#or another gay cocktails

[pononoin]

Idk how to explain but those two drinks reminds me to Stan and Kyle

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘 ♡︎

characters: sub!gallagher x nb!dom!reader

warnings: usage of aphrodisiacs, exhibitionism, slight dumbification, thigh riding, dry humping, begging, cumming untouched, gallagher being an old man loser, just a mini drabble guys. nothing big (i say as i write down 1,7K words)

notes: @lufenianwol you knew exactly what you were doing when you sent me gallagher’s leaked idle animation didn’t you, you gayyyy🫵🏳️‍🌈 (im gay too😔)

sigh…

another day, another long work of hunting down criminals or outlaws who came to penacony uninvited and detaining them. the most time gallagher could ever get to de-stress were behind the bars, mixing up a drink his customers asked for or when with you. you were a fellow bloodhound, a high ranking one too, so never had enough time to spend some quality time with your tired lover.

but today, you wanted to be a little mischievous. and what was that on your mind? you slipped just a teeny weeny bit of aphrodisiacs into his usual alcohol in his personal flask of course! just a little. maybe a pinch or two. a bit of a sprinkle of magic as a gift.

or maybe even a whole mini bottle. but you won’t say it until your tired lover comes crawling over to you, huffing and puffing, whining whimpering as he begs for your help at “restocking” some of the alcohol at the backrooms.

at the other end of the bar, you watch with a barely hidden smirk whenever your lover takes a sip from his personal flask during his break times. each time he does, getting more and more intoxicated in the taste. you purposely chose one that tasted delicious and soft on the tongue, a way to reward him for his hard work of running after criminals and preparing him for what was about to happen.

he started out strong, as expected of a bloodhound officer. barely felt it, focusing on work, wiping a glass or two, mixing up a drink. but the more he drank from his flask, the more you noticed it. the little stuttering over his words, the slight flush in his cheeks, the jumpy way he reacted whenever you passed by him with a hand on his waist or lower back. that bulge in his pants. that damn delicious bulge that you love to bully.

shaking your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you focus back on work to wipe the bar clean and serve the customers drinks and desserts of their liking. you and gallaher were a good pair to serve amazing cocktails after all.

finally, the rush hour had ended, meaning fewer customers. the fewer there are, the more noticeable gallagher’s show of being affected by the little sprinkle of magic became. at first, he tried to play things off as signs of cold, or just the warm and low lighting of the bar being the reason his cheeks are pink. hell, he even coughed a few times to make his act believable. believable to the nosy customers but never to you.

“[n-name]…” the man barely manages to muffle his whimper when calling out your name, low lidded eyes, hazy vision and slightly shaky hand tugging on your necktie. you hum, turning to him with a raised brow as if you weren’t the reason behind this panting mess in front of you.

“yeah? what’s up?” you ask, putting down the bottle on where it’s supposed to be as your hands come to rest on his waist. the rush hour just ended, the bar still had a few customers but they were either too drunk to care nor engrossed in their own sob life stories to share you two a glance. and gallagher was damn glad for it too.

“w-we, ahem, need to head to the backrooms. we’re running out of some beers and fizzy drinks in the fridge” he quickly clears his throat, hoping that no one had caught onto his little stuttering. you did, of course. you would catch onto anything your lover says or does. even the tiniest things. such as how he was trying to make it seem like an innocent half-hug when you could feel his cock twitch in his pants as he pushes his crotch against yours, hoping to conceal it while also giving you a little heads-up.

as if you needed the heads-up.

“alright. you can go first, i’ll come after you once i wipe my hands” you nod your head, watching as your lover disappears behind the door with a sign that read “staff only”. it was cute how gallagher was so trusting of you, never even thought for a moment how you could have been the one to drug his flask of alcohol. though, judging from his cloudy eyes and stuttering, you could guess that he could barely even think to begin with. how adorable of him.

soon enough, you follow after the steps of your lover, walking into the “staff only” part of the bar and later onto the door with the sign “backrooms”. the pretty decent sized dark room where the bar keeps their ingredients and drinks. the same exact room where your lover pushes you against the wall the moment you entered, shaky hands fumbling with the buttons of your button down shirt as he humps his hardened cock against your crotch.

“woah woah, puppy. easy now. what’s going on? i thought we needed to restock on our drinks?” you ask, feigning innocence as your hands rest over gallagher’s shaky ones, stopping his fumbling and managing to catch his attention for a minute. he looked so dumbfounded. bottom lip on the brink of bleeding due to his chewing, panting, cheeks flushed a pretty red as his dilated eyes try to focus on you. you swore he looked like he was almost on the brink of crying with how damn pathetic he looked.

“c-can’t… [name], please, help me… ‘s so hot, tight. stupid pants mmngh!” gallagher only moans, tripping over his own words in a jumbled mess as he tries to find some sort of relief for his poor aching cock. looking down, you could briefly make out a dark small patch at the front of his pants. he was so drugged that he couldn’t even tell that he was staining his own clothes with his precum. so cute.

you only hum in response, not bothering to do as he pleads as your hands rest on the fat of his ass, massaging them gently. he only whines, slurred words of how he wanted your hands on his cock falling out as he squirms in your hold. lowering yourselves down to the floor of the room, you shift gallagher on top of you to ride your thigh instead. flexing the muscles in them to make it easier for him as he whimpers at the feeling.

immediately, the man started to hump your thigh. salacious mewls falling out of his lips as he doesn’t even try to silence his loud noises, only dumbly trying to relieve himself as he rubs his clothed cock on your thigh. you could see the dark patch in his pants getting bigger, darker the more he rides your thigh. if he had his dick out, he would probably leave a mess all over your clothes.

“shh shh, puppy. the door isn’t locked, remember?” you chuckle, reminding him of where the two of you were getting naughty at. it was so cute to see his eyes perk up at the sound of your voice. more specifically, whenever you called him puppy. he really did lived up to that nickname, looking like a cute pup as he bites down on his lip.

one of your hands travel up to his chest, opting to play with his perky nipple as he let out a loud squeal at that. his chest was always so sensitive, making him let out the most delicious whimpers each time you roll, pinch or tug at the hardened nub. being so mean to not slip your hands under the opening of his button down shirt at the front, playing with his nipples over the harsh fabrics of his clothes instead. he just wanted your touch on him to relieve the ache pooling in his belly, would you be so mean to deny him of his wishes?

apparently, you would. the hand on the soft fat of his ass moving to rest over his hip, helping him hump his cock on your thigh as your other hand continue their brutal assaults on his chest. poor gallagher, can't even form a single word as his pleads fall out of his swollen lips in a jumbled heap of mess. you could barely make out your own name from it. the words sounding so muddled up as if the bloodhound officer couldn't tell the difference between reality and his drug induced feelings.

"[n-naaammmeee]... sniff pleasheee fuunnghh fucck!! p-pleashh pleaash pleeaasshee♡︎!! ungh!! guuunnhg♥︎♥︎! p-pretty pleaaseee♡︎?" gallagher whines helplessly, stuffing his flushed face into the crook of your neck as his movements become more sloppy and frantic. he was so close to cumming already, it was just so cute to see how easily someone who is apparently always in control to crumble over with just a little bit of thigh riding. and some sprinkle of magic added to the mix.

in an attempt to muffle his loud moans and stuttering of his breath, he hastily lowers the collar of your own button down shirt just a little bit more. just enough so he could bite down over the old, healing bite mark of his so he could attempt to muffle his pathetic noises. you only coo out in a mocking tone, calling him by that nickname again as you tug on his nipple through his shirt as debouched cries of your name falls from his lips over and over like a mantra. gallagher sounded like one of those old, broken down radios that only replay a single song that sometimes is in the bar.

with a final thrust and a meek little bounce on your thigh, gallagher releases into his clothes. the magenta red hue of his pants turning a darker shade as his cum pools into the materials of his pants, staining it as some of the translucent liquid drips down onto your pants. you could just wash them out later.

"done with your little show, puppy?" you ask, the hand on his hip squeezing a bit to snap him out of his hazy mind. instead, you got a shake of his head, his stubble lightly tickling the skin of your neck in the process.

"wan' more... wan' you♥︎" he mumbles, delirious and drooling, as he humps his still hard cock against your crotch, indicating what he craved so desperately. maybe next time you should check the dosage you put into his drink if he's gonna be drugged this heavily by such a small amount.

[transform4u]

In the heart of bustling Austin, Texas, where the twang of southern drawls blends with the eclectic rhythm of city life, there was Chad Dalton, a buff wannabe bodybuilder, and personal trainer. At twenty-eight, he stood tall at 6’5” with a physique sculpted by years of relentless training and the grit of his rural upbringing. A former college football star turned gym trainer, Chad's presence in the fitness world was as commanding as his massive 269-pound frame.

Raised in a tight-knit southern community, Chad had brought with him not just his imposing stature but also an accent that marked him as unmistakably Texan. He wore it proudly, knowing well how it charmed the ladies or at least he believed it did. His alpha male demeanor and penchant for straight talk. The fact was Chad was a fucking douchebag.

Days were regimented with protein shakes and weightlifting sessions, a routine instilled by his former coach who had driven him to victory against their fiercest rivals. Now, Chad found himself in the role training others in the gym where his own legend grew. But mostly he liked to belittled the gay men in gym for their weak bodies. His impressive gains and bulging biceps made him a sight to behold, drawing admiration and envy alike from those around him.

And now here he was training people in this fancy gym instead of playing ball for some big-time team like everyone expected him to do after graduation. But screw them! Chad knew what was best for himself—and that meant staying single and focusing solely on improving himself physically so that no woman could resist his charm (or at least not for long).

Chad harbored views that were far from politically correct. His online rants against what he called "PC culture" and his dismissive remarks about "SJW chicks" were a stark contrast to the charismatic trainer who effortlessly charmed women at the gym.

One fateful evening, Chad found himself at a gay bar. It wasn’t the men he sought there, but rather the women—easy targets, he thought, like shooting fish in a barrel.

As Chad leaned casually against the bar, his eyes scanning the room for his next conquest, he spotted Samantha. With her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and a figure that turned heads, she stood out even in the dimly lit bar. Determined to make an impression, Chad sauntered over with his characteristic confidence.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he drawled in his deep southern accent, flashing a grin that he knew had won over countless women before.

Samantha, however, gave him a skeptical look, her eyebrow raised as she sipped her cocktail. "Oh, hey," she replied coolly, clearly unimpressed. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"

Chad chuckled, undeterred by her lukewarm reception. "Can't help it when I see a beautiful lady like yourself," he replied, leaning in a bit closer.

She sighed, her annoyance thinly veiled. "Look, Chad, right?" Samantha asked, crossing her arms. "I'm not really into the whole 'gym bro' thing. All my friends here," she gestured subtly to the crowd around them, "they're all gay. I'm not sure you're their type."

Chad blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Oh, come on now, I'm just having a good time," he protested, trying to charm his way back into her good graces. "I'm sure we can find some common ground."

Samantha smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You know what, Chad? You seem like you could use another drink. Let me get you one," she said smoothly, turning to walk towards the bar.

Chad grinned broadly, thinking he was making progress. "Sure thing, sweetheart. I'll take whatever you're having," he called after her, watching as she ordered two drinks from the bartender.

Little did Chad know, Samantha was more than just a pretty face. As she whispered a quick incantation over one of the drinks, a sly smile played on her lips. And incantation that would turn Chad in the most stereotypical gay guy at the bar, at least what Chad would believe to be a stereotype. "By the power of three, by the might of me, transform this man into what he truly would hate to be. Make him gay as a rainbow flag flying high, with a love for glitter and all things shiny. Let his voice be like honeyed whispers in the night, his body lean and toned with just enough muscle tight. Give him confidence that knows no bounds, charm that turns heads around. May he become the stereotype he makes fun of so much, fill him with gay lust."

She slid both drinks across the bar towards Chad, who eagerly picked up the one she had touched.

"Here you go," Samantha said sweetly, handing him the glass.

Chad lifted the drink to his lips, taking a long sip and smacking his lips appreciatively. "Thanks, Samantha. So, tell me more about yourself," he prompted, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

But as the last drop of the enchanted drink slid down his throat, Chad began to feel a strange sensation. His muscles seemed to relax, and a warmth spread through his body. Confused, he looked around the bar, suddenly aware of the vibrant energy and the laughter of the patrons around him.

As Chad continued to sip his drink, unaware of Samantha's magical intervention, a strange sensation began to creep over him. At first, he felt a light-headedness, as if a fog had settled in his brain, making his thoughts feel like they were wrapped in cotton candy. Samantha watched with concealed amusement as Chad's voice started to rise in pitch, a puzzled look crossing his face.

"So, Samantha, I was saying," Chad began, his words coming out in a higher, more melodious tone than before, "what do you do for fun around here?"

Samantha nodded along, her smile widening as Chad's once towering presence seemed to shrink before her eyes. His shoulders relaxed, and his posture subtly changed, losing some of its imposing stature. Chad's height diminished gradually, inch by inch, until he stood at a more modest 5 foot 5, a far cry from his former 6 foot 5.

Chad blinked, feeling disoriented as he looked down at himself, noticing the sudden change in perspective. "Whoa," he muttered, his voice now distinctly softer and more delicate, was there a bit of a lisp even? "Something theels... different."

Samantha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she observed the transformation taking place. "Looks like that drink had a bit of a kick, huh?" she teased lightly, handing Chad a napkin as he nearly stumbled against the bar, feeling off balance in his suddenly smaller frame.

Chad glanced around nervously, suddenly aware of the curious glances from other patrons in the bar. "What... what's happening to me?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of panic.

Samantha leaned in closer, her tone reassuring yet tinged with amusement. "Relax, Chad. It's just a little magic," she explained cryptically, watching as Chad's features softened, his muscles seeming to lose some of their bulk.

As the reality of his transformation settled in, Chad realized with growing alarm that he was not only physically shrinking but also beginning to adopt mannerisms that felt foreign to him. He clasped his hands together nervously, noticing the delicate shape of his fingers and the way his shoulders seemed to naturally curve inward.

"I... I feel different," Chad murmured, his voice now almost musical in its softness. "What did you do to me?"

Samantha chuckled again, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Let's just say, you're about to see the world from a whole new perspective," she replied cryptically, gesturing for Chad to follow her as she led him towards the dance floor, where the rhythm of the music seemed to beckon him with a newfound allure.

As Chad tentatively took her hand and joined the dance, his movements were now graceful and fluid, a stark contrast to his former swaggering gait. Samantha watched with satisfaction, knowing that her playful spell had set in motion a transformation that would challenge Chad's perceptions of himself and those around him in ways he never expected.

As the music pulsed through the club, Chad's body moved with a new grace and ease that he had never experienced before. His movements were lithe and fluid, every step and sway feeling strangely natural yet unfamiliar. Gone were the bulky muscles honed from years of football practice and intense weightlifting sessions. Now, all he seemed to crave was the rhythmic beat of the dance floor.

With each passing moment, Chad felt lighter, as if a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying was lifting from his shoulders. The transformation was subtle at first, imperceptible to anyone but himself and Samantha, who watched with quiet amusement from the sidelines.

Chad's once prominent biceps and pecs began to shrink, the defined contours softening into a leaner, more slender form. His legs, once thick with muscle, now became toned and sleek, perfect for the agile movements of dancing. Abs that were once chiseled began to flatten slightly, a faint hint of definition remaining as his body reshaped itself.

But the most astonishing change was happening to Chad's face. Lines that had etched themselves from years of determined focus and occasional scowls smoothed away, replaced by a youthful glow that seemed to emanate from within. His features softened, his jawline becoming less angular, and his eyes sparkled with a newfound warmth and openness.

As his body continued to transform, Chad felt a curious sensation—a sensation of time rewinding. Memories of grueling football practices and weightlifting routines began to fade, replaced by a simpler desire for movement and joy. He felt a lightness of being, as if shedding layers of his former self to reveal a truer essence beneath.

And as the minutes passed, Chad's age seemed to rewind as well. From 27... to 26... to 25... and down, down, down until he settled at 21, the age where life had seemed full of possibilities and freedom, unburdened by the expectations he had once carried.

Samantha watched with satisfaction as Chad, now transformed into a young man with a twinkish charm that suited him far better than his former alpha persona, grinned back at her with a newfound radiance. His once cold demeanor had melted away, replaced by a warmth and kindness that drew people to him effortlessly.

"Wow," Chad murmured, running a hand through his newly tousled hair, feeling the lightness of his transformed body. "I... I feel different. Younger. Free."

Samantha nodded, her eyes gleaming with amusement and pride. "You look great," she said simply, knowing that Chad's journey was far from over but that this night had marked a profound shift in his life.

And as Chad embraced his new self, dancing under the lights with a joy and abandon he had never known, he realized that sometimes, a little magic was all it took to uncover who you were truly meant to be.

As Chad danced under the pulsing lights of the club, a transformation deeper than his physical appearance was taking hold. The music seemed to seep into his soul, stirring emotions and memories that felt simultaneously foreign and strangely familiar. With each beat, the memories of his rigorous gym routines, football practices, and the once cherished protein shakes faded like distant echoes.

He couldn't recall the details of his workouts or the names of his former teammates. The competitive drive that had fueled his athletic pursuits now seemed distant and irrelevant. Instead, a newfound appreciation for artistic expression blossomed within him, sparked by the melodies that enveloped him on the dance floor.

Chad's conservative edge softened and dissolved under the influence of the music. Ideas and beliefs he had staunchly defended began to shift, replaced by a liberal openness to new experiences and perspectives. He found himself drawn to conversations about social justice, equality, and inclusivity—topics that had never held his interest before.

As the night wore on, Chad's interests continued to evolve. He discovered a deep love for musical theatre and showtunes, melodies that spoke to emotions he had never fully explored. Memories of his college years resurfaced, reminding him of the acting classes he had once taken, the stage he had once tread upon with dreams of performing.

"I used to love acting," Chad murmured to Samantha between songs, his voice soft and introspective. "I remember now... I wanted to be an actor."

Samantha smiled knowingly, her eyes reflecting pride in Chad's newfound self-discovery. "You've always had a flair for drama," she teased gently, watching as Chad's face lit up with a childlike enthusiasm.

"Yeah," Chad nodded, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes. "I'm going to be totes hungover for classes."

As Chad continued to dance, the rhythm of the music intertwined with his shifting identity. Memories of his former self, Chad the alpha gym bro, seemed to dissolve like mist in the vibrant lights of the club. Instead, a new persona emerged—a carefree and effervescent spirit that Chad had never known before.

"Sammmyyy!" Chad exclaimed with a giggle, his voice tinged with a playful lilt as he twirled around Samantha, who watched with a mixture of amusement and awe. "You're, like, my fag hag now, right? I totes don't wanna ditch you, but like, I'm here to snag the cutest boys tonight. It's Pride, for gosh sakes!"

Samantha laughed, her eyes twinkling with affection for the transformed Chad, now Gabriel—or Gabby, as everyone called him. She nodded along as Gabby spoke in cute little TikTok lingo, his speech peppered with heart emojis and playful hashtags.

As the night progressed, Gabby's transformation continued. His once sturdy frame morphed into something more lithe and youthful, clad in tight booty shorts and a crop top that accentuated his newly slender physique. His hair, once meticulously styled, now tumbled into a tousled mess of blonde locks that framed his youthful face.

Gone was the crude and brash language of Chad, replaced by the sweet and endearing chatter of a cute and somewhat vapid himbo. Gabby flitted from group to group, flashing bright smiles and striking poses for selfies, his newfound charm drawing admirers like moths to a flame.

"OMG, you guys are so cute!" Gabby squealed, snapping a series of selfies with a group of fellow partygoers. "Let's get this on TikTok, like, ASAP!"

Samantha watched with pride as Gabby embraced his new identity with unabashed enthusiasm. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing him to embrace the freedom and joy of being his true self—a persona that shimmered with positivity and a zest for life.

As a rising TikTok star, Gabby had amassed a following drawn to his infectious energy and charming personality. His videos were a mix of dance challenges, lip-sync performances, and heartfelt messages about self-love and acceptance. With a knack for engaging storytelling and an unapologetic love for all things fabulous, Gabby's feed was a vibrant reflection of his newfound identity.

In addition to his social media success, Gabby was pursuing a degree in Theatre, where his natural talent for performance shone brightly. He could captivate an audience with his singing voice, whether it was belting out a Broadway ballad or charming patrons in a cozy bar with his favorite showtune.

Gabby woke up the next morning, his body still sore from the night before. Hungover as fuck. He glanced over at the muscular otter sleeping soundly beside him, a smile tugging at his lips as he took in their intertwined limbs and sweat-dampened skin.

As the first light of morning filtered through the curtains, Gabby stirred, slowly becoming aware of the warm, solid presence beside him. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head to see a man lying next to him, the sheets barely covering his muscular, hairy chest. Gabby blinked, trying to piece together the events of the night before and struggling to recall the man's name.

Sensing Gabby's movement, the man beside him opened his eyes and smiled warmly. "Good morning. I'm Brad, by the way."

Gabby’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of Brad. He had a rugged handsomeness that seemed almost sculpted—strong jawline, perfectly tousled dark hair, and a five o'clock shadow that gave him an effortlessly masculine appeal. His deep brown eyes were filled with an inviting warmth that made Gabby’s pulse quicken.

Brad’s body was a marvel to behold. His broad shoulders and expansive chest tapered down to a well-defined abdomen. Each muscle seemed to be meticulously chiseled, and his skin bore a healthy tan that spoke of time spent outdoors. The light dusting of hair on his chest added to his raw, primal allure.

