#internalised homophobia cw

[toringo]

Guilt

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

pride who i don't know her - Gil Grissom self-comfort fic

(A/N: This is an sfw extract from a comfort smut fic I'm writing. I'm posting it because the most important things of what Gil says here are echoes of what my best friend @addictedtostorytelling says to me.

Warnings - internalised homophobia and religious trauma)

Ah, 1st June, the start of pride month; the month where us queer people could be proud of ourselves and celebrate our identities. Well that wasn't for me; it was easier said than done, for people like me who had beem raised on and subscribed to homophobia ideology, only to discover that we ourselves were the very people we were taught to condemn, thus beginning a long spiral of self-loathing for a harmless trait as to who we are. I was fortunate enough to be one of the ones who grew to accept myself when I befriended people who accept me and were even queer themselves. But even then, I was not yet comfortable enough for total acceptance; I still struggled with the hatred that had been ingrained in me throughout my formative years.

I was lying in bed, facing away from Gil (who was asleep also with his back to me). I was not crying a lot, but a little of my hot, angry tears had fallen onto the pillow due to the sole fact that I was completely unmoving and had let them just drop. I was not angry at myself only for being bisexual; I was angry at myself for how ridiculous I was, with not accepting myself even though I logically knew that I was not doing anything wrong.

Such was the war in my head, but I was perfectly conscious of my surroundings as well. Gil's snoring and the scent and feeling of him in the bed and behind me were keeping me stable. But he eventually woke up, and I could hear and feel him turn and wrap himself around me, which I gladly snuggled back into, his scent flooding me over, sweetening the feeling in my head slightly. "Happy June," he whispered, kissing my cheek, then nuzzling behind my ear because he knew I loved that.

And, indeed, I choked flusteredly at the feeling. "Thanks, you too," I mustered out. He found out I had been crying when he touched my face to turn it, having intended to kiss me. He studied my face, knowing me well enough to have good guesses as to what the problem was.

"Is it what I think it is?" I gave a small nod. "Well..." he said, turning my whole body, "you know it's perfectly all right." He did not say anything more, nor did I need him to or respond myself, because it was something we had been through too many times. He just kissed me, silently letting me know that he loved me, that I was safe with him, that he did not judge me. I sighed shakily into it, considerably more relaxed than I was before but still nervous. "Are you gonna come to work today or?"

I shook my head. "Sorry...don't feel like it..."

"You don't have to be sorry. You're allowed to take time for yourself when you need it." He kissed me again; I closed my eyes, once again drowning in his scent and pressure. Not just on my lips but his whole embrace around me, making me feel whole. Not as someone who was whole to begin with but rather someone who was being lovingly held together and repaired, who would collapse as soon as that loving embrace left me, but at the time being, all was right.

When he pulled away, he got into the second order of business. "I want to make sure that you'll take care of yourself while I'm gone."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get food, don't worry."

"Okay. Remember to drink plenty of water in between. Snack when you need to, don't be stopped by imaginary inhibitions." I nodded slowly and heavily to show my understanding. With one last kiss, he got up and got ready for the day.

When he was about to leave the room, I thought he was going to leave for the day, but he said, "Wait here." I did, and he soon came back with several packets of snacks and drinks, laying them on my nightstand.

"Thank you," I smiled, and he returned it. He bent down, and he kissed me on the forehead then my lips, and that was the last I would see of him for the next several hours.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

Unsurprisingly, one kiss in an alleyway behind some bins doesn't fix your problems. Previous part is here, I skipped Castafiore's introduction because I animated it here!

This is part of my story, The House of Glass. Poor Chang is going through it in this one.

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Source: Love Shook My Heart; New Lesbian Love Stories - edited by Irene Zahava

[ickypuppi3]

steve being overly tactile with billy when they become friends. slinging an arm around billy’s shoulder’s while they’re watching a movie. putting his hands on billy’s waist to move past him. tucking billy’s hair behind his ear to look at his earring. slipping a finger through the loop of billy’s jeans to tug him closer. grabbing billy’s chin to tilt his head because oh, you have freckles..

steve telling himself that sure he touches billy a lot but. he’s always been a touchy guy. it doesn’t mean anything.

steve not accepting that he has a crush on billy and that’s the reason he can’t keep his hands to himself.

because obviously steve isn’t a queer.

as if.

billy being simultaneously overwhelmed with and loving all the attention. because it’s steve. steve pressing his face into billy’s neck when they’re high. pulling billy’s hand close to play with his ring. running his hand over billy’s stomach when they pass out in the same bed and he thinks billy’s still asleep. tracing circles around billy’s ankle as he listens to billy read.

because it’s steve. steve who billy’s had a thing for since he arrived in hawkins. steve who can’t like billy like that. steve who isn’t like billy. steve who likes girls.

steve who called byers a queer.

billy wondering if this is just what it’s like to have a friend. a best friend. if this is just what you do. because billy doesn’t know. wouldn’t know. no one’s ever gotten close enough. billy thinking it’s all in his head. that he’s twisting his and steve’s relationship. making it into something it’s not.

steve staring at billy’s lips and wondering what it’d be like to touch them. billy wondering if steve’s gonna break his heart without even trying.

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Ward is so fake-kind and fake-accepting, I know that if Rafe came out to him he’d be holding back slurs and just either say “you’ll find the right girl eventually, Rafe” or act like he understands and accepts him while constantly trying to set him up with women saying “she’s really nice, just go on a date with her, it might work out! You never know if you don’t try”

He wants to call him slurs but instead he’s somehow worse about it by just ignoring the fact that he came out at all

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Magic and Madness - Chapter Five

From Ancient Grudge Break to New Mutiny.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Tony Stark x Stephen Strange

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> It finally happens, and Tony finally snaps.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 3202

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) ALL THE SMUT. Internalised homophobia. Withdrawal.

