#so tall so broad so bisexual

[mamawasatesttube]

thinking about timkon time travel shenanigans again today. adult kon gets swapped with yj98 kon.

on the one hand: adult tim is faced with tiny baby kon. he isn't done growing, his cheeks still have puppy fat in them, his shoulders are nowhere as broad as they'll get one day. he doesn't even know tim's name. he has no idea he'll die in just a scant few years. he has no idea just how important he's going to be to tim! he doesn't even know just how loved he is and tim is a little bit in despair about it. he has to hug him and take care of him and protect him. that's a baby. yj98 kon is so confused (when did rob get decently good at hugging??? why does he keep staring at him like that??? and WHY does he keep trying to wrap him in his cape?????)

on the other hand, yj98 tim sees adult kon (punk. tall and broad. has a much more genuine easy confidence to him. a bit of stubble. tiddy window. hip cutouts. back window. shoulder cutouts.) and gets abruptly kickstarted into his bisexual crisis a few years early

[ghcstao3]

reverse to the previous office setting i posted in that soap is The Boss

he’s friendly, charming, hardworking. he makes sure things get done but without making everyone hate their job, yknow? he’s what many call an ideal boss (and sure, it doesn’t hurt that he’s good-looking, too), and everyone is plenty happy to work under him.

soap is pretty open about his life—save for one thing. people know he’s married, but beyond that status, nothing. it’s harder to narrow down, knowing he’s bisexual, but the office presumed whoever it is is just as bubbly as soap, someone chatty, dedicated, and many other traits of his they could all see him share with a spouse. a picture-perfect man or woman, bright-eyed and kind, surely.

one day, without notice, a tall, broad, very intimidating man is walking into soap’s office and closing the door behind. he never announces himself to anyone, no one has ever seen him before, and he’d been dressed just a bit too casually to be placed as some CEO from some other company they’re partnered with, let alone anyone here for business.

not to mention the plastic shopping bag he’d been carrying.

so, complete mystery. and he’s in soap’s office a while.

when the door finally clicks open, soap is standing with the man, hand braced on his elbow, smiling soft and subtle like no one had previously witnessed. the look on his face as he glances up at the stranger can only be described as awe and love, before he leans up to press a chaste kiss to the man’s lips and mumbles something before the man is being sent off.

so that’s the spouse, then.

he’s all anyone talks about for the rest of the week, and after that, not once do they think they ever see him again.

a complete and utter mystery, most definitely.

[romana-after-dark]

Apple

Bisexual!Dark!Santiago Garcia x fem!reader Bisexual!Dark!Frankie Morales x fem!readr Bisexual!Dark!William Miller x fem! reader

Masterlist : Taglist : Read on AO3

Summary: Based on an request. I took a little liberty here and there. You are married to Santi and you and him dabble in CNC scenes. This time, Santi enlists the help of Will and Frankie. Slowly, things start to devolve, and things get heated between the three men that was not discussed prior. This culminates when you try to safeword and you find Will's fingers in your mouth.

Contenant And Warnings: WARNINGS! DDDNE!: CNC FANASY BUT IT TURNS NON CON, DONT BE FOOLED. This is not simple a cnc scene. Safe word is stopped and ignored. Acts happen between the men that while not involving read, reader did not consent to her husband engaging in sexual acts with anyone other than her. Santi is a little mean to Frankie but Frankie is into degrading. Dick too big to take, bisexual madness, calling Frankie a puppy, desperate and needy Frankie, unintentional edging and premature ejaculation, bukkake, penetration before properly wet. IDK I feel like there should be more? LMK if I missed anything.

*I do not take requests, but if you have ideas, I'm happy to hear them and might end up using it if it speaks to me*

**********************

It all had started out as a simple fantasy, something you played with at night if Santi was gone or asleep; his life keeping him out at odd hours. Google said it was normal, having a rape fantasy; or non con/dub con as fanfiction called it, but in the real world it was just rape. Now, you didn’t want to be raped, let’s make that clear, and your husband was not a rapist, but the two of you had played around with some scenes where you were ‘forced’. Of course, the two of you always had safe words and signals that you weren’t afraid to use. You loved Santi dearly, he was everything to you and you appreciated that you could be open about your fantasies with him.

The idea had also been tossed around of sharing you with the guys. Santi’s best friend, Frankie, and the two Miller brothers were like family to you now, and you couldn’t deny they were all attractive, especially the older brother, Will. Will was tall, not as tall as Benny, but close, and he made up for it with insanely broad shoulders. He was handsome with kind eyes and you couldn’t deny you had wanted him mostly of all. Santi confirmed all the guys found you attractive as well. The sex hadn’t manifested yet, but after sharing a specific fantasy of yours, Santi had suggested this was the perfect opportunity to start.