Gabby couldn’t tear his eyes away from Brad’s pecs, which were impressive and inviting. His gaze lingered, tracing the lines of Brad’s muscles, and he felt a surge of desire. Brad noticed Gabby’s stare and grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He gave Gabby a slow, deliberate wink and began to flex, his muscles rippling under his skin.

Without warning, Brad pulled Gabby close, their bodies pressing together, and captured Gabby’s lips in a passionate kiss. The intensity of the kiss made Gabby’s head spin, and he melted into Brad’s embrace, his hands roaming over the hard planes of Brad’s back. Brad’s strong arms wrapped around him, holding him firmly yet tenderly.

Gabby’s mind raced, filled with the overwhelming attraction he felt for Brad. Every touch, every movement only heightened his desire. Brad’s kisses trailed from Gabby’s lips to his neck, making him shiver with anticipation.

"I can’t wait to go again," Brad murmured against Gabby’s skin, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down Gabby’s spine.

Gabby could hardly breathe, his heart pounding in his chest. The morning sun bathed them in a soft glow, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Gabby couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as he gazed upon Brad's muscular form. He was everything Gabby had ever fantasized about in a partner—strong, confident, and undeniably sexy.

"Wait," he said softly before leaning in for a passionate kiss that left Gabby reeling with desire. When they finally broke apart, Brad looked deep into Gabby's eyes and said simply: "I want you."

Without another word, they tumbled over and over in bed together. Hands roamed freely over each other's skin while lips locked hungrily together in fiery kisses that left both men breathless yet yearning for more. As Brad reached down to stroke his hard cock against Gabby's ass cheek teasingly through his briefs—a silent invitation accepted without hesitation—Gabby felt himself melting into pure bliss under this newfound lover's touch...

Gabby gasped as Brad's fingers traced a path down his spine, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body. He couldn't help but moan softly in response to the sensation, arching his back slightly to give Brad better access.

Brad chuckled softly against Gabby's neck before leaning in for another passionate kiss that left both men breathless yet yearning for more. As their tongues danced together teasingly within the confines of their mouths, Gabby felt himself growing increasingly horny and horny—a feeling only heightened when Brad finally pulled away with a wicked grin on his face.

"Ready?" he asked playfully before reaching over to grab a condom from the bedside table without waiting for an answer; clearly implying that he was going to take what he wanted regardless if Gabby was prepared or not…

Gabby nodded eagerly, his heart racing with anticipation as Brad rolled the condom onto his already-hard cock. Without further ado, he positioned himself behind Gabby and slowly pushed into him in one smooth motion.

Gabby let out a soft moan of pleasure at the sensation of being filled so completely by someone else for the first time; it was both exhilarating and terrifying all at once—a heady mix of emotions that left him reeling with desire for more. As Brad began to move within him slowly yet deliberately, Gabby couldn't help but wrap his arms around Brad's shoulders tightly while arching his back slightly off the bed in response to each thrust; their bodies becoming one fluid motion as they lost themselves entirely within this moment together…

Their passionate lovemaking continued well into the afternoon, fueled by an undeniable chemistry that seemed to ignite between them from the very beginning. As Brad's movements grew more urgent and primal with each passing minute, Gabby found himself matching his rhythm perfectly—lost in a haze of pleasure as he surrendered completely to this newfound connection between them.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have been minutes in reality, Brad let out a loud cry before collapsing onto Gabby's sweat-dampened skin. For his part, Gabby couldn't help realize he was now nothing but a horny, slutty twink and he loved it. Time to make a Grindr profile.

[matchingbatbites]

somehow we're here

Explicit | 6.5k | Modern AU | Full Tags + Read on Ao3

Steve only downloaded the app because he was drunk. 

At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself in the morning, once he’s back in the light of day and not half-gone on a few fruity cocktails and multiple shots of tequila - at least three, though it’s realistically more like five or six. Nevermind that he’s been home for almost an hour at this point, is only still awake because of the vague nausea still rolling in his stomach. 

It had been incredibly easy to set up an account, even in his drunken state - something he thinks might be a feature and not a bug - and he’s been scrolling on it for about ten minutes when he realizes-

He’s still bored.

Because that had been the real reason, hadn’t it?

Steve is bored. Bored of first dates that seem to go nowhere, of relationships that seem to fizzle out after a few weeks, and for whatever reason, Tequila Steve seems convinced that a gay dating app would be a fun thing to sign up for. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he’s just bored and kind of horny and definitely not lonely and desperate.

So Steve flips through profiles, taking in photos of the same waifish boys and beefy gym bros. He’s just about ready to give up and try to sleep through the nausea, when he stumbles across a profile that makes him stop cold. 

The photo looks like it’s from a concert or something; the guy is on a stage, clearly mid-show, with a wicked looking guitar in his hands. Steve’s eyes get caught on those hands, the veins and the painted nails and the chunky, silver rings. 

His hair is a riot of dark curls haloed by the stage lights, and Steve regrets that he isn’t able to see the man’s face. He focuses instead on his clothes, the black t-shirt and ripped jeans, his exposed forearms littered with black ink. 

The photo is so honest. It’s pure, simple emotion and Steve is instantly drawn in, eager to know more about this person.

The next photo is closer, clearly cropped down from a larger picture, and Steve gets his first good look at the man’s beautiful face. Deep, chocolate eyes that house a delighted sparkle, a blinding smile that sets loose a swarm of butterflies in Steve’s stomach. Not to mention the piercings; two just below his lower lip and another through his eyebrow - Steve briefly wonders if he has more, maybe his tongue or his nipples - fuck, that would be so hot.

In the last photo the man is seated on a couch, holding an acoustic guitar this time, and he seems focused on whatever he’s playing, clearly unaware of the camera-person at all. Those brown curls are pulled into an updo, revealing ears littered with even more silver jewelry, and there’s a cute little crinkle between his brows that Steve wants to smooth out with his thumb.

Steve scrolls down to actually read the guy’s profile, and sees that his name is Eddie. He’s 27 and local to the area, he likes metal music and D&D, and he definitely seems to check a lot of Steve’s boxes. Nerdy? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah. Confident? If the concert photo is anything to go by, this man has confidence coming out his ass. So yeah, check there too. 

He adds the guy without hesitation, and will once again blame Tequila Steve for what’s next once he’s sober. He sends Eddie a message.

‘Hi, i’m straight, i literally just got this app cause im kinda bord and kinda drunk. But you’re actually my type. Can I be honest?’

Steve doesn’t really expect an immediate response, considering that it’s two in the morning and all, so he decides to flip over to a different app, already knowing that he isn’t really going to care about anyone else he might come across. He’s surprised when only a couple of minutes later, he gets back a simple ‘Sure lmao’, and scrambles to flip back over to the messenger.

‘I didint think i’d message anyone on here but your cute and hnestly i geuss i kinda like that you won’t get pregnant.’

He decides to wait this time, to see if he’ll get another quick response, and he holds his breath when the typing indicator pops up, only to disappear again. It does this a couple of times, like Eddie is writing and pausing, or erasing and starting over, and Steve just waits, so curious to know what the other man is going to say.

‘Are you free tomorrow? I need to know if you’re as adorably endearing when you’re sober.’

Steve gasps in delight. Eddie wants to meet him! He kicks his feet a little in excitement and messages back ‘I can be as endering as you want me to be baby.’ It takes him a second to realize he hadn’t actually answered Eddie’s question, and he sends a follow up ‘Yes i am free tomorow.’

‘Meet me at Hank’s on 6th? 7pm?’

He confirms the time and place, and even as giddy as he is, Steve’s barely able to exchange a few more messages before he’s out like a light.

Steve wakes up the next morning with a headache. It’s nowhere near the level of one of his migraines, but it’s enough to be annoying as he gets up and starts his day. He’s thankful it’s Saturday, that all he really has to worry about are some errands and brunch with Robin.

A quick shower and a cup of coffee has him feeling more alive, but meeting up with Robin makes him feel better than anything else could. She looks about as bad as he does, which is interesting considering that she didn’t even come with him to the club last night. 

They chatter on for a while, with Steve letting her rant again about the situation she finds herself in (she refuses to drop Vickie even though the girl bounces between her on-again-off-again boyfriend and Robin like a fucking ping pong ball, and she also refuses to admit her growing feelings for Chrissy, her roommate turned friend with benefits. It’s a whole mess.)

She asks about his own dating life, and he honestly has nothing new to report. He’d gone out last night intending to at least find someone to take home, but once he actually got into the scene, the effort just didn’t seem worth it for a temporary fix. 

Instead he drank, and he danced with strangers until the room started to spin, and then he made his way home. He’d had fun, even though he'd ended his night alone. Robin hums and pours another drink from the pitcher between them - White Peach Sangria this week, and it’s good, though Steve prefers the Bloody Mary they had last time. 

“We're kind of pathetic, huh?”

“I mean, you are,” Steve replies, and shrugs when she gives an affronted Hey! “I might be single, but you're the one who's letting a great girl slip through your fingers because you can’t say no to your fickle ex.”

“She’s not fickle-”

“Where was she last night?” Steve asks, staring Robin down until she says “With me.”

“Mhm. And where is she now?”

Robin frowns hard and grumbles “With Jack.” 

Steve gives her a look, and she sinks down a little in her seat. 

“You know, sometimes I forget that you were friends with the mean girls in high school, and then you hit me with that fucking Carol Perkins face and it all comes flooding back,” she says, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Stop being a drama queen, and stop waiting for Vickie to change her mind about Jack. It’s not fair for her to come running to you every time they have a fight if she has no intention of actually leaving him for you. You deserve better, Rob.”

Robin groans and drains the last of her glass. “When did you get so wise and shit?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, no heat behind it as he kicks her under the table. “I know how relationships work and shit. You’re the one who doesn’t listen to me.”

She kicks him back with a “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s finish this pitcher so I can go home and wallow.”

The notification comes in after brunch, once he and Robin have parted ways and Steve’s just parked at the grocery store (he doesn’t take Robin with him to the store anymore, for both of their sakes). 

‘Hey, just want to make sure we’re still good for tonight?’

Tonight? What’s tonight?

It takes him a moment to remember his actions from the night before, to remember the app. Steve’s stomach flips at the vague memory of a conversation and he opens the messenger. He scrolls up, reading his message history with this Eddie person, and oh god. 

Is it possible to get secondhand embarrassment from your own actions? Your very drunk and somewhat horny actions? The guy seemed to take it pretty well, at least, and Steve taps over to his profile out of curiosity.

And yeah, okay, Tequila Steve had a point. He’s never thought about dating a guy before, but this man is hot, just absolutely sexy in a way Sober Steve isn’t prepared for. He had been planning on telling this Eddie guy that he was drunk when he agreed to meet, that he wasn’t interested, but now that would be a lie. Because he’s definitely interested.

He sends a ‘Yup! Still good :)’ and then quickly follows it with ‘I was so drunk last night that I kind of forgot about our conversation, so I’m glad you messaged me!’

Eddie’s reply takes a second, that starting and stopping going on just long enough to make Steve nervous before a message comes through. 

‘Oh damn! I’m glad I did too. Though you did tell me last night that you’re straight, so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to meet anymore. I know alcohol can make us do things we normally wouldn’t.’

Oh, he’s sweet. Steve actually does decide to think about it, and flips back over to Eddie’s profile as he does. He goes through the photos again, imagines what it would be like to be close, be intimate with Eddie the way he has with women. It doesn’t scare him the way he thinks it should, because he doesn’t actually think it would be that different. Sex is just sex, right? It’s the person that makes it fun, makes it special. And Eddie definitely seems like a special one.

What reaffirms Steve’s decision is the last photo, where Eddie is holding the acoustic. His eyes catch again on those ringed fingers, on the rough, clearly hand cut neckline of Eddie’s shirt. He thinks about what it would be like to lick the jut of Eddie’s exposed collar bone, and the shiver that runs down his spine has him immediately flipping back to the conversation.

‘I definitely still want to meet. As embarrassing as I was last night, I was telling the truth.’

‘Oh good! Nice to know that sober Steve also thinks I’m cute and is glad I can’t get pregnant.’

Steve groans and drops his head onto the steering wheel a few times. He's never gonna live that one down, is he?

Another message comes through before he can be too mortified, though he almost regrets looking when he sees ‘Unless sober Steve is more upset by that than glad’ which is followed rapidly by ‘It’s okay baby, we can always pretend if you want ;)’

This man is gonna fucking kill Steve.

Hank's on 6th is a little dive bar that Steve has actually been to a few times, when he and Robin had wanted to go drinking but hadn’t wanted to deal with the noise and bustle of the club. It’s cozy compared to other bars in the area, and Steve is happy for the familiarity of the location as he steps inside. He pauses inside the door and glances around, looking for- oh.

Sitting at a nearby table is Eddie, in the flesh. He’s even more stunning in person, with his hair pulled up into a bun, showing off the jewelry in his ears and the long line of his neck. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, and Steve can see a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

Eddie spots Steve about the same time and waves, inviting him over. He does his own once-over as Steve approaches, and Steve knows what he looks like. He spent long enough in front of the mirror agonizing over his appearance, making sure everything was perfect. His red sweater is comfortable even though it’s a smidge too small, and he can see Eddie’s eyes catch on the way it stretches across his shoulders, on his forearms where he’s rolled the sleeves up. 

“Not gonna lie,” Eddie says as Steve sits down. “I’m kind of surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would. Tequila Steve might not be the smartest, but sometimes he has good ideas.”

Eddie laughs and Steve is overwhelmed with the desire to dig his thumb into the dimple that appears in the man’s cheek. “Well I hope I get the chance to thank him someday.”

Eddie’s photos don’t do him justice, don’t properly convey the energy he has. They get on better than Steve would have imagined, and while the conversation lulls every now and then, it never truly stops. His piercings catch the light, pulling Steve's attention down to his mouth, to the way it moves while Eddie speaks. It’s distracting, and the teasing smile Eddie wears for the conversation tells Steve that he knows.

Steve learns that Eddie works at an assisted living facility, something he never would have guessed based on the man’s appearance. It’s not a job Eddie ever expected to have, but he loves it, loves helping people who need it and gossiping with the old biddies that have taken a shine to him. In exchange Steve talks about his job as a physical therapist, how he recently started his experiential hours so he can specialize in pediatrics. 

(“I feel kind of dumb now,” Eddie says. “Knowing that you’re a whole ass doctor and I just have a CNA.”

“Eddie, I majored in kinesiology. You’re probably better in a medical setting than I ever will be.”)

They talk about their hobbies and interests, pleased to learn there’s a little bit of crossover with everything. They may not know the ins and outs, but Steve has absorbed some knowledge on D&D thanks to the kids he used to babysit, and Eddie likes to watch sports with his uncle to keep him company on his off days.

They sit and talk for a long while, completely unaware of the time passing until Steve looks at his watch and realizes it’s been nearly four hours since they sat down. 

“Holy shit, it’s almost eleven,” he says, and Eddie blinks in surprise. “Oh wow, I had no idea.” 

It’s like they’ve been snapped back into reality, and Steve notices the half dozen beer bottles littering their table along with the bill that’s been there for who knows how long. Steve pays the check - nearly shoves his card into the server’s hand so he can beat Eddie to it - and they both leave cash for the tip before heading out of the bar.

It’s outside Hank’s that the hesitation sets in. This is one of the best dates Steve has been on in a long, long time, and he really isn’t ready for it to be over. He thinks Eddie feels the same, if the way he reaches over to thread their fingers together means anything.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Steve asks, practically on impulse, and Eddie smiles.

“I would love to, Stevie.” He takes a breath like he wants to say something else, but pauses, and Steve squeezes his hand gently.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I want to have sex with you without sounding like a slut who puts out on the first date.”

Well, that’s fair. Steve doesn’t usually have sex on the first date either. He likes the connection that comes with knowing someone emotionally before learning them physically, but there’s just something about Eddie. Steve feels like he knows the man inside and out after just four hours together, and he knows it’s fast but he wonders what it would feel like to wake up next to him in the morning. 

Steve just grins at the blunt honesty and tugs Eddie closer. “If you’re a slut then so am I, because I’m definitely down for that.” 

The drive back to Steve’s place doesn’t take long, and before he knows it he’s locking the door behind them as Eddie sheds his leather jacket. He drapes it over the back of the couch as he looks around, taking in Steve’s apartment. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable, cozy, very different from the sterile house Steve grew up in.

Eddie smiles as he sees the trinkets dotted about, a mix of gifts from the kids Steve used to babysit and his own little knick knacks, but pauses when he sees a photo collage of Steve and Robin on the nearby wall. Steve doesn’t like the way his smile dips down into a frown, and he walks over to wrap his arm around Eddie’s waist.

“That’s Robin,” he says as he pulls Eddie into his side, needing to quell any doubts or misconceptions he might be having. “She’s my best friend in the entire world, and a lesbian, so you can stop pouting now.”

Eddie gives him a bit of a side-eye and says “Not pouting. Just want to make sure you’re not doing this behind the back of an unsuspecting girlfriend or something.”

Steve smiles at the consideration and shakes his head as he turns Eddie to face him. “No girl, Eds, I promise. Just you and me.”

Something about that seems to be the final straw for Eddie because he surges forward, hands landing on Steve's neck as he leans up to press their mouths together.

The first kiss with Eddie is easy. It’s not earth-shattering or life changing, not like Steve thought it would be kissing a man for the first time. It feels like a normal kiss, and honestly that’s more of a comfort to Steve than anything. The fact that it’s Eddie on the other side of the kiss is what makes him shudder, makes him press closer. 

Eddie’s hands push up into his hair, messing up the styling as Steve dips his head to kiss along his jaw. He hums into smooth skin and slides his own hands down to Eddie’s ass, squeezing it briefly before using his grip to drag Eddie’s hips against his own.

He can feel the line of Eddie’s dick through the layers of denim and yeah, that’s different, but not bad at all. Steve warms up to it pretty quickly actually, especially once Eddie starts moaning into his ear, a low “Fuck, baby,” that only encourages Steve to continue. Their mouths meet in another kiss as Steve grinds their hips together, each thrust working to drive Steve absolutely insane.

Eddie’s hands eventually make their way south to ruck up Steve’s sweater, and he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter “Off, get this off,” against Steve's mouth.

Steve laughs but steps back, pulls off his top and drops it carelessly to the floor. Eddie groans and reaches out, not even hesitating before he pushes his hands into Steve’s chest hair. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw your photo last night,” he mutters, and it takes Steve a moment to remember the picture he’d drunkenly added to his profile. 

It was just a typical shirtless thirst shot he’d taken before a run one day (though he had put a shirt on before he actually left, thank you), because he’d felt good about the way he looked - and clearly Eddie had appreciated the picture as well. Steve shudders as Eddie scrapes his nails down his chest, and he half-expects Eddie to start purring in delight. 

“Is it as good as you imagined?” he asks, biting back a chuckle, and Eddie nods. 

“Better than. So fuckin’ hot. Don't ever shave it, I beg you.”

Steve does laugh at that. He lets Eddie get his fill for a moment before swooping in to kiss him again. He slips his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops and mutters a “Bed?” against his mouth. Eddie hums in agreement and Steve tugs him along, guiding him to the bedroom and only stopping once to grind their hips together.  

He steps back enough to pull off Eddie’s shirt and groans because his nipples are pierced, and fuck if that isn’t doing something for Steve. Thumbing over one makes Eddie shiver and gasp, and he knows that he needs to get his mouth on them as soon as possible. He feels like a predator as he pushes Eddie back, not stopping until the man is sprawled across his bed, a beautiful feast meant just for him.

Steve crawls on top of Eddie and presses his lips to the spider decorating his shoulder before moving down to lick over his nipple. Eddie shudders and pushes his hands into Steve's hair, holding him in place as Steve seals his mouth around the pink bud. The piercing is warm, and the stark contrast between metal and flesh has Steve groaning into Eddie's skin.

He sucks on it, earning a stuttering moan from the man under him and hands tightening in his hair. “Fu-uck, Stevie.” Steve thumbs over the other nipple and pinches it just to hear him gasp again, before continuing his journey southwards, pressing kisses into the tattoos he comes across along the way. He pauses for a moment to suck a bruise into Eddie’s hip, just above his waistband, and the man is practically squirming.

“God, when I agreed to come over, I didn’t think you were gonna be this much of a tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bites into the bruise he just created, pulling a low groan from Eddie. “It’s called foreplay, you ass.”

“I’d rather you foreplay my ass,” Eddie mutters, and Steve laughs into smooth skin. He does concede, though, and pulls back so he can slide off Eddie’s jeans and underwear, discarding them to the floor. Eddie’s dick is pretty, a smidge thinner than his own but just as long, and weeping heavily from the pink tip. Steve wants to touch it, taste it, wants to feel the weight of it on his tongue as Eddie fucks his mouth.

“Feel free to touch it, not just look at it,” Eddie says, and Steve smirks. 

“Normally I would, but someone wanted me to skip the foreplay.”

Eddie groans dramatically in response and Steve ignores him as he reaches over into the nightstand to grab the lube and a condom. He drops the items next to Eddie, and the man gives an “Oh shit!” as he grabs the tube. “You actually have lube?” 

“Uh, I'm a grown man, Eddie. Not some 15-year-old that still uses lotion to jack off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks the bottle against Steve's chest. “Twenty-four hours ago you told me you were straight, excuse me for making some assumptions.”

“Stereotypical assumptions,” Steve tacks on and Eddie rolls his eyes again harder. “Also you might be surprised to learn this, but some women also enjoy anal, so I'm not actually a complete newbie when it comes to this.”

“And here I was thinking I'd have to hold your hand through the whole thing.”

Steve huffs a laugh and slicks up his fingers. “Oh, do you not want to hold hands while I fuck you into the mattress?”