𝐀/𝐍 -> A Companion Piece to Multitudes, running relatively adjacent as of chapter thirteen (here), exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. This chapter best corresponds to Multitudes chapter fifteen.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Dividers come from yours truly.

<- Previous Chapter (4/46) Next Chapter (5/46) ->

His fingers trembled in mine as he shook his head, sweating lightly. “Couldn’t you have just put me at zero? I-I don’t know if I can make it. Or at least make me feel a little less like I’m gonna die?”

“I offered an hour ago, sweetheart. You told me you wanted to earn it,” I reminded him softly, kissing his hair with a wince. “We don’t have to do this... I just wanted to make sure you’re clear.”

“I’m clear. I just kind of wish I was dead,” he snorted weakly, shaking his head. “But it’s fine. It’s fine. I’m honoured to have the opportunity. It’s certainly not anything I should be graced with.”

I sighed quietly, pulling him closer. “You know, this is already morally questionable. Can we stop with the self-deprecation before I feel -  even more than I already do - like I’m making you do something you don’t want to?”

He blinked up at me in surprise, chin resting lightly on my chest. “You feel that way?”

I nodded tersely, glancing away. “Can you blame me? You hate the part of yourself that wants this.”

“You make me hate it – you make me hate myself less, Stephen. Do you really think I’d be lay here otherwise?” he murmured, cheek finding the soft cotton of his own hoodie once more, hand squeezing mine gently. “I want this. I want you. And I want to be less goddamn terrified of that, and the only thing that has ever made the blindest bit of difference to that is... Well, you.”

I smiled weakly, brushing my fingers against his forehead. “You’re at 0.002.”

He blinked in surprise before grinning, eyes flickering minutely as he did rapid math. “Eight minutes, give or take.”

“Enough time for you to prepare yourself?”

His lips found my throat, and I shivered. “It’s enough time for me to prepare you...” Humming, his fingertips skimmed the edge of my – his – hoodie thoughtfully. “You know, I can’t tell if I’d rather have you naked and begging, or wearing my sweatshirt and begging...”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be begging, Mr. Stark,” I quipped.

Please, please, make me beg.

... Yes, I see the irony.

“Bold of you to assume I won’t take my slow, sweet time until you do, Doctor Strange,” he breathed, lips skimming mine.

“Oh, you can definitely take your time with me,” I gulped, fingers tightening in the back of his shirt.

“Hm... I doubt you’ll be saying that after the few seconds I don’t.” His palm smoothed my thigh, sliding slowly higher.

I don’t think I’ll be saying anything at any point, short of ‘yes’, ‘please’, ‘more’, ‘Sir’...

My fingertips brushed his forehead as his hand squeezed and pinched teasingly at my skin. 0.00098. Less than four minutes.

... Oh. I never said anything.

“I, um...” Good work. “Yeah. That sounds... good.”

He snorted, shaking his head fondly. “‘Good’ may be the wrong word. There will be nothing ‘good’ about it... But it will be very, very satisfying,” he purred, latching onto my pulse firmly, and biting hard.

“St- ah! Tony, a-a little high to leave a m-m-m... Mmm.” I felt the bruise bloom under his and cracked an eye to see him smirk, moving to a spot marginally lower and repeating the process. “T-Tone, I can’t h-hide th-th-”

“Good,” he growled before rocking onto his heels, fumbling desperately in his bedside drawer before returning to my side – and my throat. “You are mine, baby boy. Mine. They might not know who you belong to... But they’ll know you are owned.”

I shivered as his lubricated fingers skirted my length playfully, whimpering under his tender ministrations. “Y-yes. Yours. Please...”

He smirked against my skin, purring. “I thought you weren’t going to beg?”

I growled as I brushed my hand over his forehead, sighing with relief. “0.00001. Y-You're ready to go. And asking nicely isn’t begging, Stark.”

He hesitated minutely before kissing my bruised flesh gently. “Roll for me, sweetheart.”

Oh, I think ‘baby boy’ is my favourite. Not that I am ever going to admit that.

My hands shook as I obliged, both from my injury and the anxiety thrumming through my body. His arm around my waist jerked me onto my knees with a surprised whine, chest pressed to the sheets.

Breathe. I’ve got this. This is... This is everything I’ve wanted. Just relax...

The fingertip brushing against me made every muscle in my body react instinctively – even in spite of my internal pep talk - but he simply stayed where he was, caressing me gently until I relaxed slowly, peppering soft kisses along the side of my waist.

“... Okay. I-I’m good.”

He entered me lightly, massaging and teasing and encouraging with gentle murmurs and gentler kisses, and I blinked in surprise when his knuckles skimmed my skin.

I...He was so gentle, I didn’t even...

“Good?” he breathed, his free hand smoothing the line of my spine tenderly, and I nodded.

“I... Hm. Not bad. Weird. I-I’m not-” His finger twitched lightly, and I bit down on the sheets violently as I pushed back, desperate pleasure zinging through my veins. “Hmn. Good.”

He snorted quietly, caressing my sweet spot, making me mewl and writhe in delight. “More? I nodded desperately, stiffening once more as he probed at me again.

But, again, I was quickly shifting and whining. Any modicum of embarrassment at having him palm deep inside me had evaporated at he toyed with my prostate, back arching with need. “Oh, my sweet, needy baby boy... Do you want another?” I shook my head quickly, and he paused in surprise. “I... You want to stop?”