 Now, having all 4 of them would be a lot, so Santi talked to the guys first. Will and Frankie were interested, Benny was out. He said he was in for another scenario, but CNC just wasn’t his scene, no judgment.

The fantasy was simple. A home invasion. You weren’t going to know what day, but you’d go to bed with Santi as usual and wake up to 3 masked men beginning their assault on you. You had a safe word, of course: apple . You’d use that if you needed to.

Finally, the night came. Santi had given no clues as to when it would be, but you had assumed it would be night you didn’t work the next day. Generally, you hated your sleep interrupted, especially when you worked, so Santi planned it when you could sleep in nice and good the next day. Santi kissed you goodnight, cuddling you up in his arms like most nights and you fell asleep in his loving embrace.

You woke up to a gag in your mouth and hands pinned to the bed. You tried screaming, but only half-heartedly. You recognized Frankie’s soft curls around the handkerchief over his face, and knew right away what was going on. It was finally happening. 

A firm hand slapped you before gripping your cheeks, forcing you to your husbands eyes. Will must be the one holding you down. “No need for that, bebecita” He chided. “We won’t hurt you if you behave, can you do that?”

This part was discussed, you were to keep quiet so they could take the gag out, allowing you to use the safe word if needed. Frankie was sitting back on his haunches between you spread open legs, looking hungrily between your barely clothed sex in your lacy underwear. You nodded for anti and he pulled down the gag, allowing you to get full breaths in as Frankie caressed your soft thighs. 

“Please,” You beg them. “You can take what you want, please don’t hurt me! I have a husband.” 

Frankie pulled down his sweat, freeing his massive cock from his pants and god, it lived up to the rumors. Big-dick Morales’s size was legendary, and you were getting wet just thinking about it.

“Oh baby, we’ll be taking what we want, don’t you worry.” He leaned in close, mouth up against your cheek. “You.” He nodded to Frankie, and with his leader's permission, Frankie pulled your panties aside and unceremoniously thrust into you in one go. You gasp, the air knocked out of you as you swear you felt him in your diaphragm. You weren’t properly wet and it stung, Frankies neediness taking over forethought for your preparation… but you adjust. You hear Will chuckle above you.

“Look at her, Fish. She can barely take you, how’s she supposed to take me?” 

Oh. What’s that supposed to mean?

Frankie’s thrusts were desperate, his body folding over you in a whine as he ruts into you like a dog, panting like one too. “F-fuck, so pretty, so tight… o-ohmygooood.”

“Fuck her good, Frank” Santi demanded at the bedside. “Stretch her out for Will, don’t fucking cum yet.” What did Santi know that you didn’t? Was Will bigger than Frankie? How was that possible, and how could that even fit? Will’s grip was bruising at your wrists, his hips shifting and you could feel the head of his cock rubbing against where your head lay against his lap.

“Mmmhmm” Frankie moans. “I dunno if I can hold on much longer, Pope… please”

“Fish” Sternly, Santi warns him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” His hand skims over Frankie’s sweaty, bare back.

“Pope, I ca- ooohhhhh ” With a pathetic whine, Frankie’s hips stuttered and stalled inside you, filling you up with his warmth.

“God fucking dammit Frankie!” Santi shouted in faux anger, yanking Frankie off you and shoving him to lay on the. “Lay their and get yourself hard again, you pathetic old man. Will, help me flip her. Frankie’s going to watch.” The pressure from your wrists was released, and before you knew it the pair had moved you to your hands and knee.

Santi slid in without any problems, Frankie having stretched you out good, and Santi wasn’t small by any means either. “Your poor stretched out little hole.” Santi shoved your face in between Will’s legs, forcing you to feel his hardness even though his pants as he pumped you full. “Where’s your husband now, little girl? He still gonna want you after find out you let 3 strange men fuck you?” Above you, you could hear a wet smacking… were Santi and Will… No, he wouldn’t. You hadn’t discussed Santi kissing or touching others… he wouldn't do that without talking to you.

Santi was more deliberate in his movements. As your husband, he knew just where you hit to make out cry out; the sounds muffled by Will, Will’s musk in your nose as he thrust his hips at you for stimulation.

“Desperate girl.” Will mocked you. “I can hear your wet pussy from here.”

Frankie groaned, and Santi turned to see him just where he left him, on his back on the bed with his cock fully hard again in his hand. Santi grabbed your hair, pulling you up. “Will, take off your pants. Frankie, you weren’t very nice, were you? Not making her cum. Come give her a kiss to say sorry.”

