#mel doesn't know how and doesn't recognize the need to and also she COULD lean on zhartook but I dunno that she fully realizes that

[blujayonthewing]

..... not me realizing almost none of my characters have anyone they feel like they can talk to and confide in about their own problems.....

[bettyfrommars]

Betty, betty, betty! I’m just back from a low-key stag do for my uncle-to-be with my da (back in the motherland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 for the special occasion), bit tipsy and thinking of biker!steve. Honestly, I’ve been away from home for 7 weeks now and anytime I need a bit of maladaptive comfort before bed, those fics are where I go 🥰 Right now I’m wondering how biker!steve would react to our new/back-in-town!reader getting drunk and needing a little help home x

Mel the way I am kissing you consensually across the miles right now aalkfdajlkljklj I've been needing a biker!steve fix so bad 😭 I wrote this in a frenzy this morning, so I hope it's not garbage, and I hope you like it.

Also, this is Ring of Fire biker!Steve, an alt universe version of I'm on Fire biker Steve. A fic within a fic, if you will. These Steves are similar but not the same.

biker!Steve x fem!Reader

wc: 1k

18+, alcohol consumption, creeps, violence, yearning, mutual crush

You decided to skip on the old faithful Blue Light Tavern that night and leaned into the peer pressure of meeting up with a friend at a newer bar downtown. The drinks were fancy but weak, and the packed crowd didn't seem to mind paying twice as much for less. Heather, a part time cashier at the gas n' sip, had you doing shots with her before you ever had any food in your stomach, and that was a rookie mistake.

During a clumsy game of darts, you spotted Robin, and it made your blood race to think that Steve might not be far behind. She tipped her chin at you from across the room, and you waved the dart in your hand, losing total concentration on the game until Heather nudged you.

"You know Robin?" Heather asked, buying two more drinks from the passing waitress.

"I've seen her around," you muttered. Steve was nowhere in sight, but that didn't stop you from checking every time the door opened.

Heather's boyfriend showed up unexpectedly and so all of a sudden, there you were---a solid third wheel. While they made out at a table in the corner, you took your wobbly legs over to the only available seat at the end of the bar.

The problem with that stage of intoxication was that you felt really good, like maybe one more would make the experience even better.

Just a beer though, just one light brewski before you headed home on foot.

"Have a shot with me?" The guy next to you said, pushing his shoulder into yours.

You didn't recognize him, but his highlighted hair was a bit too perfect, his teeth way too white; he was a dead ringer for Zack Morris. You'd barely taken a sip of your beverage and already you regretted the decision to stay.

"I'm good, thanks."

He scoffed. "Not even one shot? I saw you drinking with your friend over there, I know you can handle one more."

Sober enough to catch his condescending tone, you glanced back to see that Heather and her boyfriend were no longer at the table. They'd most likely gone somewhere to fornicate, and you'd be fending for yourself for the rest of the night.

The guy bought two shots, anyway, sliding one over to you. You stared at it for a reluctant beat before moving to get off of your stool. Your footing was a bit unsteady, prompting the blonde guy to grab your arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" His booze breath was hot in your face.

"She's with me."

Making you do a double take, Steve stepped between the two of you, staring the guy down. Chewing gum so that the muscles in his jaw bulged, Steve dropped one arm behind him to support your hip and help you keep your balance.

"She doesn't look like she's with anyone," the blonde guy challenged.

Steve realized then that the idiot must've been new in town. Somehow, he'd missed the significance of what wearing a Coffin Kings kutte meant.

Steve could take him out to the alley and put a knife in his gut without a drop of moral conflict.

"Get lost," Steve cocked an eyebrow, never breaking eye contact.

The blonde guy snorted a laugh. "How about you get fucked?"

He jammed a palm into Steve's shoulder, and before another thing could be said, Steve took him by the back of the neck and smashed his face onto the edge of the bar.

You stifled a scream, but the place was so packed, and the music so loud, that no one seemed to notice or care as the blonde slumped to the floor. The people next to him simply shuffled over to take his seat, oblivious.

Steve turned to find you, both of your chests heaving as he leaned in.