“N-No! Don’t you dare... I-I want you to fuck me,” I whimpered, rutting back needily. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” he murmured, nipping lightly at my waist, tongue smoothing the mark gently as I nodded.

“Please, Tony. I want you... More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Please.”

He drew back slowly, leaving me empty and mewling.

The sound of tearing caught me by surprise as he moved to kneel behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. “You know you’re cl-clean, right?”

“I... Assumed you’d be more comfortable with... I mean, I’m more than happy for you to take it all, baby boy.” I nodded quickly, shivering at the feeling of him lining himself up and the thought of his essence staining my insides. “Let me take my time, sweetheart... I don’t want to hurt you, so just stay still for me, okay?”

“Y- Yes.”

I gasped weakly as the lube trailed along me, shocked and excited, and he leaned over me, hand finding my hip. “Are you ready, baby boy?”

“Yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes and focusing entirely on the feeling of his body against mine.

He pulled me up against his chest as he slowly entered me, discomfort and arousal sparking in my veins as his mouth found my throat. Hands reaching back of their own accord, I ran my fingers frantically through his hair and I mewled and whined, his hand on my abdomen gently guiding the angle of my hips.

“Fuck...” I whispered, stars sparking behind my vision as my head fell back of its own volition. He chuckled roughly against my throat, kissing the soft skin gently.

“Hey, Stephen?” he breathed, and I gulped.

“Hmn?”

His fingers skirted my own hardness, faint and teasing, as his lips found my ear, inching slowly deeper with a groan. “... Hm. There we go, baby boy... ... So... How does it feel to finally have my cock as deep inside you as I can get? Is it everything you dreamt of, sweetheart?”

You may as well kill me now, because my life isn’t going to get better than this.

“Yes... No. It’s more. So much more,” I whispered, and he reached up to turn my chin, lips claiming mine gently as his hips twitched lightly, sliding and grinding patiently.

Feeling him move inside of me had my fingers clenching against the nape of his neck, shuddering with pleasure, my free hand dropping to lazily caress my own throbbing member – until he batted me away, wrapping a loose fist around me and stroking me in time with his painfully light thrusts.

He’s making love to me.

Tony Stark, who I have wanted for longer than I will admit, is making love to me.

Did I die? Is this heaven?

If so, I’m fine with that – just don’t let it end.

He slid out further before rolling his hips, caressing my sweet spot lightly, and I jerked as I let out a soft whimper, eliciting a dry chuckle as his fingers twitched around my length. “Are you ready to beg yet, baby boy? Ready for me to fuck you into mattress?”

“Wh-hmmm- what happened to the teaser?” I stammered, back arching, and he growled, free hand tightening on my waist. “Is that what you want, honey? You think you can take it?”

“Y-yes, Sir- Fuck shit yes God please!” I yelped as he quickly shifted gears, hips snapping against mine, quick and rough and nothing like the sensual lovemaking I’d been blessed with thus far, jerking me in delightful synchrony.

He chuckles as he slowed once more, and whimpered, wriggling and thrusting back desperately. “What do you think? Worth begging for?”

“Please,” I gasped immediately, eyes falling closed as my temple found his. “Please, God, more of that. I-I’ll do anything for you. Please. I need this... I need you. I’ve wanted this for so long, and it’s so much better than I envisioned... Please, Tony. Fuck me harder.”

He growled, low and feral in my ear, pushing me down until my chest hit the bed before he set up a merciless, all-encompassing pace, hipbones bruising my soft skin as he pounded against me. True to his promise, a few tears rolled from the intense pleasure pooling in my abdomen, and I whimpered desperately, rutting back against him.

“F-fuck, yes, Tony... So good. It’s so good. You’re so good. Don’t stop... Don’t ever stop.”

His fingers found my hips to pull me back onto him more forcefully, snarling as he fucked me without hesitation. “Touch yourself for me, baby boy. I want to see you come with my cock in your ass.” He groaned when I obliged immediately, fingers precise and experienced on my own length. “Fuck, so eager to obey, aren’t you? Just so... Desperate. God, you feel so good... So fucking tight. I didn’t know you’d be this tight...”

I whined wordlessly as I pressed back against his stuttered monologue, needy and frantic as I impaled myself upon him. “F-for you. Only for you. Please...”

His hands tightened on my flesh, jerking me closer. “You just want me to fill you up, huh? Want my come leaking down those cute thighs as you finally cum for me?”

I nodded desperately, and he rolled his hips, my fingers working me eagerly. “Please. Please, Tony, I-I...”

“You just want to come for me, don’t you, baby boy... Ask nicely.” He held me closer as he worked me powerfully, the grip on my hips jerking me back in time with his thrusts.

“Pl- fuck, just there- please, Tony, S-Sir... Please... Please can I come?” I gasped out, shaking in pleasure at rumble of satisfaction in his chest, driving himself ever deeper.

“For me, baby boy. You can come for me.”

I cried out desperately as I exploded on command, hips stuttering back as I twitched and convulsed, and he groaned, nails scraping desperately along my spine. “You ready, honey? Ready for me to fill this tight ass at last?”

Nodding, I rode my high, whimpering frantically. “Please. Please. Fill me.”

He cursed as he surrendered, my hips jerking back against him of their own volition, a low keening escaping me. “Fuck... Stephen, Sparkles, fuck yes, baby boy... You feel so goodamn good, I can’t...” The hand on my ribs was rough as he sheathed himself as deeply as he could, but I only whined, burying my face in the sheets at the feeling of him exploding so beautifully far inside me.