Santi was on the verge of making you cum, your wall tightening up quickly as Frankie’s unintentional edging. Frankie crawling over to where Santi had forced your face to turn as he fucked you and did as he was told, kissing you sloppily. He was a good kisser, no holds barred, exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue and it felt like he was trying to devour you. You soon realize Santi’s intentions. Santi always had a plan, you see, every move was deliberate, intentional. You feel a new hand replace Santi’s and open your eyes to see Will’s hand fisted into Frankie’s curls as well. He held you both together as he knelt naked in front of you in all his golden god-like glory, pressing his hard member two your two pairs of lips.

“Fuuuuck” Will groaned deeply. “Yeah, make it nice and wet.” You continued making out with Frankie around Will’s thrusting cock when you finally came.

Everyone could feel when you did, Santi from your pulsing cunt to Frankie and Will from the way your jaw went slack, cumming so hard you collapse onto the bed, leaving Frankie to take Will’s cock. 

“FUCK!” Santi pulled out quickly when you came, gripping both your ass cheeks and smacking them as he breathed heavy, trying not to cum. He couldn’t very well cum when he had chided Frankie for doing so. Not when he had a plan. “Enough of that.” By your hair, Santi pulled you up right, sucking bruises into your neck with his still-hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks. “Frankie, get on the ground, on your knees.” He continued playing with your body as Frankie moved, Will taking his place next to Santi. “Such a pretty little captive.” Santi shoved you back down, telling Will to do what he liked and he climbed off the bed.

Santi fisted his hands in Frankie’s hair and soon a room was filled with the soft gluck gluck gluck of Frankie getting throated. “Good puppy.” He praised. What was happening? Since when had your husband been gay? Why was he doing all these things you hadn't agreed too? You would have said yes, of course… but why didn’t he just ask?

Will, however, was taking his time. Always a patient man, he went last for a reason. He took his time undressing you fully, his heavy cock twitching in anticipation. “Beautiful, beautiful….” he murmured in reverence, fingers trailing all the way down your naked body. “I’ll go slow, princess. I promise.” He did, but it was still a lot, even after Frankie. Despite the slow start, when you had managed to take him all in he quickly sped up his actions. Fuck, it hurt. It didn’t stop hurting, tears falling down your checks even after an orgasm painfully opened your body up more. Will’s hands were all over you, groping and slapping and kneading, and it was all becoming too much. You tried to hold off, tried to wait until Will was done, but Will wasn’t going to be done anytime soon, was he?

William Miller was a patient man, after all.

It was too much, as your pillow grew wet with tears of pain, you began to say the safe word as will thumbed them away. “Ap- mmph!” Will shoved his fingers in your mouth and continued thrusting harder. You tried to talk, tried to communicate that you wanted to stop, but Will just laughed. “Putting up suck a pretty fight”

The fight was a part of the scene. Saying no was a part of the scene. The safe word was supposed to break it. You look to your husband, but he’s so lost in Frankie’s mouth he doesn’t notice. Another orgasm breaks, your body betraying you to Will’s assault. 

“That’s number three, boys, I think I made up for Frankie.” He continued fucking into you and Santi yanked his friend off his cock, Frankie chasing him even still. “C’mon, puppy boy, other side of the bed.” He tugged the other man up by the collar of his shirt, and by the way he way panting from the face fuck, the puppy nicknamed seemed fitting. 

Frankie knelt on the other side of the bed while Santi stood on his side, Will still fucking you. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes” Will, who only now removed his fingers from you. There was no point in safewording now.

“Y-es” Frankie choked out.

Will pulled out of you to your relieved sobs, the pain slowly starting to subside as the three men jerk their dicks in front of you, a chorus of moans from the men surrounding you. Their hot, warm cum coated your body in stickiness, creating a canvas of their own release on your skin. 

It took a while for anyone to move, everyone laying on the bed with you as your mind reeled from what just happened. Will couldn’t have heard you, right? He never would had stopped you from saying your safe word if he knew, right? 

Eventually, Santi drew you a bath and when he left, Will began stroking your hair. “Did so good, princess. So fucking good for us.” You wanted to vomit.

While in the bath, Santi and Will get Frankie to bed in another room, Will going to sleep with Frankie in his arms. You wouldn’t know that part, of course.

Santi cleans you off of all the cum, drains the bath and dries you off before laying you down in the bed. It was a palace of safety, your marital bed and now it was violated. Maybe you could convince Santiago it was time for a new mattress.

He dressed you in the warmest clothes, making sure you drank more water before laying down with you in his arms, cuddling like you had before this all started. “How was everything, bebita?” 