Eddie gasps and brings a hand to his forehead, like a mockery of some swooning maiden as he says “Why Stevie, I think that's the most romantic thing you've said so- ohhh my god.” He groans as Steve pushes the finger deeper, and kicks his shoulder gently when Steve just grins.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie spits, but Steve can tell there's no real heat behind it. He just hums, says “I dunno what you're talking about,” as he slides a second in alongside the first. He hooks his free hand under Eddie’s knee and pushes it closer to his chest, exposing him a bit more. 

Steve leans down to press a kiss to Eddie’s neglected dick and curls his fingers at the same time, trying to hit Eddie’s prostate. He knows he’s successful when hands jerk down, sinking into his hair once more as Eddie keens.

“Shit, Stevie-!” 

“Wanna suck you off next time. Wanna pin your hips to the bed and see how much I can take, wanna tease you until you come on my face, in my mouth.”

Eddie shudders and nods, bucks his hips as best he can with Steve’s fingers in him. “Oh fuck, yes. Gonna let me paint your face, baby? Gonna let me be the first cock to fuck that pretty mouth?”

Steve groans a “Fuck yeah, Eds,” and pushes in a third finger, eager to finish his prep but not wanting to rush. He spreads his fingers wide as he leans in again, sinking his teeth into the junction where thigh meets groin, and Eddie's entire body jerks at the bit of pain.

He tugs at Steve's hair, trying to pull him up as he says “Fuck! That's gotta be good enough, need you in me fucking last week, sweetheart.”

Steve shudders and nods with a “Yeah, baby,” as he pulls his fingers free. He stands up and strips off his remaining clothes, not worrying about where they land before he climbs back between Eddie's legs. He can feel Eddie watching as he rolls on the condom, and he's about to make a remark about it when the man says “You know what kind of sucks?”

Steve just hums in response as he scoots closer, until his thighs are pressed against Eddie's ass and all he has to do is push forward just a little more-

“That we’ll have to get tested before we can put my ability to not get pregnant to good use.”

A groan rips through Steve and he drops his head back at the mental image that creates. “Fuck, you can’t just say that.”

Eddie grins, all Cheshire and taunting as he says “Oh, I can’t? I can’t tell you how excited I am for you to come in me, to fill up my ass until I’m fucking leaking- mmh!”

Steve dives down to shut him up with a kiss before he can say anything else, and he can feel Eddie laughing into it. Arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders, holding him close as they take a moment to just make out, all slick and languid like they're not both on the verge of desperation. Steve wraps a hand around his dick and blindly rubs the head against Eddie’s hole before he finally pushes forward.

Even after prep, Eddie is tight, and Steve groans as he slowly sinks in, not stopping until his hips are flush with Eddie’s ass. He rubs his hands over Eddie’s sides as he just waits there, giving the man a chance to adjust. It only takes a moment before Eddie gives a soft “Okay, I'm good,” and Steve holds good on his word. He leans forward, lacing his fingers with Eddie's and pressing them into the bed as he starts a slow pace.

Eddie goes all starry-eyed as he glances at their joined hands, and mutters “Didn't think you were serious about that.”

“I don't joke about hand holding, Eds. It's very important.” That pulls a soft laugh from Eddie and Steve leans closer until he can kiss that smile, can taste the laugh at its source.

It's hands down the best sex Steve has ever had. Eddie is so responsive, all noisy and twitchy and eager. He quickly figures out what Steve likes and doesn't even attempt to keep his mouth shut, just offers a stream of encouragement that’s only broken when Steve finds and abuses that sweet spot inside him.

“Right there, Eddie? Is that it, baby?”

“Uh-huh, fuck, so good!”

Eddie's a fucking vision, with his brown curls slowly escaping the confines of the bun and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Steve releases Eddie's hands and slides his own down to clutch at the man's slim waist, his fingers digging into the tattoos decorating his skin. He fantasizes about leaving bruises, about leaving his own mark alongside the black ink and fucks into him harder at just the idea. 

“Shit, Stevie! Gonna come, gonna-”

Eddie gets a hand around his dick and barely gets in a few strokes before he’s coming, a loud “Fuckfuckfuck!” escaping him as he spills over his hand and onto his stomach. It’s so fucking hot, and Steve’s hands tighten around Eddie's waist at the sight. His thrusts are a bit wild as he chases his own orgasm, and all it takes is Eddie's reedy “In me, Steve, give it to me-” before it hits him like a fucking truck. 

He doesn't remember the last time he came this hard, his hips grinding against Eddie's ass as he fills the condom before eventually collapsing down onto the other man. They just lay there for a moment, waiting for their highs to settle and their breathing to return to normal, and Steve smiles when Eddie starts to giggle.

“What's that about?” he asks, using the opportunity to press a few kisses along the line of Eddie's shoulder and neck. The man just grins and shakes his head.

“I haven't bottomed in like- three years. Forgot how good it feels.”

That surprises Steve a bit, actually. “Three years? And you just break that streak for some random person you met on the internet?”

“Mhm. You sent me those messages and I was like ‘Wow, I can't believe I'm gonna let this guy fuck me’.”

Steve laughs and nips at Eddie's shoulder. After a few minutes he carefully pulls out and reluctantly leaves Eddie on the bed as he goes to the bathroom to trash the condom and grab a wet hand towel. He cleans Eddie up before tossing the cloth to the floor and laying down beside him. He's instantly wrapped up in Eddie's arms and he sighs happily as they huddle close together.

“Stay the night? I'll make you breakfast in the morning,” Steve offers, and Eddie hums into his temple. 

“With coffee?”

“With coffee.”

Another hum before Eddie nuzzles into his hair, and Steve can feel Eddie press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Then I'd love to stay the night, Stevie.”

Steve wakes up slowly the next morning. The sun shining through the window bathes the room in golden light, making Eddie look ethereal where he lays curled into Steve’s side. He takes a moment to just watch the man, to admire the relaxed lines of Eddie’s face as he slumbers on, unaware.

He doesn’t know the last time he felt a connection with someone this- profound. 

Actually, no - the last time this happened was probably with Robin, the girl who became something closer to him than a sister, the one person who probably knows him better than he knows himself. Being with Eddie feels so similar to those early days with Robin - after they’d gotten locked in the bathroom during a mall fire, not the actual early days when Robin seemingly hated him.

So Steve knows deep in his soul that there’s something about Eddie. Something so special ingrained into his very existence, and Steve’s sure that, if he just gives it a chance, Eddie could change his life.

After a few more minutes of basking in the morning silence, he tries to slip out of bed without waking Eddie, but he knows he’s failed when the arms just tighten around him. Eddie groans out a “Noooo,” and Steve grins. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s hair and says “Gotta let me go if you want me to make your coffee.”

A muffled “Man of my dreams,” as Eddie releases him has Steve chuckling as he climbs out of bed. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and heads downstairs, and puts on some coffee before he does anything else. By the time Eddie joins him, dressed only in his boxers from the night before, the coffee is ready and Steve is stacking pancakes onto a couple of plates. 

Eddie seems more awake as he wraps his arms around Steve, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder along with a soft “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, baby. Coffee’s on the counter, sugar’s in the jar and milk is in the fridge if you want it.”

Another kiss meets his skin, this one just below his ear, before Eddie is pulling away. Steve finishes plating the pancakes while Eddie makes his coffee, and they converge at the kitchen island. They eat mostly in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It's easy, actually, to let the quiet settle around them like a warm blanket. But that doesn't mean Steve's thoughts aren't racing.

“So, uh.” Steve pauses, feels almost bashful as he looks up at Eddie. “It's been a really, really long time since I've felt a connection like this, and I may be a little dumb, but I'm not an idiot.” Eddie frowns at Steve's little self deprecating dig, but doesn't say anything as he continues. “I really want to see where this goes, if you're up for it.”

A slow grin breaks out on Eddie's face and he leans in, getting into Steve's personal space. “Why Stevie. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend? After only one date?”

Steve huffs a laugh and slides a hand up to the base of Eddie's neck, feeling and tangling his fingers with the soft hair there. “I’d ask you right now to move in if it wouldn't make me look fucking insane.”

Eddie's expression instantly goes slack with shock, and fuck, Steve's done it again, hasn't he? Said too much, too soon, and lost something good before it even had a chance to go anywhere. He starts to pull away, wanting to give Eddie some space, but he's stopped by two hands settling on his waist, practically clutching the bare skin.

“My lease is up for renewal in three months,” Eddie says, and Steve blinks in surprise. “So maybe at that point we can see where we are? Because you're right. I don't think I've ever just clicked with someone like this before. It feels like- like fucking destiny or something. And I also really, really want to see where this goes.”

Steve gives in to the urge to pull Eddie forward into a kiss. It’s intense and passionate and a bit sticky, the maple syrup making their lips tacky and causing Eddie to giggle into Steve's mouth.

They’re interrupted by the sound of Steve’s phone ringing with a video call, and he knows who it is before he even looks at the device. He answers with a “Morning, Robin,” and is met with a manic “You’ll never guess what happened this morning!”

“I would hope something with Chrissy, but I’m guessing it’s something with Vickie-”

“Vickie called! Jack fucking proposed to her last night!”

Oh shit. “And she said..?”

“They’re on good terms right now, so of course she said yes!”

Steve takes a sip of coffee and hums. “Sounds like it’s time for you to put on some big girl panties and ask Chrissy out on a real date.”

“Steven, you know I hate that word.”

“I will record it and set it as your ringtone if you don’t make some kind of move, Robin. Before Chrissy gets tired of waiting for you to make a decision and makes one herself.”

She groans pathetically and Steve watches her scrub a hand over her face. “I hate it when you make sense. Can we stop talking about me, please? Distract me with something else.”

“Oh, well, uh,” Steve glances up at Eddie who has been watching the interaction with an amused smile. His heart swells with affection and he blurts out “I have a boyfriend.”

Eddie beams at him as Robin blinks, most likely processing before she says “You just told me yesterday that your dating life was practically nonexistent, and now you have a boyfriend? How did that happen?? And moreover, how long have you liked men??”

She sounds incredulous - rightfully so, honestly - and Steve shrugs. “At least twenty-four hours, but it could realistically be closer to something like thirty-six. I downloaded a dating app the night before last and met Eddie on it. We went on a date last night, he stayed over, and I asked him to be my boyfriend this morning.”

“You asked me to move in this morning,” Eddie says, and Robin must catch it because she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“You’re gonna put every U-haul lesbian in this city to shame,” she mutters before looking at Steve again. “Are you not like- freaking out? I mean, in the near decade I’ve known you, you’ve only dated girls, and now you’re dating a guy? Just like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches out to take one of Eddie’s hands. “I guess so. You know I’ve always been a roll with the punches kinda guy. And Eddie is- Special. He’s special.”

Eddie is looking at him with those big, brown eyes, wide and a bit awestruck, and Steve can’t resist reeling him close for a quick kiss.

“I am so happy for you,” Robin says, pulling Steve’s attention back to his phone, “but also incredibly upset because now I know I have to follow your advice about Chrissy. Which is just absolutely terrifying.”

“You should have been listening from the beginning. Seriously though, go get your girl, Rob. You deserve to be happy.”

They say their goodbyes after another moment and Steve focuses back on Eddie. “Did you have anything to do today?” he asks as he collects their empty plates and takes them to the sink. Eddie follows, draining the last of his coffee before he replies “Not today. Why, did you have something to do?”

Steve grins and takes Eddie’s mug, setting it on the counter before he scoops the man into his arms. “Other than you?”

Eddie barks a laugh at the line and shakes his head fondly. “Jesus Christ, how did I get my hands on such a dork?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Steve replies, and tugs Eddie into another sticky kiss. 

Much love to @bramble-berries for brainstorming this with me! (Even if she didn't know it at the time lol.) Also thank you to @sidekick-hero for cheerleading me through the last bit of writing on this! You're an absolute dear! <3

[slamminslamminmcgill]

joel being your designated driver when your lil homie gay ass goes out drinking. you get fucked up on some fruity cocktails he pays for and within a few rounds you’re draping your arms over him and stumbling over your own two feet. he takes you by the hand and leads you out to the truck and he has to buckle your seatbelt for you bc you’re too sloshed to do it yourself. while he’s driving you notice how thick his thighs are, how juicy his bulge looks in his jeans, so you just sorta… reach for him

and then he smacks your hand away.

“absolutely not. it’s a 15 minute drive home, control yourself.”

you pout and slump your head against the widow, but the authority in his voice is so sexy that you’ll begrudgingly obey. if you push your luck and act like a brat, you may be tucked into bed without getting fucked into the bed first. and that’s just unacceptable.

the longest 15 minutes of your life passes; joel’s pulling into the driveway. then he cuts the engine, gets out, and walks around to get your door. he even tries to unbuckle your seatbelt for you, but you just cling to him immediately

“daddy-y-y, carry me…”

he wants to say no, but fuck it, it’ll be easier than arguing with your drunk ass. plus there’s less chance of you tripping over your own shoelaces and snapping your neck on the pavement. so he lifts you up and carries you bridal style to the living room couch, where he unceremoniously plops you down.

“there. happy?”

“mhmmm, thank you, daddy~”

“yeah, yeah. but in return, you gotta do somethin’ for me, now.”

you’re already on your knees by the time his jeans are unzipped. he pulls his fat, heavy, tastefully musky and sweaty cock out of his boxers, so hard that it springs back up and slaps you on the chin

“suck.”

having been given the go ahead, you grab hold of him by his ass and spear his cock down your throat, lapping at his plump balls when you reach his base. you’re a sloppy mess in no time, gagging up thick spit that soaks your face and drips onto the carpet. you slather it all over his shaft and sack, and suck on each of his fat balls one at a time.

maybe you get greedy and try to sneak a finger up his ass.

and his reaction depends on how he’s feeling. if he wants to be mean he’ll slap you across the face for having the nerve to try that on him. or, the second you do it he’ll moan like a bitch and leak precum onto your tongue. he tries to muffle his sounds with his hand but it gets to be too much. he’s reaching over you and bracing himself on the back of the couch while he plows your throat deep. you slip another finger into his ass. he hisses,

“shit, shit, no, baby, ‘s too dry… wait…”

he pulls out of your throat and turns around, that juicy fucking ass of his right at eye level.

joel doesn’t even have to say anything before you plunge your tongue into his asshole.

maybe he should take you out drinking more often

[minispidey]

03: Barbie and the Giftshopist.

Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.

03. Everyday she wears pink.

(A/n: your feedback on the last chapter about me writing the moon knight system is so amazing tysm! i referenced mpgis here and more legally blonde. i wanna note that reader has been a lawyer for a couple years now and amazing at it 🤸‍♀️ btw update tags are open!)

warnings: mention of cock, swearing and cursing, mention of blood.

the cock line is from my bubs @ominoose ily

"This isn't just a date. This is a date!" You told yourself as you threw random articles of clothing behind you as you hunted for a specific dress.

You thought maybe you shouldn't wear pink. Maybe you have a pretty dress he hasn't seen you in.

You barely slept due to excitement.

The way he talked and looked at you made you swoon over him. Just thinking about makes you-

You squealed as your leg involuntarily kicked up. You blinked twice in confusion "That is so weird..."

Maybe you were horny.

"Oh gosh, not again. Bad leg!" you scolded your beautiful leg as it kicks up again "Down girl, down! No nasty thoughts about... about... about the hot neighbor across us- no!"

You almost moaned at the though of his lips against yours... You shuddered as you kept remembering the way he looked at you. You laid down in the pool of clothing as you imagined how your little lunch date will go.

As usual, you two walked out of your flat at the same time, discussing where the two of you were going for lunch.

"Wetherspoons..." you parked your pink corvette outside, looking at the flowers decorating the place. Your high heels clicked on the pavement as you walked inside, still in your pink work suit despite planning on changing.

It was a busier day than you thought, but of course lunch time is important.

Your eyes lit up as you spotted Steven, sitting up rather stiff "Stevie!" you smiled as you walked over to his table "Hi, so sorry I'm a bit late. Traffic and all."

But Steven looked back at you with such a loving look in his eyes "It's alright, love. I haven't been waiting long."

The truth is, he thought you weren't gonna show up.

"Have you ordered yet? Gosh, you must be starved." you opened the menu and browsed.

"I haven't." he shook his head, opening his menu as well.

"Cross examination was a success." you smiled "Next week's the next trial with the witness."

Steven didn't know what you were talking about, it was out of context "That's great!" he responded.

"So then he was like no and I was like, you are. Then he was like no but then I was like you are! And he was like, I kinda am. So long story short he's like, totally gay." you said as you looked at your compact mirror.

"Thank gosh I figured it out, because no way can he say my Chanel is so last season when his shirt is so last year. My client was totally bugging, but we figured it out and I, like, totally won that. How about you, Stevie? How's your day?"

Steven smiled back at you "T'was alright, love. Just the usual." he says sarcastically "Donna's been a real-"

"Excuse my language— Bitch? Cunt? Pain in the ass?"

He chuckles "Yes. A pain in the arse, love."

"She always sounds like she's giving you a hard time. You sure you don't want me to talk to her?"

"I don't think it's lawyer-worthy. It's really alright, love." Steven shakes his head "Just another typical day."

"Yeah, which can be classified as workplace abuse."

"Really. I'm fine."

You press your glossy lips into a thin line before sighing "Alright. But if you need someone to represent you in court, I'm your girl." you playfully winked at him.

Steven blushed before nodding "I'll keep you in mind then." a waiter comes up to the two of you and he began to order "-and a cocktail. Uh, how about you?"

"Um, I'll have the Soup of the Day with half a baguette, and Pasta Pomodoro with salmon. And— wait did you say a cocktail?" you blinked twice at Steven "I'll have a cocktail too, thank you."

You smiled at the waiter as he repeated the order to you two before walking away.

"Jeez, Stevie. It's only lunchtime." you giggled at him.

"I-I just wanted something strong."

"Work's really stressful, huh?"

"It really is." he sighed "Working late again tonight. But this uh lunch date is really cheering me up."

Your cheeks felt hot, making you smile "That's so sweet... tell you what, I'll pick you up from work tonight again. I'm working late too anyways."

It was Steven's turn to blush. His hand shakes with his head "You're way too nice. I don't wanna bother you. It's quite overwhelming too." even his ears turned red.

"Steven, you shouldn't turn away blessings." you winked as you giggled. Your cocktails were served just a few minutes later.

"I haven't had a cock in a while."

Steven felt his drink rush to his nose and he quickly grabbed a napkin. He coughs a few times before looking up at you.

"Oopsies, I meant a cocktail." you covered your mouth, smiling "Well, I mean... I haven't had that in a while either."

You took a sip of the drink and Steven stared at the lipstick mark left on the edge of the glass. You always wore a certain shade of lipstick, and it always drove him crazy.

There were times he'd imagine smudging your lipstick... in more ways than one.

After lunch, the two of you laughed as you drove to the museum. Steven just kept falling more and more into your wonderland of pink and diamonds. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, listening to every word you said.

The thing about Steven is that he loves to ramble and talk a lot, and so do you. He knew you were perfect.

"-and I was like, thank gosh I talked her out of buying an orange chiffon scarf. It doesn't suit her spring tones at all! There's a fine line between terracotta and brown."

That evening, your pink corvette was parked outside of the museum, waiting patiently for Steven after a long day of reading case papers. You puckered out your lips to reapply some lipstick before popping and smiling at your reflection.

Your freshly manicured nails tapped on the steering wheel while humming a small tune.

Then suddenly someone knocks on your window.

"Steven?"

He looked like he was roughed up, red staining his clothes, but it's not his blood. It didn't even look like the same clothes he was wearing during your lunch date.

"Oh my gosh, Steven-"

...but that's actually not your main concern.

"-I told you, blue and black as a combo is a total crime against fashion. If it were me, I'd make it law." you groaned, opening the locks of your car "Get in."

His eyes widened but he doesn't respond, only taking the passenger's seat like you commanded.

"Oh, you have a little stain there." you pat the patch of blood using a pink handkerchief with lace trim and your name embroidered on the corner.

He continued to stare at you as you took his hand and placing your handkerchief on his palm "Here. You can give it back to me some other time because I seriously I need to take you shopping this weekend."

You thought maybe he's always tired after work, that's why he's so quiet, like yesterday.

"Maybe I can figure out your color palette so I know what looks best on you. Your shirts are cute, I'd have to admit, but some of them are... meh. No offense but some prints are worse than the last. OH! I know, we'll do a whole shopping day on the weekend. An hour or so won't cut it. I know it's your weekend off, but trust me when I say when your pretty neighbor's a fashionista, your life is gonna change."

Steven looks at you from the mirror's reflection before shifting his eyes towards the body— Jake. Unlike Marc's creepy silent behavior from the night before, Jake actually looks at you as you went on and on.

He even responds with small nods.

"Can we not make this a habit? First it's Marc pretending to be me in front of her, now it's you. I don't need your help with her. Can I please go in my own pace?" Steven tells Jake, but Jake shook his head in a not now kind of motion.

As Jake entered the apartment after waving goodnight to you, he's met with a poor attempt of a glare from Steven "Don't look at me like that, you wanted the girl so I gave it a push."

"I want to do this on my own. Marc doesn't want me to, I don't know about you, but I don't need help. Can I please do it my way? It's all I ask."

"Can you ask her out?"

Steven pressed his lips into a line before letting out a sigh "Give me the body. I'll... try."

"Alright, alright. You go on ahead."

Steven, now in control of the body, swung open the door and he sees you struggling to find your keys. You blinked twice before smiling at him "Hi again, Stevie. My keys are just- ugh, a lot." your keychains jingle as you tried to find the right key.