I whimpered softly as he pulled me against his chest, gasping for breath and trembling violently. “Hmfnfgg.”

“Try again, baby boy,” he snorted, kissing my hair lightly.

“So good. Mn. So tired. So... Fucked.”

He laughed again, arms wrapping tighter around me. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“You?” I pressed, frowning lightly as I blindly tapped his bare skin, and he chuckled.

“Yes, Stephen. I enjoyed myself very much. That was... Quite possibly the best sex I’ve ever had,” he admitted softly, his cheek finding my hair gently.

“Good... S’nice. More of that,” I muttered, nodding, and he snorted.

“Get some sleep first, baby boy... We’ll both be here in the morning.”

“Every morning,” I corrected quietly, the arm draped over his waist pulling myself closer as he laughed.

“That’s right, sweet prince. Every morning.”

I woke in the middle of the night to him groaning and rolling and touching and whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and I whimpered in delight as he fucked me tenderly.

I can never get enough of this.

“I can never get enough of you,” I whispered into his chest as he held me, sweat damp and panting lightly.

“Oh, I’m sure I can facilitate that…” he murmured, pulling my chin up to find his once more. “Who needs sleep, anyway?”

It was the early hours of the morning before we finally fell once more into an easy sleep, his arm clamped around my waist protectively, relishing the feeling of his gentle breath on the back of my neck.

… I think I’m in love with him. No more falling, only fallen.

The delight in his eyes as he took in his own sweatshirt wreathed around me, his cocky grin as he pinned me to the sheets – but, more than anything, his taut-jawed determination to ride out his discomfort and prove himself worthy of me. His pure conviction to do his best… for me.

“Oh, I don’t deserve you,” I muttered to myself, rolling in his embrace to brush my fingertips against his cheekbone. To my mortification, he smiled softly, eyes flickering open to fix me in the mahogany depths.

“I think you’ve got that backwards, sweet boy…” he murmured fondly, pressing his forehead light to mine with a subtle wince.

“How are you feeling?” I pressed gently, and his lip curled.

“Like I’ve been smacked with the business end of Thor’s hammer. You?”

I smirked, shimmying closer, my arms snaking around his neck as his hand found my hip. “… Is it mean if I say absolutely delightful? It feels profoundly inconsiderate.”

He purred, lips brushing mine. “All tuckered out, baby boy?” I nodded, and he sighed playfully. “I guess not up for another round before breakfast, then…”

With a grin, I rolled him, pinning him beneath my weight. “I’m sure I can manage.”

I let out a groan as his arms wound around my waist from behind, eyeing my reflection with a scowl. “What exactly am I supposed to say about this?” I sighed, running my finger over the litany of bruises trailing vibrantly down my throat, and he purred as he mimicked the motion.

“You say nothing. You let them make their own conclusions… And I’d be lying if I said that the idea of them realising that it’s me that owns you isn’t terrifying and hot as hell in equal measure,” he chuckled, placing a gentle kiss to my shoulder. “Because I do – you know that, right? You are mine.” His fingertips found my abdomen, and I ground out a groan.

“Y-yes. Yours,” I breathed, head falling back. “I-I… We should… I mean… We’re expected at breakfast. You are, at least.”

He sighed, releasing me reluctantly as his palm brushed my waistband. “Fine. … Can we come back here after?”

I snorted, pivoting to kiss his forehead lightly. “I’d be honoured and grateful.”

“So desperate,” he sighed again, shaking his head fondly, smirking affectionately.

The incursion of necessary behaviours – like eating – was a scourge upon an otherwise perfect day, the time in between passing in a blur of gentle – and not-so-gentle – touches and passionate intercourse.

“Tony… I just… I can’t… Nobody should be this good,” I muttered against his hair as he stroked me lightly, panting and writhing.

“Experience and practice, darling,” he purred, adding to the marring of my throat with reckless abandon. My bruises had earned only a few looks of surprise, though nobody seemingly made the connection between my own marks and Tony’s – or if they did, they didn’t comment, at least.

I couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed, despite my relief.

And Tony, to his credit, hadn’t touched a drop all day; I murmured my pride as he found my climax, back arching against him as I groaned in pleasure.

I fell into an easy, exhausted sleep in his arms, thoroughly wrung out and without feeling in most of my muscles by the time darkness fell.

He, it seems, did not.

I woke to him twitching and whimpering behind me, and let out the beginning of a gentle purr before I stiffened.

Nope. Not that kind of dream.

I rolled quickly, cupping his cheek in my hand. “Tony? Sweetheart? Dearest? It’s okay; it’s just a bad dream. I’ve got you, honey…”

He whined through his teeth, face contorting in pain. “No… I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do better… I-I can make you proud, I promise.”

I flinched as he spasmed, fingers finding his. “Tone. Come back to me, my love. It’s fine; you’re safe. I’m here, darling.”

His eyes snapped open, panic flaring as he scooted away. “Wh- I- No. What-?”

I held up my hands soothingly, gaze gentle. “It’s okay, hon. You’re okay. It was just a nightmare.”

He shimmied further back, quickly increasing the distance between us. “I- No. You shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here.”

Swallowing dryly, I offered him a reassuring smile. “It’s-”

“It’s not fucking okay,” he snapped, sliding from the sheets as he shook with residual fear and anxiety. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It… It’s so wrong. Disgusting.”

I flinched, sitting upright. “Tony, I…” He moved quickly as he headed to the kitchen, and I darted after him, heart hammering. “No, sweetheart – you’ve got this. You’ve been doing so well today; you can make it through this, I promise.”

“Get out.”