Do you tell him? Do you tell him the man he trusted with his life, the man he trusted with you, the man who had saved him and Benny and Frankie countless times in the battlefield had violated you? How would you prove it? Would Santi believe you? You couldn’t bare it if Santi doubted you… and what if you were wrong? Accusing Will of something like that? Will was a good man, wasn’t he?

And what if you were right? What if Will did it on purpose? What if Santi believed you? How could you ruin one of his closest friendships? For something you weren't even sure was intentional… just like him getting his dick sucked by Frankie… it just happened. Unintentional. Thats it.

“Good, Santi. I’m just tired.”

Santi smiled at you, tucking you into bed and kissing your cheek. “I bet. You get your rest, mi chica perfecta. I’ll be right here.”

It was going to be fine, everything would be okay. It was a mistake, that’s all. A mistake. And him and the guys… it was just tonight. There was nothing to worry about. It was the heat of the moment. You close your eyes, letting sleep take you with Santi’s arms closely around your middle. It had to be a mistake, because Santi would never let anyone hurt you, ever.

What you didn’t know was Will heard you. Frankie heard you.

Santi heard you.

But they couldn’t stop. Not with Will destroying your sweet little pussy. Not with Santi jamming his cock down Frankie’s eager throat like they’d both wanted to for decades. It was all too good. They needed to cum on you, to mix themselves together in that way; a goresque take on blood brothers. All those years, all the sexual tension, the almost kisses, the nights they fisted their cocks to the thought of their friends mouths… but they could never admit it. They could never admit to themselves what they were; they needed a vessel, an interject. Something to conduct it all together so it wasn’t so goddamn blatant. 

They needed this.

You needed this.

They needed you.

*************************

Thank you to the requester for this!!! and for your patience!!!

Remember, if you like my works, please check out tag list and masterlist!

Comments mean the world <3 Reblogs spread the work!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alwaysmicado @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @meveispunk @miraclesabound @neverwheremoonchild

[doubleca5t]

Bored tumblr radfem here to take the bait- What kind of gender feelings were you having? Magical ineffable girly feelings about wanting to wear spinny dresses and play with dolls? You know what gender feelings I was having as a young woman- Feeling afraid of the men sexually assaulting me. Wanting to be seen as a whole human being with interests and ambitions. Alienation as a gnc lesbian which made me want to chop my tits off. Those are the gender feelings I had. Very curious to hear about yours

Ok to answer your question, the gender feelings I was getting from since I was a little kid were along the lines of:

"I wish I could have been born a girl, I don't really like being a boy that much"

"women's clothes are so much better than than men's clothes, I wish I was a girl so I could wear them"

"My female friends kind of act like I'm 'one of the girls' but my male friends never treat me like I'm 'one of the guys'. I like this arrangement. I don't want to fit in with the boys."

"I wish my face was more androgynous and I wasn't as tall, that way I could dress up as a girl and everyone would be totally convinced"

"I can't stand romance stories. Unless it's a romance between two girls. Those rule. Really wish there were more of them 😔"

"I love women but I don't really relate to how cishet men talk about women. For some reason I *really* relate to how lesbians and bisexual women talk about women though."

I think you get the idea.

With that out of the way, there's kind of a second question underlying your initial question which is "what the fuck do you think is so fun about being a woman? being a woman is fucking terrible." And I think that question is worth answering as well since it's probably something a lot of people are legitimately curious about.

The short answer is that, in my experience, "womanhood" as a concept is broad and varried enough that different people are going to get different things out of it, and while all women are oppressed and traumatized by patriarchy, the way they process that trauma is VERY far from uniform.

I know lots of cis women who've been through similar things to what this anon has described, but they haven't come out of it with nearly the same perspective. They recognize that just because *they* can never be comfortable with the role that society prescribed to them, that doesn't mean that no one else can or should be comfortable with that role. They recognize that you can take joy in the aesthetics and performance of a lot of things that are stereotypically feminine while still asserting your value as a person and refusing to put up with patriarchal bullshit. And perhaps most importantly, they recognize that the notion that someone can choose their gender is not contradictory to the idea that people should not be forced into a rigidly defined gender role. There are a lot of trans men who want to look like femboys or dress like flamboyant glam-rockers. There are a lot of trans women who don't give a shit about fashion or makeup and just want to be comfortable, or aspire to look like a capital d Dyke.

And like.... Idk isn't there something freeing about that? The idea that you can be whatever gender you want in whatever way you want, patriarchy be damned. That seems like the kind of world I want to live in.

So yeah anon, I understand why you view womanhood the way you do. For someone with your experiences, it makes a lot of sense. But I don't think your perspective has to be mutually exclusive to mine. I want to live in a world where women aren't forced to present a certain way from birth, don't live in constant fear of abuse and assault by men, and aren't belittled and marginalized at every turn. I just happen to also think that the idea of biologically determined gender is just as much bullshit as the idea of systemically enforced gender roles.

