. But he knew that either way, its safe return was dire. If almost two weeks of insomnia and his overwrought journal were anything to go by. From what Soap could reason, the bloody thing was accursed. And those who wrongfully had it were anathematized with the haunting of its skull-faced proprietor.

Soap rubbed at his heavy eyebags and couldn't help but laugh at himself; he was completely off his rocker. And his nicotine withdrawal wasn’t helping in the slightest. With Gaz still busy with work, Soap had no one to help ground him or better yet knock some sense into him. Soap would have to deal with this himself the only way he knew how to: to take it head-on. Like taking a bull by the horns. Even if the idea of going back to the 141 with Gaz felt odd, going without him felt even worse.

Soap sat on his desk chair, tugging his trainers on. Something more comfortable and fitting for the walk ahead. Having learned his lesson from before, the memory of blisters and feet aches from trekking in his boots at the back of his mind. His bucket car wouldn’t last the drive across the city let alone down the next neighborhood over. Not wanting to recreate the mode of transportation last time of him and Gaz walking all the way there, his next best option was the coaches. It would cover most of the distance, but there was still a bit of walking needed. A more manageable amount though like a nice stroll. Checking his phone screen for the time, it wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes, giving him eleven minutes to spare. More like thirteen but he was a slow walker. The extra minutes were needed to get to the bus stop on time.

The rest of last night’s cigarette was tucked in the corner of his mouth, smoking it out of desperation. It was unhygienic, sure, but it did slightly take the edge off and help alleviate the shakiness of his hands. Yet it still wasn't enough to fully satiate his nicotine cravings. From what he could see from the opened window, tonight was like any other night. Mellow still, a few degrees warmer from unsettled weather but it was nothing too drastic. He was staring up at the moon before Soap checked the time on his watch. He shrugged his jacket on, snubbing the cigarette out into the windowsill saucer. With a reassured pat on his right jacket pocket, feeling the weight there, Soap grabbed his phone from his charger and left.

The ride on the coach wasn’t as pleasant as he hoped. Overcrowded and loud in the evening even with music playing through his earbuds. Reminded him of the bustling crowds of people flocking the streets that he and Gaz had to push through that night ago. But as the coach followed its route and passed through downtown and residential areas, it became less claustrophobic as people got off. Less bodies pressed against each other to squeeze into a seat or blocked the aisles as people stood and clung to the hanging hand grips on the painted railing above.

Eventually he was able to get a seat, a window seat at that, and enjoyed the ride better. There were still passengers along with him, scattered across the seating rows. But they were less rowdy. Most were like him. Minding their own business and either listening to their music, scrolling on their phones or even reading as they laid back in the faded upholstery seats.

It wasn’t too long of a ride. The honking and idleness in the packed lanes of going through the downtown traffic made the ride seem more terrible than it actually was. Not to mention the overcrowdedness of other passengers. Before long, his stop was near. Only a couple of stops away. And his destination was only less than a mile away. As Soap stepped off the bus and watched it disappear into the night, he took out an earbud and with an exhale, got to walking. Following the directions on his phone’s map app.

His surroundings soon became familiar as he made headway to the club. Making Soap’s underlying anxiety begin to creep beneath his composure, spreading like morning glories. His music didn't help waver it or distract him from it. Overwhelmed, Soap had no choice but to stop and take out his remaining earbud and put both away into their case. As he tucked it away into his right pocket, his fingers brushed against the zippo in comfort.

Soap stood in front of the alleyway now. Stared down the long span of it. A cold darkness that looked back at him waiting for Soap to step forward into its bowels. Soap couldn’t force himself to go any farther past its threshold. He knew the bouncers were somewhere near the door. Another deterrent that Soap didn’t feel like dealing with alone, especially without Gaz there to prevent Soap from butting heads with them. The fee to get in the 141 was another now that he didn’t have the graciousness of an invitation to get in. But he wasn’t actually there to enter the 141 club and socialize. Only to do the right thing and return a lost item like his mother had taught him to do.

How he was supposed to get to the tenfoot where he had encountered the masked man without going through the 141? Well… that was in the works. His occupation was evident that he was never a planner to begin with. Soap played with the wristband underneath his sleeve, rubbing at the split tear he had taped together when it had eventually ripped.

Looking around his surroundings, the only options Soap could come up with was to bite the bullet and pay the fee to get inside or go around the back. Of these two options, the former was presumably to break the bank (or what few pounds he had in his account), but less risky. While the other was free and pretty risky. Soap turned on his heel, opting for the latter. He was careful with his movements, staying along the wall as he headed slowly around the building’s side. The place being supposedly empty made him feel more daring.

But as Soap turned the corner and continued down, he was met with a problem. A chain link gate faced him. Locked close with a thick chain and padlock and a few inches taller than he was. It had a privacy mesh screen on the other side, preventing any outsiders from looking through. Soap let out a frustrated huff, glaring at the gate in front of him as if doing so would melt it down by his look alone. But he knew what had to be done. Soap stretched, bouncing on his heels to prepare himself to jump the gate. He knew it could be done. It was just like pulling himself up on the pull-up bar. All he really needed was a strong jump up and he could haul himself over.

Soap wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, taking a deep breath, feeling his weight shift on his heels. He crouched and with a swing of his arms, he jumped up. Only jumping over a fence gate was nothing like using a pull-up bar or as easy as it was when he was a teen. The gate rattled harshly from the sudden rush, the weight of him making the metal press into his body. Although he was able to pull himself up, Soap struggled to keep his balance, arms shaking in his effort to not fall over on the other side.

He pulled his other leg over as he heaved his body with it. The motion swung him down onto his feet. Gracious as an alley cat. An audible sound of something ripping and Soap stumbled backwards into a large dumpster, thankful that it was there to catch him and stop him from hitting the ground. Soap pushed himself off of it, sweating and body heated up from the strain. Well almost as gracious as an alley cat. He looked down to see his jacket – his favorite jacket at that – torn at the right side, having been caught on the edge of raised fencing above the gate.

Upset and breathless, Soap clicked his tongue, accessing the damage. Relieved that it didn't cut through the pocket. Mainly that it wasn't his jeans that got torn. Hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, Soap shook his head at himself. A whispered ‘What the fuck I am doing’ caught underneath the intakes of air.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood straight, looking around to where he ended up at. Another alleyway, a bit narrower than the tenfoot he remembered. Soap only hoped it would lead to it. After catching his breath, he walked down it and sure enough it intersected with others. One at either side – the one at his right he knew led to the other side of the building. Standing in the middle of the intersection, he glanced behind himself. Realizing that it was where the masked man eventually disappeared down towards. Soap locked that small realization away in his head as he turned and walked down the right path.

The dim flood lamp ahead, one that still hadn't had its batteries replaced, glowed in the distance. He knew now what sailors felt like when they saw a lighthouse in the far distance. It was a familiar sight that made him walk faster. But only to tread slowly as the side exit began to near.

“Tryin’ to sneak in?”

That gruff voice from the shadows again.

And Soap immediately stopped walking. Limbs like lead as he stood stock still, heart thumping in the confines of rib bone. Beating like a drum in an empty room. He couldn’t tell from where he spoke from but Soap could feel him near. Just outside his peripheral. A shiver shot down his spine, hair at his nape raised, as the burn of eyes focused on him. Flight-or-fight instinct returning just like before. He didn’t know what to say or do, afraid that any sudden movement or reaction could encourage the man to lunge. Teeth against his jugular. When Soap didn’t say anything, he heard the ruffle of clothing within earshot. Of someone large moving away from the wall.

“I advise not to.”

There was a commination there beneath his words. Hard to be mistaken for anything else by the lowness of it and the way they were spoken like a snarl. Meaner than any junkyard dog from his experience and just as hostile. Soap swallowed hard, the lump in his throat there. Preventing him from trying to speak and defend himself from the allegation. The man was patient this time, letting Soap gather himself to respond. Thankful that the speechlessness and stillness were mistaken for being caught red-handed than anything else.

“Not here to sneak inside.” Soap had the inclination to add a polite sir at the end. But stopped himself from doing so. There was a lump in his throat, heavy like a stone caught in a drainpipe. Acting as a barrier to the quickness of his breathing. The reply was quiet, his voice hoarse. But it was all Soap could get himself to say.

There was a moment of tense silence. One that made Soap shift uncomfortably on his feet. A figure moved in the dark.

“Then why’re you here?”

Suspicion now. An edge of a threat that made Soap more careful with what he was going to say next. Soap licked his chapped lips and steeled himself. Not wanting himself to seem as daunt as he felt. His hand slowly went to his right pocket, pulling out the zippo.

“You dropped this.” Soap swallowed, holding it out as if in appeasement. Like a treat shown to a guard dog. “Thought you might want it back.” Another moment of silence before he felt a looming presence in front of him. An immense shadow enfolded over Soap as the masked man stepped from the dark into the soft moonlight. Stood over him, just inches from his face. Soap went rigid, the sudden proximity throwing him off balance. Into the orbit of his world, eclipsing all else. Even after all this time, the all-consuming and all-encompassing nature of his very presence was dizzying.

“Hm, tha’ so?”

White baleen lines filled his central vision as Soap stared forward, eyes pointed straight ahead. A minuscule detail that he wouldn't have noticed beforehand. Only by being this close could he notice it and truly fathom the masked man’s full height and how small he was in comparison. A whole head taller than Soap was, where the Scotsman couldn’t look over the man’s shoulder without going on his toes. If he was brave enough to do so, Soap would have to crane his neck up just to meet his eyes. But his gaze stuck to the bottom of his chin where it met his neck. Soap couldn’t bring himself to look up.

All usual bravado and cockiness that Soap usually had with others trying to size him up was completely gone. Even his usual smart mouth was failing him now. As if knowing deep down that he didn’t stand any fighting chance against him.

Fawning, appeasing for survival. Soap finally nodded at him. Agreeance with his statement.

The mountain-esque man before him expelled a deep chuff; a prusten sound like something a big cat would vocalize. A brush against Soap's hand, rough material scratching his skin and the lighter was taken from his open palm. Too quick for the Scotsman register. The skull-faced man stepped back suddenly, throwing him off balance in the absence of his gravity. But graciously giving Soap the room to breathe, to think properly and get his footing back. Soap blinked, eyes unfocused and bleakly. A tightness in his chest began to wane. At a safe distance now, Soap looked ahead and met his eyes this time. Taking in the full sight of him. The man was just as he remembered him to be. Still masked of course, and dressed in dark clothing.

Just like in the dreamscapes of his troubled, broken sleep. Just as he was depicted in his drawings. Shame overcame Soap then, remembering the renditions of the man in his journal. The inspiration he caused him unknowingly like wildfire. An urge to confess hit him. As if doing so could assuage the guilt and weirdness of it all – of his obsessive behavior, of the haunting he endured over the past few weeks. Conscience-stricken and probably red-faced now, Soap moved his gaze away.

“Sorry…” The apology was there, the confession on his tongue. He licked his lips again, biting the confessional down before it could be said. Let it dissolve on his tongue before Soap continued. “Didn’t mean to return it so late.”

The man only watched him. Standing tall and skeptical, assessing Soap from the shadows.

“Better late than never.”

Soap nodded, agreeing. “Yeah.”

More silence as Soap watched him lean against the wall again. Back in the position he was in before Soap stumbled into his territory and disturbed him. Feeling the action as dismissal and a sign for him to leave, Soap turned around. He walked a couple steps before the man spoke up suddenly.

“Wan’ a smoke?”

It was spoken a bit softer, not like before. But it still made Soap jump at its unexpectedness. The drawl of it betrayed his roots. Soap soon recognized it as a Mancunian lilt. Albeit throaty and sonorous.

The man held out an open carton for him to see, a showcase so it wouldn't be mistaken as a trap or a lie. Soap still eyed him carefully, feeling on edge. A mistrust that made him hesitate at the stranger’s offer as vacillation swelled. Though the masked man seemed more relaxed and less hostile than initially. His question sunk in the Scotsman’s head. Weighed it against his reasoning. That urge to smoke, the anticipation of a burst of nicotine in his mouth was too overwhelming. It was him at an advantage now. Held the carton out to Soap like a dog treat like he'd done to him, coaxing him forward like Soap was a stray. If he didn’t know any better, Soap could see it as a nice reward for being a Good Samaritan. Or simply a friendly invitation. But something in him couldn’t help but interpret it as a test.

Despite it all, Soap took a step forward. The need to smoke overpowering his second thoughts and hesitation. Slowly he walked to him, skin prickling underneath his watchful gaze. Even as Soap plucked a cigarette from the box, those eyes of his didn't waver. It was Soap’s turn to take a few steps away, cigarette held between the middle and forefinger. Leaning nearer to the exit doorway, a respectful distance kept between the two of them. The masked man grabbed a cigarette for himself as well but he didn’t lift his mask up like last time. Instead he pressed the end against his covered mouth, his lips holding it at a scant angle against the black fabric. Soap mimicked him and put the cigarette in his mouth. From the flash of the carton’s laminated label, as the man tucked it away into a back pocket, it was quite an expensive brand. Definitely a step above his usual pick.