"You ready to get out of here?" He whispered it softly, brushing his knuckles down your arm. His eyes were such a throbbing hazel at that moment you swore they were about to explode gold flecks all over you.

A nod was all you could offer at the time, and then his arm was around your waist, helping you out of the crowd. Your head bobbed like it was on a spring, making you realize how tipsy you actually were.

Outside, the cool air in your lungs was a relief, and it suddenly registered that Steve's motorcycle was positioned illegally up on the sidewalk.

Before you could question his parking choice, he mumbled. "I was in a hurry," before snatching the helmet off of the handlebar to pass to you.

"What are you doing here?" you turned to find that your lips were inches from his. Steve held his breath, not wanting to move, but also not ready to find out how deep the taste of you would bury him.

"You're not the only one who likes to have fun," he moved his head back to meet your searching gaze, the flicker of a grin teasing the corner of his mouth.

"No, I mean---" you looked down, swallowing hard. What were you even trying to say?

"Robin told me you were here," he admitted, bucking his chin at the building in question. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be caught dead in a tourist trap like that."

You'd figured as much, but never expected him to fess up to coming there just for you.

"But how did Robin---?" She must've called him from a pay phone or...

"You ask a lot of questions." He took over adjusting the strap under your chin, noting that you were having a hard time with it.

"Where are you taking me?" Your speech was a bit slurred, but at the time you were too buzzed to give a damn.

"What do you mean?" He wanted to take you somewhere and press his aching body against yours; to fall asleep holding your hand.

You hated the way he was making you explain yourself, as your brain scrambled for the right words. "The other day, you said you had something you wanted to show me."

"There are lots of things I want to show you," he kicked his leg over the seat to straddle the beast of a motorcycle and waited for you to follow suit. "But there's plenty of time for that. Let's get you home first."

He held onto your thigh, urging you closer until your heat was flush to his lower back.

"Hold onto me, okay?" He said over his shoulder, revving the engine to life. "Don't ever let go."

[not-that-dillinger]

I posted 894 times in 2022

That's 894 more posts than 2021!

19 posts created (2%)

875 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@alanbradleyofficial

@rpmemes-galore

@occupationallyhazardous

@systemadministratorclu

@munich-live

I tagged 256 of my posts in 2022

#ask meme - 95 posts

#rp meme - 95 posts

#rp - 69 posts

#yes!!! - 3 posts

#thanks for the ask! - 3 posts

#directory post - 2 posts

#sorry for the hiatus - 2 posts

#starter meme - 2 posts

#sentence starters - 2 posts

#but leaning toward yes because sam needs a hug and also making sam deal with it would be kinda hilariously awkward. - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 122 characters

#also: roy making popcorn on the stove is... yes! (mun's opinion that stove top is the superior method for making popcorn!)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

“You’re really close…”

To be honest Mel doesn’t know how she even got stuck here in the first place with her co-worker

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice in the dark. He hadn't realized that someone else was in the closet with him. He thought he recognized the voice as belonging to one of the interns (not one of his)... Mel, wasn't that her name?

"Sorry," he said, trying his best to squish himself further into the opposite corner.

They needed to get out of here before anyone discovered them in a storage closet, because then there would be accusations (things he'd never do...) and... No. He didn't need that, not when Sam already had so many reasons to want to fire him as it was... He half wondered if this was another of Sam's pranks. He wouldn't have been surprised if Sam had seen him walk into the storage closet and locked him inside, and wouldn't that be cosmic irony, since the point of locking himself in here in the first place was so that he could have his post-meeting panic attack without anyone finding him, especially the new CEO.

"I didn't realize anyone else was in here... Who are you?"

33 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

#4

[🔪:] Alan stared at Ed, his face pale. He staggered backwards, jot sure if he should call the police or try and hear the younger programmer out. His hands trembled, and he could hear his heart thrumming in his head.

He should've screamed. He should've called for help. Instead he stared into Ed's eyes, desperate for an answer.

"Why?"

[From the "send 🔪 to encounter my muse after they've just killed someone" meme. Doesn't need to be a thread if you dont want it to be, I just thought the angst would be spicey]

Ed stared at the corpse. He felt... nothing. Not... vindication, not anger, not grief or... anything.