"Can we go on a date after shopping this weekend?" he blurts out quickly. Steven was red as a tomato "D-Dinner date."

Your eyes lit up and you felt the butterflies in your stomach again "I'd love that! I'll just- oh! I found my key!"

And you also found the key to your locked-up heart.

UP NEXT: the best weekend ever! a date with steven and a little breaking and entering 💅

tags: @red-hydra @monsterroonio @pastelpinkpilatesprincess @letmehavemyfictionalmen @uncle-eggy @superduckmilkshake @3zae-zae3

[barbieaemond]

Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.  

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.” 

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?” 

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress.  “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.  

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”  

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather. 

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.  

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.  

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?” 

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”   

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”  

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations  like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it.  “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?” 

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

[alltimefail]

This song, "For Forever" was on George's Edwin playlist (he said so in a Cameo) and holy fuck it's perfect for Edwin and Charles.

Knowing the current fate of our beloved show it stings a little extra hard to talk about, but not in a bad way and I want to talk about why that is. Warning that I'm going to wax poetic here, maybe definitely cry a little along the way, but please stick with me. 🖤

These boys have a bond that is special; it defies hell, rejects heaven, scoffs at the classic tragedies with a molotov cocktail in hand, rewrites the expected "bury your gays" trope (surprise, the gays came back as ghosts!), and says fuck a soulmate - I willed this, I chose this, I chose you, fate may have brought us together but I stayed with you and I'd do it again. No one can change that they are together for forever, two friends having a perfect day every day because the other one is there. They'll always have each other in every universe, they'll be together until the end of time and not even death herself can (or would) split them up. For Charles and Edwin it's just sky for forever, inside jokes, silly dance sessions, late night games of cluedo, reminiscing and confiding, puzzling cases, paperwork, infinite backpacks to organize, spells to master, books to read aloud (Edwin doing the reading of course while Charles enjoys), and long walks to wherever, whenever, because they've got nothing but time.

These two silly ghost boys will have the promise of endless possibility, content with the life they've made in their death, just letting the world pass them by for forever and it's everything, better than a life either of them could have ever imagined. Charles and Edwin have known so much tragedy and injustice in their respective lifetimes, they know loss intimately and are constatly fighting tooth and nail against the many forces that try to separate them along the way, but they still choose to do good, to help others, and they are happy because the reward is enough: the ability to bask in the light they've found in eachother is more than enough. Regardless of how you interpret that love, it is truly eternal and pure... so much so that it honestly makes some of the greatest love stories and epics pale in comparison.

All that to say, every time we talk about these two and tell their stories (through another television adaptation, through rewatching season 1 and analyzing every little detail, through fanart, through the comics, through their appearance in doom patrol, and so on) we only add to that cosmic universe that they'll exist in forever. Their story doesn't end with the Netflix adaptation, just like it didn't really start there either.

"You say 'There's nowhere else I'd rather be, and I say me too... we just talk and take in the view."

That line ⬆️ is the essence of the boys whole dynamic, and you know what? That is really fucking beautiful. The whole drive in this song - its steady, epic build and sensational crescendos that convey excitement, awe, a little bit of uncertainty, and an abundance of unbriddled emotion - is exactly how Charles and Edwin's dynamic feels and it's a goddamn treasure, a fucking whirlwind, a blessing to witness. Frankly the love they share is worth celebrating, it's worth honoring and creating for because it's breathtaking, pure joy, warmth, and unyielding devotion. It's a one of a kind story with two boys who will always come to each other's rescue, who will do everything in their power to make sure the other is okay, who will accept each other and pick each other up every time and love each other enough in death to make up for all the people who dared to not see the brilliant light they shined in life.

Netflix may not want to tell their story any more, but we can. We can keep making art, writing fics, supporting Jayden and George who brought our boys to life - and Kassius and Yuyu who gave us their sensational living counterparts as well. I know I love these dead boys and their alive girl companions and that their story will always mean the world to me. I love their love, the found family they've created, and all the residual joy and inspiration it causes; but most of all I love that they've brought us all together in our own little found family. No one can take that from us, nor can they take that from the writers, cast, and crew who put everything into starting this legacy.

So let's do what we do best and get back to our work...for forever, yeah? Maybe another streaming service saves our show (and that would he fucking mint, aces, BRILLS!!!!) but at the end of the day, fandom can immortalize this story.

There's still cases to solve, rights to wrong, jobs to job! No reason to stop just because Netflix mucked this up royally. 🔎💀

[manicpixiefelix]

at the other end of the leash

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

@vannyangelxoxo asked: can you write Felix beating someone’s ass for reader? Summary: You convince Felix to go with you to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in one of the last weeks of Summer before you begin your first year at Oxford University. While out on the town during the Festival, Felix finds himself enchanted with one of the performers, an avant-guarde acrobat named Magnus. The perfect night quickly goes south, however, as Felix discovers someone trying to take advantage of you, and he immediately steps in. Of course.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Set at the end of Summer before Felix and Reader start their first year of university at Oxford. Established Bi Felix.

Warnings: heavy themes; reader is slipped a roofie at a club and a stranger attempts to take them home, and it's heavily implied that he plans to assault them. felix gets there in time, which leads to the second warning of VIOLENCE. felix beats that motherfucker to a bloody mess. it doesn't get super gorey/explicit but there is a lot of blood. also there is discussions of nudity, non explicit sex, and recreational drug use in the club.

A/N: 6053 words. well, would you look at that. another request that got outrageously out of hand. this is also a personal homage to Edinbugh Fringe Festival, my beloved, my home for 6 weeks of the year. id also like to state that it's a wonderful place to be; the roofie plot is 100% fictionalised. the rest of it is a pastiche of real things that i have actually experienced. i cannot stress enough the raw animal attraction of a man named magnus who can and will flirt with anyone and everyone while getting drinks after his shows, who performs several times a week with his dick out, wearing eyeliner, heavily tattooed, who smokes and has pretty eyes. that's all i have to say about that.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Come on Fi, it's the last weeks of Summer before we start uni," you'd been rather desperately imploring, as if Felix had ever known how to refuse you when you actually wanted something, "you know Monty Python started there before they were even Monty Python," you told him knowingly, which was certainly interesting, though not particularly relevant. Finally you sighed, splaying yourself out over the sofa you'd been sitting, looking up at him from as he entered the room. Now you were spread out foolishly, childishly, looking up at him with imploring eyes, "Fi we've spent a month lazing around the house and I know your parents have no other events planned before we go back, except for the party on the second last night; we'll be back before then, I promise! I want to spend time watching strange show, meeting people I'd never imagine, and drinking cocktails named after famous poets from rustic bars!"

It had been your suggestion to go to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for a few days, and despite the exhaustingly long train ride and the hotel prices that would probably cripple anyone less well off than you - Felix had agreed. Of course he'd agreed; you sounded so hopeful.

Which is how you'd found yourself in an underground club on a Friday night, dancefloor packed with more bodies than sense, and a twenty minute line for drinks. Tonight he'd been feeling especially bold, forgoing a jacket altogether, spending time in the mirror with you before heading out to see the show you'd chosen for the evening - a compelling one-man show about being gay in Australia, in a less compelling, cramped venue. So now here he was, in one of his more fetching dark, silk, button-down t-shirts, eyeliner on his waterline, mascara even though he claimed to not need it, a touch of glitter by his temples, and his favourite brown lipstick that he'd agonised over.

Not long after you'd come out, you'd tried wearing eyeliner with the male, private school uniform - I can- I should be allowed to do whatever I want, right? - and the minute after Felix had gotten out of suspension for smacking a kid who called you a slur, he went out and bought his own eyeliner. His collection had only grown from there. It really was a shame that people seemed to think it was reserved for femininity. Well, as it turned out, people who weren't part of things like Fringe Festivals.

Felix fit right in tonight.

It's a little thrilling; these people, in neon underwear and wigs and makeup that would forever outshine his own efforts, they look at him differently. Drugs passed around him - oh darling, would you like some? But once he'd ask what they were and the kind soul goes to check, they're pulled away by some other shiny thing to focus on. Always too close, tits out with nipple pasties being sweated off, he's sure he saw someone's dick out on the dance floor, the most beautiful, feminine, sculpted faces on the hairiest male bodies sporting only a gold speedo. Confusing and foreign and everyone smiling at him.

Felix wasn't quite sure where you'd gotten too, especially not since he'd found himself caught in the blue-eyed gaze of a stocky punk with a face tattoo and carefully loose hair pulled back into a low bun. Nose piercings and ears with stretched holes that Felix could see all the way through, black silicone bordering the void almost like it was intended to match the black makeup around his eyes, though it looks worn, half sweated through. Still, Felix can't help but be enchanted by the way it made his blue eyes peak so brightly through. Felix didn't think he had much of a type when it came to guys, but he'd always found something very charming about dark hair and blue, mischievous eyes.

"Magnus," he'd introduced himself as with much confidence and yelling over the music, and when Felix introduced himself, asked if he was here for the festival, Magnus smiles wider. Felix thinks very distinctly of biting. "Actually here blowing off steam after a show," a performer then, "part of an avant guarde acrobatics troupe," a very flexible performer.

"How... long have you been doing that?"

"About three years now," Magnus squints into the distance as he tried to recall, "since I was nineteen."

"Oh," Felix brightens up, adding without thinking, "I'm nineteen." And immediately hangs his head with embarrassment. Thankfully, instead of calling him a kid - despite only being twenty-two; everyone in their twenties seemed to like calling him a baby, even if they'd turned twenty yesterday - and laughs.

"Oh thank god," he claps Felix on the shoulder, "because I was definitely going to ask."

"It's a pub," Felix points out, as if no-one underage has ever snuck into a pub ever. Magnus gives him a sidelong smile.

"With no security in sight, mate," he snorted. Felix had noticed that drugs were being passed around like candy, but he hadn't really considered it beyond that. Magnus, however, points to a couple that have been grinding on each other on a bar stool several feet away, "he's been fucking her like that for the past fifteen minutes." Felix's brows shot up.

"Really?!" He gasped; Magnus grinned like the Cheshire cat, mentioning in a far too offhand way that they were also friends of his, "should we move?"

"It's the furthest you're going to be from some kind of sex act unless you want to go outside," he gave a loud, pleased sigh at the environment, seeming entirely at home. Felix is struck with the immediate and vivid image of Magnus in his beautiful leather jacket pressing him up against this very wall, hand slipping beneath the waistband of Felix's pants; the freedom of everyone seeing and nobody caring and -

"What's avant guarde about it-" Felix clears his throat awkwardly, "the acrobatics, I mean, if I may ask?" Felix tries to remain polite while he knows he's blushing all over. All he hopes is that this man beside him that he's just met can't tell how loudly he's thinking holy shit have I met someone who could throw me around the room with ease? Is that something I want? He's never really thought about it before -

"You ever seen three people stand on each other's shoulders all at once in the full monty?" As if that's a real question Felix is supposed to have a real answer to, but Magnus stood just a little taller, just a little prouder, "I'm the lad at the bottom, holding us all secure, cock out for the world to see." What a fucking mental image.

Magnus also informs Felix that the tattoo on his face, the delicate dagger, has its match somewhere else on his body. It's with a staggering amount of confidence that immediately flusters Felix that Magnus tells him he can either buy a ticket to the show, or buy him a drink if he'd like to see it. He's pretty sure he's never been so directly and effectively hit on before in his entire life. Yes, counting the trips you, he, Farleigh, and Venetia took to France that Summer in high school.

Standing in line, thinking about beautiful, punk, acrobat Magnus and what Felix can only assume is his tattooed cock, it takes him a long while to realise that he's nearing the bar and has been staring at some guy's drinks for a full minute. Something colourful and fizzing, something with vodka he's pretty sure. It takes another moment to register something falling into one of the drinks from between the man's fingers as he goes to take them away -

"Hey!" It could have been an accident, it could have been nothing, but Felix wouldn't be able to forgive himself if it wasn't, "dude, hey!" He tries to snatch at the guy's denim jacket, but he slips into the crowd. Trying to jam himself up to the bar, despite everyone else's annoyance, he tries to tell the bartender, but the man's already disappeared too far.

Vaguely distressed, but mostly dejected, he steps back to his place, and waiting another few long moments for his turn at the bar. Even as his gaze roams the crowd for the potential bastard, he can't seem to see him. But he looses track of his thoughts on the matter when he gets back to Magnus, leaning against the wall with half a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and those gorgeous blue eyes drinking in Felix as he approaches.

"Was almost worried I'd lost you there," he slings an arm around Felix's waist, drawing him in close, accepting the drink with a grin, and all Felix can think about is how warm he is, how he smells sweet and like rich herbs and smoke. He asks what Felix does, and Felix tries his very best not to sound as young as he suddenly feels -

"Remains to be seen," he leans into speak into Magnus's ear, musting the confidence he knows he usually has in spades, wrapping his own arm around Magnus's shoulders, "about to start at Oxford in a few days -"

"Oxford!" Felix isn't sure if Magnus is teasing him or not. He's also not sure that he minds, he kind of wants the man to keep looking at him- keep smiling at him like that.

He's so enraptured by the company he's found for himself that it almost startles him when you come stumbling out of the crowd, off of the dance floor, beaming and sweating, holding a half-finished drink.

"Fi, there you are- oh my, hi, hello!" You're already giving Magnus a million watt smile, clearly quite drunk. Felix catches you with his free hand, having finished his own drink not too long ago.

"Hello, sweetheart," Magnus greets you warmly, but with an unmistakable hint of reservation, gaze momentarily flicking between yourself and Felix, trying to reassess the situation in the blink of an eye. You don't seem to notice that, however, simply standing a little taller, subtly preening at the pet name.

"Y/N is my best mate," Felix leans in close to Magnus to explain, voice fond in his ear, "the reason I'm here at all." And there's that smile again, all warm and amused and Magnus' eyes shining in a way that makes Felix want to let him do terrible, unspeakable things to him.

"Lucky for us both then, that you have such a darling friend."

Performers are a different fucking breed of people, Felix can't help but think to himself, even as Magnus turns - arm never leaving it's place around Felix - to properly introduce himself to you. He thinks it again watching Magnus charm you just as easily, even if he wasn't trying to outright hit on you the way he had been with Felix.

"I was just- I was just-" you stumble over your words, taking another sip of your drink - something colourful and fizzing, vodka something, you'd said with an offhand frown, a lovely guy I've been dancing with bought it for me - while you take Magnus' offered free hand to steady yourself, "I was thinking of heading back to the hotel pretty shortly, I'm a bit -" you make a vague hand gesture. Before you can even finish the sentiment, however, the next song begins and you light up. Finishing your drink, you grab Felix's free hand with your own, tugging them both towards the dance floor, begging them for one dance.

"How could I say no to a face like that?" Magnus teases, letting himself be dragged onto the dancefloor, Felix adding with a fond smile.

"Trust me, I wouldn't know."

Glad for the company, you gleefully let loose amongst the crush of bodies, and there's something both endearing, and endlessly attractive, about how happy Magnus seems to match your energy. The three of you jumping around to The Sex Pistols, Magnus shouting along with all of the lyrics and seemingly impressed that you and Felix at the very least seem to know some of them.

After the song, however, you seem to slip back into the crowd on the dancefloor, as if once more transfixed by the lights and movement and heat of the night. Magnus, however, leans in and asks if Felix smokes.

Outside it's far easier to breathe. It's cooler too. Still, Magnus pulls off his leather jacket, ties it around his hips, leaving him in a tight, white t-shirt. Felix has known in a roundabout way that he wasn't straight for quite some time, but damn did reminders like this not feel like being hit by a truck. Covered in tattoos and with the kind of arms and shoulders the Greeks could model statues of gods from, Felix knows he's staring but quite literally does not know how to stop.

Except then Magnus is pulling out an actual, metal cigarette deck, offering it to Felix for him to take one, and Felix is pretty sure this is the coolest person he's ever met in his life.

"I love these," Magnus takes Felix's hand in his free one, clicking the cigarette deck closed and sliding it smoothly back into his pocket, "these are cute," he's looking at the silly, little collection of stars tattooed on his hand. They look like nothing compared to the ink all over Magnus, but he seems genuine in his interest.

"Surprise gift for my sister," Felix hears himself say, cigarette between his lips as he fumbles in his pockets for a lighter.

"For your sister?"

"Well it was a surprise to me too," Felix chuckles at the memory, "Y/N and I organised for me and Venetia to get matching tattoos of her choice for her birthday."

"You... didn't know?" Magnus snorts, dropping Felix's hand to take the half-cigarette out from behind his ear, holding it out for Felix to light.

"Well I'm not opposed, I've got a couple of tattoos - nothing like yours," he grins, and Magnus's gaze meets his, flashing with that same amusement and attraction as in the club that had so captivated Felix in the first place, "but I'm kind of surprised that that's what Y/N gifted her?"

"Did your sister not like it?"

"No, that's the thing, I've actually never seen Ven react like that to a gift before," Felix muses; smiling at the memory, "of course she was a menace about it at first; I was worried she'd been given too much power," he snorted, tipping his head to look at Magnus, only to see those blue eyes gazing back, as if hanging on Felix's every word, "do you know how close I came to having a tramp stamp?"

"As if you wouldn't look fantastic with a tramp stamp," Magnus snorted.

However before the story can even be finished, the door to the club opens and both turn at the sound of your voice.

"No, I need some water first -" you sound very wrong. The person beside you, a man who looks vaguely familiar, though Felix is sure it's not his face, is setting almost too brisk of a pace.

"Come on, there's water back at my place, remember?"

"I need to go back to the hotel," you tried to insist, "and water- 'm gonna throw up in the taxi."

"You'll be fine, I promise, I've got you." The man's hailing at taxi, while you're swaying on your feet, looking even more out of it than you had when they'd last seen you.

Felix is moving on instinct, without hesitation, without even thinking.

"The fuck are you doing?" His voice raises, and the man turns right as a taxi is pulling up, looking at Felix with blatant irritation, not appearing to be intimidated in the slightest.

"Back off man, my friend isn't feeling well-" the bastard lies through his teeth, even as you of course recognise Felix, and take his arm, mumbling that you felt sick, "see?" He actually tries to pry you away from Felix, "I'm taking care of them, no need to worry -" but Felix puts his hand on yours, secure. Just as well, since you start to list and lean and lose your balance.

"Fi," you mutter weakly, pitifully, "help."

And that's when Felix realises what he recognises about the man; the jacket that slipped through his fingers at the bar. The man he'd seen dose your drink, as it turned out.

Felix has never seen red in his life the way he has in this moment.

Fury simmers white-hot just beneath his skin, though he keeps himself calm and collected as he gently walks you over to the wall of the club, easing you into a sitting position. All the while the bastard that was with you is berating him, saying you just needed to get somewhere to lie down. Magnus, however, seems to understand what's happening, and sits himself down beside you at the wall, quietly asking one of the many onlooker to go inside and grab some water for you.

"Fine, sit 'em on the filthy fucking pavement in the middle of the city instead of letting them lie down in a bed to sleep it off; you feel good? You feel like a hero for not letting me take my friend home -?"

There is an audible crack when Felix's fist makes impact with the bastard's nose. He knows once his adrenaline wears off it's going to hurt like a motherfucker, but it's worth it. More blood splatters across them both than Felix was anticipating from his wonky uppercut, but he doesn't care. The man half recovers, unsteady, but he gets a hit on Felix's cheeks with a fist full of rings, but he seems almost disorientated. Felix goes for the throat this time, satisfaction being the sound of the man choking on his gurgle of pain.

Felix isn't quite sure what it was that sent the bastard crashing to the ground, but he does know that he's tearing through that man's coat pockets like a feral beast before he finds the bottle of pills like the one he saw fall into your drink.

It's like the entire world stops for this one second.

His knuckles ache, covered in blood that isn't his own, clutching the same roofies that were now coursing through your blood, making you weak and vulnerable and prey to bastards like this. His head spins, fury spitting in his veins, blood singing to tear this man apart. There were on lookers, a gasping crowd, but for some reason no bouncer in sight, no-one stopping this.

And you, sitting against the wall of the pub, tucked up against Magnus who had a protective arm around you and was looking at the man beneath you with something cold in his eyes. His other hand was balancing a glass of water on his leg next to you, for you, but you didn't move, just looked at your hands, helpless. Magnus's cold gaze slides to meet Felix's, and there's something approving in his eyes. He gives the faintest nod.

Felix kind of blacks out after that.

The next thing he remembers is being shoved into a taxi rather frantically, hearing Magnus shout - well get him on his side so he doesn't choke on his blood before the ambulance arrives. You're already in, leaning against the window seat, gazing vacantly out of it. Felix gently touches your shoulder once the door shuts behind him- fuck that seems like a lot of blood? When did that happen? You make a vague hum of acknowledgement, so Felix shuffles over to the middle seat and coaxes you to rest against him.

"Fi?"

"Of course," he cradles you against him.

"Fi," your voice is weak, he can hear you beginning to sniffle. Your words come out awkwardly, slurred terribly, "feels wrong, c'nt.. m've."

"I know, I'm sorry," Felix feels the tears in his own eyes, "you'll be okay, I'm here, you'll be okay." He can't believe he let this happen. The front door opens, and Magnus's voice greets the driver.

"Sorry about the state of them in the back -"

"'s Friday, laddie," the terribly aged, terribly Scottish taxi driver says blithely, "where shall I be takin' yas?"

Magnus looks over the back to you both, expression concerned, but genuine, and asks for the address of your hotel. Felix takes a moment to compose himself, but finally gives it, and the drive commences in silence.

It seems only natural for Magnus to also get out once you've all arrived, easily sliding into step with Felix as they both wrapped one of your arms around their shoulders and helped get you back through the hotel and up to your room.