The man held out the zippo to him, the sight was almost comical from how small it looked in his huge gloved hand. The gesture made Soap lift a brow at him. Eyes squinted as they went to meet the man’s look. Trying to gauge any sign or recognize any emotion but he failed to discern anything from them. Unsure of the symbolism or the intention behind the offer.

A benefit of the doubt was given and Soap grabbed it, firmly grasping it. His eyes flicked down the carved skull before it was hidden by his palm curling around as Soap held it. The similar engraving on his thenar had faded away. But the sharp, prickly pain on his thumb from his burn didn’t. Though the inflammation had gone. He ran the thumb along its top before flicking it open. The rough coglike texture bit into his afflicted thumb, irritating his injury as he rolled the sparkwheel down. The flame danced in the reflection of the man’s eyes, distracting Soap as it burned on. The flame didn’t last long before sputtering out even when there was no breeze.

Soap was quick to try to relight it. Despite the dull pain, he thumbed the flint wheel until it struck again. But no flame was made. Confused, he tried again and then once more to no avail. A realization hit him then. The butane was empty. He felt bad, knowing its emptiness was his fault. Wasted away from lighting his own cigarette and even just flicking it on and off just to watch the burning flame like a moth. The man only hummed, a low noise that buzzed in Soap’s head and made him shudder. His gaze was heavy, weighing down on him.

The man reached into his pocket, pulling out another lighter and held it for Soap to take. Soap stared at it surprised. Yet took it wordlessly, exchanging it with the empty one. Realizing the other was a replacement while he had the first, the man’s old faithful, in his own possession. The only difference was the lack of a skull carved into its casing. He used the new lighter and its flame burned bright. Soap was about to light his own first but stopped the attempt as he looked at the ember, wavering above the open spout.

In the corner of his eye, the man watched Soap yet again. Curious, interested. Intrigued by his sudden hesitancy. Soap’s thoughts rattled in his headspace as the flame burned and flickered. Wasting fuel away just like he did the other. Soap blinked, pressing his lips tight as he took a small breath and turned slowly, carefully to not put out the small flame by his movement. He lifted it up toward the man’s mouth whose eyes narrowed at him in response. Something flickered beneath those dark, dead eyes of his, in those hollow sockets as Soap lit his cigarette first. Then his own unceremoniously after. Soap thought it polite. The right thing to do given that not only did he pocket the lighter but burned all the lighter fuel as if it belonged to him. It was a deserved repentance in his mind.

A thought at the back of Soap’s mind as the man took drags of his cigarette. Though he couldn’t discern any facial expression given the mask, the man seemed pleased at his gesture.

He handed the lighter back. They stood there quietly in the tenfoot. Leisurely smoking as the moon waxed above them like poetry. It silhouetted the man aside him perfectly, making the regret of not bringing his journal with him sit sourly within him. The cigarette was much needed though and helped with his withdrawal symptoms, Soap still felt uneasy. Eyes glanced at the man next to him every so often. Expectantly. Hoping he would say something to break the quiet. But he only smoked quietly in the silent night as if Soap wasn’t there, right in the tenfoot with him. Soap took a puff, mind rampant. Slighted minutely that his presence wasn’t being acknowledged.

‘A Manchester boy, eh?’ Soap wanted to joke but thought it too inappropriate as an ice breaker. That idea was quickly tossed aside. Another puff of his cigarette, letting the bitter taste of it savor on his tongue. Then Soap asked. “What’s your name?”

If the masked man was surprised by his sudden question, he didn’t show it. Smoking contently still a few feet away.

“Why do you want to know?” He replied with his own inquiry a moment later.

There was a bite with that question. Harsh in nature like there was an accusative undertone to it, wariness as well. Soap was unsure if he was pushing his luck by asking. Even talking to him at all. Disrupting whatever leisure they had.

“Just curious.”

The man was quiet again.

“Ghost.” He exhaled it with his smoke.

Ghost.

Soap couldn’t help but feel giddy. Thought it was a fitting name for him, given the haunting he experienced of the man. But Soap knew it was more of a nickname than anything. Like Soap was to him. He let the name seep into his brain like a stone sunk into water. Categorizing it in his memory like it was only for him to know. Soap expected the man to ask him the same question. But as silence befell them, he realized that he wouldn’t be granted the same courtesy.

It was evident that quiet wasn’t awkward to Ghost. It was a preference.

“Call me Soap.” Soap said after a long beat, catching the man’s sidelong glance flick to him before it left just as quickly. He only hummed in response. An acknowledgment that made Soap less tense. Set his heart aflutter. Soap pressed his back into the wall, letting himself relax. Trying to conjure a cool façade to stay behind as his heart quickened. Wanting to know more about the man next to him.

“You… usually do this?”

That caught Ghost’s attention. “Do wha’?”

“Hang around alleyways at night.”

Ghost exhaled a cloud of smoke, “Hm, sometimes.”

Soap shifted, standing a bit away from the wall. Inched a little closer. “You don’t think it's a bit weird, mate?”

As if the Scotsman had any room to speak about being weird. Given the past few weeks.

“No.”

Ghost seemed inattentive once again. Small talk obviously wasn't his forte. Soap began to understand that for a man like him to undertake such fruitlessness was wholly beneath him.

Soap scoffed at him anyways. “Not much of a talker are ye?”

Ironically, Ghost didn’t reply. But the lack of response didn’t fully thwart Soap. Instead, he was more amused than anything and couldn’t help the twitch of his mouth as quietude started to settle again.

“So, you hang around alleys at night and don’t talk much. You really live up to your name. Wouldn’t be surprised if you can go through walls, too.” Soap pressed his cigarette to his lips and took a small inhale, thinking. Perhaps overthinking.

“Ye really don’t like it in there?” Soap nudged his head towards the exit door, “You can probably find a nice dark corner to haunt. Beats the smell of piss and rubbish.”

“Can’t smoke inside.”

“That's really why you stay out here?”

Ghost hummed. “And I prefer the quiet.”

It was a dig at Soap’s unnecessary talking that much was clear. His need for having a little chat wasn’t as welcomed as he hoped. Soap scowled at that but didn’t say anything more, heeding the hint with grace. It wasn’t like his word bank wasn’t rendered any dryer.

Soap was a quarter through his cigarette by now. Smoked through it more quickly compared to the man beside him. He watched Ghost puff his cigarette for a bit. Staring at the white skeletal designs of his gloves that completed his look. When Ghost lifted his cigarette to his mouth again, Soap took notice that the man had on a wristband. A black band from what he could tell underneath the cigarette’s amber glow. Soap wondered what the color stood for, what it meant. Compared to his own. Given the setting, it was evident that it stood for some type of unsavory vice.

“Why aren’t you in there?”

Soap lifted his head. Taken aback by the question. By Ghost’s sudden participation. He was aghast for a moment. Unable to formulate a reply.

“Besides wanting to give you your lighter back,” Soap let out a huff as he thought. “Not sure. Dinnae really have a reason to.”

Ghost seemed lost in thought, picking apart Soap’s words and analyzing them. Deliberating something within his own head. Soap thought that was that. The end of the conversation as Ghost pushed himself from the wall and stood straighter. He blew out one last cloud of smoke, snubbed the rest of his cigarette against the wall and flicked it away somewhere on the ground.

“Want one?”

Soap’s head snapped to Ghost. Eyed his mask that hid his face, wishing he could read whatever expression was there. Soap turned away, letting ashes fall onto the ground when he let the cigarette burn between his fingertips. Mouth dry and heart quickening. Something in him stirred again, that ache from before.

“Wha…” He swallowed, the roof of his mouth dry. “What do you mean?” It came out more breathless than Soap intended.

But Ghost didn’t elaborate on it. Letting his question hang between them. Wanting Soap to find the underlying meaning of it himself. He racked his brain for that meaning, trying to come up with some understanding of it. Some type of context.

“Do I need one? A reason?” Is all Soap could come up with on the spot. Ruined whatever moment was there.

Black tourmaline eyes stared at Soap nonetheless. Studied intently at the way his body tensed up. How his face pinched with both confusion and fascination. Soap wondered what the man was searching for with his stare.

“Not particularly.”

But his words seemed more directed to himself than to Soap. In a way that was similar to answering your own question or repeating a mantra. But before Soap could say anything more, Ghost turned and began to walk away.

“Your wristband.” Soap exclaimed, more out of panic than anything. Ghost stopped in his tracks then but didn’t turn around. “What does the color mean?”

The man was quiet as he stood there. His body was just barely distinguishable from the dark. Right on the edge of being consumed within the night.

“Why?”

The word was drawn out. Rough-sounding like it came from deep within Ghost’s chest. Soap couldn't help but recoil from it.

Soap licked his lips, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. Hoping it was enough to hide the way he trembled. “Still curious.”

“Still nosy.” Ghost corrected over his shoulder. Harsher than Soap anticipated.

Soap took a long huff from his cigarette, exhaled the smoke and dropped it to the ground. Crushing it with his heel then walked forward. His heart thumped and his pulse raced as he got closer. He could see Ghost began to tense, those senses heightened at the sound of Soap’s footsteps getting closer. Soap’s knees were shaking as he stood in front of Ghost. Craning his neck, Soap forced himself to meet those dark eyes.

“Well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought it back.” He smirked, trying to seem casual and calm as it was said.

He knew Ghost could easily push him aside if he wanted to but didn’t. Only stared down at Soap. Cracks were beginning to show in Soap’s façade, feeling himself starting to waver underneath the intensity of Ghost’s gaze. Despite the urge to shrink away, he instead returned his stare wordlessly. Something inside him wanted to challenge, to be stubborn for no reason other than to obstruct. He hoped by doing so it would make a man like Ghost falter. But such a man didn't react the way he wished, only stood silently, motionlessly and unwavering. Unaffected by the peacocking. Wholly unintimidated.

“That so?” Ghost finally said.

Despite himself, Soap took a few steps back and gave him a small smile. Stuffing his clammy hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Yeah. Care to indulge me?”

Ghost’s eyes glinted like a cat’s. Narrowing at him. “Careful.”

A warning; a threat even. Soap blushed as if he’s been scolded. But nonetheless continues poking the bear.

“Always am.”

Ghost took a step forward, closing the distance that Soap put between them in a single step. He was chest-to-chest and toe-to-toe with Soap. And now it was his turn to challenge, one that Soap knew he wouldn’t win. Tongue-tied and breathless, he only stared up wide-eyed at Ghost. All his posturing was gone. And Soap was the first to break eye contact.

Ghost shouldered past him.

“Watch yourself.” He snarled low and growly. “That curiosity of yours will get you into trouble.”

Soap wanted to retort. To continue the conversation and to end it on his own terms. But he could only stay in place, quietly and unmoving as his courage failed him. He could only watch as Ghost walked away and disappeared into the night, leaving him alone in the tenfoot.

Soap slumped against the wall, thumping the back of his head against it gently.

“What is wrong with you, MacTavish?”

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fuctacles · 1 year ago

Text

For @batboysxprompts Secret Steddie event. My prompt:

Quote: "You've never been touched like this before?" Song: 'Raw Deal', by Judas Priest Optional: a leather bar AU/place, +18 content, set in fall Don’ts: Pregancy/breeding kink, choking/breathplay, vomit, scat, watersports

E | 2365 | cw: drugs | loose Cruising AU, leather bars, bicurious Steve, going undercover | tape dividers by @cafekitsune heart dividers by me

The door slammed closed behind him, leaving Steve alone in the empty hall outside the Captain’s office. In his hands, he was holding the turning point of his career, a special assignment he was dreaming of, handed him by the captain himself. A leather jacket. With his new address and keys in its inside pocket.

He was still buzzing with anger at his colleagues, at the hateful words they used and their unwillingness to take this on. It was mostly that, which pushed him to bite back and offer himself.

By the looks from his peers, it seemed it was their plan all along. To send the gay sympathizer in as one of their last straws. But will he be a short or a long one?

It’s not what he dreamed of when joining the force, certainly not something he felt comfortable with. But he was too pissed to back out, and the whole case was hitting a dead end.

A strip of paper with a crude map and a name led him through alleys until he passed the first leather-clad guy, then another, then groups of them. He kept catching stares that were both the same and completely different from the ones women would send him. He knew he was in the right place.

The bar itself was suffocating with its loud music and weird smells. But most of all, the mass of bodies, glistening with sweat and smattered with hair.

So much hair on so much bare skin.