[diejager]

Meeting in the same line of work as an operator. But the ‘reader’ in this scenario isn’t ‘small’. Being only just a couple inches shorter then Simon, and built quite large on the ‘bulk’ side. Spoopy Operator Girlfriend that can pick you up who doesn’t like that..? Boyfriend operator who’s used to interacting with women who prefer the feminine dainty life, now they gotta deal with reader being almost the complete opposite of what he’s used too!

(plus side of having operator girlfriend, no need to worry about being gentle, especially when their covered in scars like Simon)

Guess they can count their calories together as they get ready to work out…how many calories do you think Simon eats daily…?

I know shit about calories and being/feeling tall, but I can sure can try and live my dream in this >:]

Unusual Size Cw: fluff, implied smut, hookups, Ghost being confused, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost always thought himself as the provider in a relationship, the person who cared and protected —the shield. He always thought he preferred pretty and dainty women, like those he dated in the past or the rare and occasional hookups he brought to a motel room from the bar. They were good fucks, pretty things mewling and moaning beneath him, their pleasures spurred on by his broad stature and mask, but none were permanent, always a staple of his lonely nights. Ghost - Simon - knew who he was and what he liked —or so he fucking thought. 

You came crashing through everything he thought of himself, a straight man into small and fragile women with painted nails and rouge lips. You were unlike anything he’d every seen, bulky and tall, limbs sculpted from hardened marble and mind made of rough wires. You rivaled him in size and broadness, taller than Gaz, broader than Soap and gruffer than Price. You were a carbon copy of him in your whole attire and equipment, decked in black and blues, lifting more than anyone he’d seen and broke through men like they were made of glass, shattering them in the same velocity of a bowling ball towards pins. 

And when you shrugged off your mask, he was sure that he knew at least one thing about himself, that he was a straight and confused man, bordering on bisexual with how strongly he reacted to you appearing as a male with your deeper voice and gruffness. You were practically a man.

You didn’t need protection, you didn’t need to be provided for or to be cared for. You were as independent and strong as he was, someone he could equally depend on for help and comfort, to reach for someone he knew could take him as a whole: all his fear, all his scars, all his trauma and all his regrets. Simon knew you can take all of him, following him through thick and thin to pull him back from the depths of his mind, scattering his nightmares and bringing him into your strong arms. 

Everything came so naturally with you, he trusted you with his life, having you watch his back when he cleared a room with you, and you trusted him just as much when you smiled at him before he left for overwatch. You worked together so effortlessly, he moved when you moved, and you stopped when he stopped, step for step and act for act. It came to the point where he was never seen without you and you were always shadowed by him, stuck by the hip and fingers touching, two giants in bulk and gear stomping around base with your masks pulled up and scaring people off. It was a sight to behold. 

And in moments of vulnerability, where he once thought he had to be gentle and careful, he could fully throw himself at you without the fear of hurting you, using his whole body to press you down and his strength to hold you still, fingers bruising your scarred skin and growling out your name. He didn’t have to hold back and he didn’t have to do all the work, letting you take care of him, featherlight touches and tender kisses, praising him and encouraging him to let go. He didn’t know he liked to be treated softly, to be loved and gently handled, it was such a difference of his battle-hardened facade he put up. 

He learned that he liked being reminded of his humanity, that he was flawed and that it was all right to be a wounded being. He learned that he liked you more than he did with small and dainty women, never having to hold back and being able to let go of his control. And he learned that it was fine to not conform to the imagine people had of him, to stand out for what he liked and favoured; to trust and to love; to be cared for and to be protected; and to share his pain.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

[invinciblerodent]

a short and very incomplete list of some items that make me, a bisexual, unable to pay attention to whatever the fuck the characters are saying

The Potent Robe (and all the other robes in this style) on Gale. they make his shoulders go V. especially from a shorter PC's angle, where he looks tall and broad in addition to being just. so warm and infinitely kind, I mean come on now. Honorable mention to the jewel sitting right on top of his sternum and the intricate linework leading to it that just draws the eye to itself, so you kinda have to look at his titties.

The silly stupid useless hats that should not look good on anyone, but make Astarion's li'l ears go < >, and it's unreasonably good, especially when he like. looks up from under the brim and under his lashes like that???? no. this man? this man is wearing a be-tassel'd bucket on his head. how is he still charming. this should not work and he has no right to be charming like this.