"Thank you, Magnus," Felix says softly as he fishes the key from his pocket, "I'm so sorry about how the night turned out." Magnus actually laughed at that, and Felix opened the door.

"Felix, if the context weren't so dramatically, disgustingly awful, this would be the most fun night I've had all Fringe." And you all shuffle inside, Felix guiding you all towards the bedroom to lay you down, "nice room by the way," Magnus looks around as he passes through, "who's cock did you have to suck to afford it in the middle of the Fringe?"

"I..." Felix hesitates, "don't know if that's a first meeting kind of question."

"Well played, Oxford boy," Magnus says, but there's no malice behind the nickname, "I have my theories, though." Part of Felix is glad Magnus is there, to help lighten the load, lighten the mood, even a little.

They lay you gently on the bed, and Felix is just glad that you seemed to finally have fully passed out. He can't begin to imagine the horrors that were going on inside your head. Then it's just the two of them. And the built in wardrobe across the room with it's floor to ceiling mirror.

And all that blood on Felix.

"I look the fucking American Psycho," it's fucking horrific! What did he do? Magnus, sitting on the end of the bed with one knee crossed over the other gives an amused smile.

"You actually kind of do."

"It's not good!" Felix approaches the mirror like he's in a damn horror movie, scrubbing at his cheeks with little success, but with a surprising amount of sharp pain, "the fuck did I do? Is this all his?" Magnus, in the mirror, is looking at him curiously, "Magnus, seriously, the fuck did I do?"

"You were fucking beautiful, Felix," Magnus says, sounding almost awed. Felix stopped; there was nothing flirty, nothing about it that wasn't genuine. Wait holy shit, Felix realises, are these fucking butterflies in his chest? Now of all times?

Then, in the next moment, Magnus blinks, clearing his throat loudly, like he hadn't meant to say that. For the first time all night he looks genuinely flustered, dropping his gaze.

"You hospitalised a fucking rapist, is what you did," he said matter-of-factly with a nod - he'd nodded before, it's the last thing Felix really remembers - "proved your point to everyone there finding those fucking pills; that was a good move. I mean, I had to explain what the fuck was happening to our little audience while I was dragging you off him - didn't think you wanted to kill him."

"Thanks," Felix says weakly. Then, softly, looking down at his shaking hands, "should I go to the police?"

"For doing a public service?" Magnus snorts, shaking his head, "no, there's at least a dozen girls who will attest to him acting threatening, and to Y/N's behaviour - who was thankfully taken away by an actual kind friend - and that he admitted in a fit of rage to spiking the drinks. He'll be the one in jail if anything." It's so... easy. So nonchalant.

When Felix asks, confusion, disbelief, innocence in his voice, Magnus just smiles like the easiest thing in the world, and says he's an actor, it's his job.

"You don't have to be doing all of this," Felix covers the room in a few short steps, knowing he'll never have the words to thank this stranger for all he's done tonight.

"Are you kidding me? I'm going to be telling this story for the rest of my life," Magnus grins brightly, and his eyes shine just like that had hours ago, before everything went to hell. He leans in conspiratorially, "you broke his fucking ribs."

"I think I broke more than his ribs," Felix says with a tentatively proud smile. Magnus nodded in absolute agreement. Then, after a moment.

"Have a shower, Felix," he said, "I'm going to go downstairs to the petrol station, see what they have there, and be back in a bit; is it okay with you if I crash on the sofa -?"

"You don't have to do all this, seriously, it's late, please go home," Felix implores, taking Magnus's face in his hands. Magnus, however, looks at him like he's a fool.

"I'm going to make sure you're both okay," he pets Felix's hand on his cheek, smiling so sincerely, "and besides, if I'm down getting stuff, that way you can have a shower and know I'm not using that time to be a creep towards Y/N while you're busy."

After a moment of deliberation, Felix pulls Magnus in to press several kisses to his forehead, calling him an absolute Godsend, while Magnus laughs to hide how flustered it makes him.

The shower is where the adrenaline really starts to wear off and the ache of the fight sets into his muscles and bones. The mirror mists over and the droplets still cling where he wipes his hand over. His knuckles are bruised, as is his face, scratches and split lip and gashes where the rings had punctures his cheek. The makeup and eyeliner that he didn't think to properly remove before his shower probably makes it look a little worse than it is.

There's scratches on his throat, his collar, shallower on his chest where the bastard had tried to get him through his shirt while he was trapped beneath Felix on the ground. Scratches up his arms as the man fought a losing battle.

He takes one of the makeup wipes from the pack and cleans up his face as best he can as the first step. It helps, but not by a lot. Back in the bedroom, once he's dry, he searches his suitcase for pyjamas, getting himself dressed.

In there, there is a long few moments where he watches you sleep, watches the steady rise and fall of your breathing and sees the dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

"Fi, help."

God, he's tearing up at the memory. He should have stopped that cunt at the bar when he'd had the chance, when he first saw it happen. Never in his life has he heard you sound genuinely weak until tonight; his hands shake.

Before he gets you cleaned up, however, he feels like he needs to check... Magnus really didn't have to come back. Yeah, sure, he said he would, but if he got tired, if he needed to call it a night, Felix would not blame him in the slightest. He really was surprisingly lovely, and part of Felix would probably regret not getting his number, but it was understandable -

Magnus is sitting cross-legged in the hall, across from his door, eating a slice of white bread from a grocery bag by his side. In his other hand, he's texting.

"Give us a second, just letting the troupe know I'm fine."

Felix blinks at him. Felix waits. Magnus's thumb works the digits of the Nokia he's focusing on, before he must hit send, satisfied. Then, tucking the phone back into one of the inner pockets of his jacket, he looks up, eyes still that same, bright blue. He looks genuinely pleased to see Felix. Felix, for his part, is genuinely pleased to see him too. Surprised as well, if he was being honest, but pleased.

"You look much better," Magnus comments, and pushes himself to his feet. Bag looped in his arm, Felix sees it's a few basic supplies, bread, maybe some spread, something he can't identify, and something bright red. He offers to pay; Magnus tries to shrug it off, but Felix finally gives a self deprecating smile, gesturing around to the rather luxury hotel room they were in. Magnus gives himself a moment to take it all in again, and finally sighs, smiles, gives in.

He does, however, insist on making them both food.

Grilled cheese; all he could find on short notice since it was getting to the early hours of the morning. Felix watches for a few long moments, the way Magnus moves around the kitchenette with practiced ease, like a man used to these spaces, to life on the road. Felix finds he enjoys just watching Magnus; perhaps this is how people have often felt about him. Magnus doesn't watch him, he feels rather free.

"Do you want to take off your makeup," Felix pipes up just as Magnus reaches for the stove. Magnus freezes, "if you're staying, and being so kind as to make me food, the least I can offer is for you to make yourself comfortable."

"Should have suspected you'd be a good host," Magnus grins over his shoulder, and gently puts the pan down, leaving the stove off for the time being. So Felix directs him to the bathroom and tells him to take all the time he needs, and himself heads to the bedroom. Fishing his wallet from the jeans he'd discarded for the night, he pulls out two fifty pound notes. It's far more than the contents of the grocery bag, but Felix definitely doesn't care. It's so little for how kind he's been.

Opening the bedroom door, however, and he almost runs into Magnus, startling the both of them. Even with the remnants of his makeup still clinging around his eyes, the faintest traces of stubborn eyeliner and mascara, he looks fresh-faced and beautiful. Startled, both by the abruptness, and the fact that he might be even more taken with this man without his makeup on, all Felix can do is hold out the money. Magnus seems to thaw first, chuckles, shakes his head, and calls Felix incredibly generous. Unsurprisingly, Felix insists that it's not generous, it's simply fair compensation for his kindness.

After a moment, Magnus peers around Felix, asking how you were. Felix finally relaxes, assures him that for now you're fine. Magnus's expression is understanding, but still very knowing, as his gaze flicks between Felix and you.

"You take care of them, I'll take care of food," he insists gently. Before Felix can even ask how Magnus knew what that he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable, Magnus pats his chest fondly, "you beat a man half to death for them, I assume you want them to sleep in comfort."

Yeah. Fair. Good assessment of the night, and of Felix.

So Felix smiles, thanks him, and trusts him in the kitchen.

Felix treats you with such reverence in these moments, wiping off your makeup with such care, changing you into your pyjamas while he made sure there were no bruises, no scratches, no sign of this bastard anywhere on you. But no, thankfully not. He could have killed that bastard. Sounds like he almost did.

You frown in your sleep. Felix's heart hurts. But there's nothing more to be done for now.

Magnus is humming softly in the kitchen, a gentle sound amid the comforting sizzle of butter in a pan. Felix watches from the doorway for a long moment, the gentle, neutral expression, the focus on the food, the way he's retied his hair to catch all the hair that had so casually been hanging around his face back at the bar. There's something else different about him, however, and it's not the lack of leather jacket or makeup, it's something Felix can't put his finger on for a good few moments.

"Did you get shorter?"

Magnus stops humming. His gaze slides to Felix out of the corner of his eyes, expression unreadable. Then his gaze drops to the ground, and Felix follows; Magnus is wearing Christmas socks on the cold tiles. After a beat, Felix puts two and two together, and Magnus gives a vaguely sheepish laugh the minute he stalks around the kitchen island to the door. There's a pair of gigantic, black boots sitting primly by the door.

The absurdity of this, on top of everything else, finally has Felix laughing, collapsing against the kitchen island, face in his hands, as Magnus cackles quietly by the stove.

"What even is this night?" Felix groans through his fingers.

"One to remember," Magnus responds sagely as he served the first of the grilled cheeses onto a waiting plate, "the good parts, at least, and the good in the bad," immediately he puts another blob of butter in the pan, "and when you look back, you won't see the rage or the fear," he puts the second set of bread and cheese in the pan before picking up the plate with the first, finished dish, "you'll simply recall the love that inspired it all."

"You're so wise," Felix sighs fingers curling down so he could rest his chin on his fists, glad for the man he'd met by chance just a few hours before, "how'd you get so wise doing backflips in your birthday suit, Magnus?" He can feel himself growing tired, finally, as a yawn hits him, "is that something I should try?" Magnus laughs once again, putting the plate of food in front of Felix. He settles across from him, mirroring with his chin on his hand over the kitchen island.

"I take chances on people who intrigue me."

Somehow this terrible night has come full circle; you're comfortable and safe, there's nothing to worry about, and Felix desperately wants to kiss this damn acrobat who's in his hotel room making him grilled cheese at three in the morning.

"Magnus?"

"Yes, Felix," he murmurs back, smiling softly.

"Is that why you're still here, being so... lovely?"

But there's something in Magnus's eyes that dims at the question, just a little. Taking a deep, hesitant breath, his smile turns a touch awkward as he pushes off of the counter to check on the stove. Felix follows him with his eyes, confused, unsure of what he could have said that was wrong.

"I suppose that could be the short answer," Magnus offers, idly. Felix is quiet, crosses his arms on the bench and sinks down to rest his head there, almost childishly, waiting, "don't know if this is a first-meeting discussion either." Magnus finally comes to, though his tone is thankfully lighter.

Silence. Slowly, Felix sits himself back up and starts on the grilled cheese in front of him, quietly thanking Magnus who once again assures him it's no trouble. They sit and eat in silence together; it's not awkward, but Felix is growing more tired with each moment that passes.

"I'm five-seven," Magnus offers without prompting, halfway through the impromptu meal. Felix snorts so hard he starts almost choking on a lump of cheese. Magnus claps him on the back, snickering to himself. Felix, while trying to blink away the way his eyes are watering, peers over to the boots by the door once more, "six inch platforms."

"Fucking hell, how do you walk around in them?" Felix says between thankfully clearing coughs, "you don't perform in them, do you?"

"Fuck no," Magnus grins, "it's not that hard -"

"They'd make me near about seven foot!" Felix crows.

"Maybe next time you can try them on."

Next time.

Even as Magnus spends the next half hour tending to Felix's wounds, advising on how to take care of his muscles, Felix can't stop grinning to himself. Then Magnus says it again, wearing a grin of his own;

"I'm not kidding, I'm going to make sure you're taking care of yourself next time I see you."

"You promise?" Felix wears a wide, goofy grin, clearly giddy at the prospect, enough so that Magnus can't help but finally pull him in for a kiss.

"Promise, Felix."

[drdemonprince]

Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your honesty and willingness to explain how queer spaces can be a lot less transphobic than discourse within the trans community can make it seem. A lot of the past few years for me have been spent closeted out of fear that reactions around me would be uniformly hostile. Things are obviously going to be different for me as a transfem, but I have a much easier time being optimistic now!

I am so glad! Listen, the people who post online all the time about how miserably hard it is to find a place for oneself as a trans person create a kind of reverse survivorship bias. They are the people who have already convinced themselves it's best to forever remain closeted or that forging any kind of accepting community for oneself is impossible. Often, they are also people who once harbored unrealistic fantasies about just strolling up one day into a pre-existing community that was perfect for them, not realizing that we must form our relationships painstakingly one by one (it tends to be the white eggs/unhappy lonely trans people who are most prone to thinking of community in that way). there's plenty of trans guys who are doomers like this too and they really tend to actively encourage one another to remain locked away. it's like incel kind of behavior when it's taken to its most extreme form. sometimes, it can be outwardly really nasty homophobic shit too (especially among "afabs" who complain about "cis gays" never accepting them and being super privileged). in its milder form, it's just extreme trauma brain.

The people you do not hear from so much are the people who are busy out in the world going on dates, acting in plays, getting their asses spanked in dungeons, playing tabletop roleplaying games, and going to farmer's markets with their three also transgender wives. Those are the people who know (that is to say, have learned!) how to interact with their fellow queer people, have spent some time out in the community, and in all likelihood have many rich friendships with cis lesbians, cis gay men, enbies, asexuals, bisexuals, straight ish poly people, and everybody else under our big umbrella.

I don't want to be overly pollyannaish because of course trans people have a tough time, and especially trans women have unfortunately to be on the lookout for really vile transmisogyny. But I think when people are wounded and traumatized by these things, they sometimes make the entire world sound incredibly unwelcoming, which creates a self-limiting feedback loop of isolation and mistrust. That is what trauma does! But it is not the truth. and we only learn otherwise when we give other people the chance to prove our worst fears wrong.

Like, just for an example, this Sunday I was at a silent book club at Dorothy, a gay bar on the west side that skews lesbian but is for everyone. I'd never been there before but it was an absolutely charming experience! Dozens upon dozens of lesbians draped over couches and curled up in chairs with their books, quaffing cocktails, alongside a few random dots of gay and/or trans men. Trans women were just a natural completely unremarkable feature of this environment. I couldn't even tell you how many t girls were there. It would be like counting plus sized girls or butches at this lesbian function. If it's a good lesbian function, there's gonna be a diverse crowd and it won't be weird or a big deal to anyone, they'll just be like any other women there. a lot of the big lesbian events here in Chicago (like Strapped) are organized by trans women, so of course there's a robust trans femme presence there.

And all of these groups at this function were getting laid. the couches were overflowing with women, so many that girls were grabbing pillows to sit on and huddle together with their books on the floor. Girls canoodled and cuddled on couches. I saw a cis alt girl covered in facial piercings flirting with a very prim and proper trans girl who was dressed like a victorian governness. they didnt know one another, but after the silent book club hour was done, they left for a while together, then came back with some food. across from me and my friends, i watched them gathering up on the couch, the space between their bodies slowly closing up into nothing over the course of the evening. they flirted and touched and then left the bar together to (and im no expert on body language but i could pick up on this one) fuck eachothers tits right off.

and of course plenty of other lesbians and wlw paired off or tripled off and had their fun too. again, just like steamworks, fat people, thin people, black and brown people, white people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, trans people, older people, younger people, everybody was there. like any good queer space, it was just a reflection of humanity. there is always more that can be done to make these spaces more broadly accessible to full community. but part of that is by putting ourselves there.

again i dont mean to make it sound like finding and making one's space is easy! especially not for trans women! but I also don't want people to get seduced by the hopeless jadedness that some foment online. there are spaces that some trans women I know will never go to -- even an explicitly trans affirming bookstore like Women and Children First gives many trans women I know bad vibes they cant quite explain but all feel (the store is owned and run by old white cis lesbians, it's not surprising to me that it's a little fucked no matter their good intentions) -- and ive heard people say transmisogynistic stuff at events, particularly from "ill date anybody but cis men" type t boys (my brothers, i hate you). shit can be tough. very tough. but also, the world isn't all uniformly as hostile as it's made out to be. there are people who are desperate to meet you. I hope you will come out to find them.

[weird-an]

It's their first vacation as certainly-more-than-friends (because Billy is afraid of the word couple).

They are at a beach, so far away from Indiana that Steve isn't sure he knows what Hawkins looks like anymore.

Billy is sprawled out on a giant red beach towel, drinking beers from a can. He yawns and gives Steve a lazy smile, reminding Steve of a big cat.

Billy at the beach is marvelous. Steve is glad he bought a camera just for this trip.

Billy is still afraid to sit too close to Steve, afraid someone will notice that they aren't just two guys hanging out if their knees might touch. But he's more carefree, laughs louder and shakes his mullet after getting out of the water, getting Steve wet, too.

They are running out of drinks and Steve gets up to get another round. Something else catches his attention.

A pink cocktail. With a white flower on top. He takes it.

If summer was a drink, it would be this. He's grinning, when he comes back to Billy.

"What the fuck?" Billy glares at Steve. Like someone will take a look at this drink and two guys on separate beach towels and deduces that they are fucking. Steve knows Billy is afraid, but this is ridiculous.

"It's tasty," he says, still sucking on the straw. "Do you want to give it a try?"

"No." Billy purses his lips.

Steve sighs and hands him the plastic cup.

Billy sips the drink carefully- like it could be poisonous. His eyes sparkle and he takes a big gulp.

"Strawberry," he murmurs. Billy loves strawberries. Steve has never seen anyone eat that many strawberries. He swears Billy has been living off them for weeks now.

"Can I get my drink back?" Steve asks. He already knows the answer.

Billy chugs it down. "Here," he hands Steve the empty cup.

"I'm getting another one," Steve says. "For myself. Do you want one, too?"

"It's a girly drink," Billy huffs.

Steve rolls his eyes. He had some trouble too after discovering that he likes dick as much as pussy and even worse, that he likes Billy Hargrove - but it's just rum disguised as strawberry.

He gets them more. Billy scowls at him, but grins into his drink.

The heat and the liquor get to their heads. On the way to their motel, Billy slides one arm around Steve. He has never touched him in public. It's playful, like they are two drunk dudes and well, they kind of are.

"It's not gay to like pink drinks," Billy slurs into Steve's ear.

Steve snorts. Billy drank all their beers, too. Someone's going to bitch about his hangover tomorrow.

"It isn't," he agrees.

"It's gay to like Steve," Billy puts one and one together.

Steve's heart flutters. Billy never talks about his feelings. "Maybe," he says.

"It's very gay," Billy assures him when they stumble through the door of their room.

"Okay, you wanna lay down?" Steve closes the door and tries to help Billy who is swaying a little.

"I wanna fuck." Billy presses a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "I wanna make.. you know..."

Steve feels warm. They haven't said it. Steve had thought it many times.

"Sure, babe." Steve guides Billy to the bed. "Let's make love - but maybe tomorrow."

"'m gonna rock your world, Steve."

Within seconds Billy lies on the bed, snoring loudly. His lips are stained from the strawberry juice and there's a white flower behind his ear.

Billy is rocking his world every day. Steve snaps a photo. They are getting there.

[morningberriesao3]

MWMD - Be My Love

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's NYE, and the cat comes hurtling out of the bag. Eddie and Steve finally do something about their feelings.

Word Count: 6.8K

Chapter: 6 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

A/N: thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged over the last few days! this story is so much fun and it was a blast to write. if you were to choose between an angsty rock star eddie fic next, or a fantasy vampire eddie fic next, which would it be? feel free to send in an anonymous ask if you have an opinion or input <3

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

December 31st, 1986

“Holy shit,” Steve shouts beyond the blasting music in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor. Another holiday, another party. Eddie has attended more parties since meeting Steve than he’s ever even seen in his entire life. This one is at some graduated basketball player’s home, and Eddie has been clinging to Steve’s side for the majority of night so he doesn’t end up alone. It seems like a very unsafe place to find himself without his escort. Steve shakes his glass that’s filled with pink liquid in front of Eddie’s face. “This is so good. You should try one of these. It’s so good.”

Eddie sways to the beat of the (terrible) music. He’s tipsy enough that he’d stopped complaining about it half an hour ago, but not drunk enough that it wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. He pretends not to know exactly what song it is (You Make My Dreams Come True by Hall & Oates), even though he knows it word for word. It’s not his fault that the radio station sometimes plays shitty music. Over and over. Until he has to convince himself it is, indeed, shitty.

Eddie eyes the liquid in Steve’s glass. “What even is that?”

Steve squints an eye. “I think it’s strawberry – no, raspberry. And… peach?” He smiles that crooked smile at Eddie. “And a whole lot of liquor.”

The image that Eddie has cloaked himself in over the years tells him that he can’t sip on a fruity cocktail in a public place filled with his peers. But a little voice in his head tells him, You don’t care what other people think about you anyway. And if it’s good enough for the King of Hawkins High… So he looks at Steve and says, “Lead me to the refreshments, your majesty.”

Butterflies erupt in his stomach when Steve bends in half at the waist and holds an outstretched hand towards Eddie. “Right this way, milady.”

Now, here’s the thing.