The beer was lukewarm, giving no relief from the heat around him and he knew he was on his way to a bad headache. It was like stepping into a hazy dream. He was pretty sure there was a threesome happening in the right corner of his vision. There was also a real possibility he was getting intoxicated on the fumes hanging in the air alone.

A guy, clad in a dark tank top and sweat, leans on the bar beside him, his dark eyes flitting up and down appraisingly over his body.

“You look new here.”

“I am new,” Steve admits.

“New here or new-new?” The man raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“New-new.”

He lights up at that.

“I could show you the ropes,” he offers with a smile suggesting a joke Steve’s missing. He lets him pull them into the pulsing mass of bodies on the dancefloor anyway.

It takes him a couple of minutes to figure out the rhythm, let the music and the crowd seep into him, and guide his movements. While everything here was different, he’d been to bars before. He knows how to dance, knows how to flirt.

“What’s your name?” he asks loudly over the music.

The man’s smirk moved his trimmed mustache. He leans in, closer than any man ever has before.

“You can call me Spike.”

Steve nods.

“Sven.”

The man doesn’t move away, stays close and so does his lopsided mustache.

“You look like Sugar to me.”

Steve smiles, surprised and flustered.

“Then Sugar it is.”

They dance, now closer but not uncomfortably so. Two guys beside them are grinding against each other, and the sight lights a fire under his skin. It’s a dangerous feeling, considering he’s on a job. Ah, and there’s a killer on the loose. It’s not the best moment to give in to his homoerotic fantasies.

So he plays the part of Sven, a shy, closeted bisexual who doesn’t make first moves, afraid of where it might lead him.

The last part distinguished him from Steve, who was insanely curious about what could happen.

Some making out, hopefully, wouldn’t foil his plans.

He doesn’t put Spike’s hands on his hips like he wants to, but steps a bit closer, and sways his hips in a certain way.

A hand does land on him, but instead of pulling him in, it’s dragging him away.

“Back off, we’re dancing!” Spike pushes between him and the owner of the hand. Steve looks back, ready to snark at whoever is groping him, but he finds a familiar face.

He’s frozen for a second too long, but Edward Munson, the man still considered a main suspect by many, takes it in stride.

“Relax, Spike, we’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

Steve nods, earning himself a glare from Spike.

“The Freak? You said you were new to the scene.”

“Never said we’ve met here,” Munson clarifies, voice growing sharper with a warning. “Go find a different virgin, you perv.”

Spike grumbles something before leaving, and Steve is pulled into Munson’s chest. He huffs when their ribcages collide painfully. Everything is hot and sticky, and he wants to go home. Or rather, the temporary flat he’s renting while undercover.

“So Spike likes inexperienced men, huh?” he asks conversationally.

“Yeah, but he also lives with two roommates who've known him for the past five years.” Munson rolls his eyes. “An unlikely suspect.”

“Thought you weren’t going to help us?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe I’m not helping you. Maybe I’m just keeping my eyes open because someone is killing gays in the area.”

Steve humms at that.

“So what’s your name, stranger?” he asks mockingly but Steve already knows he likes pushing buttons. Especially with cops, suspect or not.

“Sven. But Spike seems to think Sugar works better for me.”

The man snorts, giving him a quick once over.

“It does,” he decided. “Well, if you hear about the Freak or Popper, that might be me.”

“Popper?”

“Care for a hit?” He reaches into his leather jacket, bringing Steve’s attention to his bare chest. There were a couple of tattoos on his pecks and a fine dusting of hair.

From an inside pocket, he brings out a tiny bottle. It looks like a nasal spray with two cones instead of one.

“What is it?”

“Poppers,” he answers shortly before putting the thing in his nose and inhaling. “Probably my most popular ware. Great for anal, relaxes your muscles and stuff.”

He shakes the bottle in an offer and Steve takes it. Plunges into the sweaty world of leather and testosterone, as were his instructions.

They keep dancing and take a couple more hits. Munson tells him about all the regulars, the dos and don’ts of this world. His hand is under Steve’s shirt and his mouth is on his ear to keep their conversation private.

There is so much to take in.

“Where do I get pants like that?”

Munson follows his line of sight and sees a hairy ass peeking from a cut-out in leather pants. He grins back at him.

“I can show you a place.”

Two weeks in and Steve is barely focused on his assignment. The breeze on his ass is all he can think of. The stares he attracts, the fact that he’s almost offering himself on a silver platter. He could just lean a bit more forward on the bar, bend his spine, anyone could just stand behind him, grind against him, and…

His cock gets heavy just at the thought and he does lean in. Can’t help himself.

He almost sighs when a hand scopes the globe of his ass.

“You’re blending in quite nicely,” he hears Munson, Eddie, in his ear. Of course it’s him. “Just another slut begging to be touched by a random pervert.”

Turns out he’s into dirty talk now as well. Who would have thought?

“You have a really nice ass, too. I think the pants were a good choice,” he says, squeezing. “How do you feel in them?”

Frozen between pressing into the touch and squirming away, Steve weighs his words.

“Like candy on display. An offering.”

Eddie humms, suddenly closer.

“Yeah? What are you offering?”

He doesn’t know. The idea of gay sex had never really crossed his mind but for the past week, it’s all he can think about. He keeps wondering how far he is willing to go with the charade. If his curiosity will turn into exploration.

The palm presses on his tailbone and slides down, a single finger tracing his crack, but not pushing between the cheeks. It’s still tantalizingly close to his hole. Steve’s fingers scrape on the bartop in front of him.

“What? You’ve never been touched like this before?” Eddie asks teasingly. “Of course not,” he answers himself. “This is not your scene. You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve straightens up. He doesn’t want to turn around for some reason, so just presses against him, back to chest.

“I’m doing my job.”

“I could do it.”

“You’re not trained,” Steve reminds him, angry at the turn in the conversation. Places Eddie’s free hand on his middle. His fingers flinch at the skin-to-skin contact and Steve feels pride in his choice not to wear anything under his jacket today. Eddie traces the hair on his chest.

“Well, we have the same chances against a gun to the head.”

“He uses a knife.”

“And now you’re spilling confidential details. Not very professional.”

“Everyone knows that,” Steve argues but he’s already irked by Eddie’s prodding.

Speaking of prodding…

There’s still a finger, lazily tracing his ass.

He likes it. He can admit this much.

“Maybe it could be my scene,” he says quietly, turned enough for the other man to catch. Eddie makes an inquiring sound, to which Steve puts his palms against his, making him press harder against his skin. The finger on his ass slides between his cheeks.

“You could show me the ropes?”

Eddie lets out a husky, surprised laugh.

“Pun intended?”

“Pun very much intended.”

He’s making a mistake. None of this is worth it and he’s risking his assignment, failing his precinct. Letting a murderer run around, knife in hand, killing innocent men.

These are his thoughts when Eddie slips his fingers in and out of his ass. It’s weird but not unpleasant, the drugs are doing their job of helping him relax. But the appeal is lost on him and it’s a pity because he really warmed up to Eddie, hoped they could be friends, solve the case together. But now it’s gonna be awkward, because-

All his doubts are cut short when Eddie finds his prostate, nearly making him choke on his spit.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Okay.”

Eddie chuckles from between his legs.

“Okay?”

Steve nods, blinking at the cracking ceiling.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get it. Do it again?”

“Of course, Sugar.” He leans in to plant a kiss on his leather-clad thigh before going to town on his prostate.

Steve arches off the bed in a silent scream and with a little help of a hand on his dick, comes all over himself and the pants he’s still wearing. His head is too heavy to lift properly and the gasps of breath aren’t helping but he looks down Eddie’s body with a frown. This was so much easier with a woman. He licks his lips and tries to get an elbow under himself.

“Do you want to…”

Eddie looks up at him from where he’s wiping cum off the leather.

“Want to what?”

Steve scrunches his nose.

“Fuck me.”

He stops what he’s doing and sits up. He lost his pants before so his dick stands hard and proud between his legs.

“I do,” he shrugs matter-of-factly. “But I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s shaking his head before he’s even finished talking.

“No. Do it.” He uses what little is left of his strength to flip on his stomach and raise his ass. He moves it in a way he hopes is inviting. “I’m still curious.”

Eddie’s silent for alarmingly long and he’s starting to feel he said something wrong, but then the man lets out a choked sound. The mattress dips under his weight when he moves closer.

“Are you sure?”

Steve considers the ugly pattern of Eddie’s wallpaper.

“No,” he decides. “But I want to know. Just use a fucking condom.”

Eddie scoffs and grabs his ass in both hands, kneading his cheeks.

“Of course.”

When he enters him, it’s like nothing else Steve’s ever felt. His dick goes so much deeper than the fingers and the stimulation on his prostate is twice as prominent. Especially now that he’s already come. He didn’t think he was gonna do it again any time soon but Eddie’s dick might just prove him wrong.

And it’s not just the stimulation doing him in. There’s so much more to take in now.

There’s a man behind him, pounding into him with big hands holding his hips. He’s under him, bent with his ass up, face in the sheets, and rubbing against them as his whole body rocks for another man’s pleasure. He likes being used, likes being on the receiving end, he realizes. Already knows it’s not going to be a one-time experiment.

Eddie grunts behind him, low and deep, and his hips snap harder against his ass, fingers digging painfully into his skin. He can feel him twitch inside as he climaxes and Steve follows, stuffing his face in the sheets to hide his pathetic whine. He hasn’t been this drained after sex for a long time, and he wasn’t even the one doing the fucking.

Eddie probably felt the same, because he collapsed on him, all heavy limbs and itchy stubble against his back.

“You were so tight, so hot and perfect,” he mumbles against his skin, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. Steve didn’t know what to do, because he never thought what he would do after the sex. What they would do.

Thankfully, Eddie’s hazy blissed-out brain has an idea.

“Can we cuddle?” he asks, almost inaudible with his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder.

“Sure,” he answers in a hoarse voice because the idea sounds heavenly. “Lemme just…” he shimmies out from under Eddie who makes a displeased sound but Steve has to get out of the leather pants before he falls asleep. He does so as quickly as possible and falls back on the bed.

It takes a moment for their boneless limbs to align comfortably but it happens and Steve finds himself being the little spoon for the first time in his life. He quite likes it, he decides.

#I've revisited an old true crime/x-files fueled idea for this so if there's interest I could expand on it :)#steddie #mine #batboysxprompts #cruising au #undercover au #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #detective steve #leather bar au #leather gay #i am in a desperate need of a beta

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nightingale2004 · 8 months ago

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The Marauders next gen: Wolfstar version (Sirius x Remus)

Artemis Hope Lupin

Faceclaim: Diana Silver

Artemis is the firstborn daughter of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

Her middle name was the name Remus's late mother

Looks a bit like both her dads but takes after more of Sirius's looks and personality

She is fiercely protective of her family

Attends Hogwarts

Gryffindor through and through

Raging bisexual

Quidditch player (beater and chaser)

Inherited Sirius's love for pranks and loves brainstorming with the weasley twins

After Sirius got locked up to Azkaban, Artemis felt like she had to take care of everything, and everyone in her family and be the adult but still a great big sister

Loves going to music record stores and just loves music in general (more specifically, Rock n roll 🤟)

Her patronus is a husky dog

Her favorite subjects are flying, charms, DADA, care for magical creatures, muggle studies, and transfiguration

Doesn't know a lot about Sirius's side of the family other than what she was told and what she has found out about them (she is very nosy and has dug around for information about them)

Has an interest in auto mechanics and engineering

She wears Sirius's old leather jacket

Likes chocolate but prefers sour candy

She is also an animagus, and her form is a husky dog, similar to her patronus

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

Caelum Alphard Lupin

Faceclaim: Felix Mallard

The second child and the first son of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

His middle name came from Sirius's late uncle, Alphard Black

Sirius and Remus got married a year after they graduated from Hogwarts and had their children shortly after

Caelum is more like Remus but takes after Sirius in looks

Caelum is considered quiet, distant, and intelligent. He also considers himself an artistic soul

If you were to ask Caelum, he'd say Artemis was the Sun, and he was the moon

When Sirius was sent to Azkaban, Caelum was only 1 year old, while Artemis was 4.

