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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 · 1 month 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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xxfaggatronxx · 8 months ago

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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

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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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moon-ayyye · 3 months ago

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I think RHatO is a cursed series, the first one ruining all 3 main characters and the second one having the worst batman moment at the time, as well as a costume downgrade for jason (i like the muzzle and hoodie but the leather jacket that went down to the forearms was objectively his best look). However, it gave us a lot of good: the (platonic) dynamic with roy and kori i find really fun (I'm gonna ignore that jason lowkey caused roy to relapse because what the fuck), the introduction of the all caste was amazing (in concept, execution was iffy), and the dark trinity theme was fire, also the first jason and bizzaro scene was super humanising and endearing. Not to mention that it spawned one of my favourite ships of all time, jaytemis.

So, with all that being said, i need a competent writer and a really good artist to make a third version of the outlaws, this time with rose and eddie. While I love jaytemis, I think jayrose kinda fits better since they'd really help each other actualise their daddy issues. They know the other's father is abusive. It's clear as hell, but i think talking to someone in a similar situation who gives the same excuses you do may help both of them realise their situation, which can help both of them start healing.

Eddie and jason friendship is such wasted potential, too, with eddie being one of robin!jason's closest friends, and him also dating rose. I don't really like shitty romance arcs where there's tension between the 2 men because they dated the same woman or having the woman compare both men, so I want them all to be emotionally capable enough not to do that. Eddie would be really good for jayrose as well, since he's very familiar with feeling incompetent due to not being able to help, and the self loathing that comes with it. Also devil powers.

Alternatively, you can have jayeddie, which could be a good way to announce that jason and eddie are bisexual. I'm not really into poly ships, i liked a couple of poly fics, but it's not really to my taste, but if you want eddiejayrose, then it's there. Could be cute.

I think a competent writer could make this series about healing and mending bridges, as well as have jason solidify his position as an anti-hero who only works with the bats when he absolutely has to. Part of him still loves bruce, but he'll never be able to trust him or look at him again. I think that rose should really stay away from slade, because even though he'd be supportive of their relationship (which is canon), he is the worst thing to happen to her, not to mention a creepy pedophile. You can even have rose mirror slade's sacrifice since he got his eye back once but sacrificed it to save his kids. Have rose do the same but with her team,which would highlight how much she loves them and how she's slade's daughter but not slade. I think he's like bruce in the sense that he loves an idealised version of their kid, but is more consistently brutal about how they mould said kid to fit their ideals.

#jason todd #rose wilson #eddie bloomberg #jayrose #slade wilson #bruce wayne #anti bruce wayne #anti slade wilson #creepy slade wilson #rhato is like a toxic relationship. It hurts me but i don't want to leave

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mackjlee9 · 2 years ago

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Azumane Asahi x Scary!Male!Reader [Fluff]

So, appearently, this one shot is not published?? somehow?? it doesn’t show up for me on desktop or mobile, so i’ll be posting it now i guess -_-

Masterlist.

Haikyuu!!

Requested by GaurikaDutta on Wattpad

Well, the day couldn't have gone better... well, it could have, if Nishinoya wasn't eavesdropping on Asahi's conversation with his boyfriend. But, was it eavesdropping? He just took a peek at his texts with (M/n).

"Asahi-san has a boyfriend?!" Was what he yelled at the top of his lungs after there were done stretching after practice was over for the day.

Of course, the third and second years had some explaining to do, since they didn't know about Asahi's sexuality. At first, he came out as bisexual, then asexual, and he finally got over his sexuality crisis, and realized he was demisexual. He never had a gender preference anyway, and he loves (M/n) as much as his family.

But, after the little explanation, everyone wanted to meet Asahi's boyfriend, something that made the brunette a little nervous, setting in just ask about it to his boyfriend. Even if he already knew what (M/n)'s answer was going to be.

Neither of them ever realize, well they kinda did, but Asahi never explained it to the rest of the Karasuno members.

(M/n) would go to every single one of their games, he was a scary dude in the audience, no one ever sat less than three seats away from him. His tough and intimidating appearance made everyone coward away from him. But the reality couldn't have been farther from that. (M/n) always tested him after every game, whether they lost or won, to comfort him or cheer him up.

They would meet up in an empty place, usually a deserted hallway, occasionally in one of the empty bathrooms, and no one ever found out. Like they had been dating ever since they met, which was when Asahi was still a first year and (M/n) a second year. Asahi knew everyone -except the first years- would recognize him immediately once they see him.