“Tony-”

“Leave!” he spat, turning to me with furious eyes as he unscrewed the top of his bottle of Jack. “Get out of here. Don’t come back. I… This… It never should have happened. It’s not… It’s wrong, Stephen. Please. Just go.”

He took a long, desperate swig, and I winced as I backed up. “I… Okay. I’ll go, Tone. Just… Please. Take care of yourself, okay? We… We didn’t do anything wrong, honey.”

“Just go. Please,” he replied softly, naked and quivering as he sunk to the floor, bottle clasped desperately in his fingers.

I’d never hated anyone quite as much as I hated myself as I stepped through my portal, one quiet, ragged sob echoing around me as it snapped closed.

[dreamwatch]

For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️

I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!

Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)

Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read

--

Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.

Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for. 

Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.

“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.

Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame. 

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.

They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail. 

Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute. 

Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).

“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”

“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in. 

“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”

“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.

“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al. 

Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.

They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it. 

“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes. 

There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.

Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.

“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).

“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”

She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.

Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.

Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop. 

Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”

He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.

“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.

Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him. 

“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”

He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.

“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach. 

“Mrs Harrington—”

“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.

“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”

“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.

“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”

He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.

She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.

“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.

“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”

She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”

“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.

Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.

“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”

“That’s not—”

“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”

“ — sexual.”

“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”

Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”

“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.

“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.

She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”

And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.

“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”

Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”

“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?” 

Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.

She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”

Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”

Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.

They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve’s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.

When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.

Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”

“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.

Steve nods. “Scared.”

“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”

Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."

They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”

He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.

“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”

[fonkeloog]

Devotion

CW: religion, internalised homophobia

@wolfstarmicrofic

"My devotion is with God." Remus whispered into the cold night air.

"I know." Came the response. A soft squeeze came from where their hands were linked together.

"I'm... I'm not...."

"Love, I know." a kiss to his temple followed.

"Sirius,"

"Shhhh. It's okay. You'll figure it out. And I'll be right there with you. Just because you can't tell me, doesn't mean I won't stop loving you. I always will."

[princetorn]

headcanon . I can’t overstate how dangerous Royce’s entanglement with Johnny was. If discovered, it wasn’t only his baseball scholarship he stood to lose – his family would have been disgraced, his friends would have abandoned him. Homosexuality was illegal, viewed as sinful and deviant, and ultimately the 1950s would prove to be one of the most repressive periods in US history. Henry would have almost certainly surrendered his only son into medical care, where aversion ‘treatment’ might include electroconvulsive therapy, electric shock therapy, or even ice-pick lobotomy.

[songandflame-archived]

🎲 😳

Kiss Roulette || @leatherforhell (thank you!)

42, A Clumsy Kiss:

Fantine has cottoned on to the fact Clara has been letting her win. She's been playing along; the joy of watching Fantine claim victory amplifies the other's laughter lines and brings a spark to Clara's already beautiful eyes.

They're playing uno this time round. Every time their hands touch accidentally, Fantine wishes for it to happen again. And then there's fear— she's probably reading into this too much. Women aren't supposed to love other women, right? Not like that. But Clara laughs and Fantine's heart beats harder. Does she cause Clara to laugh like that?

It happens again, their hands finding the draw pile at the same time, but this time Fantine can't help fingers that curl around Clara's hand, stopping her in the process.

They're already close; they had seemingly shifted closer together as the game went on, but now she can feel Clara's breath against her face.

The kiss is unsure, clumsy and awkward, but she manages it. Vaguely her fingers tighten around the Clara's hand, somehow hoping she'll find acceptance and encouragement there.

When she draws back, Fantine can't help but bite her lip. Her lip which tastes like Clara's.

"... I think it's your turn to play."

[prettyboy-like-you]

Running never made a lick of difference. It would still be there, looming. Biding its time. Always lurking just around the next corner, no matter how far he ran. And, unlike Billy, it could be patient. So very patient.

It would forever just be. Here. Billy, he understood that eventually. That it would always come for him, no matter where he went or how many times he ran from it. It followed. Would hunt him down like prey—Billy Boy Blue, dirty little fag, sweet sixteen and always wanting what he shouldn’t—and he’d run. Run from it, even though he wanted it. Wanted it so bad he had to give in and let it find him. Let it consume him whole. Until he'd find himself hiding in plain sight in the not-so-loving arms of those hot, hot Cali nights, shirtless and high, strung out like filthy ripped-denim bunting strewn around the streets of downtown Southgate. In the shadows, that's where he’d wait. For them. Just as it had waited for him. Waiting, wanting. When it called with its siren sound, Billy would answer. Billy always answered, same as he knew it would always come calling. And in the end, inevitably, Billy found himself clinging to it. To being wanted; to being used. Used up and spat back out. Because he realised, he knew. Finally, he had it figured out.

There was nothing else for him.

Now he's here in Hicksville, Indiana, not-quite eighteen and feeling like his garbage life has already spiralled down the disposal drain. The only things Billy clings to tighter than the things he shouldn't want are his anger and his pain. Like they’ll be the ones to save him from the shit that's constantly hitting the fan. From all of this. From himself.

Yeah, Billy has always been a coward. Ever since—ever since she upped and left him.

…Harrington doesn’t know any of that though. Nobody does. Nobody will. And nobody should, because Billy, he shouldn't be so pathetic. He’s supposed to be sucking it up and, shit, shutting the fuck up, not mooning over it, being a little pussy while he gets his boy-pussy railed—and he certainly shouldn't be high-pitch moaning through his need like some frilly pink-pantied cheerleader, hell.

Never did know what was good for you, boy.