He vaguely remembered the Potters, but what he did remember was that both his dads loved them and that they would take Caelum and his sister over to the Potters all the time

He is sorted into Slytherin when the hat senses his determination, ambition, and cleverness. He was almost put into Gryffindor, but the hat changed its mind

He is on the quidditch team as a seeker but is not as passionate about it as his older sister

When he was sorted into Slytherin, his sister was worried for him along with their father, but Remus still loved his son but at the same time was afraid of what he would turn into in Slytherin

He is a major choco-holic (prefers dark chocolate)

His patronus is a raven

He also has an animagus form, which is a cat

He once snuck out to Grimmauld place out of curiosity of Sirius's side of the family. And he found out a LOT of information about the Blacks and his late Uncle Regulus and how similar he was to his uncle Regulus in some ways

☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆

Cerys Nova Lupin

Faceclaim: Bailey Bass

Cerys is the adopted daughter of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

They both adopted her a year before Sirius went to Azkaban, so Nova doesn't remember much of her other dad

Before she was adopted, she was born to a werewolf couple who were formerly a part of Fenrir Greyback's pack who gave her up for her safety

After Sirius went to Azkaban, Remus wasn't present as much, and Artemis took charge at a young age. Taking care of her younger siblings and her own father

She is literally the sweetest person you'll ever meet. A literal cinnamon roll that needs to be protected, but she can she won't hesitate to fight you if you speak badly about her family

Loyal to a fault

Loves gardening and sweets

Loves milk and white chocolate

Sorted into Hufflepuff

She is the second werewolf in her family, while her older siblings are full wizards.

She loves it when her siblings turn into their animagus form during full moons. It makes her feel less lonely

Sees Harry like an older brother.

Severus has a soft spot for this young wolf (how can you not?)

Her patronus is a wolf

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tactical-jellyfish · 3 months ago

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For Joanna (pt. 2/3)

Warnings: Nikolai is still a depressed bisexual man, google-translated Russian because I am writing this after two exams, in other news, reader finally figures out what feelings are and why they keep experiencing the pesky buggers. In other news, my hand is hurty and currently in a brace, but I refuse to fully rest it, so I'm writing anyway, but there might be minor spelling errors as my usual typing speed and rhythm is very much off.

Having a friend is... a new experience that you really happen to like.

Nikolai doesn't hang out often, but he's on the same wave as you when he is. Drinking slow and chatting, sometimes taking turns poking at the other's music taste because really, Nik? What is that shit? It's not "rock", I'll tell you that.

It's new, yes but... easy, so you let him closer than anyone else. When he brings his crackers, you bring your own snack in turn, an old favorite from the only corner store in your hometown that carried the brand, it used to be something you only ate with family, only on holidays. Now, you share it with Nikolai. And it's–it's not bad, not at all.

You'll admit, you're getting used to him. You like having him in the shop now, quiet or not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So, it turns out, you are far too stupid to know how to have a friend, even months into befriending your favorite pilot.

Granted, you've never been... the brightest, when it comes to social matters. And you know that, you accept it. But that doesn't make it any easier when another joke you had tried to give the Russian at your side in jest makes him pull back again, makes those pretty brown eyes point toward his glass instead. Calling it a glass is charitable, that thing is dirt cheap and made of plastic, your idiot brain adds, in some vain hope to not think about the fact that you seemingly bruised your best friend's feelings with the playful barb (Yes, Nikolai was your closest friend as of right now. No, you wouldn't be saying that aloud if you could help it).

You really didn't know why it seemed to make Nikolai recoil so hard so fast, to you it had just been a simple joke, because god, that English guy with the beard sure did talk nice about you, huh, Nik? I wonder about that sometimes. And seemingly, that had been squarely the wrong thing. So, you did the very best you could to backtrack when you saw him put his hands on his knees, almost dropping the glass in your hands as you race to meet him as he stands.

Maybe he doesn't see the panic in your wide eyes, maybe he chooses to ignore it because you've seemingly done so wrong by him that he'll just leave forever and never talk to you again, and- "мне пора идти, пока." You, admittedly, haven't picked up very much of his language yet, but you know that last part means goodbye and some part of your brain simply cannot let that happen. Nikolai doesn't say his goodbyes like this, he pats you on the shoulder and smiles, sometimes winks as he closes the door behind him.

His face is flat. It scares you.

So, you being the fool you are, grab his arm like he owes you money, take the cracked leather of his jacket into your hands, feel the dry texture because he forgot to take care of this one (it had since become his de-facto flying jacket) and hold. "Wait, Nik, please, whatever I said, I didn't mean to, just-"

You are not a person who sounds desperate. You are independent and you are a sharp bastard. So why are you stand here like a kid on their first day of school, desperately clinging onto your only lifeline to the outside world? You were supposed to like being a hermit, you've been fine for years now.

Nikolai seems to see this, and, despite his better interests, he pauses before he talks. Still flat, like he's barking out an order. "Do not speak of that. Not of John, and not like that." Ice water replaces every last cell of blood in your veins. What did you do? How did you get Nikolai to flip from being the single friendliest person (at least, an asshole like you) to the icy, distant tone that you knew you deserved?

You'll never say that you deflate under his pinning stare, but you know you did, to some extant, mentally riffling through every memory you had of the captain and all he said of the pilot. Nothing.

At least, nothing that would imply Nikolai was this willing to seemingly entirely cut ties with you because you had tried to make light of it.

Your brain never catches what's going on around you when you think like that. It doesn't catch the way he sighs or the slight remorse in his eyes at shutting off so hard, seemingly sending you into a tailspin. черт возьми, right. The Russian scolds himself for that in his mind. The mechanic is not often socialized. He takes a minute to stand, watch the emotions play across your face. Can't hide a thing. The touch of a callused hand pulls you from your thoughts for long enough to look back at him, and then at the big hand on your shoulder.

"Apologies. I have neglected to inform you of something personal to me."

To your shock, you aren't socked in the jaw, but rather, gently herded back into your (garbage) lawn chair (in the garage) and then Nikolai is before you, and he tells you a long, long story.

Of being young and in the military, before he branched off and did his own thing. Of falling head over ass for squarely the wrong person. Not because he had been bad, but because John was a man who knew his own values, and didn't make exceptions.

By the time the solemn tangent is finally concluded, you feel like hot garbage. In some part, because your friend is suffering under the weight of early-twenties feelings at least a decade later, but mostly because you dug that hurt back up. Unknowingly, yes, but you reminded Nik of love that wouldn't ever be given to him.

You've never been the sort to handle words. This whole incident proves that, so, instead, you reach out slowly. It isn't often you hug people, even less often you do it without them explicitly asking, but Nikolai seems to like hugs. You give him more than enough time to back out anyway.

He doesn't.

Instead, for a length of time that is between you two and the higher being (or lack thereof) of your choice. You hold each other in the shop.

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't have ever said it if I had known, I don't want to hurt you, Nik, I just-"

You're choking on words and apologies, some needy, selfish-feeling plea to just hold on to your friend, keep him around and not upset with you.

"I understand. Simple mistakes, yes?"

It's a heavenly mercy that is extended to you in that moment, Nikolai holding you by the shoulders just to pull back enough to smile at you, cheeks rounded and eyes crinkling at the corners, warming the lovely dried-mud color you'd grown attached to.

"Yeah, simple mistakes." Your voice contrasts his, a bit more shaky, still unsteady as you pull your mind back together.

In the silence, momentary and short, you decide there is one more than that much be said. You blurt it out before you can do any better thinking on it.

"You're a friend to me, Nikolai. A good one."

There's a soft chuckle, and a hand tenderly splaying over the small of your back as you're pulled close, flush to the warm oil-and-engine smell that always seems to hang on Nikolai more than you, despite this being your literal job.

His voice is warm again, you can feel his smile even if you can't see it.

"You are a friend too, механик. Very good."

#nikolai cod #x reader #nikolai x reader #stupid reader #emotionally unaware reader #yes they are stupid #no i will not apologize #also for a certain silly #you still know who you are

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gerrystamour · 2 years ago

Text

i can't tell where you end and where i start

Rated E | Steve/OMC, Steddie | Complete

Related to i could be honest, i could be human

Steve's adventures in bisexuality~*~ EDIT: The amazing, showstopping, skilled, fantastic, breathtaking @sentient-trash DREW TIG RECENTLY and absolutely BLEW MY MIND and just aaaaaaaaaaah Simon, as always, I adore you, you absolutely fucking spoil me CW: There is smut involving a Male Original Character, and it used to be on AO3 only, but now that I've locked my AO3 account, I've added it here now too. If you don't wanna read smut involving an OC, just scroll past it.

August 1985

The music was loud, bodies pressed close as everyone danced and shoved. Steve had been overwhelmed, scared even, when he’d first arrived, but now he was grinning as he pressed through to the bar.

“What can I get for you, gorgeous?” the bartender asked as he eyed Steve up and down appreciatively. Steve was happy that he was already flushed from dancing so his blush at the compliment wasn’t so obvious.

“Just a Coke, please!” he hollered over the music. “I have to drive back home tonight.”

“You got it, sweetie,” the bartender replied and quickly fixed him a glass.

Sipping at his Coke, Steve turned to lean back on the bar with his elbows and watched the crowd of men and women dancing. It was liberating, seeing men hold each other close and women kissing, and for a second he felt guilty for not bringing Robin. It wasn’t the first time he felt guilty, but he told himself again that it was important he figured some of his shit out on his own.

Immediately upon arriving he had been coaxed out to the dance floor by a young man with strong arms and a broad chest. He was absolutely gorgeous, Steve could easily admit that, and they danced for several songs together. They were eventually separated by the crowd, but that was fine. This was just a bit of an information gathering trip, Steve told himself, he wasn’t actually trying to go home with anyone this time.

As he scanned the crowd, his eyes caught on someone standing a bit away from Steve at a high-top. Steve’s heart stuttered at the long hair, the denim vest over a leather jacket, the ripped pants. But the longer Steve looked, the more features he noticed and relaxed a bit; the man was too tall, too blond, his hair too straight.

That did not change the way Steve’s heart raced when the man waved at him almost coyly.

Steve smiled sheepishly as he sipped his Coke, ducking his head a bit to glance at the man through his lashes.

The grin that came to Steve’s lips when the man immediately crossed the space to the bar was huge, and his breath left him as the man crowded close.

“Hey, handsome,” Steve greeted, the man’s smirk causing a swarm of butterflies in Steve’s gut to take wing. “What can I do you for?”

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the man replied, leaning a hand on the bar and idly stroking Steve’s elbow with his thumb. “You new to town?”

“Just visiting,” Steve replied, shivering at the contact. “You?”

“Born and raised,” he answered, and Steve shivered as the man’s other hand settled on his waist. “I’m Tig.”

Steve smiled, wondering if that was Tig's actual name or not. “Steve,” he replied, and Tig’s grin broadened.

He didn’t have dimples, which Steve noted with disappointment that left him feeling a bit guilty.

“Wanna dance, Steve?” Tig asked, which pulled a bit of a shocked laugh from Steve.

“Doesn’t seem like your scene,” he replied as Madonna blared over the speakers.

Tig laughed, and it was soft, almost sweet. “Definitely not,” he agreed, reaching up to brush Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Looks like yours, though. Could have a bit of fun here, and if you wanted, I could take you back to my place? Play something a bit more my speed?”

Steve reminded himself that he wasn’t intending to go home with anyone this time, that this was just for information gathering. But he was drawn to Tig. Steve wanted to dance with him, and he was probably going to go home with him.

They danced for what felt like hours but was really just seven songs before Tig called for a smoke break. Steve happily followed him outside, accepting a cigarette as it was handed to him. Tig lit his own cigarette then Steve’s, holding the lighter between them. They made small talk, the conversation easy and fun while they smoked together.

“What do you say we go somewhere a bit quieter?” Tig asked, steel-blue eyes hooded as he gave Steve a once-over. ��Unless you want to keep dancing?”

“I think you were going to show me music more your speed,” Steve reminded him, smirking a bit as he shrugged. “Could always keep dancing,” he added teasingly and Tig laughed.

“You’ve no idea what you’re asking for,” Tig said with a quiet chuckle, rolling his eyes.

Steve went back to Tig’s apartment, and it was a mess. On the coffee table, there was a truly impressive bong surrounded by several glasses with various levels of various beverages. There was clothing strewn about as well and a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on the table.

“Sorry, my roommates are animals,” Tig grumbled as he took Steve’s hand and pulled him through the mess and into a bedroom. It was much tidier than the main living area and Steve looked around in fascination.

There were several posters on the walls, some clearly from a live show and others likely bought at a record store, all of them of bands Steve had never heard of. All of the posters had strange and even scary imagery. One poster looked familiar, though, but Steve was struggling to place it right away. There were two guitars in one corner of the room, one electric and the other acoustic, and Steve went to look at them closer.

“You play?” Tig asked, and Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“No, not at all. I don’t even sing or anything like that,” Steve replied, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m more of a jock, you could say.”

“No way,” Tig drawled sarcastically, smirking teasingly.

Steve just laughed and kept looking around. He could hear Tig messing around with the stereo on the other side of the room, but he focused on looking at the shelf of different cassettes and records. Finally, he looked at the bed and he blushed, his heart racing as he seemed to realize where he was.

He was actually in a man’s room, standing next to his bed while the man decided what music to put on.

There was a moment where that feeling almost turned into panic, but then his eyes fell on an old, well-loved tiger stuffed animal. It wasn’t just any tiger either.