Maybe being called a lady shouldn’t do something for Eddie. But what does everyone call him? The Freak. And when it comes down to it, there are parts of himself that are rather… freakish. Like the G-string that he pulled from the back of his drawer to wear tonight – a dirty little secret – for his own cheap thrill. Or the nipple clamps he hasn’t had the chance to try out yet.

Or being called a lady by Steve.

So he takes Steve’s hand, because it’s beckoning him to do so, and his stomach churns sideways, and he has to remind himself of his promise – the one he made to himself – that that thing that he and Steve did was a one-time thing. That, despite all reasoning in the entire world, Steve didn’t mean to get himself off with Eddie and didn’t mean to get Eddie off, too.

Does that make any sense at all? Probably not. But what makes even less sense would be the opposite theory. The one where Steve isn’t completely straight.

It’s a theory that Eddie won’t even let himself consider, because it would spark that pesky little flame of hope within him. Better it never gets lit in the first place, instead of lit and extinguished.

“Hey, Stace,” Steve says to the blonde girl in the kitchen, who has a shaker in her hand and a group of other cute ladies crowding her. Steve gives her a devastatingly beautiful smile and she rewards him with a bashful blush and a bat of her ridiculously long eyelashes. The jealousy that Eddie feels at the exchange is concerningly violent. “Can you make a couple more of these for me? They’re amazing.” Steve shakes the glass at her the same way that he did to Eddie a moment ago.

“Of course,” she chirps, biting on her lip in a way that Eddie can only assume is seductively. She lets her tongue poke out from her perfectly plump, pink lips to wet them. Eddie nearly scoffs aloud. “So, Steve. Are you here with anyone?”

Eddie looks down at his decorated hands to see if he’s gone invisible. He certainly feels like he has. But nope, he’s very much there, standing next to Steve.

Steve’s not as much of a prick as everyone else at the party, so he throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, unashamed. “Yeah – this is Eddie. I’m here with him.”

Stacy’s eyes trail sideways and look at Eddie for no longer than a couple of seconds. It’s long enough, however, for Eddie to read her distaste. “Oh. No, I know. I mean, are you here with anyone.”

Steve’s brows crumple above his Roman nose. “What? I’m here with Eddie.”

The group of girls twitter soft laughter. Stacy pours the contents of the shaker into two solo cups filled with ice. “You’re such a fool, Steve.”

She says it in a tone that’s probably supposed to be endearing, but Eddie can see how Steve bristles. “Alright. Well, thanks.” He picks up the two glasses, handing one to Eddie and turning his back to Stacy.

He pats Eddie on the back and points his chin towards a clearing in the centre of the room. They start to make their way away from the kitchen, but Stacy calls after him, “Only a few minutes until midnight! Come find me!”

Steve turns to face her once more – so does Eddie – and he doesn’t miss how she throws him a wink.

“Oh, um. Thank you. Maybe,” Steve says, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and hauling them away from her advances before she can say anything else. They find a quiet space in the living room, against the wall. Eddie leans his back against it while Steve takes a sip of his drink. “I hate it when they don’t take a hint.”

For a second, Eddie wonders if he doesn’t take the hint sometimes. Social cues and all that. That would, in fact, explain why lately he’s been living in a constant state of confusion.

But all he does is nod, and say, “Same.”

They stand there for a minute, sipping on their drinks, eyeballing the crowd as they laugh and dance. Then Steve cocks his head and takes a step towards Eddie. Suddenly, he’s very aware that there’s a solid wall behind him. That Steve is closer than he should be. That he’s pushing into his space when usually that’s just an Eddie thing.

Maybe he’s rubbing off on Steve.

He’d like to rub off on Steve. Again. If you catch his drift.

“So,” Steve says, looking down on Eddie, making him feel strangely small, “what’s the story with you and Gareth?”

Eddie furrows his brows, nearly choking on his cocktail. “Excuse me?”

“I never really asked before.” Steve shrugs. “And – I don’t know – you guys seem to hang out a lot.”

“Yeah. Uh. I’ve known him since like, grade three. He’s my best friend.”

Steve’s eyes drop from his for a moment. He chews on his lips. “Oh. Of course – I mean, That’s… great.” Eddie stares as Steve’s expression falls. And he has half a mind to say that he looks… jealous. But the confidence quickly returns to Steve’s gaze. “So, what am I then?”

Eddie’s stomach ties up in knots. “What are you?”

“If Gareth is your best friend. What am I to you?”

He’s aware that all plausible deniability has disintegrated. It probably did a long time ago, but now is when it really hits him. That look sparks in Steve’s eyes – the cheeky one where he’s being flirty and sexy and he knows it. The one that has been unleashed on him a few times by now, but Eddie’s always made excuses as to why.

And he is trying, trying, to find an excuse right now.

He only slightly pays attention when the chatter in the room gets louder. When everybody turns to the television in the living room that’s playing the New York City ball drop.

Steve doesn’t turn to the TV. He still crowds into Eddie. “Because sometimes I think one thing, and then sometimes it seems like the opposite.”

Eddie’s only slightly aware when the whole room raises their glasses in the air, and they yell in unison: Ten!

Instead of answering Steve’s question, he sucks in a breath and holds it.

Nine!

And then he turns it around; he says, “I don’t know, Stevie. What am I to you?”

Eight!

Steve’s lips twitch into that cocky little grin of his, the crooked one that Eddie loves so much. God, he’s so attractive. “Well, I think –”

Seven!

“– it hasn’t been the most traditional way of getting here. But we’re –”

Six!

“– together. Boyfriends.”

Those two words volley around Eddie’s head for what feels like an eternity. Together. Boyfriends. The world is on a standstill. Everything is in slow motion. His heartbeat stops, and so does his intake of air. Everything kind of zeros in on Steve, and him, so close. Heat radiating from the body that’s pressed up into his own.

A million thoughts race through his mind at once: This isn’t real. You didn’t hear right. This is a joke.

And then there’s the other thoughts. The ones that tell him that everything that has happened since March – everything that’s happened in the last nine months – suddenly makes sense. Everything since waking up in that hospital hand-in-hand with Steve. That maybe the flirty moments – the small touches, the kiss that he only thought was a game, the playfight that turned into something more – maybe those things meant what Eddie was always trying to avoid thinking they might mean.

To keep himself from getting hurt.

But maybe all this time, Steve has cared – the same way Eddie has cared – and he’s been trying to tell him. Not in words, but in actions.

And each time, Eddie had shut himself down afterwards. He closed himself off from allowing a discussion, just in case it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Here it was. That discussion. But it was everything Eddie never expected. Everything he’s always wanted.

All of this berates Eddie’s thoughts, but he’s only aware that no time has passed at all when the crowd yells: Five!

Even though he feels like he’s cracked the code, there’s still that pesky devil on his shoulder that’s whispering in his ear: there’s no way any of that is the case. So he stares up at Steve – he can feel the whites of his eyes shining as they balloon – and he whispers, “Really?”

Four!

Steve’s little smile turns into a full-on grin. His puppy-dog eyes crinkle in the corners. He takes another step into Eddie’s space, even though there’s not much left. When did he get so goddamn close? “Are you gonna give me a kiss?”

Three!

Eddie scans the room. He forgot that they aren’t alone, even though – tucked away in the darkened corner of this massive house – it feels like they are. Nobody is looking. Nobody is looking and Steve is so fucking close…

Two!

Eddie’s eyes flick down to Steve’s mouth. His lips are shimmering pink. Maybe from the drink…

One!

He nods and breathes, “Fuck yeah.” And then Steve’s lips are on his.

It’s as unbelievable as you might think, having Steve Harrington kiss you. Really kiss you. Not under the façade of a game or a dare, but because he wants to.

Just like the rest of him, his lips are sure. Confident. They slot with Eddie’s first with a gentle brush, and then start moving with conviction. He coaxes Eddie’s mouth to part and suddenly he can feel the scrape of Steve’s teeth against his lower lip. He can feel the heat of Steve’s breath as they breathe the same air. He can feel that Roman nose brushing against his own. Feels Steve’s hand – the one not carrying the drink – press flat against his stomach.

And then Steve’s tongue flicks out to catch the jut of Eddie’s lips – kind of like that time on the Fourth of July – but it’s a question. One that Eddie answers by opening his mouth further. That tongue slips inside, and he can see fireworks behind his eyelids, he can taste Steve’s drink, he can feel the slide of wet against his hard palate.

His self-control snaps.

Eddie pushes back into Steve. His tongue meets his in the middle, rougher, impatient. Their teeth clack together, he can feel drool seeping from the corner of his mouth and he’s not sure if it’s his or Steve’s but it doesn’t matter – he wants it all. His tongue licks over Steve’s mouth and he tastes artificial vanilla. And he realises in that moment that Steve’s lips aren’t shining and pink because of the drink, but because of the lip gloss.

When he has that lightbulb moment, Eddie groans into Steve’s open mouth. It’s mostly drowned out by the cheering of the crowd – oh yeah, the crowd – but still, Steve chuckles and pulls back.

“Do you what to stay longer, or do you –?”

“Fuck, no. Let’s get out of here.”

Maybe he’s a bit overeager, but Eddie grabs Steve’s hand that’s still pressed against his stomach and he yanks him towards the front door. Everybody is still blissfully unaware of their kiss. Everybody but Little Miss Drink Mixer Stacy, who’s staring so hard it looks like her pretty green eyes will pop from her skull. Her mouth is hanging open. She’s frozen in place.

Eddie really should be frightened that somebody in Hawkins witnessed such a disgusting act of intimacy between two men, but instead he feels proud. He blows her a kiss and wiggles his fingers in a wave before he and Steve slip from the door and into his rusty van.

He starts the ignition, and before he can even shift into reverse, Steve is grabbing his hand. He stares at it for a minute. Such a simple thing, holding somebody’s hand. But it still has his heart in his throat. It’s just so real.

“What are you thinking right now?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels the ways his fingers fit so perfectly between his own, and counters with a question of his own. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Steve blinks at him from the passenger seat. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you – I don’t know – slap some sense into me? Tell me that you… felt this way. Or wanted this.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, wrapped in a WASP t-shirt.

“I thought you knew,” Steve says simply. He gives a loose shrug of his shoulders. “It’s pretty obvious that the things we do together aren’t really – you know. What just friends do.” His brows furrow. “Well, maybe you do those things with your friends, but I don’t –”

“I don’t either.”

Steve pauses for a minute as he smiles over at Eddie. “You really didn’t know?”

“It was weird.” Eddie looks down at his lap. “But I didn’t want to assume things. I didn’t want to wreck our friendship, because I – well, I really like you.”

Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s hand long enough for him to back from the front of the house they emerged from. He grabs it right back once they’re on the main road back to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

“I thought it was one of two things,” he says. “I thought you either wanted to take things slow. I didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything, because losing your virginity can be a really big deal.” Eddie’s entire face ignites. He tries not to think about how sad that is – twenty and a virgin. When Steve has been rolling in the sheets since he was probably fifteen. How casually Steve just said that, like it isn’t mortifying. He continues, “Or, I thought you weren’t really interested in taking our friendship any further.”

Eddie gawks at Steve. “Dude, I didn’t even know you being into dudes was a possibility. And if you were…” He pulls into the gravel in front of his trailer. It crunches under the tires. He doesn’t finishes his thought.

Not until Steve squeezes his fingers, and asks, “And if I was, what?”

“And if you were into guys, there’d be no way you were into me.”

Steve looks like he can’t even comprehend why Eddie would say such a thing. That he’s not aware of how different they are. That he’s not aware that Eddie is a mere mortal while he’s a god. “I’m into you, man. I’m so into you.”

Eddie stomach erupts once more into a thousand butterflies. Or maybe they’re bats. He can feel his cheeks turn even redder.

“And for the record,” Steve adds, “I really like you, too. I – I really like you. And I wasn’t lying, at the party. I want us to be boyfriends.”

Eddie chews on a little patch of dry skin on the corner of his lip, and desperately tries to kill the bats flapping away in his chest. “Okay. Boyfriends. I, uh. I want that, too.” He’s not great with words, but it gets his point across.

Because Steve is beaming as he leans across the centre console to press his lips to Eddie’s once more. Eddie tastes peach, and vanilla, and cigarette smoke, and chewing gum. And he tastes just Steve as their tongues mingle together.

Steve’s hands start exploring him – squishing the little meat he has on his thigh, teasing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the few hairs he has trailing from his navel below the waist of his jeans. This time, when his cock starts swelling, he doesn’t try to hide it.

The beautiful cherry on top, is that this time, he’s freshly bathed and somewhat groomed. This time when Steve sees him naked, he won’t be embarrassed.

When Steve sees him naked. What a treacherously delicious thought.

When he moans into Steve’s mouth the same way he did at the party, there are no other noises to swallow it up. So it fills the space of the van, this raunchy sound that tumbles from Eddie without his consent. It sounds so unlike him – desperate and begging. But then Steve makes his own noise, and suddenly Eddie can’t wait any longer. He can’t wait to get himself on Steve, inside Steve, whether it’s his hands or mouth or his perfectly tight ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, “let’s go inside. Now.”

They barely make it through the front door and into his room. Steve is all over him, groping at his nipple ring through the fabric of his shirt, flicking it, twisting it – fuck, fuck. Eddie’s own fingernails are digging painfully hard into Steve’s shoulders, scraping against his neck, pushing under that stupid rugby shirt to rake against his impressive chest.

He crowds into Steve – shoves him against the ledge of his mattress. But before he can get Steve onto his back, he swivels so somehow he’s the one in front of Eddie. He’s the one pushing Eddie onto his back.

He falls to the mattress, Steve towering over him like some powerful warlord.

Eddie’s dick is throbbing, hard as steel in his jeans. He’s probably not contained at all in the – oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK. The G-string. The G-string that he put on before the party. The G-string that he has no intentions – zero – of Steve even knowing he owns, let alone seeing him wear. Why the fuck did he choose tonight to try it out, why did tonight have to be –

Steve bends to pop the button of Eddie’s fly, fingers deftly undoing the zipper.

“Fuck – uh – Steve. I just have to – can I just have a minute? I forgot to do something.” His dick is so tender. He can feel his heart beating between his legs, can feel himself leaking into the tiny cotton gusset of the panties. So small. So tight.

Thankfully, Steve nods. “Don’t take too long.” Before relief can find Eddie, before Steve pulls away from him to let him stand, he dips his fingers under the waistband of his jeans – just a small tease against what is supposed to be his boxers. But they find the string of fabric squeezing against the flesh of his hip instead.

Eddie sees the moment when Steve realises that he’s not feeling the elastic band of Eddie’s normal underwear, but something entirely different. “Uh, Steve…”

“What’s this?” Steve cocks his head to the side as his eyes trail down Eddie’s body, to his gaping jeans. When Eddie looks between his own legs, he nearly chokes at what he sees. The dainty fabric, edged in lace and a tiny, feminine bow, stretching obnoxiously over his cock. It’s holding on for dear life, that little triangle of fabric. It’s barely containing him – it’s not containing him. The waistband isn’t against his skin, it’s being pushed from his body by the swollen head of his cock and through the gap there, the flushed red tip can be seen. Glistening, strained, wet.

“Steve, I didn’t – it’s not…” Eddie doesn’t quite know what to say; he’s wearing women’s underwear. And not just any women’s underwear. The smallest pair that he could possibly get his grubby little hands on. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling.

Steve’s eyes are glued between Eddie’s legs. “Is that a thong?”

Just hearing those words leave Steve’s mouth makes Eddie want to die. “Oh my God.” He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t know we’d be doing this – I didn’t know! I’m sorry. I don’t do this all the time. It’s the first time I’ve – I swear. Jesus Christ.”

Steve’s quiet, but Eddie doesn’t dare look at him. Until he hears, “Show me.”

It’s a command, all but growled at Eddie from the man atop him. When Eddie opens his eyes, he’s met with a rather ravenous looking Steve – a predator appraising its prey. His eyes are black, his jaw is tense. The muscles there feathering as he clenches and unclenches his teeth.

“What –?”

“Show. Me.” Steve hauls Eddie to his feet but doesn’t step far enough away. Their chests are still touching – Steve’s heaving like he’s parched for breath. Eddie is frozen for only a moment, but soon enough his trembling fingers are peeling the shirt from his own back.

The look on Steve’s face doesn’t make him feel ashamed anymore. It makes him feel appreciated. Sexy. It makes him feel like maybe this part of himself that he wants to explore – this part of himself that really does make him a freak – can be done next to the man that he can now call his boyfriend. His partner.

He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his jeans, and he pushes them down.

It’s hard to get them off when Steve is still standing so close to him – so close that their bodies rub together as Eddie moves to take the rest of his clothes off, bar the little black G-string that only lived in the back of his drawer. Until now.

The air from Steve’s lungs puffs against Eddie’s face when he straightens himself out again. And then Steve’s hand lifts against his shoulder, pushes him backwards so he stumbles back onto the mattress. And because he’s feeling brave (how could he not when Steve is looking at him like his last meal?), he lays himself out on the bed. He spreads himself open.

Steve’s eyes rake over every inch of Eddie’s body, from the top of his curly head, over his flushed cheeks, down his pale chest that’s painted with not only silvery scars, but splotches of nervous red. They land between Eddie’s legs, where his knees are lewdly spread to display just how much the little triangle is struggling to hold everything down there. Eddie knows how it gapes around his balls, how heavy they look compared to the scrap of fabric. He knows because he stared at himself in his mirror before they left for that stupid party. And he knows that now, with his cock engorged between his legs, that it’s only gaping more.

Eddie swears he sees Steve’s knees nearly give out. He definitely sees his hands form fists by his sides, knuckles going white with the force of them. Steve doesn’t lift his eyes from Eddie’s crotch as he says, “I am going to fuck you until you cry.”

The room spins as Steve undresses – Eddie barely registers his words. He drinks in Steve’s near naked body, his abs that flutter as he works off his belt and then his Levi’s. The thick outline of his dick tenting his black boxers. But then he thinks, ‘when Steve fucks me?’ as he crawls slowly between Eddie’s legs. So he hooks them around Steve’s middle and uses all his might to flip that muscled body onto it’s back.

Eddie straddles Steve as he says, “I think you meant to say you’ll cry as I fuck you, Harrington.”

He can feel the line of Steve’s cock under his boxers, pressed against his near bare ass. It’s only made more obvious as Steve grabs Eddie’s hips and pulls them harder against himself, lifting his hips to rub against his body. “But your ass looks so good in that tiny little thong.”

“I don’t think you got a great look at my ass yet. How would you know?”

And just as fast as he got Steve onto his back, he’s on his again. Steve looms over him, grabs around his torso, and flips his body like a ragdoll. Eddie’s face presses into the blankets as he lays face-down, his dick throbbing as it rubs under him and against the mattress. Steve’s hands splay against the valley of Eddie’s spine, fingers slipping under the string waist of the G-string, pulling the fabric where it was almost buried between the cheeks of his ass. “I’m getting a pretty good look now. Turns out, I’m right.”

Eddie tries to lift himself up, tries to get himself in a position of power once more. But Steve bores down on him, pressing his chest flush against the panes of Eddie’s back. His hips pitch forward and his cock drags against the cleft of Eddie’s ass. And he hates himself for this, he really does, but he whines at the sensation. He whines, long and loud into the ruffled blankets, a little river of drool seeping from the corner of his lips as he does.

“If you think you’re going to stick your cock in my ass, Harrington, you can think again,” Eddie says. But there’s a part of him, a small part that’s growing, that knows that’s a blatant lie.

He always thought, without a doubt, he’d top the first time he had sex, and he’d top the second, and the third, and the fourth, and so on. He thought he’d always be the one to get someone underneath him, someone crying and begging, someone gagging to get dicked down.

But he feels himself falling into some form of submission. Not that he wants to admit it.

Steve presses into Eddie again and again. He can feel the panties soaking up as much of his precum as it possibly can, but it must be reaching its threshold. There’s so much. His cock is weeping and so is he as he hears Steve grunting with each thrust. “But think about how good it’ll feel. Think about being stuffed full of my cock, Munson.”

Eddie isn’t crying yet, but it sure sounds like he is with the noise that just erupted from him. It’s enough of an answer for Steve.

“Fuck yeah, listen to yourself. You want to take it as much as I want to give it to you.”

Eddie tries to swallow down his sobs, his pants, but really he just sounds pathetic as he says, “In your dreams.”

Steve bends over Eddie’s back, gets his face nice and close to his ear. “You’re damn right in my dreams.”

A finger slips under the band of Eddie’s thong and pressed against his asshole. Eddie moans and arches into it, but he spits, “Fuck you, man,” with the little conviction he has left.

It’s not very much.

He wants Steve, he wants to be coated with him, covered from head to toe, all over his skin, outside, inside. He wants to take Steve’s cock every way that he can.

“Keep these on,” is all Steve says as he moves away from Eddie’s back, snapping the thin side of his panties against his skin.

Eddie does.

But Steve – he strips down to nothing, completely bare naked as he stands near the edge of the mattress. His cock juts proudly from him, and Eddie turns to stare, taking in every goddamn inch of his impressive length. Somehow, that’s going to be inside him, but he can barely compute it.

“Lube?” asks Steve. Eddie points to his end table where he keeps stuff like that. The rare nudie mag, the bottle of lube, the nipple clamps.

The nipple clamps.

Eddie grins something sharp and feral as he tumbles from the bed, reaching the drawer before Steve has the chance. He throws the lube onto the mattress, but he keeps the nipple clamps in his hands, joined together by a thin, silver chain.

Steve eyes the metal in his hands. “What’s that?”