.

mind the tags and read the rest of HOUNDS OF LOVE over on ao3 HERE

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

The final part for The House of Glass! Everyone has a lot to figure out, but progress takes time. Follows from this. This was my first ever complete comic from start to finish, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey!

If you've enjoyed this comic, please consider donating to Aya Yasser, a 19 year old university student from the University of Palestine. She had to pause her studies due to attacks on Gaza. Her 55 year old father is ill and she is trying to evacuate him and her brothers.

You can find her blog @samaagaza

It's like two in the morning right now so I might be a bit incoherent, cw for discussions of racism, homophobia, biphobia, sinophobia and classism

I've really wanted to write Chang as someone who's made to be a perpetual outsider. As a Chinese person born in the UK I've always been made to feel like a foreigner no matter where I go - obviously I am a foreigner abroad but I'm also treated as such in the very country I was born and raised in. I think a lot of east Asian people can relate to being treated as a strange exotic foreigner first and a person second.

As a working class orphan he would probably have been treated as disposable by society at large too. As soon as he's rescued by Tintin in the Blue Lotus he immediately asks why Tintin bothered saving him, and in his letter to Tintin in Tintin in Tibet he writes that he's unworthy of his uncle's hopsitality. We don't get much from Chang as he doesn't make many appearances but it seems he's internalised strong feelings of a lack of self worth. Tintin may have been the first person to recognise his humanity since Chang's birth family passed.

Being queer is also very isolating at first. You're not born into a culture you can reference or make sense of your experiences initially, it's something you have to seek out. I wanted to explore learning to love yourself through others. We're all weird to some degree, we're all in this together!

I genuinely have no clue how I'd follow this up, I have ideas for future stories but I'm not sure what would follow directly from here!

[ickypuppi3]

Speaking of nasty Steve... him believing "men don't cry" and the first time Billy cries around him he doesn't respond all too well?

um yes ??!!

“jesus.” billy sniffs. glares at him. “you’re such a fucking asshole.”

“yeah.” steve looks at him. watches a tear fall. can feel the words on the tip of his tongue. can’t do anything to stop them. his mouth curls up into a sneer. “and you’re such a fucking girl sometimes, billy.”

and billy just. freezes. his eyes snap down. avoiding steve’s.

“get out.”

steve feels his own chest pull tight.

“c’mon bill. we were having fun before all this-” steve holds a hand up to gesture. he watches billy’s shoulders tense with the movement.

“get the fuck out, harrington.” billy tries to sound threatening. it fails when his voice wobbles on steve’s name.

and steve. well steve doesn’t need this right now. doesn’t need to sit around babysitting his fucking… he doesn’t know. hell, they’re not even friends.

steve doesn’t need this right now.

just because steve said something. just because billy can’t take a fucking joke.

whatever.

“yeah, yeah.” steve looks at billy one last time. doesn’t know why the sight of him pointedly staring down leaves sour taste in steve’s mouth. “i’m going.”

he slams the car door behind him. hears a small noise as he does. he doesn’t look back.

billy will be fine.

steve walks fast. feels the cold air stings his face. feels his lungs burn with it. he tries to clear his head.

billy will be fine.

because billy’s a man.

fuck.

steve stops for a moment. leans back against a wall. thinks about the last hour. wonders how the day went so fucking sideways.

he feels his own eyes burn. slams a fist into the wall.

men. don’t. cry.

“fuck you, billy hargrove.”

[flowerskull-tobi]

no because the boys in my class were calling each other the gay slur in class today and one of them was like:

"don't say that guys, not when there's THOSE type of people in our class"

and then the boy who slurred was like

"oh no [name], you're gonna get cancelled for grouping them together like that. That's very disrespectful"

like he wasn't just calling people slurs all of 10 seconds ago

and I said to my friend who was next to me (we were talking about it the entire time btw) about how he was gonna get cancelled on twitter.

Anyway can't wait to get out of this hell hole 🙃

it's more or less the actual people rather than the school work itself, and although college is in some ways harder, at least I'm not doing random subjects that I actually hate and don't want to do at all in the slightest

*ahem* most of history and half of science *ahem*

it's more the things we learn isn't the interesting stuff that I actually like :/

anyway this isn't even the same thing I was originally posting about anymore-

ADHD go brrr

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Magic and Madness - Chapter Six

To Understand Everything is to Forgive Everything.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Tony Stark x Stephen Strange

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Stephen has a job to do, and it almost destroys him. Where else can he go for comfort?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2388

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Avoidance, GSW, ED mentions, alcoholism, internalised homophobia, self-doubt, self-blame, smuuuuut.

𝐀/𝐍 -> A Companion Piece to Multitudes, exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. This chapter best corresponds to Multitudes chapters seventeen and eighteen - I recommend starting there if you're reading both <3. Masterlist can be found here!

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Dividers come from yours truly.

<- Previous Chapter (5/46)

I avoided the compound like the plague.

The announcement of Natasha's plurality came of very little surprise to me – delivered, as it was, by a video call with Bruce. He didn’t ask why I refused to attend the meeting, and I didn’t volunteer the information.

I couldn’t face the man who had so unceremoniously dismissed me after almost two days of careful touches and hesitant kisses.

My hands shook whenever I thought about the look on his face when he glanced at me – the pure revulsion and desperation I found in his hollow gaze.

Despite my remorse, though, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. It had been a glorious, if short-lived, experience. My only sorrow was that it had, by all accounts, left him drowning himself and finding solace at the bottom of a bottle.

I tried to be surreptitious in my probing – simply asking after the team when someone reached out to me, clarifying individual members – Tony included – when they weren’t detailed. Nat, in her rare correspondence via video, always made sure to talk about him first, and was by far the most candid.