Smiling brightly, Steve held it up as he met Tig’s gaze, and there was a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Tigger?” he asked warmly, before gesturing at the man himself. “Tig?”

“You cracked the code, Steve,” Tig replied, giving Steve a one-shouldered shrug as he put a tape in and hit play.

The soft sound of a guitar played from the speakers and Tig turned it up a touch. Then the man came around the bed to stand directly in front of Steve, smirking down at him. Gently, Tig took the stuffed animal out of Steve’s hands and put it on one of the shelves next to them.

“Not gonna ask for my real name?” Tig asked curiously, and Steve shrugged.

“Was Tig not a real name?” he asked, and Tig grinned at that, as if relieved or something.

“Tig is definitely a real name, or real enough,” Tig confirmed, lifting a hand to cup Steve’s jaw while the other slid around his waist.

There was a moment when Steve realized he was going to have his first kiss with a man, and it was going to be a guy he met only a couple hours ago, and he felt that almost-panicked feeling bubble up inside him again.

But then Tig was kissing him, and it was gentle and sweet, something Steve wouldn’t have expected looking at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve wondered if Eddie would kiss like this too.

Banishing that thought from his mind, Steve deepened the kiss and moaned when their tongues met. To his surprise, Steve discovered that Tig’s tongue was pierced, something he was very curious about. He didn’t realize he actually asked about it aloud until Tig laughed.

“How about I show you, sweetheart?”

They made quick work of stripping, even if they kept getting distracted with kissing each other, and then Steve was on the bed and staring up into Tig’s blue eyes. The nerves were coming back as they searched each other’s eyes, but Steve did his best to push them back.

It was just a blowjob. Steve had plenty of experience with receiving blowjobs. This wasn’t new.

With a smirk, Tig crawled downward, pausing to suck and nibble on one of Steve’s nipples, earning himself a sharp gasp and startled moan. Chuckling, Tig continued downward and without any preamble or teasing, he took Steve’s cock into his mouth and sunk down onto it. Steve arched off the bed as his cock hit the back of Tig’s throat, choking out a whine when Tig groaned and swirled his tongue on the upstroke.

The ball of the piercing against Steve’s cock had his brain oozing out his ears, the room swimming in his vision while he cried out. His hands tangled in silky, blonde hair, not pulling or guiding him, just holding on for dear life.

Suddenly, Tig pulled off Steve’s cock and asked, “Can you grab the lube out of the drawer next to you?”

Steve blinked at Tig, his stomach a bit queasy with his nerves, but he nodded and rifled through the drawer until he found the bottle. Laying back on the bed, Steve watched as Tig slicked up his fingers. He’d kind of looked into this, but it was still a bit nerve-wracking. Steve just hoped his nerves didn’t show, or if they did that Tig would just take them as part of some innocent act.

Tig’s mouth returned to Steve’s dick, only taking the head and working it with his pierced tongue while a finger gently probed at Steve’s hole. Working to stay relaxed, Steve grunted as the long digit slid inside and began to slide in and out. A second finger quickly joined, making Steve grimace but the mouth round his dick and the tongue playing with the weeping slit of it had him forgetting the pain immediately.

The two fingers worked his hole almost clinically, and Steve began to wonder if he would like it at all. He didn’t dislike it so far, and there was something pleasant about the push-pull in his rim.

Then Tig braced his free arm across Steve’s stomach before crooking his fingers just so.

The noise that was wrenched from Steve’s throat could only be described as a scream, his back arching and eyes rolling back as stars exploded behind them. When he caught his breath, Steve looked down at Tig with wide eyes, confused and aroused in equal amounts.

Tig was looking back up at him through his lashes, a knowing look in his eyes, and Steve was terrified he’d stop.

But then Tig was taking him as deep as possible and tilted his fingertips upward into that spot that made Steve sob.

Steve came almost embarrassingly quick, his whole body shuddering as he spilled down Tig’s throat and clenched around his fingers tightly.

When Steve was done shaking, he dragged Tig upward by his hair, kissing him deeply and tasting himself on his tongue. Without hesitation, Steve reached between them to touch Tig’s heavy, aching cock.

Tig groaned, thrusting his hips and fucking Steve’s fist, his eyes heavy-lidded as he loomed above Steve. “Close,” Tig sighed, shuddering and letting his eyes roll back and Steve quickened his pace.

It only took a few more determined pumps of his fist before Tig let out a thick, breathy groan and cum hit Steve’s stomach and chest. It was filthy and hot, and Steve wished he’d made Tig come inside his mouth instead.

Tig reached down to grab his shirt off the floor and wiped Steve’s stomach off before he collapsed on the bed next to him.

As they laid there panting for breath with sweat cooling on their skin, Steve’s attention returned to the music. It was actually sort of… pleasant, even if some of it went a bit harder than Steve typically listened to. The lyrics weren’t his favourite, but he could overlook those.

“What is this?” Steve asked, gesturing at the stereo.

“Huh?” Tig said hazily, blinking a couple times before he registered the question. “Oh, Iron Maiden. They’re my favourite band.”

“This is Iron Maiden?” Steve asked, a bit confused.

He’d looked into metal as a genre after Eddie helped him out with his busted head, but he’d been too nervous to dive into the music on his own. The album art made him think that the music would be scary, and Steve could remember many times Eddie’s van pulling into the school parking lot vibrating with screaming guitars. What was playing on the stereo was nice, and yeah, a lot of it went harder than the rock Steve typically went for, but Steve really liked it.

“You’ve heard of them?” Tig asked excitedly, rolling onto his side, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Yeah, I know this guy back home who listens to music like this— your poster!” Steve interrupted himself, snapping his fingers triumphantly and pointing to the one over the bed. “That’s on the back of his battle vest.”

When he looked back at Tig, there was a knowing look on his face that turned Steve’s stomach sour.

“You like this guy a lot?” Tig asked, and he sounded genuine in asking, like he actually wanted to hear about Steve’s feelings for another guy. Steve didn’t deserve that; he didn’t sleep with Tig just because he couldn’t have Eddie, but that was at least part of his motivation.

Steve shrugged, looking away from Tig.

“Hey, Steve, c’mon don’t shut me out,” Tig cooed softly, cupping Steve’s chin and turning his face back toward him. There was a smile on his lips as he said, “I’m not gonna be mad that you like another guy or anything.”

Steve flushed, his ears heating up as he nodded. “Yeah, of course, makes sense,” he muttered, mostly to himself before he sighed. “It doesn’t matter. My feelings for him, I mean. We couldn’t actually do anything about them anyway.”

“No?” Tig hummed, dropping his hand from Steve’s face to wrap around his waist loosely, his fingertips drawing shapes on Steve’s hip.

“We live in a small town a couple hours away, and we’re both too… popular, I guess, in our own ways to do it secretly,” he said quietly, then added even quieter, “my dad would kill him.”

Tig was quiet for a long while, then lifted his hand again to brush along the outside of his eye. The bruising was largely gone by then, but there was still a yellow-greenish tinge to his skin that spoke of a nasty injury recently if someone was observant enough.

“Your dad do that?” he asked quietly, and Steve shook his head.

“That was an accident at work,” Steve replied, the lie coming easily and Tig seemed to have bought it. “My dad never hits my face hard enough to leave a mark.”

It was weird how simple it was to say it out loud to a complete stranger like that, when he had only told Robin because she almost witnessed it happen.

“Your dad’s smarter than mine, then,” Tig said with a snort. “He went to prison—not for hitting me, other shit people actually care about, y’know? But I went into the system, bounced around a bunch of foster homes until I aged out.”

“Shit,” Steve grimaced and he wasn’t sure if his situation was so bad after all.

“Yeah,” Tig sighed, then smiled. “So this guy, he has a Dio patch on his battle vest?”

The change in topic was a bit confusing, but Steve was relieved, too. “I think he cut a T-shirt up, it’s too big to be a patch like the others, but yeah.”

“You should listen to Dio then, especially that album,” Tig said, his arm returning to rest around Steve’s waist and fingertips teasing the skin of his hip. “Might learn a few things about him.”

Steve sighed. “It’s stupid, but I’m afraid I won’t like it,” he confessed, laughing slightly.

“Do you like Iron Maiden?” Tig asked.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Steve said with a laugh.

“You’ll probably appreciate Dio, then. You at least won’t hate Dio,” Tig said with a grin, cuddling tighter to Steve’s side.

It was nice, laying there in someone’s bed, being held. But then he started to feel a bit guilty for staying there so long. “I should be heading out,” Steve said a bit awkwardly, chewing his lip when Tig pulled back.

“Do you want to leave?” Tig asked and Steve sighed heavily.

“No, I don’t, but that’s—after stuff like this, isn’t it weird to just… hang out?” Steve asked weakly, shrugging.

“Only if you’re trying to stay when you’ve been told to get lost,” Tig replied with a chuckle as he threw his leg over Steve and shifted so he was straddling his thighs. “I was kinda hoping for round two when I put on a new cassette in a couple minutes.”

Steve smiled up at Tig, a bit awed by him. He was undeniably gorgeous, and on top of that he was compassionate and sweet, and he went by a nickname he got from a childhood toy. A toy he kept with him through several foster homes. Would Steve get a chance to learn why that toy was so important to him? Would they get close enough to open up that much to each other?

“Yeah? And what do you suggest we do until then?” Steve asked teasingly, tipping his chin up as Tig leaned down and brought his lips close.

“Was thinking about kissing you again, playing with your tits a bit, just to get you back in the mood,” Tig responded, and Steve was overwhelmed at the spike of heat that zapped through his core.

“They’re not tits,” he protested weakly, but his cock was already stiffening.

Two hands groped Steve’s chest a bit roughly before they shifted to flick their thumbs over his nipples, pulling an embarrassingly needy sound from Steve’s throat.

“Aren’t they, though? Just a little bit?” Tig asked before pinching Steve’s nipples and tugging them until Steve arched off the bed with a sob. “Y’got gorgeous tits, Steve.”

With that, Tig’s mouth finally met Steve’s, happily swallowing the increasingly desperate whines as he pinched, flicked, tugged, and twisted Steve’s nipples. It was impressive just how hard Steve already was by the time the album ended, his cock aching where it leaked drops of precum onto his hip.

Tig jumped up to quickly switch out the cassette, his own dick at half-mast but getting there. Steve took the few moments he was given to catch his breath, steady his thoughts, and calm himself down a bit. It would be humiliating if he came just from having his nipples played with.

“Shit, sweetheart, look at you,” Tig breathed, and Steve opened his eyes to look up at him.

He was standing next to the bed, eyes wide and adoring as he looked at Steve. Glancing down at Tig’s cock, he could see it had gotten harder and the thought that just looking at Steve did that for him…

It was flattering, embarrassing, and extremely hot.

Feeling brave, emboldened by Tig’s naked attraction to him, Steve played into the blush he felt rising to his cheeks, fluttering his lashes shyly as he looked away. “What?” he asked, biting his lip when he turned his gaze back to Tig’s.

Next thing Steve knew, Tig was on the bed and guiding him until he was laid out on his knees and chest. Tig was pressed flush against him from hips to chest, his dick rutting against the cleft of Steve’s ass. After the thorough fingering earlier, his hole felt loose and utterly empty, and the rubbing pressure of Tig’s length against his rim had Steve’s thoughts going hazy.

Steve had decided earlier that he drew the line at actual penetrative sex after he crossed his own line of “no going home with someone tonight.” He had made a new rule for himself, and he had thought it was going to be an easy enough one to follow. It made no sense for him to go from being basically a virgin to having a dick inside him in one night.

Then again, wasn’t that the experience of every virgin he had slept with up until that point?

“Tig,” Steve gasped, rocking back and shuddering when Tig grabbed his hip in a bruising grip.

With a thick groan, Tig asked, “what, sweetheart?”

Swallowing hard, Steve turned his head to look over his shoulder at Tig, blinking up at him through his lashes. “Fuck me?” he asked, putting a bit more sweetness in is tone than what came naturally. Then, with a sighing moan, he added, “please?”

Tig’s steel-blue eyes were almost black with how blown his pupils were in the dimly lit room. It was very clear that he really got off on the sweet, almost innocent act and he would happily play into it. Whatever got Steve something touching that spot inside him that made him scream.

Steve wasn’t sure how Tig had the bottle of lube in his hand so quickly, but then he was slicking his fingers and shifting his hips away from Steve’s ass.

Whining pathetically, Steve rocked back, trying to chase the delicious pressure. He barely had time to register Tig’s chuckle before there was pressure against his rim and then he had Tig’s fingers inside him again. There was no working Steve up to it this time, just three of his long, slender fingers as deep as they could go.

With a punched-out moan, Steve got onto his elbows and rocked back again, shuddering as Tig fucked him with his fingers. After a bit of trying to shift his hips to get Tig’s fingers where he wanted, Steve realized the man was avoiding his prostate, just moving and scissoring him and getting Steve even more loose.