His eyes flicked first toward the child backing away down the alley into the dark street, curly blonde hair sticking out from under a plastic viking helmet. Ed dropped the shard of glass that had been digging into his hand. He didn't even remember picking it up, but there were several other bottles littering the street, so he must have grabbed one.

Was that his blood or...

The glass shattered loudly in the too silent street.

"Beo, I..." Ed started weakly. He'd promised both of them he would never expose Beo to violence. Not after everything e'd already endured.

The child turned and ran, disappearing into the dark.

Ed didn't dare chase after Beowulf. E wasn't safe with him anymore. He had no right to take care of Petra's child after what he'd done.

Ed sank to the ground, his body aching from the abuse he'd endured in the fight. He wasn't a fighter, he had no experience or training in martial arts or street fighting, but when he'd seem that man, drunk and pinning Beo to the wall with a predatory look in his eyes, when he heard the things he said he'd do... Ed snapped.

Ed could feel the gash in his side, his shirt sticky-hot and plastered to his side. That would need stitches, if not surgery.

The state was going to take custody of Beo since Ed was clearly violent and unfit to take care of a child. Or at the very least while the investigation was going on.

He turned to Alan, finally registering that he was there. He knew he could trust Alan to take care of Beowulf, even if he hated the idea of burdening Alan with a kid he probably didn't want. He turned to him with a desperate look on his face. "Please... Look after Beowulf for me. E has no other place to go right now..."

107 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#3

send 🫂 to hold my muse while they have a panic attack.

(Found this in your archive and figured this is something my Clu might be pretty good at.)

The voicemail had been slowly gnawing a hole in Ed's mind all week, begging to be opened. The number was a dead giveaway he should have deleted it without listening to it the moment he got it, but of course he didn't. He hadn't seen that number in a decade, or heard the voice of it's owner in just as long, but he still knew it like the back of his hand.

His father's number.

It had come at the worst of times, when he and his team should have been focusing on finalizing the software for the deadline that Friday, except he couldn't stop thinking about the voicemail, couldn't focus on anything, and the rest of his team decided the week of a critical deadline was a good week to start infighting again.

He finally opened it that morning—Friday morning—resigned that he wasn't going to get anything done until he found out it was nothing or spent the day panicking over whatever his father decided was important enough to break a restraining order for.

Except that before he could process what had been said, Mackey showed up at his office demanding updates that Ed didn't have, and the vague threat that he'd "better have something ready to show the board tonight."

By some miracle, they had something to show the board by that evening, even if it was still full of bugs and nothing near where Ed would have liked.

By what could only have been cosmic irony, Ed didn't get a chance to show the board their software. Despite that, the meeting went about as well as Ed expected it to if he had, in the sense that he'd fallen through the thin ice he never seemed to be able to get off of.

He went for a walk after the meeting, knowing that going home was a bad idea, but not having anywhere else to go. He found himself at the old arcade, staring at it from across the street. It took him a moment to realize the door was open. A likely harmless mystery was as good a distraction as any, so he crossed the street, and slipped inside.

It didn't take him long to find Flynn's secret basement lab, or for him to find himself inside the computer (because that was absolutely Dr. Baines's digitization laser he'd shot himself with).

It didn't take them long to find him.

They took his clothes, then his glasses, and forced him in a skin-tight glowing suit.

Then they forced him into a cell with a view of... from what he could barely make out with his blurry vision, and what he could hear of the announcer over the sound of muffled screams from down the hall, were some sort of cyberpunk gladiatorial games. He had no idea if he would take the place of the person screaming down the hall, or one of the contestants, and would have preferred not to find out, but his brain finally decided that processing Father's voicemail and the fallout of the catastrophic board meeting was the better distraction from his current predicament.

He crumpled to the floor in a corner, feeling like someone was standing on his chest, his entire body shaking, and unable to draw breath into his lungs.

It took him a moment to process the sensation of strong arms around his waist, and his body cushioned in someone's lap.

He hadn't realized he wasn't alone in the cell. Had he been able to think clearly, he might have wondered if the stranger was there when they threw Ed in, or if they threw the stranger into the cell while Ed was panicking.