Well, back in his home, Asahi got a call from (M/n), wondering why he suddenly stopped texting him and Asahi explained everything that has happened almost an hour ago. Obviously, as Asahi already thought, (M/n) accepted meeting the Karasuno volleyball team, a cheerful tone of voice making Asahi's heart beat faster and they talked a little more, before saying their good night's to each other and falling asleep.

The next day, Asahi told them his boyfriend was going to come later in the day, since he had to work in the morning till the afternoon. Now, that made everyone though Asahi's boyfriend was way older than him, so they were kinda nervous now.

After a long way, their everyday practice came by, and they were all getting dressed and began stretching.

(M/n) walked inside the school campus, both hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket, he saw some students leaving the building since they didn't have club activities or just weren't in a club. He walked towards the gym where the volleyball team used to practice, since he had a feeling they still got to use it, and he stood outside by the door.

He took his headphones off, letting them hang around his neck and immediately, he was able to hear the squeaky sounds of shoes against the floor, followed by yells or the sound of the volleyball hitting skin or the ground.

The sounds reminded him of last year, during his last high school match at the Winter Cup tournament. Being the ace of the basketball team made him well known around the school, but people were also scared of him, mostly because of his looks and the way he dressed, but in reality...

He was such a cinnamon roll! Like a cute golden retriever!

And yes, Asahi always told him he was really adorable when he was happy, something that, inevitably brought a huge smile to his face.

But getting out of his thoughts, he heard who he presumed was the captain calling a break before another match, and he finally decided to make his presence known.

(M/n) slid the door open, targeting everyone's eyes. Hinata and Yachi flinched at the sight of the intimidating male, while the second and third years bowed with a loud greeting.

Asahi looked at everyone with a panicked expression, muttering that they shouldn't bow and be so formal with (M/n), which made them stare at Asahi with curious looks in their eyes.

"Asahi-san... you mean... that (L/n)-senpai is..." Nishinoya slowly spoke, causing the third-year brunette to blush and scratch the back of his neck.

"Uh, y-yeah... (M/n) is my boyfriend-" not even a second after, Tanaka and Noya were standing very close to the (h/c) haired male, an aggressive expression on both of their faces.

"You better treat our Asahi-san well, senpai." Boys said, causing Daichi to sigh behind them and Sugawara to chuckle at the duo's antics.

"Yeah, senpai, we're watching you closely," (M/n) kept his serious stare on them, making them tremble as they started losing their confidence, but the male just laugh and hugged them by the shoulders.

"I'm so happy I'm finally able to meet the volleyball team!!" He cheered loudly, a playful look in his eyes as he saw the small middle blocker hiding behind a stoic black-haired setter. "Hinata-kun~!"

He yelled as he rushed towards the smaller male, who flinched and shrieked as he ran away, but (M/n) caught him pretty easily.

"There's no need to be afraid, Hinata-kun, I'm not gonna hurt you." Eventually, the orange-haired male let his intimidating senpai hold him in his arms and soon enough, he was laughing out loud to his heart's content.

"Sugawara-san," the blond walked closer to the silver-haired third-year, and he looked at Tsukishima with a gentle smile. "Could you tell me who that guy is?"

At that moment, he realized that neither of the five first years nor the couch knew who (M/n) was, so he started calling out to everyone.

"Everybody, come over for a moment, you too, (L/n)-senpai." (M/n) had a pout on his lips as he set Hinata down, walking next to Asahi and the rest of his kohais. "Alright, this is (L/n) (M/n), he's our senpai and former ace of Karasuno's basketball team."

"Hi~," (M/n) said with a wide smile while he waved his hands.

Tsukishima sweatdropped at the male's behavior, but soon, everyone was having fun getting to know their senpai, while Asahi just watched (M/n) as he got along with everyone just fine.

Yes, (M/n) might look scary and sometimes he can be a little too much to handle, but that doesn't necessarily means is a bad thing. He was extremely kind and very, very sweet.

Just look at him, he even managed to make Tsukishima chuckle at a joke he told him.

#azumane asahi #haikyuu!!#anime #one shot #fluff #male reader #reader insert #x reader #azumane asahi x reader #azumane asahi x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #.mackjlee9 writes

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sky-neverending · 1 year ago

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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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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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little-annie · 4 months ago

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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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boffeeceans · 1 month 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 · 6 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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