“Tig, please,” Steve whined as Tig twisted his hand. Then he spread his fingers as much as Steve’s hole would let him and held them there. Steve shook, his breath leaving him in harsh little pants and he realized belatedly that he was actually talking, begging over and over for Tig’s cock.

Behind him, Tig chuckled and Steve grunted when a cold and wet glob of lube was poured over and into his spread hole. Tig’s fingers moved again a bit, working the lube deeper inside before he repeated the process. He ended up doing that until Steve was quivering with arousal, his ass so slick and wet that every small slide of Tig’s fingers was accompanied by an obscenely wet sound.

“You think you’re ready for me, princess?” Tig asked, his voice rough with his own arousal, and Steve sobbed and nodded frantically.

He didn’t even register the pet name for several moments, too busy crying into the comforter as Tig just laughed and repeated the process with the lube two more times. Steve knew without a doubt that he had never been so hard in his entire life leading up to that moment, his cock leaking a steady stream of precum onto the bed underneath him, his balls heavy and the length of it throbbing.

“Tig, please!” Steve begged, sniffling as tears streamed down his face.

“Alright, sweetheart, shush,” Tig hummed, his voice smug. “Give me one of your hands.”

Steve immediately reached back and Tig took it while he withdrew his fingers from Steve’s hole. Then he guided Steve’s hand until he pressed three of his own fingers inside his slick, hot hole. Steve’s fingers were thicker than Tig’s, but by then he was so open and wet that he didn’t even feel the stretch that much.

“Keep those still while I get a condom on, alright?” Tig said and Steve nodded quickly, biting his lip as he focused on holding his hand still and settling his breathing.

He knew he was on the edge of an orgasm he knew would absolutely ruin him for weeks, and all he could do is try not to let that happen before Tig was even inside him.

“Alright, princess, make room for me,” Tig said, and then he laughed at how quickly Steve pulled his fingers out of his hole for him. Steve blushed heavily at that, a spike of embarrassment pooling more heat low in his gut.

A large hand wrapped around the front of Steve’s hip, and he looked over his shoulder to watch Tig position his cock. Steve felt the pressure at his rim, sucked in a deep breath, and then Tig was pushing.

Despite being fingered within an inch of his life twice in one night and having what felt like half a bottle of lube slicking his hole, the stretch was overwhelming. Steve was winded already, the girth of Tig slowly splitting him in half pushing all of the oxygen out of Steve’s lungs. There was a moment where Steve considered that he overestimated his capabilities, that yeah getting fingered like he took it all the time was one thing, but a dick was a completely different story. He thought he should tap out and let Tig know that he was, for the purposes of the sort of sex they would have, a total virgin and he just met his limit.

And then Tig’s hips were pressed flush to Steve’s ass, his cock sunk to the root inside Steve’s core.

When Tig shifted to pull out, Steve reached back with one hand and grabbed his hip, holding him place. “Give me sec,” he gasped, shuddering as he willed his body to relax. The plus side was that the burning stretch was enough to pull Steve back from the edge he was teetering on since Tig played with his nipples.

“You okay, Steve?” Tig asked, and Steve nodded frantically.

The burn was starting to lessen, and while it didn’t feel good at the moment, it definitely didn’t feel bad either. He felt mostly uncomfortable, like pressure was building as his hole clenched around the thick cock inside him.

“Use your words, Steve,” Tig insisted, and to Steve’s dismay the playful, low growl was leaving his voice.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay, just needed a second,” Steve said as steadily as he could, loosening his grip on Tig’s hip and rubbing the skin soothingly. “I’m ready.”

There was hesitation, but eventually Tig let out a shaky breath and started to pull out just as slowly as he pushed in. The drag on Steve’s rim on the pull-out was intense and he mindlessly rocked back with the movement. There was a sense of both relief and sadness when Tig was nearly all the way out, and Steve let out a pitiful little sob.

“I’ve got you, princess,” Tig cooed, and he pushed back inward to the root in one smooth motion, much faster than the first time. All of the air was forced out of Steve all over again, his eyes wide as he twisted his fists in the comforter. He barely had a moment to register that it felt better that time when Tig was already pulling out again.

Each thrust grew faster and more powerful behind Steve, driving tiny, broken little sounds out of his throat. Eyes rolling back, Steve began rocking back to meet each snap of Tig’s hips, the slap of their skin meeting filling the room and almost drowning out the music. The song that was playing was picking up speed, and so was Tig, his cock sliding in and out of Steve with obscenely wet sounds. Steve could feel the steady trickle of lube running down his taint and balls, each thrust pulling more out of Steve’s loose hole.

“Time for a little change, sweetheart,” Tig sighed, and then he was hauling Steve up until his back was flush to Tig’s chest.

When Steve settled back in Tig’s lap, his cock somehow slid even deeper and Steve sobbed, grinding his hips backward. The new angle had the arch of Tig’s dick pressing firmly against Steve’s sweet spot and stars exploded behind his eyes. He could barely breathe, shaking in Tig’s lap as one hand reached back to tangle in long blond hair.

“C’mon, princess, time to move,” Tig growled, low and dark in Steve’s ear before hands fell to his hips and bodily rocked him.

The shifting movement was overwhelming and a thick spurt of precum leaked from the tip of his cock. Steve wasn’t going to last, and they hadn’t even touched his cock. That thought had static screaming in his head as his body lit up on every massaging shift against his prostate, and Steve’s throat hurt from just how loud he knew he was being. The pleasure was sharp enough that Steve was sure he had to be bleeding somehow, and it was quickly approaching the realm of unpleasant.

It was too much all at once.

Steve let out a grunt as his other hand grabbed one of Tig’s holding his hip. He tried to think of what to say, how to communicate that he needed to slow down, that it was too much, but he didn’t want to stop completely.

“Can’t,” Steve gasped out, trying to lift himself up a bit and letting out a filthy sound. It didn’t seem like Tig heard him, because he let out a thick groan and pulled Steve back down, knocking a wounded cry from his throat.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty,” Tig sighed as he nibbled and sucked at Steve’s throat.

Then Tig’s other hand, the one Steve wasn’t holding, slid forward to wrap around Steve’s cock and somehow it was a relief. The pleasure became much less sharp, more familiar even as his ass clenched around a thick length seated deep in his core. Steve whined and shook as Tig began to stroke him.

“Bounce that pretty ass of yours on my cock, princess,” Tig ordered, and Steve tried to summon the strength but he was pretty sure it had leaked out his cock with the precum puddling on the bed underneath him.

“Can’t,” Steve repeated, this time a little louder, his voice a little less choked.

Tig paused behind him before he coaxed Steve to lift up a bit. Steve gasped in a desperate breath of air.

“You okay, Steve?” Tig asked, and Steve nodded frantically.

“The position’s just—it’s a lot,” Steve managed to say after a bit, his voice shaking as his hole clenched around the cock still halfway inside him.

Tig kissed the back of his shoulder, and Steve’s stomach did a little flip. “Too much?” he asked softly, and Steve whimpered and nodded, tears springing to his eyes.

“Alright, baby, I’m gonna put you back on the bed like before, is that okay?” Tig said, and Steve nodded, letting out a shuddering sigh as he was gently guided forward until he caught himself on his hands.

Dropping onto his chest, Steve sighed with relief. It was still a lot, but not sharp at all. Turning his heavy-lidded gaze over his shoulder, Steve bit his bottom lip. “Thank you,” he sighed and rocked back against Tig.

The expression on Tig’s face was hungry and with another push from Steve, he started to fuck him properly.

It was hard and fast, and a lot of it hurt but Steve could take it. He was happy to, with the way Tig was groaning, calling him sweet names and telling him how good he was, how well he took cock, like Steve was made for it. Steve was crying, tears streaming down his face as he met each hard thrust, sobs tumbling from his lips as he nodded and pleaded for more.

“Touch yourself, princess, gonna come soon,” Tig growled and Steve didn’t wait to be told twice.

Wrapping a hand around himself, he only managed two quick pumps and then he was coming, letting out a sound best described as a scream. Behind him, Tig groaned and fucked Steve’s hole as it spasmed around him, thrusts growing erratic until he snapped his hips forward one last time with a surprisingly soft exclamation. Steve shuddered as he felt the warmth of Tig’s release fill the condom inside him, new tears spilling from his eyes at that intimacy.

Tig dropped to his elbows above Steve, draping himself over Steve’s back as he ground his hips against him. The sensation of Tig’s softening cock moving against Steve’s twitching, aching hole pulled a hiss from Steve. With a chuckle, Tig lifted himself up and off of Steve, pulling out with a wet sound that had his ears turning red.

There were several moments where Steve was alone in the bed, maybe even alone in the whole room while Tig muttered something about dealing with the condom. He stayed where Tig left him, chest against the bed, knees under him to keep out of the wet spot, and another wave of tears welled up. He wasn’t upset, he knew that much, that he felt honestly amazing despite the ache in his pelvis. So why was he crying?

Steve thought back to one of the first girls he ever slept with, the way she had cried when they were done. He thought about Nancy’s quiet melancholy after their first time.

“You okay, Steve?” Tig asked, and Steve jumped at the gentle touch of a warm washcloth against his tender ass, wiping away some of the lube.

“Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair in a bit,” Steve replied hoarsely, chuckling lightly.

“Steve, if you think I’m not cuddling the shit out of you after taking your ass virginity, you’re literally insane,” Tig said teasingly, yet firmly and Steve blushed.

“How did you know?” he asked, barely keeping a flinch at bay as he flopped onto his side to look up at Tig, who was smirking.

“I didn’t. I suspected, and you just confirmed,” Tig chuckled, laying on his side next to Steve and facing him. “You could’ve told me.”

Steve shrugged a bit. “I didn’t want you to treat me like I was fragile,” he admitted, shrugging and wiping his tears off his face. “I thought you’d stop me if you knew.”

“Steve, I was pretty sure you’d never had your ass even touched the first time I fingered you,” Tig replied with a smirk. At Steve’s questioning look, Tig said, “you got that look on your face when I found your prostate that kinda screamed that you didn’t know that was there.”

Steve blushed, remembering the way he jolted and stared wide-eyed at Tig. “That’s fair,” Steve admitted, chewing his cheek.

“It’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t handle, so if you said ‘hey Tig I’ve never done this but please don’t stop’ I would’ve happily still fucked you,” Tig said, cupping Steve’s cheek gently.

“Noted,” Steve sighed, smiling tiredly at Tig who leaned in and kissed him, deep and sweet.

October 1985

Steve ended up getting Tig’s number as he was leaving the next morning, and while he didn’t call often, they still formed a solid friendship. The lines of that friendship blurred whenever Tig would ask Steve when he was going to come back to Indy, and Steve would immediately say his closest day off.

There was once that Steve stayed at Tig’s place for two nights in a row. They hadn’t even gone to the bar, Steve just went straight to his apartment.

It was a lot of fun, and Steve had quickly figured out the answers to his questions. Was he actually interested in men? Yes, emphatically. So it wasn’t just his confused, concussed brain being weird about Eddie? No, absolutely not.

And Steve really liked Tig, could see himself loving Tig someday even.

Tig, however, was already there.

Steve could clearly remember the moment he realized that Tig had fallen harder than he did.

They were laying in Tig’s bed, and Steve had set an alarm to leave extra early so he could still make it back to Hawkins to give Robin a ride to school. He was going to go home the night before, but he was talked into staying until the morning.

Steve moved to slide out of the bed and Tig’s long arms wrapped around him, pulling him back in with a sleepy whine.

“Don’t go,” Tig murmured sleepily, kissing Steve’s shoulder.

Steve laughed and rolled in Tig’s arms to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’ve gotta get back. I need to drive my sister to school,” he explained again and Tig captured his lips sweetly.

Even in the moment, Steve felt something different between them, something naked and vulnerable that wasn’t even there when they were having sex.

“Seriously, Tig, I gotta go,” Steve murmured against Tig’s mouth with a laugh, wiggling out of his embrace so he could start grabbing his clothes off the floor.

“Can’t anyone else take her to school?” Tig asked, his tone lacking the teasing tone it usually had, and Steve looked over his shoulder at him with a frown.

The expression on Tig’s face was open and unbearably soft and dread sunk into Steve’s gut. He knew that look because he had seen it enough times in the mirror when he had thought about Nancy when he was first dating her, when he decided to throw away even trying to get into college right after high school.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” Steve asked with a little smile, trying to laugh it off as if Tig was just goofing off.

“I just like having you here,” Tig confessed, reaching out to touch Steve’s arm gently. “I want you to stay.”

The weight of that sentence was crushing.

Tig’s expression closed off a bit when Steve did not react the way he had possibly hoped, and the guilt Steve felt was overwhelming. He would give anything to feel the same way, to want to stay the way Tig was asking him to and he wanted to say all of that. All Steve could do was turn his face away and mutter a soft, “shit.”