The otherwise pretty ugly helmets that do nothing special beyond like adding +1 to STR saves and don't work on anyone really, except they Fuck Severely on Wyll, and Wyll only. this one? with his horns? it makes him look like some sort of gladiator, a wrathful Roman god of war and conquest, and what the fuck. i know just how polite and respectful he is, and the cognitive dissonance alone makes this weirdly hot.

This camp outfit. With these piercings. And this snarl. On Karlach, because seriously what the hell. No, really. What is this. She, and I cannot stress this enough, looks like every single woman I've ever fallen briefly in desperate, heart-consuming, life-altering love with at any rock/metal show, only red and on fire, which is. also hot. Look at the way the lines of that top frame the glow of the engine, and the metal accents match her vents and hair disk thingies, I mean come on. This look is that of a woman who could (and should) whisk me away on her motorcycle.

Ketheric's armor on Lae'zel. The shape language. The way the ridges of the teeth and the gold bit in the middle kind of mirror the edges of her ears. And the way the dark neckline meets and bleeds into the lines on her neck, and mirrors the lines on her face. The tarnished gold accents that match her complexion with the green complementing it so nicely. The power. The beauty. What a great look. A+. i'm doing whatever she says I should, which is a problem because she's literally asking me to make a deal with a devil.

honestly just disrespectful, the lot of them

[mrwavellswaps]

Aftermath of The Homo-Bomb (Theo)

(Make sure to read the ➡️ Prologue ⬅️ first!)

Most cases of The Homo Bombs' effects on people were the same. The majority of people affected were straight men who, once engulfed by the magic, ended up turning completely and utterly gay. So gay in fact that they were turned off by the mere thought of women and now all they wanted was to either fuck or get fucked by other men. As was the intention of Wavell’s experiment. However, as he interviewed more and more people who’d been affected by his magic, he began to find anomalies. One of those anomalies was Theo.

For a start Theo was already a gay man so he shouldn’t have been affected by The Homo-Bomb to begin with. Wavell had only programmed his magic to target straight and bisexual men and to turn them completely gay. And yet for some reason Theo’s body had taken in the magic anyway and the effects it had on him were rather strange…

———

Wavell arrived at the home of his next case. He could already sense the person inside had been affected by his magic so without wasting any time promptly knocked on the door. Of course he could do it the old fashioned way and just teleport inside but he found walking around the town and knocking on doors added to the fun of his experiment.

Moments later the door opened, slowly at first. Half hiding behind the door stood a tall beefy man. He was wearing nothing but a tight pair of jeans that did little to hide his bulge. His hairy pecs and stomach on full display as his nervous posture did little hide just how broad his build was.

“W-who’re you?” He asked, stuttering a little. It was the question everyone asked when they saw Wavell, an unfamiliar stranger in smart clothing, standing at their front door. He of course introduced himself in response, saying the same thing he said to most people. That he was sent to investigate the strange happenings in the town and he was conducting interviews with the people of the town to find out more about it. Naturally he had questions, they all did, but Wavell’s powerful aura combined with his smooth talk was able to put anyone’s mind at ease.

“So, Theo was it? May I?” Wavell asked, nodding towards the inside of the hairy hunk’s home. He smiled as the man swiftly moved to the side, opening the door fully as he offered Wavell inside his home. It was a nice place. Small and quaint. He could tell Theo loved on his own but seemed to have frequent guests over. He didn’t even need to read his mind for that one, Wavell could tell just by looking around.

Before long the two found themselves sitting in the tiny kitchen on opposite sides of a small table. As they sat Wavell couldn’t help noticing how Theo shifted his weight awkwardly. In fact he’d been doing that since he walked in the apartment. The other man simply moved in a way that would imply he wasn’t used to his own body for whatever reason…

“So to state I’d like you to state your name, age and occupation.” Wavell began as he pulled out notes.

“Well… my name is Theo Adams and I’m 25 years old…” he looked somewhat embarrassed to say that.

“I’m sorry did you just say 25??” Wavell responded sharply. This man was hot for sure but there was no way he was 25. He had daddy written all over him! He began to wonder, was this man another anomaly?

“It’s true! I promise!” Theo claimed desperately, his deep baritone voice shaking a little. “Yesterday I-I-I didn’t look like this! I wasn’t hairy a-and I wasn’t tall and I was skinny and and…” he was clearly starting to freak out. Whatever the homo-bomb had done had really rattled him.

Wavell reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Theo’s, eyes glowing as he did. “Calm down. Everything is fine now. I’m here to help you.” The warlock spoke in such a hypnotic tone and immediately he could feel Theo’s heartbeat begin to relax. “Good. Now just tell me what you do for work Theo.”

The hairy daddy looked at him blankly for a second, the magic of Wavell’s touch still washing over him. “Oh ummm… I work at a gay bar down the street. I usually just serve drinks but I dance sometimes as well.”