I got the call in the evening a few weeks after I absconded, phone ringing out , shrill in the darkness. Steven's panicked explanation was accompanied by a backing track of Nat’s staccato, desperate whimpers as I dressed hurriedly, throwing on the first thing my hands reached for – a painfully familiar hooded sweatshirt that still smelled faintly of sex and aftershave.

Wreathed in an agonising comfort, I stepped through to the hospital.

You know I’ve done this too many times when they don’t even look up anymore. A little wonder would be nice.

“What is it this time, Dr. Strange?” My head nurse sighed as she spoke, eyebrow raised in surprise as she glanced at me. “... You look like hell, Stephen.”

“Thanks, Clarissa,” I snapped, rolling my eyes as I smoothed my hair. “GSW to the lower left quadrant. No known spinal implication, and there’s an exit wound. Patient is showing transient consciousness. ETA four minutes. Is there a team free?”

She nodded quickly, pushing herself to her feet. “Yes, Doctor. You got lucky; it’s been a hectic day. OR two is available.”

I nodded sharply, pacing impatiently as I waited. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wondered if he would be there.

My question was answered as they barrelled through the door, Tony’s hands pressed to the wound in the archer’s side. “BP is 83 over 54 and falling fast. GCS eight, oxygen steady – mostly. Pulse 73 and dropping. Looks like the bullet fragmented after penetration.”

I motioned Nat away quickly, her eyes wide as she trembled, and offered her a quick smile. “I’ve got to get him into surgery. I’ll do what I can, Natash- Nat. I’ll do my best.”

Five hours and six minutes.

His insides were shredded by the shrapnel, and while I lived up to my promise, I hated that I couldn’t do more. My forehead found the wall as I sobbed softly, mourning the parts of the archer I couldn’t save.

But I had a job to do.

So I simply scrubbed a hand over my face and peeled off my bloodied gown, unable to stop the spark of anger that drove me to throw it violently into the contaminant trashcan, jaw set.

I should have done more. I should have been better.

I should have been there. Maybe I could have made a difference.

Natasha was curled on the floor, pressed against the wall, blood trickling through the fingers pressed to her ribs as she stared blankly into the distance. I sighed as I approached, steeling myself. “Let me take a look at you.”

“… Wh… What?” she murmured, blinking owlishly up at us, and I inclined my head toward the blood under her hand, jaw twitching. “I said, ‘Let me take a look at you’.”

She blinked again, blank and disinterested. “We’re fine. How’s Clint?” I offered her a wry smile and an extended hand, pity tugging at my heart. “Let’s make a deal.”

“Clint had a lot of internal damage. A lot. I’ve patched him up as best I could, but…” I sighed guiltily as I slid the needle through the edge of her wound, but she showed no reaction. “You’re lucky he was in front of you. You would likely have lost your lung, but instead it just broke the rib.”

“Lucky,” she scoffed, eliciting a flinch.

“He’s not come around yet. He… We had to perform an ileostomy. There wasn’t enough intestinal tissue left to salvage. He’s been fitted with a bag – if he… That will be permanent,” I added softly, jaw tight with remorse.

I should have been there.

She winced, glancing up. “Will he wake up?”

I hesitated only briefly, the loss of concentration bringing a faint tremor back to my hands. “We don’t know. He lost a lot of blood and sustained significant injuries. He underwent massive transfusions. The fact that he survived surgery is reassuring, but…” I sighed again, head shaking. “I’ve had this conversation too many times lately.”

When she glanced at me curiously, I offered her a weak, shaky smile. “I said almost the exact same thing to Clint, when it was you that may not wake up.”

I spent two weeks in my own alcohol-driven despair, wracked with remorse and selfish thoughts of comfort found in his embrace.

He’d tell me I tried my best. He’d tell me there was nothing more I could do. He...

No.

He’d tell me I repulse him, and that I am wrong.

Two weeks of long and suffering silence was all it took for Clint to start to come around, and I got the call to return. I’d checked on him daily, but they thought I’d like to be the one to break the news to him.

I can’t imagine anything worse.

But the archer, to my wonder, was impassive, seemingly unphased by this permanent alteration to his life, despite my immense shame and guilt.

The only person who seemed to struggle as much as I was Natasha herself. Chained to his bedside, I’d watched her grow steadily more gaunt, refusing all but water – and even that had to be administered intravenously. Not a single morsel or drop passed her lips during her silent vigil, and the weight began to drop from her frame once more.

A quiet word with Bruce when they eventually returned to the compound confirmed my worst suspicions – that she was, once again, skirting danger.

Bruce desperately argued that her weight was holding steady, but I could only snort. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Banner. We need to find out how this is happening – before it’s too late. And ‘too late’ is approaching far too rapidly.”

The day she ended up being taken, unconscious and severely underweight, I broke.

When I appeared in his bedroom, he was lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“… Hi. I know I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here. I just…”

He nodded slowly, extending an arm to me with a quiet sigh. “Come here, baby boy.”

The name broke me, and I sobbed, falling down beside him and weeping desperately against his chest. “I should have done better. I should have done more. I…”

Shushing me gently, his fingers caressed my back as he held me close. “You did amazingly, honey. You did better than anyone else could have done. None of this is your fault, do you hear me?”

“I knew she was struggling. I knew that something wasn’t right. But I left it to Bruce, and I… I should have spoken to her. Helped her. This is all my fault. I’m not… Fuck, I’m such a… Fuck.”