Behind him, Tig chuckled hollowly. “Yeah, shit,” he said before he scoffed. “Is it because of that guy back home? You were able to pretend you were fucking around with him until the feelings got too real?”

Steve flinched. “No, Tig. It has nothing to do with him,” he bit out as he stood up, fighting back guilty tears.

“Then what is it?” Tig was sitting up in the bed, jaw set with hurt and anger.

“Jesus fucking Christ, why are you doing this right now?” Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to actually talk this out with you.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Tig said flatly, not even angrily. Steve looked at him, somewhat alarmed at the suggestion, and Tig was looking at his bookshelf. “You can leave and we just go our separate ways.”

Steve stared at Tig, his mouth hanging open before he closed it with a click. He should just turn and leave, just as Tig suggested. He could do that, and justify it as doing as he was asked.

But Steve was never very good at running away.

“I’m sorry, Tig. I really am because I wish I felt like that for you. I hate that I don’t, I feel sick about it,” Steve said in a rush, looking down at his hands while he gathered his thoughts. “You’re one of my closest friends, you know things about me that only my sister knows, and if I could choose to fall for someone, I would choose you, Tig.”

“That makes no sense,” Tig argued, and Steve couldn’t blame him.

They shared so much, had been vulnerable and genuine and open in ways Steve hadn’t even felt with Robin in some ways. Yet there was this wall between them in the shape of Demogorgons, Demodogs, and Mindflayers and all the trauma that came with those. Over the months, there were days where Steve knew he couldn’t stay the night with Tig because the chances were good that he’d be waking up with a screaming nightmare. There were several times he canceled a trip out entirely because one of the kids was slow to respond to a check-in and Steve knew the entire weekend was toast.

And if he managed to fall for Tig the way he wished he could and Tig asked him to stay again, Steve couldn’t leave the kids until he was certain the Upside Down was gone. How could he possibly explain to Tig that he was going to stay in his homophobic hometown where his father lived for the kids he babysat? Especially since they were all plenty old enough to not need a babysitter?

There was an ocean of monsters and confidentiality agreements between Steve and anyone who was blissfully unaware of the evil alternate universe under Hawkins, and he couldn’t cross it while he was still barely staying afloat himself.

“You’re right, it doesn’t, but just… those are the facts,” Steve said weakly, his lip trembling. “I love you and need you in my life, but just… not the same way as you, and I promise I hate myself so much for that.”

“Steve, stop, I don’t want that,” Tig said and he shifted to sit at the edge of the bed and wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and pull him into a tight hug. “I don’t want you to beat yourself up over how you feel.”

“Why are you comforting me right now?” Steve asked, his voice pathetically small as he wrapped his arms around Tig’s shoulders.

“Because I’m hurt over something you can’t control, and you’re hurt because I was mean,” Tig said, his words a bit muffled against Steve’s chest. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Steve let out a shaky sigh of relief, sniffling slightly as he petted Tig’s hair. “I think I could love you like that if I had more time,” he said softly, tipping his head back to blink up at the ceiling, tears falling back into his hair. “There’s just… a lot that I’m dealing with that I can’t tell you about.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tig sighed, then he tipped his head back to meet Steve’s gaze solemnly. His eyelashes and cheeks were damp with tears, and Steve’s heart broke again. “I can’t wait for you, though. And I’m not a strong enough person to keep sleeping with you either.”

“That makes sense,” Steve said, wiping Tig’s tears away. “Can I still call you to talk sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Tig said sweetly, smiling a bit. “And you better say hi when you come back out. No avoiding me because you think you’re doing me a favour.”

Steve laughed at that, even if it hit a bit too close to the truth of his character. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied instead.

“One more kiss for the road?” Tig asked, and he looked like he regretted asking the moment it left his mouth, but he let the question stand.

Steve nodded and stooped to press his lips to Tig’s. It was a soft, chaste, and desperately sad kiss that tasted of tears when it inevitably deepened.

Pulling away, Steve stepped out of Tig’s loose embrace and finished getting dressed.

“I’ll just see myself out?” Steve said as he grabbed his overnight bag and went to leave.

“Wait, Steve,” Tig stopped him, and when Steve turned to look at him, he was grabbing something off the desk next to the stereo. Crossing the room in a couple strides, he handed it to Steve and said, “I made this for you.”

Steve stared at the cassette case in Tig’s hand with wide eyes. No one had ever made him a mix-tape, but Tig had and was giving it to Steve, even though Steve broke his heart.

“You still want to give it to me?” he asked.

“It’s yours, Steve. I made it for you, so it’s not for me to keep,” Tig reassured him, and Steve took the mixtape.

“Thank you,” he said, and it sounded pathetic to his own ears.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” Tig said, and he turned away from Steve to go back to his bed. Steve could tell he was wiping away more tears.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed and he left Tig’s room, closing the bedroom door behind himself and hurrying out of the apartment to his car.

Once he was in the Beemer, he inserted Tig’s mixtape into the tape-deck. The moment the first song started, with the almost upbeat synths over hard guitars, Steve knew it was a tape of all of his favourite songs he’d noted as he listened to the various metal bands Tig liked.

Steve smiled, even as he teared up all over again and started the lonely drive back to Hawkins.

May 1986

Over the following months, Steve and Tig stayed friendly. They still called each other to talk, and sometimes Tig invited him out to Indy, but they were strictly friends without the additional benefits. Tig was almost always on the arm of another guy when Steve would arrive at the bar and usually left before Steve was done dancing and scoping out the possibilities.

Steve was popular with the alternative crowd, partly because of the three months he spent on Tig’s arm he was sure. He belatedly came to learn that Tig was actually fairly well-known in the scene in Indy, and by extension Steve was too, at least a little bit. That revelation had worried Steve at first, that it would hurt Tig if he fooled around with his friends and acquaintances.

Tig put a stop to that worrying one night when Steve was reluctant to flirt with a guy Tig encouraged to approach him.

One day in February, Tig invited Steve out to Indy specifically to meet his boyfriend Charlie.

They were adorable together, already settling into domestic habits that hinted at their future together. Charlie was a bit older than Tig and owned a home, which is where they hosted Steve when he visited. While he didn’t outwardly appear to be as deeply into the metal scene as Tig, when Charlie rolled up the sleeves of his sweater Steve was treated to the sight of tattoos covering every inch of his skin.

As Tig set Steve up in the guest bedroom that night, he asked nervously, “What do you think?”

Steve had blinked at him, confused. “About what?” he asked.

“Charlie,” Tig said, laughing and rolling his eyes. “What do you think about him?”

“I think I’m jealous you found him first,” Steve said with a smile at Tig. “He’s a great guy. You deserve him.”

Tig glanced away with a smile so fond and happy that Steve’s chest ached with how much he cared about Tig. He was so pleased that Tig got the happy ending he truly deserved, the one he never would’ve gotten if he stuck around waiting for Steve.

“I think I love him,” Tig confessed quietly, and Steve laughed.

“You just think you love him?” he asked skeptically and Tig covered his blushing face with both hands.

“Okay, fine, I’m definitely in love with him,” he mumbled into his palms and Steve grinned.

“I definitely think he’s just as gone on you, too,” Steve said after a bit, and Tig looked at him nervously.

“You think so?” he asked, and it was weird seeing Tig so off-balance and timid.

Steve pulled Tig into a tight hug, who returned it even tighter. “I know so, Tig,” Steve said firmly.

When Steve left the next morning, he promised to bring his sister to meet them when she was on spring break in a few weeks.

Between the world almost ending and waiting for Eddie to wake up, Steve had forgotten to call Tig and let him know what was up. He didn’t even think about the fact that the earthquake had made national news until a couple weeks after Eddie was discharged.

Steve was covered up to his elbows in flour in the kitchen when the phone started ringing, and he cursed a bit.

“I got it,” Eddie called from where he was lounging on the couch next to one of the receivers. Picking it up, he drawled in an almost sickeningly sweet tone, “you’ve reached the Henderson-Harrington-Munson household, how may I direct your call?”

Snorting a bit, even as his gut fluttered at Eddie inserting himself in the home he created with the Hendersons, Steve started to wash his hands.

Eddie hummed. “Hey man, slow down—Steve’s right—yeah, he’s just in the kitchen, alright? Hold on,” Eddie said in a calming voice, and Steve looked over his shoulder with a frown. His boyfriend was returning the expression, an eyebrow raised high as he pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out. “It’s for you, Stevie. His name is Charlie?”

“Oh, shit,” Steve gasped, hurrying across the phone to take the receiver from Eddie and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Charlie, I am so sorry. I can’t fucking believe I forgot to call you guys—”

“Steve, it’s okay, Jesus, I’m just relieved to hear your voice,” Charlie said with a quiet laugh, and then there was a bunch of noise on the other line as if Charlie was fumbling his phone in his hands.

Then the rustling noises stopped. “Steve, what the fuck?” Tig practically growled over the line.

“I am so sorry, Tig—”

“Do you fucking understand how out of my mind I’ve been? There was a huge fucking earthquake! We felt it all the way out here!” Tig said, properly shouting at Steve. There was no heat in his voice, only weeks of anxiety and worry being released, but Steve still flinched a bit.

“Tig, I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, I just need you to dial back the volume,” Steve said and instantly Tig took a deep breath.

“It was all over the news, about half of Hawkins being fucking leveled, and a ton of people still being missing, and there was some murderer running around?” Tig started again, this time much quieter but no less upset. “And then we couldn’t get through to you at all.”

“Yeah, the phone lines were out for a while,” Steve said weakly, chewing his lip.

“When we did get through, a woman answered the phone and said you were at the hospital?” Tig added and Steve groaned.

“That was Claudia, and she didn’t mean I was injured—” Eddie made a stern noise and poked Steve gently in the side, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his point across. “Okay, I was injured, but I wasn’t at the hospital for that. I was there for Eddie.”

There was a long pause. “Like, Eddie Eddie?”

Steve felt his ears heat up a bit. “Yeah, that one,” he replied, and he could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “He was at the hospital until the end of last month—”

“Wait, wait, is he the same Eddie that was on the news, with the murders and shit?”

Steve tensed up, his stomach sinking at the thought that Tig might have bought into the bullshit. “He had nothing to do with those,” he said firmly, his anger already crawling into his voice.

“Shit, Steve, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. We only really got the news about the murders after everything else happened,” Tig said quickly and Steve slowly relaxed again. “Seriously, most of the news on that shit was a lot of ‘hick town recalls witch hunt on innocent nerdy metalhead following massive earthquake.’ I just meant if he was the same Eddie that was in the news as one of the Creel survivors.”

“Yeah, the very same,” Steve confirmed, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, Tig, I should’ve called. There was just a lot going on.”

Tig sighed as well and Steve could hear Charlie murmur something. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I was just so fucking scared, Steve,” Tig said, and Steve could hear the tears in his voice.

“I know, it’s okay,” Steve said softly.

There was another pause before Tig asked, “So when can Charlie and I expect to meet him?”

Steve laughed loudly, tipping his head back. “He’s still healing. I’ll let you know when we can make the drive.”

“Sounds good,” Tig said before he sighed. “Don’t ever leave me off the post-emergency phone tree ever again, Steve, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Steve agreed instantly and sincerely. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, talk to you later. Love you,” Tig said, and Steve grinned.

“Love you, too, man,” he said and hung the receiver up. When he finally turned to look at Eddie, the other man was staring at him with his brow furrowed.

“Who was that?” Eddie asked.

“My friend Tig and his boyfriend Charlie,” Steve said with a shrug as he got up to go back to the kitchen. He knew that wasn’t the full answer Eddie wanted, but Steve kind of liked the way Eddie would get huffy at his vague answers.

“Okay, obviously I gathered their names and that they were boyfriends, but how do you know them?” Eddie asked as he got up shakily and followed Steve into the kitchen. When Steve looked over his shoulder, he saw Eddie standing in the doorway of the kitchen and leaning heavily on his cane.

“I met Tig in Indy, and then I met Charlie when Tig started dating him,” Steve replied as he got back to his baking.

“Is Tig one of the guys who popped your cherry?” Eddie asked and Steve grimaced.

“Okay, first off? Don’t say that phrase, it’s gross,” Steve insisted before looking at Eddie. “Are you going to be weird if I say yes?”

“I’m already weird, Harrington,” Eddie replied airily with a sniff.

“Fine, he was the first guy I did almost everything with,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes when Eddie let out a devastated noise behind him.

“I hate him,” Eddie claimed without any amount of sincerity and Steve just laughed as he heard Eddie shuffle back to the couch.

April 1987 - Bonus Track

Eddie was never nervous before a show.