145 notes - Posted November 8, 2022

#2

From the send me a prompt for one muse to find the other in the following situation meme

( feverish ) : suffering from a high fever and severely ill

Sam, Alan, or Dyson is (are?) sick because unfortunately I'm indecisive (I'm sorry)

@occupationallyhazardous

Truth be told, Ed wasn't entirely certain how he got into the current situation, except that he had. He wasn't even entirely certain what the situation was, if he was honest, and he didn't want to think about the only conclusion that made sense in this situation.

He should have been back at home, enjoying the evening being trounced at Mario Kart on the Wii by Beo. Except he'd said something wrong (he wasn't entirely sure what; he hadn't yet had time to reflect on anything that had happened ) and Beo bolted out the door.

Ed chased em to Flynn's old arcade (no surprise that Beo had managed to break in, e'd picked the lock on Ed's front door enough times before he adopted em), and down into the secret laboratory in the basement (no surprise there, either... either that Flynn had said secret basement lab, or that Beowulf somehow managed to find it). Beo had immediately been intrigued by the literal desktop computer with the running timer. Ed had been shocked at seeing that desk, since he'd seen it precisely once before when he was four. He hadn't realized what Beo was doing (remind him why he thought teaching Beowulf coding was a good idea, again?) until he heard the laser power up behind him (dear god, Flynn, why the hell was there a Laser pointed directly at the desk chair?), and by then it was too late.

They were met almost immediately by Flynn (He was in hell, wasn't he? That's what this place was, a special circle of hell, just for him), wearing a long flowing robe with a glowing yellow pattern on it, and a compliment of soldiers in suits with glowing red lines.

Long story short, he told Beo to run, and tried to hold them off. They captured him, he escaped Flynn and the terrifying other that sounded suspiciously like Alan (This is revenge for that time his father kidnapped Alan, wasn't it?), and made his way to the barren snowy wasteland outside the city. He stumbled into a cavern he'd managed to find to hide in, and nearly stumbled over what he at first assumed was a dead body.

He shrieked, but then realized the person had faintly glowing red lines on his suit, and when he reached down to feel for a pulse, the body was hot. Feverishly hot.

"S—sorry," he stuttered, exhausted and precariously staving off the oncoming panic by the need to locate Beowulf and make sure e was safe.

Ed's first instinct was to leave. If this was one of Flynn's minions, then he should leave before he was either murdered or brought back to Flynn for more death games. (What the hell, Flynn? What made you think that emulating the Roman Empire was a good idea?)

If Ed left, he would surely die.

(Damn it, he couldn't leave without Flynn finding him; and he had nowhere to go. Damn it, he couldn't just let a stranger die. Ed didn't even know for certain if he was one of Flynn's minions.)

157 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

[Sanctuary: receiver pulls sender into their house to protect them from an impending danger/storm] Your choice between Alan or Sam

Ed barely beat the storm on his way home from the board meeting. The storm was one of those storms that just randomly popped up off the coast as if out of nowhere on occasion. He tossed his coat on a hanger in the closet and wandered to the kitchen to scrounge something up for dinner, still thinking about the meeting.

The board meeting was... tedious. That had been the fourth board meeting since Sam took over as CEO, and Ed still knew neither what the new dynamic within the board was, nor what role he was supposed to play.

What he did know, was he was on thin fucking ice with the board again. That was fine. He'd dealt with it before, and he'd do it again.

And that Sam only seemed to listen to Alan, which only seemed to frustrate everyone else.

Ed glanced out the window across the living room, and caught glimpse of a lone figure across the street, looking much like a phantom shrouded in fog from the heavy rain.

Speak of the devil.

What the hell was Alan doing out in a storm like this? Ed could barely see him across the street, and with those glasses he wore, it was a wonder he had any clue where he was going.

Before Ed could think about what he was doing, he was out the door, not bothering with a rain coat.

"Alan!" he called, barely pausing long enough to make sure the road was clear before sprinting across to Alan.

He caught up to Alan, and gripped his arm lightly.

"Hey, Alan," he said. "this weather's pretty bad. My house is across the street, how about you come inside?"

395 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

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