“There you go big fella.” Wavell smiled kindly, glad to see his aura had calmed the man down before noting that detail down. “Now the next question I have is: how would you describe yourself as a person?”

Theo sat and thought for a moment before giving his most honest answer. “I feel as though I’m the kind of person that always goes after what I want. Especially when it comes to men. I always strive to be the best at everything I do and I never settle for anything less than what I believe I deserve.”

The warlock seemed pleased with that answer. “Alright. Now onto the real question. What happened to you during *the event*. Most men have experienced alterations to their sexual preferences but I get the feeling there’s something more going on with you.”

Despite the calming effect Wavell was having on him, the hirsute man still seemed a little nervous to share. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

“Oh trust me Theo, I’ve heard my fair share of seemingly impossible stories. There’s nothing that you could say that’ll make me think you’re crazy.” Wavell reassured him. “Now come on, tell me. What did the mist do to you?”

The hirsute man found himself being pulled in by Wavell's charisma and kindness. So much so that he felt as though he could share anything with him. “Well… when I went to bed yesterday I was shorter and skinnier. I was completely hairless and I was still really young! But when I woke up I was… like this.” He gestured down at his large hairy body.

The hunk went on to explain that before all this he was just an ordinary gay twink. Though in recent years he’d grown into more of a twunk after starting a regular workout routine. Despite this he was still rather small and lean. Whenever he had free time he would always go on hookup apps like Grindr, searching for his next fuck. He knew exactly how hot he was and how many men wanted to fuck him so he took advantage of that fact as much as he possibly could. Being a total bottom slut who was always on the lookout for a dominant top who could really destroy his hole.

He’d always be seeking out big hairy daddies the most. He loved the feeling of being totally dominated by a huge masculine man who could throw him around like a rag doll. There was nothing else in the world that was hotter to him. Sometimes he’d go for big bears but usually Theo went for muscle daddies the most. They were his bread and butter and never left him disappointed.

And then one night, The Homo-Bomb hit. Submerging the entire town in a cloud of magical smoke that seemed to only affect certain individuals. Of course Theo wasn’t meant to be one of these people yet the smoke engulfed him anyway. Perhaps a result of the spell not being properly programmed or due to Kyle Wavell releasing the bomb a little too recklessly. Either way, the magical smoke had crept into Theo’s room as he slept and entered his body…

“I have no idea how it happened. I just remember waking up and feeling heavy… and itchy. I didn’t really grasp it until I pulled the bed sheets off myself and saw what’d happened. I was a skinny twink boy before but now I’ve become huge and hairy!” Theo exclaimed.

Wavell couldn’t help but be intrigued by this. “So your body underwent a sort of metamorphosis? How interesting…” He scribbled down what Theo had told him before looking up. “Not to worry. Your situation might be an outlier compared to most others but I have seen a few other people who were affected in a physical way as well. You’re not alone in this Theo.” He smiled. “Although I can’t help but draw a connection here. Before you said you always had a thing for hairy muscle daddies and now it seems you’ve become just that.”

“Y-yeah. I guess you’re right about that. The way I am now is exactly the kind of guy I would’ve gone for before…” Theo admitted, slightly embarrassed that he’d for some reason shared such a personal detail with a complete stranger.

“Well, as I said before, most people that were affected by the event found their sexual preferences being altered with the vast majority being straight men suddenly having intense gay feelings and thoughts. You however were already gay so when you were affected, instead of altering your desires, it manifested them instead. Transforming you into the very thing you desire most, a big masculine daddy.” Wavell deduced with an almost scary amount of accuracy. “Here, I’ll use a little magic to make a recreation of what happened in your mind.”

Theo was taken aback a little by that last comment. “What? Magic? What’re you-” before he could finish Wavell grabbed both of his hands and surged some of his magic into Theo’s body. The former twunk’s eyes glowed purple just as Wavell’s were as a movie began to play in his mind, showing him exactly how it’d gone down.

Theo saw himself, his old self, sleeping peace in bed when the smoke slipped in through his window. Without hesitation it seeped into his body from every orifice it could, forcing his body to start growing. It started with his height as his limbs stretched longer, pushing him from a respectable 5’10 to an impressive 6’3. But as soon as that was done his body began to expand with new size and strength. Every muscle in his body being pumped bigger by the second. Pecs swelling, legs thickening, arms bulging. Even his cock wasn’t left out as it lengthened from its previous 4 inches up to a thick 7.5 inches! His bed even began to creak under his fast increasing weight as before long Theo had gone from being a twunk to a total jock! Even his soft facial features had sharpened to give him more of a gym bro looking face.