Sure, he was jittery and scatterbrained, and even a bit short-tempered. But nervous? No. Being nervous would imply he didn’t think the band was talented or something. Plus, nowadays they had Steve around, helping them out with moving and setting up their equipment since Eddie couldn’t lift and haul things around like he used to. Having Steve’s steady presence helped ease any nerves anyone in the band might have.

Not Eddie though, because he was never nervous before a show. Not even this one, their first show since the world almost ended and their first show in Indy since ‘84. This show that was actually sold-out because apparently being framed for murder and then allegedly surviving being targeted by said murderer did wonders for your reputation as a metal band.

“Dude, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg, you’re gonna get exhausted before we even go out there,” Jeff said, gingerly grabbing Eddie’s knee and stopping the movement.

Eddie nearly snapped at him about it, but just barely stopped himself. Of course, Jeff was correct because now that he was stopped, he was forced to acknowledge the ache already settling into the muscle beneath the scar.

“What’s your deal anyway?” Gareth asked point-blank, because yeah. Eddie wasn’t acting normal.

The deal was that Steve apparently knew a fair bit of the metal scene in Indianapolis better than Eddie did. He even knew the bartenders there and a couple of the other bands that were playing that night, too. He didn’t stick around chatting very long with anyone, but it was obvious he was weirdly part of the community. Hell, when they arrived at the bar, there was practically a chorus of “Steve”s from the bartender and patrons alike.

The deal was that Eddie knew Steve had fooled around with a couple of these people, and that woke something possessive and territorial in his gut.

Eddie had understandably taken the first opportunity to say ‘mine’ as subtly as possible.

Which obviously meant he wasn’t subtle at all.

Shucking off his battle vest, Eddie held it out to Steve expectantly, clearly telling him without words to wear it. A wordless command to show all his metalhead friends who he belonged to now.

Steve had looked at the vest, then slowly lifted his gaze to Eddie’s face with a raised eyebrow and a very small part of Eddie worried took it too far. However, without breaking eye-contact, Steve took the battle vest and, in front of all his metalhead friends, shrugged it on over his leather jacket. Steve looked down at himself as he straightened the vest out, but when his gaze returned to Eddie, there was a simmering heat in his eyes that set Eddie on fucking fire.

Then Steve just turned around to sidle up to the bar for a drink.

“I’m just excited, Garebear,” Eddie said, and it wasn’t actually a lie. He was excited to perform, to show the world—or at least this dive bar in Indy—what Corroded Coffin could do, to prove that nothing could hold him back from the stage.

Eddie also just wanted to get through their set so he could get his mouth on Steve and mark him as his even more. He wanted to bite and scratch and bruise perfectly tanned and freckled skin, wanted to spell out PROPERTY OF EDDIE MUNSON with the marks. Eddie wanted to make Steve bleed, make him feel it for days so he couldn’t possibly forget who he belonged to.

And Eddie knew that wasn’t necessary, none of it, because he knew Steve was his, and Steve knew that too, happily reinforced that almost every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. Even beyond the sex they had. They were absolutely secure in their relationship together, and neither of them were worried about the other breaking what they had off.

Eddie just wanted the world—or at least this dive bar in Indy—to understand that. He wanted them to understand it and despair that they would never get to have Steve like they used to.

“Okay, now you look pissed,” Frank finally spoke up, and Eddie groaned. Couldn’t a guy have his revenge fantasies in peace?

“I’m fine! I’m excited! I’m just getting myself in the zone! Fuck off!” Eddie exclaimed, and then finally they were allowed to take the tiny stage.

The other guys took the stage ahead of Eddie, letting him take the stairs at his pace with his cane. Jeff was talking to the crowd to warm them up as Frank and Gareth got set up, and he introduced Eddie to what was actually a deafening cheer.

Seriously, being framed for murder and then gored by Demobats was the best thing to happen to his reputation with the people outside of Hawkins. He was absolutely wearing a tattered Iron Maiden shirt and jeans so full of holes they barely counted as pants, all just to show off the twisted knots of scarred skin.

As Eddie took his spot at the center of the stage and leaned back on the stool the bar provided, he immediately scanned the crowd with his eyes and instantly found Steve. He was still standing near the bar and cheering loud enough that his voice rose above the rest of the din.

Steve looked delicious, standing there in a shitty dive bar, wearing denim and leather like he actually belonged there. Steve had even indulged Eddie and let him put some eyeliner on him. That had made them almost late leaving the shitty little hotel room they were renting.

Grinning toothily at Steve, Eddie turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. “Hello Indianapolis! Been a while since we’ve been here,” Eddie said with a teasing lilt, shrugging as he looked back at the rest of the band. “Nothing too eventful happened for us, right guys?”

The crowd all snickered and cheered, and that was Gareth’s cue to count them in. Eddie stood up fully as he came in on the opening guitar riff, frowning as his leg twinged but it was easy enough to push through and the pain passed quickly. He should be able to get through most of the set standing as long as he didn’t do anything too wild while playing.

Despite generally being the face of Corroded Coffin, Eddie wasn’t the main vocalist. He shared that spotlight with Jeff, and he did a majority of the singing. Eddie was the lead guitarist, which meant he handled a lot of the more difficult guitar riffs and that was typically easier to do when he wasn’t focusing on vocals at the same time.

While performing, Eddie kept finding Steve in the crowd, meeting his gaze and smirking at the way Steve was so thoroughly engrossed in the performance. Steve had watched them practice and rehearse, but he’d never seen them perform and Eddie was fairly confident Steve enjoyed it.

Eddie did a bit of a flourish near the end of the next guitar solo, swiveling his hips in a filthy rolling grind behind his guitar. The movement had pain zapping through his thigh, but he was okay, he was perfect, because Steve’s mouth had dropped open and Eddie knew the man was blushing.

Once the song was over, Jeff started talking to the crowd again and gave Eddie a look that clearly said ‘sit the fuck down for a minute’ and Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course, he did sit on his stool because his leg was not happy after that little move with his guitar.

Eddie looked out toward Steve, who was frowning slightly at seeing him sit, but he smiled brightly when their eyes met.

Then a tall man with long blond hair walked up to Steve and touched his arm. Even from his vantage point on the stage, Eddie could tell the man was gorgeous with features so defined he looked like he was carved from stone. Steve turned his head, and Eddie was excited to watch his boyfriend rebuff the literal god vying for his attention.

But then Steve’s entire face brightened and then he hugged the man. Steve fully wrapped his arms around him, their bodies pressed flush against each other, and Eddie’s head filled with static.

The man pulled back, gestured at the vest Steve was wearing, and Steve just laughed and gestured at Eddie on the stage. When Steve’s gaze met Eddie’s, he froze under the weight of Eddie’s possessive glower.

Only a handful of songs left and then he could get down there himself to handle that situation.

Eddie did not look away from Steve for the rest of their short set, making promises with the heat of his gaze and the way he moved his hips as he played. The man leaned close to say something directly into Steve’s ear and Eddie could definitely tell his boyfriend was blushing, even from that distance.

That possessive, territorial thing inside Eddie roared to life and it took everything in Eddie to not end the set now and drag Steve into the nearest bathroom to mark him so deeply that the asshole wouldn’t even look at Steve again. He wanted to choke Steve on his cock before he bent Steve over one of the sinks and fucked his perfect little hole with only lube to ease the way. Wouldn’t even prepare him with his fingers, just bully his way in and fuck Steve until he sobbed. Eddie wanted Steve to feel his cock in his guts for days.

Three songs later, their set was done and Eddie barely put his guitar away in its case before he was striding across the bar to where Steve was standing with the blond man.

Steve looked over at him as he approached, his smile almost timid under the heat of Eddie’s possessive gaze.

“Stevie!” Eddie said with a toothy grin as he practically boxed Steve in against the bar. “What’d you think?”

“You were amazing,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless as Eddie leaned into his space and pressed his pelvis against Steve’s hip, letting him feel just how badly he wanted him already.

Eddie turned to finally acknowledge the blond man, and this time he noticed a second man standing with them, his hand in the blond man’s back pocket.

“Who are your friends, Stevie?” Eddie asked in a sickeningly sweet voice and Steve blushed deeply.

“This is Tig and his boyfriend, Charlie,” Steve replied and Eddie’s head filled with static all over again.

Tig, the man who fucked Steve first, taught Steve how to suck cock, got Steve into metal music, the very man Eddie declared a nemesis that he hated.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Eddie said, his tone perfectly pleasant in his opinion and Tig just smirked down at him.

“And I’ve heard lots about you,” Tig said knowingly, glancing at Steve. “Well before you guys finally got together, even.”

Now that had Eddie curious, but Steve kicked Tig's boot to shut him up. Tig stepped backward quickly and actually stuck his tongue out at Steve, revealing a tongue piercing. Looking back at Steve, Eddie’s mouth dropped open as he watched his boyfriend ogle the piece of hardware in Tig’s mouth.

Steve licked his lips as he looked at it, his eyes a bit hazy as he clearly thought about that piercing and what Tig likely did to him with it.

Eddie’s ears were ringing as Steve finalized plans for the next night with the other two men, and finally he was able to drag Steve to the dingy bathrooms at the back of the bar. Eddie barely got the door shut and locked behind them before he was devouring Steve’s mouth with a loud growl, hand curled tight in Steve’s hair.

His other hand made quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them out of the way until his cock was free. With another growl, Eddie shoved Steve to his knees and his boyfriend immediately opened his mouth with a needy moan.

Eddie wasted no time pulling Steve onto his cock, guiding his perfect pink mouth up and down the hard length of it. Steve groaned at the rough treatment, his eyes fluttering when Eddie twisted his hand in his hair. With another possessive growl, Eddie buried his other hand into Steve’s hair and pulled until Steve whimpered and tears sprung to his eyes. Eddie fell back against the door, his bad leg shaking and threatening to buckle. Eddie wanted to scream; he was so frustrated, his head thumping against the door as he prepared to pull Steve off his cock before he collapsed.

He couldn’t even fuck his boyfriend’s throat in the bathroom of a seedy bar?

Without missing a beat, Steve crawled just a touch closer and then hoisted Eddie’s bad leg onto his shoulder. When Eddie looked down at him, Steve was looking up at him through damp lashes, the eyeliner smudged around his eyes and streaking his cheeks.

It was filthy, and perfect, and now they didn’t have to stop.

With a wicked grin, Eddie pulled Steve further onto his cock, hitting the back of his throat and making him gag which was still one of Eddie’s favourite noises.

Barely giving Steve enough time to recover, Eddie set a punishing pace for several thrusts before sliding his cock into his throat until Steve’s nose was buried in the hair at the base. Eddie loved to hold Steve there almost as much as Steve liked to shake with the effort of keeping his throat open while his breath ran out. Eddie loved the way Steve’s throat fluttered around his cock, the way Steve’s whole body would heave as his gag reflex was belatedly triggered. He loved the way the fingers wrapped around his thigh squeezed hard enough to bruise

Eddie was desperately close, so he pulled back to let Steve breathe again, and then he went back to fucking Steve’s mouth. Steve whimpered loudly, wantonly, his eyes rolling back as Eddie took what he wanted from him.

With a hiss, Eddie came hard and sudden, his cum painting Steve’s tongue before he bullied his cock as deep as he could to finish down Steve’s throat. Steve choked, his whole body shuddering with it, but when Eddie tried to pull him off, Steve refused to move.

Steve, the absolutely perfect boyfriend he was, sucked and swallowed around the cock in his mouth until Eddie was nearly sobbing with the stimulation. Only then did Steve let Eddie pull him off his dick.

When Eddie’s eyes focused on Steve’s face, he moaned at the sight of him with eyes half-lidded and smeared with black eyeliner, his chin coated in spit and cum. Steve openly played with the pool of spend still in his mouth before swallowing it loudly.

“Jesus, Eds, should’ve brought you out here to meet Tig a hell of a lot sooner,” Steve teased as he slid Eddie’s leg off his shoulder so he could stand. “You’re never that pushy.”

“Well, we’re not always in your slutty stomping grounds, now are we?” Eddie shot back and Steve just laughed.

“I was a slut in Hawkins too—”

“Not with other men though,” Eddie pouted, sniffing indignantly at Steve’s full laugh. Then Eddie started reaching for Steve’s pants. “C’mon, your turn.”

“Eds, you think you could just hold me with your cock down my throat and I wouldn’t fucking cream my pants?” Steve asked incredulously and that just had Eddie’s cock valiantly trying to wake back up.

“We should get back to the hotel,” Eddie said after a few moments.

Steve just smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” he asked knowingly.

“I need to make sure you have a decent limp to your step when we go to dinner at Tig’s tomorrow,” Eddie replied simply as he reached down between them to pull his pants back up his hips and do them up.

Steve just grinned and nodded, adjusting his pants a bit before practically carrying him out of the bathroom and then out of the bar.

FIN

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