“These, dear, sweet Stevie, are what you’re going to have to agree to if you think you’re fucking me tonight.” Eddie would bend to Steve’s will either way, but he wants to see what he can get away with. Steve sucks his lip between his teeth and clamps down on it. He’s nodding before Eddie even has the chance to tell him what they are. “Good. Get on the bed.”

Eddie regains some of his gumption as Steve clambers to obey his orders, throwing himself on the double mattress that they’ve shared now for months. He leans his back against the headboard, reaching between his legs to stroke at his cock that looks nearly as painful as Eddie’s own.

If Eddie did the same thing, he’d come in a matter of seconds. It’s probably better he gets fucked than do the fucking, because it would last no longer than he could even get himself sheathed in Steve.

He walks on his knees to where Steve is splayed out – as if on a platter. He runs his hands against the fuzz on his thighs, up the rippling abs that are adorned with matching scars to his own (albeit, not as many), through the thatch of chest hair between his pecs. Then he pinches on Steve’s pretty, pink nipples to get them peaked and prepped for his little surprise.

Steve gasps, but presses into Eddie’s fingers. His hand stills from stroking his cock as Eddie swings the simple, circular clamps, attached by a chain, between their chests. “You ready?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve says, even though Eddie is sure he has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

He opens the clamps wide enough that they won’t hurt too much, but narrow enough to pinch into the peaks on Steve’s chest. Steve moans when the first one clamps onto his nipple, and lets his head fall back onto the headboard for the second one. Eddie trembles with delight as Steve’s cock offers a pearl of precum when he tugs on the chain.

So he swoops to lick it up.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve gasps, eyes fluttering open as Eddie’s tongue swipes against the bulb of his dick. He seals his lips around the head of his cock, and sucks on it like a cherry popsicle in June. Steve’s hips buck forward into the heat of Eddie’s mouth, against the soft skin of his cheek. He twirls his tongue and laps at the slit, and he’s not sure if he’s doing a great job, but Steve’s thighs twitch under his hands and he’s making these sexy little noises, so he figures it can’t be bad.

He savours the musky taste of Steve, salty and bitter. And he learns pretty quickly that sucking Steve’s dick might be his new favourite pastime. The way he shakes and whines and whimpers is almost as delicious as the heavy, hot feeling of the cock in his mouth.

It only takes five minutes before Steve is tugging on Eddie’s hair, easing his lips from his length as he says, “Okay, okay. Don’t make me come yet. Jesus.”

Eddie wipes at the saliva seeping from his mouth with the back of one of his hands. He tugs on the chain connecting Steve’s nipples once more, making him keen into the air. Music.

The next thing Eddie knows, he’s being charged by Steve’s broad shoulders, backwards. He falls flat on his back, his head and hair hanging from the foot of the mattress as Steve grapples at the lube.

He doesn’t say anything as he slicks up his fingers, he only stares down at Eddie with so much want that it looks like he might burst. If it’s anywhere close to what Eddie’s feeling, that might very well happen.

“Ready?” Steve leans forward and tugs Eddie’s panties to the side. He can hear the threads in them pop as they’re forced past their limit of stretch. And as they pull to the side, his cock springs free from what little fabric sheathed it. They both look between his legs, at how red Eddie is. How swollen, how wet. His dick twitches at the attention, and he spreads his knees further apart as his answer to Steve’s question.

It stings when Steve pushes two of his fingers into Eddie. It stings, but more than that, it stretches, it spreads, it squeezes. God, he feels so full, Steve’s fingers are so big. He moans unabashedly at the ceiling, twisting his fingers into his own hair to distract himself.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling his fingers out only to plunge them back into Eddie deeper than before.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, yeah.” Eddie tries not to let the tear gathering in his eye slip bast the brim. It doesn’t work. It feels… it feels so good. Like its scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. And then Steve’s fingers brush against something inside him – a spot he’s only read about – one he didn’t really know was fact or fiction.

It’s fact. It’s so fucking fact.

His voice breaks as he all but yells into he empty air, Steve’s fingers brushing against that spot over and over and over… and, Jesus, he’s not even touching Eddie’s dick but he’s gonna come. He’s gonna come before Steve has a chance to touch him.

But then Steve stops.

“You sound so fucking hot,” he says, slathering his hand and his dick with more lube. He pushes a third finger into Eddie like he’s making a point, forcing him to cry out once more. This time he doesn’t brush against that spot, Eddie has enough time to recollect himself as he gets stretched over Steve’s fingers.

“Steve?” he says, lifting himself to rest on his forearms. Steve cocks his head sideways, his fingers stilling inside Eddie’s body. “Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me.” And just to assert his dominance, he grabs the back of Steve’s neck and hauls him closer.

Steve growls and blankets himself over Eddie.

His lips crush against Eddie’s. Their kiss is anything but timid or practiced or skilled as they attack each other with their tongues, devouring each other in deeps licks and bruising bites. Everything between them wet and warm.

The blunt end of Steve’s cock lines up against Eddie as they consume each other. And then he’s pushing forward.

Someone – Eddie isn’t sure which of them – moans into the other’s mouth. It’s a shared breath anyway, when one noise is made, the other swallows it down. Give and take.

There’s an unrelenting pressure between them, and Eddie feels it when the head of Steve’s cock pushes past his rim. He’s never felt like he feels in this moment. Claimed, but still equal as he presses his fingers into Steve’s neck with one hand and tugs yet again on the chain attached to his nipples with the other. Steve whimpers as much as Eddie, sliding forward inch by glorious inch. And then he’s seated so deeply inside him that Eddie swears he can see a bulge by his belly button.

“You better start moving,” Eddie says, panting against Steve’s lips, “or I’ll pin you down and do it myself.”

With that, Steve pulls an inch from Eddie’s body and pitches forward again. His cock rubs against that bundle of nerves inside Eddie, and he starts leaking profusely between their stomachs, a jolt buzzing into his core each time Steve’s abdomen brushes against his flushed tip.

Steve hums into Eddie’s mouth as his pace quickens. Eddie could come from the sound alone – their skin slapping together aggressively, only heightened by the ridiculous amounts of lube slicking their bodies. Steve grunting and hissing. His eyes squeezing shut and fluttering back open to bore into Eddie’s. They’re both covered in a sheen of sweat; Steve’s olive skin glistening and sparkling against the warm light of the tabletop lamp.

The coil in Eddie’s stomach tightens and burns bright. He’s whining with each thrust of Steve, building a tension that’s about to snap. And as if Steve knows, he wraps his fingers around Eddie’s cock and starts stroking, quick, dirty.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Steve.” He can feel his body tensing around Steve’s length, can feel his muscles beginning to contract.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” Steve says, low and sultry. It almost finishes Eddie off.

But somehow he holds off, just for a few more seconds. Enough to say, “Not before you come inside me, baby.” He doesn’t even know if it’s true. But still, he pulls on Steve’s nipple clamps because he has an inkling that it might finish him.

“Fuuucckk, fuck.” Steve’s hips lose their rhythm. He fucks into Eddie sloppily, and then something hot and wet is dripping from inside him as he rockets against his ass.

When Eddie feels Steve’s cum dripping out of himself, getting shoved back in with Steve’s still pistoning hips, the tension snaps. Cum surges from his cock in hot, white ribbons, slicking Steve’s fist, catching in the fabric of the G-string bunched to one side, shooting against Steve’s and his own scars.

He’s sure he says something – maybe a string of curse words, maybe Steve’s name – but his mind whites out before he can commit that detail to memory. But he does know his muscles are tremoring in Steve’s grasp, he does know Steve’s abs twitch against his fingers as he rubs his spend into his skin.

And then they collapse, Steve softening in Eddie’s body with each of their heady breaths.

Time ticks by until Eddie can comprehend. And then – like the time before – he laughs.

“What the fuck?” Steve says, but it has no malice. He lifts his head from Eddie’s neck, where he was pressing delicate kisses, to grin down on him. “Is that something I’ll have to get used to? You laughing after sex?”

Eddie isn’t really sure. So he says, “I guess we’ll have to have more sex to see.”

Finally, Steve pulls out. Eddie can feel liquid drooling from within him, cum and lube. He needs a shower. But he needs this moment with Steve more, so he wraps his arms around those strong shoulders and pulls him into his chest. Steve hums his approval, nestles into Eddie’s side like he belongs there.

He does belong there.

When Eddie goes to the bathroom to shower, Steve joins him like he did all those months ago. This time, however, he steps into the water. He wraps his arms around Eddie and presses the pads of his fingers into his head when he washes his hair so sensually, that Eddie might weep. Steve doesn’t say something smart when Eddie gets hard again; Eddie doesn’t feel embarrassed about it.

They get each other off a second time, with Steve’s hand wrapped flawlessly around them both.

Then when they go to bed, they tangle together in a pile of limbs, without even their boxers. This time, when he wakes up to Steve clung to him, Eddie doesn’t go still or try to keep Steve from waking. He presses into him until his eyes flicker open in the dark of the dead of night.

They get each other off a third time, with Eddie nestled tightly between Steve’s thighs and his fingers circling his cock possessively.

Then, they finally fall asleep.

January 1st, 1987

Eddie wakes up in Steve’s arms.

This time, he doesn’t question what it means, doesn’t question what might happen tomorrow.

A new year.

A new start – with Steve.

’86 really was his year.

THE END :)

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

[myvirtuesuncounted]

why pjo's portrayal of the greek gods is fucked up and how it's affected perceptions surrounding ancient Greece.

*breaks down the door to your inbox with an axe*

start talking now oh my god I want to hear your hot take so bad. I've been interested in religious studies (primarily the Hellenistic and early Roman religious atmosphere (of course acknowledging that the word religion is post-Enlightenment and conceives of supernatural belief as a subjective individual belief, which is inconsistent with how supernatural matters were dealt with in the Ancient world) and how they intersect with early Christianity and proto-Christianity) and I've been fascinated with the Greek gods and I need your hot take on why their portrayal is wrong and leads to incorrect assumptions about Ancient Greece.

oh you bet your bottom dollar i will talk about this. true to the post from which this originated, i will prep no material and all this is off the top of my head so don't quote me!

If you follow my Greek mythology sideblog, you'll know i am unequivocally a Zeus defender. Now I can make a million posts about Zeus alone but I will take a more holistic approach on the gods in general and the perception of Ancient Greece.

The West has been obsessed with Ancient Greece for centuries: the culture, philosophy, history, mythology, mathematical and scientific advancements, and much more. Now it's one thing to take interest in a country's history or a historical era; it is completely another to claim it as your own and make it an ideal state of life to achieve, because if you know literally anything about Ancient Greece, it was anything but. What I'm trying to say here is that Ancient Greek culture has been commodified, glorified, rewritten, and reclaimed by the West when it was never theirs to do so. I've often seen this sentiment expressed by Greeks about their homeland: "The history comes first, the people second." I think a prime modern example of this mindset was when same-sex marriage was legalised in Greece, which was a huge step forward for an Orthodox country with an extensive history of homophobia, but people outside of Greece began making jokes of Greece "returning to their own values" (referring to Ancient Greek practices of pederasty which is hugely problematic and not at all representative of any gay rights if you know what it entails) and people excited to "finally hold lesbian weddings in Lesbos" (signifying the West's perception of Greece as simply a tourist hotspot and not a country with an intricate history and culture). In short, Greece is already unfairly used for the West's agenda of glorification and attempts to build itself a culture that frankly isn't theirs at all.

Now, how does this involve pjo? A lot, my friends, a fucking lot. The publication and popularity of the Percy Jackson series has simply exacerbated all the aforementioned issues in this post. First off, the worldbuilding on which The Lightning Thief relied and the rest of the series ultimately holds is that "Olympus moves with the centre of Western power", which is just. Wow. There are a million things wrong with this concept that would need its own post, so I recommend this article called The Whitening Thief that essentially explains the white supremacy of it all. If you do not want to read the full article, the main premise is that the Percy Jackson series equates Westernism with civilisation and that without it there was "chaos and darkness", which as Paule describes it, is "sipping at a pretty racist cocktail".

note: I have realised how aggressively off-topic this is to the original statement I made, I'm getting there, I promise (although I did warn you it was something I could talk on for hours with little material)

Let's finally delve into the depiction of Greek gods in Percy Jackson. I'll actually start on a bit of a positive note that apart from the weird (for lack of a better term) comparisons of Hades to Adolf Hitler, the original Percy Jackson and the Olympians had some okay characterisation of the gods (I have some reservations about the goddesses on which I will elaborate later). They're prideful and neglectful parents (the myths actually contradict that latter part but I digress) but each with their own complexities and concerns. To use Zeus as an example because he's actually the god who falls short the most in terms of consistent characterisation in my opinion, he lets Percy live in TLT "for the sake of peace in [his] family", indicating a care and sense of duty for Olympus and for his fellow gods, and while he lets his pride and paranoia get the better of him at times, he is shown as a serious authority figure and someone who's trying to keep his realm together, and such characteristics wouldn't be too far off from his mythical counterpart.

But as the series progresses, either Rick got lazy or he attempted to further capitalise his work to make it more palpable, he turns the gods into caricatures by excessively inflating one characteristic they may have into their entire personalities. Returning to Zeus, his paranoia is amplified to an absurd extent that one can simply not fathom why the gods would be the better option than the Titans. As I said initially, he had bouts of paranoia that would be almost normal for someone with such a powerful position, but this is completely derailing any connection with his mythological counterpart, he may as well be an OC with the same name and title as him. To use other gods as an example because I promised a holistic approach and I have seemed to only talk about Zeus (sorry!), the writing of the goddesses Hera, Artemis, Aphrodite, and Athena is simply misogynistic. I'm sorry, there is no other way I can find myself to describe it. Typically feminine goddesses Hera and Aphrodite are extremely demonised and condemned for their flaky and vain attitude; Hera is the evil stepmother archetype and Aphrodite ultimately becomes weak and useless. The "virgin" (quotations referring to Athena) goddesses Artemis and Athena also don't seem to extend past superficial, unoriginal characteristics like being a vehement man-hater who kicked out two sapphics from the Hunt and a goddess who Rick stops at nothing to render her a horrible parent and person (using the Roman myth of Medusa, exaggerating her prideful nature, etc) respectively. And you cannot tell me they're not misogynistic portrayals because just a few minutes on pjo tiktok will show you just how many times Hera is referred to as a bitch (keep my wife's name out of your fucking mouth!!). Then there is TOA and COTG, which makes me want to cry just thinking about Zeus' portrayal there (yes we're going back there). The god who was consistently thought of as a gracious, protective saviour of the people in Ancient Greece (full list of epithets of Zeus, read at your leisure) is an abusive autocratic tyrant?

To go back onto the topic, how do Riordan's works affect the overall perception of Ancient Greece? Well, as I said before, it contributes to the white supremacist view of Ancient Greece as the epitome of civilisation and the glorification of the era, but it also turns Ancient Greece into a fandom to an extreme extent. Now, obviously, I'm not talking about people with a healthy obsession with Ancient Greek history and Mythology (myself included) who like to engage in content about it. I'm talking about people who claim Ancient Greece as an extension of Western, mostly American culture, and ultimately engage in a form of cultural appropriation that strips Greeks of their own history and narrative. This includes writing 'feminist' retellings of Greek myths, taking Riordan's (inaccurate) readings of the mythology as indisputable fact, and removing the myths from their historical and cultural context. People forget that much of these myths were stories written for entertainment and take them as a sort of Hellenic Bible (which delves into the Christianisation of Greek Mythology but that's a whole other post). In short, Westerners think they can do whatever the fuck they want with Greek mythology and Greek gods because they think it's theirs with which to play around, ultimately ignoring the country, history, and the culture from which they actually originate, and it's thanks to Rick Riordan that this attitude has blown up to an insane extent.

*sighs* Thank you for coming to my TedTalk and I seriously admire you if you made it this far.

[transform4u]

Sin of Pride

Derek Day, 35, had carved out a thriving career in marketing strategy, navigating the vibrant streets of New York City with a calculated finesse. After years of climbing the corporate ladder, he had secured a comfortable penthouse overlooking Central Park—a sanctuary amidst the urban hustle where Derek, alongside his husband, Alex, cherished morning walks with their dog.

Always affable, Derek effortlessly blended into any social setting with a warmth that drew people in. Yet, the youthful nights of endless parties in Manhattan's glittering nightlife had waned for him. What used to be a whirlwind of glamorous events and exclusive clubs now felt hollow and exhausting. Raised in a bustling suburb of Boston, Derek thrived in an environment steeped in academia and creativity. From a young age, he gravitated towards literature and history, finding solace in intellectual pursuits.

Switching into casual attire, Derek glanced at his reflection in the mirror, noting the slight wrinkles that marked his aging face. Instead of chasing after the next big party, his evenings were now filled with dinners with close friends—writers, musicians, and fellow intellectuals.

Tonight, longing to recapture a spark of his youth, Derek decided to visit one of his favorite gay bars in the Village. Though lately, he had often ended up at the piano bar down the street, singing showtunes and enjoying a sensible glass of wine, tonight was different. The pulsating rhythm of Pride weekend in New York City filled the air of the vibrant gay bar, an explosion of colors and bodies entwined in celebration. Rainbow flags draped from the ceiling fluttered in the chaotic whirl of flashing lights, while the beat of music throbbed through every corner of the crowded venue. A Kylie Minogue anthem continued to erupt from the speakers, igniting a wave of cheers and applause.

♪ "Can't get you out of my head Boy, your loving is all I think about" ♪ Half-naked men in glittering shorts spun around with abandon, their bodies glistening under the neon glow. Shirtless twinks danced, bears in leather harnesses clinked glasses of rainbow-colored cocktails with daddies. Jocks, leaning against the bar, flicked through their phones, lost in a series of Grindr messages.

In the dimly lit back, the stage lights flickered to life, casting an eerie red hue that contrasted starkly against the rainbow-splashed surroundings. Dressed in a gown of deepest crimson that cascaded like spilled blood, the mysterious drag queen known only as Lilith Lamentation stepped into the spotlight. Her face, painted with an otherworldly beauty, bore an enigmatic smile that hinted at ancient secrets and dark desires.

As Kylie blared over the speakers, Derek was reminded why he didn't frequent such places anymore. He contemplated heading home, but then the sound of a campy showtune and the allure of a mysterious drag queen's performance beckoned from the back room.

Ordering a crafted cocktail, Derek found himself drawn towards the music, his steps guided by curiosity and a yearning for something new and vibrant in his life.

As Lilith glided across the stage, her gaze pierced through the sea of faces, a silent promise of something beyond the ordinary. Her voice, when she spoke, carried a mesmerizing cadence that held the audience captive.

"I bring Lilith's gift of Virility and Strength," she hissed, her words laced with a chilling undertone that seemed to echo through the very foundations of the bar. "For you, and for all in your tiny, vile, incessant universe."

The crowd erupted into cheers, mistaking Lilith's words as just another campy performance. They clapped and whistled, caught up in the spell woven by her presence, unaware of the ancient power that pulsed beneath her theatrical veneer.

Meanwhile, Lilith continued her hypnotic dance, lip-syncing a campy showtune like she was Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus. Her movements were deliberate, each step a silent proclamation of dominance over the fleeting pleasures of the mortal realm.

And as the crowd grew, Lilith's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with the knowledge that tonight, she would claim her due from those who dared to indulge in the euphoria of the night.

As the final crescendo of the campy anthem filled the air, Lilith stood at the center of the stage, a mesmerizing figure amidst the pulsating lights and swirling colors of the gay bar. Her voice, dripping with allure and mystery, carried over the ecstatic crowd. "Come on you poor unfortunate soul, Go ahead! Make your choice!"

Derek, amidst the swirling sea of revelers, felt an inexplicable force guiding him forward. It was as though Lilith's eyes, dark and mesmerizing, had locked onto his with an unbreakable gaze. "And for my next trick, I need one brave volunteer," Lilith hissed, her words dripping with a seductive promise that seemed to pull Derek through the pulsating crowd against his own will.

"I volunteer!" Derek's voice erupted, a blend of exhilaration and uncertainty echoing in the cacophony of cheers and music. His steps were propelled towards the stage where Lilith stood, a figure bathed in the neon glow of the bar's lights, radiating an aura of mystery and power.

"So, sweetie, tell me, are you having a glorious Pride weekend?" Lilith's voice, smooth and intoxicating, resonated intimately as if she already knew the deepest secrets of Derek's heart.

"Oh, yeah. I rarely go out anymore, what with my loving husband and always being so busy at work," Derek blurted out, his words rushing forth in an attempt to bridge the enigmatic connection Lilith seemed to forge.

"How nice… But wouldn't you like to relax? Wouldn't you prefer a life that was easy?" Lilith's smile widened, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes like shards of broken mirrors reflecting hidden desires.

"I mean, sure… But you know us gays, we're always busy," Derek replied, his voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and fascination under Lilith's penetrating stare.

"Don't worry, Derek. I'll soon fix that," Lilith's tone dropped to a whisper, her gaze delving into Derek's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Derek, I see such fire in you. Such anger. Why do you hate straight men so much?"

"I don't… They're just… They're just all so dumb. They act like they're so great with their big muscles, telling everyone what to do. They're so obnoxious and crude. Like, I tried to rush a frat in college and they wouldn't let me because I'm gay," Derek's words spilled out, each syllable laced with a mixture of bitterness and defiance.

"Oh, Derek. That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Lilith's voice carried a knowing edge, a subtle promise of something profound stirring beneath the surface. "Think back to all those cruel, obnoxious, crude straight men. Those muscles. Those frat boys. Because soon, you're going to be just like them."

A charged silence fell over the crowd, a moment pregnant with anticipation as Lilith's words hung in the air. Then, as if under Lilith's enchantment, the room erupted into cheers and applause. Wicked grins spread across the faces of twinks, bears, daddies, and every gay man present, reveling in the impending spectacle.