He brushed his lips against my forehead, pulling me nearer. “Sweetheart, you did everything you could. You were incredible.”

“You never called,” I whispered into his chest, voice cracking. “I thought you hated me.”

He snorted weakly, shaking his head. “You? Never. Myself? Well… That’s a different matter entirely."

“I hate that I made you feel like that.”

“Not you, baby boy. Never you. I… I’ve missed you, Stephen. So much,” he muttered into my hair, fingers tightening against my spine.

“I’ve never hated myself quite so much as I do for what I said to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

I pushed my face through my tears to claim his mouth with mine, hands curling in his hair desperately. “Show me how sorry you are.”

“Aren’t you going to ask-”

“I already know you’re sober, Tony. I’m surprised and impressed.”

“I’ve been sober since Clint’s accident. I… I wanted to prove I can do it. Before I reached out.”

I purred happily, pulling him closer. “Fuck me like it’s you last night on this earth, Stark.”

He raised an eyebrow with a snort, dragging my shirt over my head. “You got it, baby boy.”

I lay in his arms as he smoked, and I scowled. “You shouldn’t substitute one vice for another, love.”

“One makes me significantly less of an asshole than the other, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you also have a ‘no smoking in the building’ rule?”

“It’s my building, who’s going to tell me off? You?” he added with a smirk, and my fingertips trailed his hip lightly, humming with delight at the hard lines I’d missed touching.

“Sounds fun. I might be into that.”

He barked out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. “Doctor Strange, you never cease to amaze.”

I arched an eyebrow, fixing him in my gaze. “Mr. Stark, I am a surgeon who tried to micromanage his own surgery, despite the fact that I would be profoundly unconscious for the procedure. I am nothing if not authoritarian.”

He purred and tugged me nearer, fingers curling around my back to drag me atop him. “Oh, yeah? I seem to remember you being pretty submissive every time I’ve made you beg...”

Smirking, I took his hands from my hips and pinned them over his head, delighting in the soft gulp the motion elicited, pressing my body against his. “You assume I couldn’t make you do the same?”

“Y-You gonna boss me around?” he stammered, back curving minutely against me as he blushed.

I hummed playfully, tongue trailing the length of his jaw. “... Not yet. Maybe when it’s my turn to fuck you.”

He stiffened, and I winced.

Fuck. Why would I say that?

“I-I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m scared,” he ground out quietly, gaze flicking away as he reddened.

I released his wrists and lay over him, watching him with my chin beside the glowing light of his reactor. “... What are you scared of?” I pressed softly, and he grimaced minutely.

“I... I’m not sure. I’m scared it’ll hurt. I’m scared I won’t be... Clean. I... I’m... I know this isn’t exactly straight, but I’m scared that if it’s me that gets... I’m scared that it’s just, y’know, more... g-gay.”

The last word was a pained, shameful whisper, but my heart throbbed proudly.

He’s never said it before. No matter how drunk, or sober, or angry.

He’s never said it.

“Do... Should I talk you through your fears? Or do you just want acknowledgement?” I asked quietly, fingers dancing across his collarbone, and he nodded shyly.

“I-I guess you can... Try and help.”

Smiling fondly, I kept my gaze on him as I thought. “Well... You saw – pretty intimately – my first time. Did I look like I was in any pain?” He shook his head reluctantly, and I pressed a kiss to his chest. “It was... Unusual. A little uncomfortable, at points, but that very quickly gave way to...” I swallowed dryly, cheeks heating. “You’ve seen what you do to me, Tony. It’s... The best I’ve ever felt. By far. By far.” My light shiver made his smirk, hands shifting to caress my back gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever had- No, let me try again. I have never, by far, had so much sex in such a short period of time. And I still want more.”

He grinned at last, palms finding my ass pointedly. “I’m happy to stop this conversation and give you more, baby boy.”

Heart fluttering, I did, admittedly, hesitate thoughtfully before I shook my head. “I’d rather make you feel better... At least first.” He rolled his eyes, but nodded, and I purred. “As for... I mean, it’s not a big deal either way. But there’s ways you can... prepare. Which I could talk you through, but I’m concerned for your blood pressure if I say any more about that,” I teased as his face turned crimson. “But... I’ve never bothered, and we’ve never had a problem, right?” He shook his head slowly, and I grinned, kissing his cheek. “Exactly.”

His jaw tightened in anticipation, eyes drifting further from mine. “As for the last... Tony. My dear, sweet, darling Tony. If you’re straight, all your sex is straight sex, regardless of how you do it. And the same is true for gay people, and bisexuals, and all the other myriad of sexualities out there. It's not more or less of what it is depending on how it’s done. If you’re gay, then you’re gay, and that’s fine. You’re not extra gay if you decide you want to... Be fucked,” I finished, blushing lightly. He was trembling at my words, still unable to meet my gaze, but he licked his lips dryly.

“I’m gay.”

I couldn’t help the blink of surprise, but buried it in a gentle kiss, nipping his lip lightly. “As am I, sweetheart.”

“It... That’s why I never settled down.”

“I tried. I loved her, I truly did, but... She was the only one.”

“I’m... I’m ready to settle down, Stephen,” he added softly, gaze flicking to mine at last. “With you.”

“I... You... Wh... Huh?”

He swallowed again, leaning forward to kiss me lightly. “I want to be yours, Stephen. And I... I want you to fuck me.”

God forgive me, but I am going to commit every sin. Send me to hell if you must; I’ll go with a smile.

The whine that eked from my lips was indecipherable, and he grinned softly. “Stephen Strange... Please fuck me.”

... ... ...

Yes.

Yes.

Yesyesyesyesyesyes-