Derek stood on the stage, bathed in the kaleidoscope of lights—reds, greens, purples, and blues swirling around him in a mesmerizing dance. The disco ball above spun faster, casting fragmented reflections that mirrored the tumultuous whirl of emotions within him.

In that fleeting moment, Derek felt a profound shift, as if Lilith's gaze had unlocked a hidden part of himself. Her eyes held him captive, a silent promise of transformation that beckoned him into a realm where identities blurred and possibilities stretched beyond the horizon.

As the disco ball above them spun, casting fractured beams of light across the stage, Lilith's voice resonated through the air, weaving a dark incantation into the throbbing pulse of the club. "Embrace the bro within his soul's domain, Let toxic traits unleash and reign. From caring man to crude and bold, Shape his spirit, let the story unfold!"

The music momentarily ceased, creating a brief, eerie silence that hung like a veil over the crowd. In that pregnant pause, Derek felt a strange sensation creeping through his mind, a dull ache that intensified with each passing second. He brought his hands to his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from within.

His thoughts, once clear and sharp, began to muddle. Concepts he had effortlessly grasped earlier in the evening now slipped through his fingers like sand. Memories of his husband, Alex, flickered in his mind, but they seemed distant, as if shrouded in a haze that dulled their clarity. His marketing expertise, honed over years of diligent work, felt like a distant echo fading into the background.

Meanwhile, unseen to Derek but palpable in the changing air around him, his face began to shift. His weak chin squared off, morphing into a strong, chiseled jawline reminiscent of a jock's confident smirk. His nose widened slightly, and his eyes, once warm and expressive, furrowed into a steely gaze that spoke of brash determination. Lips that were once unassuming plumped up subtly, while his teeth, previously ordinary, gleamed with an unnatural perfection and whiteness.

The transformation continued as Derek's face altered further, the lines and wrinkles that hinted at his age smoothing away as if erased by an invisible hand. His hair, styled in its usual manner, shifted gradually to a sharp fade, a haircut sported by the athletic jocks he had envied in his college days. Its color shifted subtly, mirroring the vibrant hues often seen among those who exuded confidence and swagger.

Before Derek's bewildered eyes, his reflection in a nearby mirror no longer resembled the man he knew. It was a face that carried an air of entitlement, of privilege.

And as the beats of the club music resumed their pulsating rhythm, Derek felt a strange sense of detachment from the life he had once known. His memories of Alex faded like wisps of smoke, his career achievements slipping away into the abyss of forgotten knowledge. He was no longer the man who had walked into the bar that evening; he had become something else entirely, a creation of Lilith's spell that now prowled the stage with a newfound confidence and arrogance.

As Lilith's dark magic continued to surge through Derek, a peculiar sensation gripped him—a feeling of time unraveling, pulling him backward through the years of his life. The dull ache in his head intensified, pulsing in rhythm with the shifting memories and sensations.

At 34, Derek felt a surge of youthful energy, memories of recent years slipping away like pages torn from a book. He blinked, finding himself at 30, the weight of responsibilities and adult concerns diminishing. At 26, the carefree spirit of his mid-twenties enveloped him, followed swiftly by the uncertainty and excitement of being 23. Then, at 21, he stood on the precipice of young adulthood, the world brimming with possibilities. He was just a junior in college, barely making it by.

Through the haze of confusion, Derek's awareness wavered. He chuckled dumbly, a laugh that echoed with a newfound simplicity. "Uh, what the fuck bro. What am I doing in front of all these people?" His voice, once articulate and refined, now carried a rawness, a rugged quality that matched his shifting persona.

"Oh, sweetie. You volunteered, don't worry. We have a few prizes for you. Care for a shot?" Lilith's voice, smooth as silk yet tinged with malice, cut through Derek's befuddled state.

"Fuck yeah, bro!" Derek's reply boomed with a deeper timbre, his adam's apple visibly protruding as his voice dropped several octaves. He eagerly accepted the shot offered by Lilith, the liquid burning down his throat like liquid fire.

As the fiery concoction coursed through him, Derek felt an intense heat spreading from within. His clothes, once neat and casual, began to morph and change. The basic flannel shirt and jeans dissolved into sweaty gym clothes—a ratty shirt clinging to his broadening chest and shorts that hugged his thickening thighs.

Derek's muscles ignited with a burning sensation, expanding and bulging with each passing second. His pecs swelled into thick mounds of manly flesh, straining against the confines of his shirt until it burst open, shredded into tattered nothingness. His abs popped into existence, chiseled and defined, forming a tight eight-pack that rippled with every breath.

His biceps ballooned, veins pulsing with newfound strength as they tore through the sleeves of his shirt. The muscles of his shoulders broadened, widening his frame until he felt like he could barely fit through the stage doors. His quads and legs, once slender, bulked up with dense muscle, his stance becoming more stable but heavier with each breath.

Standing on stage, Derek breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his transformed body. He flexed instinctively, feeling the power coursing through his veins, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lillith smiles and nods, "Good, now imagine that you are one of those jocks you hated so much. You're at a party with all your friends, drinking and having a great time. Suddenly, you feel an intense pain in your chest. It's like someone is squeezing your heart with their bare hands. Think about what those idiot bros craved so much" "Beer, boobs and bros" Derek grunts to Lilith, between a dumb-as-nails laugh that seems to ring throughout the crowd.

Derek gasps as he imagines the feeling of his heart being crushed by invisible hands. The pain is unbearable and he can't breathe properly. He tries to scream but no sound comes out of his mouth. His vision starts to blur and everything around him starts spinning rapidly.

Derek's mind drifts back to one of his many drunken nights at the frat party, where he had been hitting on girls and trying to impress everyone with his macho behavior. He remembers how he had downed shot after shot, feeling invincible and ready to take on the world. But then something caught his eye - two guys making out in the corner of the room.

At first, Derek tried to ignore it; after all, it was just a couple of guys having some fun, right? But as they continued their public display of affection, Derek couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. His homophobia started to grow stronger with each passing moment. He began thinking about how disgusting it was for men to be so openly gay in public like that. It made him sick!

Suddenly filled with rage and an overwhelming sense of masculinity , Derek stumbled towards the edge of the stage, the two men who were now locked in a passionate embrace. "Quit it you fags!" he screamed at them while flexing his chest muscles for added effect.

Derek was becoming everything he hated in straight men, caricature of toxic masculinity unfolded with a hypnotic allure that captivated the crowd. His once relaxed demeanor shifted into a display of exaggerated machismo. He was becoming nothing more than a dumbass, toxic straight douchebag.

With newfound swagger, Derek squared his broad shoulders and flexed his muscles, each movement deliberate and exaggerated. His shirt strained against his bulging arms, a visual testament to the physical strength he now glorified. As he strutted across the stage, the crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing off the rainbow-adorned walls.

Memories flooded Derek's mind, snapshots of wild frat parties where he had been the life of the raucous gatherings. He recalled the adrenaline rush of football games, the thunderous applause as he led his team to victory. The intense memory of being named captain surged through his thoughts, filling him with a sense of invincibility and entitlement.

Derek's cognitive faculties seemed to simplify. Basic math calculations became secondary to posturing and asserting his newfound persona as an alpha male.

As the memories of his past hookups and the frat flooded his mind, Derek's actions became larger than life. He leaned into the role of a swaggering jock, embodying stereotypes of entitlement and arrogance. The crowd, caught up in the spectacle, cheered louder with each display of machismo, celebrating Derek's transformation into a symbol of exaggerated masculinity.

His newfound demeanor allowed him to act like an unapologetic jerk without consequence. He would interrupt conversations with dismissive remarks, mockingly tease others, and even flirt shamelessly, often crossing boundaries with his comments. Despite his behavior, people didn't recoil; instead, they laughed and admired his audacity.

Derek's popularity seemed to soar regardless of his actions. People sought his attention and approval, drawn to his confident demeanor and the allure of his unfiltered personality. His ability to command attention made him the life of the party, the center of every conversation, and the subject of admiration among many.

One vivid memory from Derek's upbringing flashed through his mind—a childhood spent in opulence, shielded by wealthy parents who indulged his every whim. He recalled demanding the latest gadgets, designer clothes, and extravagant vacations without hesitation. His sense of entitlement grew with every fulfilled desire, shaping him into someone who took what he wanted without consideration for others.

Lilith observed him with a mix of amusement and calculation. She leaned in close, her voice cutting through the music, "Now Derek—hmmm, Derek is such a boring name. You're much more like a—Thad," she declared with a sly smile. "You drip wealth and arrogance with every breath you take."

At Lilith's words, something shifted. The name "Derek" seemed to dissolve into the air, overshadowed by the swaggering persona of Thad. The crowd, caught up in the spectacle, erupted into cheers and applause. They raised their glasses in a toast to Thad, celebrating his transformation into a symbol of audacious entitlement and unbridled privilege. You see it wasn't just Derek's mind-altering him, the crowd fueled his change into the most obnoxious, toxic straight bro. Someone they secretly wished they could fuck but could never have.

Thad, now fully embracing his new identity, flexed his muscles and strutted confidently through the bar. His face bore a smug grin, embodying the embodiment of self-assuredness and entitlement. In this moment, he was no longer Derek, the mild-mannered professional; he had become Thad, the embodiment of wealth, arrogance, and societal rebellion.

As the night wore on, Thad's presence loomed larger, overshadowing any trace of the person Derek once was. His actions and words became increasingly brazen, drawing admiration and laughter from the crowd. To them, Thad was a hero—an icon who defied norms and embraced a life without boundaries.

Lilith watched with satisfaction as Thad's persona continued to grow stronger throughout the night. She could see the change in him, how he was becoming more confident and assertive with each passing moment. It was as if a newfound power had awakened within him, one that allowed him to push past his previous limitations and embrace a life of unrestrained desire.

As Thad walked up to the busty blonde bimbo who had been eyeing him all night, Lilith couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. She could see the lustful thoughts running through his mind as he imagined hooking up with her - it was almost palpable how hard his dick got at the thought of it. This was exactly what she wanted for him - unbridled passion and carnal desires that knew no bounds.

As Thad approached the blonde bimbo, he couldn't help but flex his massive biceps for her benefit. She giggled dumbly at his display of bravado before playfully slapping him on the chest. "Ooh, you're so strong!" she cooed in her ditzy voice.

Thad grinned smugly and ordered a round of shots for them both. They clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one go, their eyes meeting with an unspoken understanding that this was just the beginning of a night filled with debauchery and pleasure.

Without another word, Thad leaned in and started making out with the blonde bimbo passionately. His hands roamed freely over her body as he groped her ass cheeks and squeezed her ample breasts through her tight dress. She moaned into his mouth, encouraging him to take what he wanted from her without hesitation or shame.

As Thad whispers into the blonde bimbo's ear, "Hey, babe. Why don't we go back to my frat house. You'll love it. hahaha" The dumb blonde can only giggle uncontrollably. Her eyes light up with excitement as she nods her head eagerly, grabbing onto his arm possessively. They stumble out of the bar together, laughing and shouting over the loud music that still plays inside.

Outside, it's a cool summer night with a light breeze blowing through campus. The air is filled with the scent of summer and alcohol as they make their way back to Thad's frat house. As they approach the front door, it swings open revealing an absolute mess: beer cans littered everywhere; pizza boxes stacked high on top of each other; empty bottles strewn about like confetti; couches covered in stains from God knows what substance… It truly is a disgusting sight to behold!

Undeterred by their surroundings or lack of hygiene, Thad leads his new conquest upstairs to one of many bedrooms filled with similarly disheveled furniture and filthier sheets than you could imagine possible. Once inside this makeshift love nest he begins undressing her slowly while she helps him remove his clothes faster than he can manage alone due to how drunk he was at this point.

Their hookup is nothing short of passionate yet sloppy – kisses are sloppily exchanged while hands roam freely across each other’s bodies without any regard for personal space or boundaries. They move from making out on top of unmade bedsheets stained beyond recognition towards grinding against one another before finally collapsing onto said bed in an exhausted heap post-coital bliss… Or maybe just exhaustion? Who knows?

All that matters now to Thad is the fact that he's the king of his domain – the big man on campus. He loves being able to strut around with an air of superiority, knowing that everyone looks up to him and wants to be like him. His life as an entitled fratbro is everything he could have ever wanted: endless parties filled with booze, drugs, and beautiful women; never-ending streams of money from parents who don't want their precious little boy getting into trouble; and most importantly, respect from his peers for being one of the biggest, douchiest guys around.

Thad takes pride in his physical strength too – working out religiously every day so he can flex those muscles whenever possible. He enjoys showing off by picking up girls or throwing back shots like they were nothing more than water bottles at a high school football game. And let's not forget about all those ridiculous hazing rituals designed specifically for new pledges - nothing makes Thad feel more powerful than watching some poor freshman suffer through them while everyone else laughs. Thad was hot shit and he knew it.

[showyourself80]

Masterlist

Come find me on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/showyourself/profile

**Updated 30/6/2024**

Snarry fics

(In)gemino concubitus. Explicit. 5k words. Harry celebrates his Defence against the Dark Arts mastery with Severus with a nifty spell to turn his lover into three versions of himself at once. Unfortunately Harry is a little careless with his pronunciation and chaos ensues as he is faced with increasing shadows of his lover that keep multiplying unless he can bring the spell to a close. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51137407

2. Whiskey wedding. Mature. 1.4k words. The Control and Regulation of Allocated Partners team at the ministry has assigned Dolores Umbridge to Severus Snape. Unless he comes up with an alternative he will be married to her within the month, which is more than inconvenient considering he's gay. He goes to his friend, Harry Potter, to brainstorm solutions over a bottle of Firewhiskey. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51620209

3. Owned. Explicit. 8k words. Severus snape receives a series of blackmail notes, threatening to expose a deeply held secret. After securing an unbreakable vow from his tormentor to prevent his secret being revealed to the wrong person, he finds himself trapped in an even worse situation- a night at the hands of the blackmailer. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51814885/chapters/131000557

4. Loaded. Explicit. 1.3k words. Harry is behind on his laundry and has a hot date with Severus in a few hours. An unfortunate incident leaves him naked and stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully Severus is a perfect gentleman who is ready to assist Harry with his load. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52447531

5. Ten points to Gryffindor. Explicit. 3.5k words. Ever since Potter came on staff, Gryffindor keep winning points in the house cup- by a huge margin- and no one seems to be able to work out why. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56159128

6. Pink. Explicit. 215 words. A ministry ball, a request from one lover to another, and a pair of perfect lacy panties worn under dress robes inspires a promise. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56430313

7. Cocktail. Explicit. 1.3k words. Part 2 of Pink. Harry gets Severus home after the ministry ball and makes good on his promises. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56471641

8. Sunshower. Mature. 700 words. Was Severus teasing Harry about sunshowers? Or could such an unlikely combination really work in reality? https://archiveofourown.org/works/56762701

9. Needs. Explicit. 400 words. Severus is struggling in Azkaban, and not for the reasons Harry would have expected. Harry is willing to do whatever it takes to keep him sane long enough to see him pardoned. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56828731

10. Stuffed. Mature. 260 words. Severus has no self control. Luckily he has Harry to keep him in line. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56830573

11. Conflicted. Mature. 300 words. Harry's recent choices have unexpected consequences for his relationship with Severus. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56903080

12. Hands free dessert. Explicit. 715 words. It's Harry's birthday, and he has every intention of enjoying it with Severus. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56996473

13. Duality. Explicit. 900 words. Professor/Student, Top/Bottom https://archiveofourown.org/works/57006898

14. Ring. Gen rating. 200 words. Created for the House of Snarry discord server chain game June 2024. Prompt: Ring. https://archiveofourown.org/works/56593723

15. Snarry microfics fest- June 2024 series. 30 unrelated fics, 4.8k words. https://archiveofourown.org/series/4172749

Dramione/ Snucius

The Swap. Explicit. 44.2k words. Lucius keeps forgetting the silencing charms whenever he takes his lover in his office at Malfoy Manor. Hermione has noticed Draco spying on them, and decides to use that knowledge to tease him. Does Lucius really neglect to close the office door properly, or is something else going on https://archiveofourown.org/works/50251648/chapters/126932215

Lucarry fics

Thank you for your gift. Mature. 700 words. Part 1 of the Gift series. Harry and Lucius are working through the mountain of gifts after their wedding, and sorting their thank you notes. One present causes a bit of controversy. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51616246

2. 12 days of Christmas. Explicit. 39.5k words. Cowritten with DCMM. Part 2 of the Gift series. Harry and Lucius are enjoying their first festive period together as a married couple, when they receive an unexpected series of gifts themed around the 12 days of Christmas song. Exploring the wizarding equivalent of a sex toy advent calendar, they work together to discover the identity of the person who has sent this gift to them. Also featuring a side Snaco pairing. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52508185/chapters/132830656

3. Fever dreams. Explicit. 6.5k words. Lucius Malfoy is struck down by a new virulent strain of Dragon Pox, Voldemort's parting gift to the wizarding world. As one of the few individuals immune to the pox, Harry Potter offers his services to nurse Lucius through his illness, and the pair grow closer as a result. How will Draco respond to the saviour of the wizarding world growing close to his father when he had only just lost his mother to the disease just six months ago?https://archiveofourown.org/works/51968551/chapters/131416171

Snucissa fics

Purify. Explicit. 8.7k words. Part 1 of Purify series. Harry Potter has been captured at the Battle of Hogwarts and forcibly taken back to Malfoy Manor. His mother's blood protection prevents Voldemort killing him, leaving him to be tortured for the madman's pleasure. Voldemort tasks Snape with scouring the Hogwarts library for a means to remove the blood protection, and finds the solution in a book combining blood and sex magics for soul purification. The key ingredient is a virgin sacrifice, and luckily Draco Malfoy appears to be the ideal candidate. Can Severus work with Narcissa and Lucius to save their son https://archiveofourown.org/works/51004651/chapters/128861977

2. Afterglow. Explicit. 6.5k words. Part 2 of Purify series. We see the aftermath of the soul purification ritual featured in Purify. Snape must convince Harry to keep the Malfoys safe. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51077752/chapters/129047989

3. The Doctor will see you now. Explicit. 5.2k words. Lady Malfoy has fallen into a deep melancholy, refusing her morning constitutionals and taking to her bed for days. Her husband, deeply concerned, takes her to see Professor Snape, a fertility specialist, after they still have not conceived a year after their marriage. Will Snape's unorthodox methods resolve her case of hysteria? Will he be able to help the couple overcome their inexperience and sustain the Malfoy line? https://archiveofourown.org/works/51761617

Snucius fics

Snape's worst memory. Explicit. 2.7k words.

Snape returns to his dungeon to find Harry snooping through his private thoughts in his personal pensieve. After throwing the brat out, he checks how much of his worst memory Harry witnessed before pausing to watch the remainder himself.

June 1976

It was the worst day of Severus' life. Taunted by a gang of Gryffindors, then he wrecks everything with her. To top it all off he is taunted in the middle of his misery by his own house prefect Lucius Malfoy. Can his day get any worse?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50934349

Snamione fics

Heavenly Hallows. Explicit. 4k words. Hermione desperately needs to relieve some tension, but her usual masseuse has closed their business to go travelling. Luna recommends a discrete practitioner on Knockturn Alley who offers a 'Heavenly Hallows' treatment with full body cloak wrap, hot stone massage and a rather novel wand therapy. Will it be what Hermione is looking for?https://archiveofourown.org/works/51163552

Lucissa fics

On Point. Teen. 300 words. Draco is sick of standing by while his Father parades his 'private sessions' with his personal trainer under his Mother's nose. Determined to expose what really goes on behind closed doors he borrows Harry's invisibility cloak to get to the bottom of matters. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51429127

WORKS/ SERIES IN PROGRESS

Lumione fics

Of Potions and Purebloods. Explicit. 6k words. ***WIP*** Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy are matched up by the new Marriage Law. Will Hermione even speak to Lucius, and will he pick marrying a mudblood or returning to Azkaban? Their mutual friends, newlyweds Severus and Harry, mediate between the two warring parties to try to negotiate a compromise both of them can accept. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52383196/chapters/132514348

Draco/mystery character fic

Portrait. Explicit. 3.7k words. ***WIP*** Draco inherits the Malfoy Lordship after his father dies saving him in the Battle of Hogwarts. He is left to restore the family name and fortunes, taking over malfoy enterprises. His father's study had always been a mystery to him, and with the inheritance of the Lordship ring he is now able to access all the secrets contained within. What will Draco learn about his family, and what will he learn about himself https://archiveofourown.org/works/514496539653

The Lotus series

Growing- Romione pairing. Explicit. 6.9k words. Part 1 of the Lotus series. COMPLETE

Hermione loves to kick back on a Friday night with her friends and a glass of wine. Luna notices something is wrong tonight, and does her best to help her friend through.

A tale of young love, first times, and growing up for the Golden Trio.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49913794/chapters/126012496

2. Blossoming- multi pairing fic. Explicit. 6k words. Part 2 of the Lotus series. ***WIP***

It had been a year since Hermione and Ron split up, and while he had moved on (several times), she had been almost celibate since.

Luna offers Hermione a way to get past from her dry spell, by offering to introduce her to a select members only club with a stringent privacy policy, and a Legilimens to assist new members in finding others who match their interests, rather than the standard dating profile forms.

Hermione isn't at all interested in her love life, but the prospect of finding a powerful Legilimens in Britain for the first time since the war is too enticing to resist. Could she find someone to help her reverse the damage she inflicted on her parents' minds? Is it worth risking Obliviation herself if she decides the club is not for her?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51176419/chapters/129308719