The now jock grunted a little in his sleep but his changes weren’t done yet. Now that he’d been inflated with muscle, his body began to age. He was only 25 years old but his body soon found itself racing out of its twenties and through its 30’s until it finally settled on about 41 years old. His once jockish features now looked a little more weathered with a few wise wrinkles here and there but he still looked incredibly handsome. His hair adorned a couple flecks of grey but nothing a little dye couldn’t fix. And so at this point you’d think he was finished and yet as the last of the smoke filtered itself inside Theo’s body, it made one final change. Without warning a forest of hair grew across his entire body giving Theo a thick carpet of chest hair along with hairy arms and legs. His face even adorned a permanent 5 o’clock shadow before a thick mustache sprouted on his upper lip.

And with that the transformation came to a halt. Theo groaned a little in his sleep, with a voice now much deeper, as he tossed and turned. The magic had done what it came to do and now all that was left was for him to wake up and see the results…

“W-Woah! What was that!?” Theo shouted in confusion and wonder as Wavell let go of his hands. “I saw everything! I saw myself getting bigger and hairier… and that smoke…” He could hardly comprehend it.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just a little gifted is all.” Normally such an explanation wouldn’t be satisfactory for what had just happened and yet Theo found himself accepting it anyway. “Now we know exactly what happened to you, I’d like you to tell me how it makes you feel. Be completely honest. You don’t have to hide a thing from me.”

Theo pondered the question for a moment before reaching down and touching his hairy torso. “I guess I feel… confused? I mean, I never imagined myself looking like this. I’ve always looked in the mirror and seen a young and hairless twink… now I couldn’t be further from that. Part of me wants to be turned on when I see my reflection because it embodies everything I want in a man. Strong, tall, powerful and manly. But I’m not sure is that’s *me* you know.” He opened up a lot, letting Wavell in on some of the insecurities he’d been having since he woke up this morning. “I look like the kind of dude you’d see at the gay bar knocking back beers before taking home a hot piece of ass to fuck. But I don’t feel like that. I still just wanna get my ass fucked but I don’t know if anyone will be as interested in fucking my big hairy ass now.” He worried.

With a sigh Wavell got up from the table. “Alright get up. Stand over here with me.”

The hairy daddy was confused but he did as he was told, getting up from his seat and joining Wavell in the centre of the kitchen. “What is this for?”

“It’s to help you see just how lucky you are.” Wavell moved to stand behind the other man. He took one of Theo’s hands and guided it up towards his chest. “There. Now just rub your hand across your chest. Really feel it.” He instructed and Theo did so, rubbing his hand through the forest of hair that coated his pecs. “You feel that? All that hair and muscle? That’s something hundreds of thousands of men would kill for. And it’s yours. Thick hairy meaty pecs. Go on, keep touching them. Appreciate them and how manly they make you feel.” His smooth voice echoing through the other man’s mind

The warlock’s words seeped deep into Theo’s subconscious. “I guess… they do feel pretty good.” He admitted as both hands now began to explore his muscled chest. Rubbing across the slabs of thick meat with a little more appreciation now.

“Mmmm they do, don’t they. You just love how they feel.” Wavell stated in a factual manner that Theo couldn’t help agreeing with. “Now I want you to repeat after me; *I love being strong, I love being hairy, I love being a daddy.” He whispered the phase into Theo’s ear in a way that instantly pierced any and all mental barriers.

“I love being strong, I love being hairy, I love being a daddy.” Theo repeated in the gruff baritone he now owned. As he did he found himself starting to flex a little, admiring the strength his body now possessed within its bulging new muscles. He repeated the phrase a couple more times as he pinched his nipples before running his hands across his hairy stomach, feeling the outline of abs hidden underneath the dense fur.

Wavell grinned. “See? This ain’t so bad is it?” He chuckled. As he walked back around in front of Theo, looking down at the bulge in his tight jeans. He could only assume those were the only jeans Theo had that fit the new him and even they were tight. Not that he minded as it allowed Wavell to reach down and grip the outline of the other man’s cock. “Now I want you say; I’m a dominant daddy that loves fucking ass!” Wavell then reached a hand around Theo's waist before firmly groping his thick daddy ass. “But I also love getting my own ass fucked from time to time.”

Theo’s eyes glossed over a little as he took in every word. “I’m a dominant daddy that loves fucking ass!” He claimed as the outline of his cock began to grow and harden under Wavell’s touch. “But I also love getting my own ass fucked from time to time.” He added. Just like that all of Theo’s submissive nature was drained from his mind, replaced by a dominant mindset that made him want to feel like he was top dog in any sexual encounter. Even if he was the one getting fucked he’d want to be a power bottom so he could have all the control over bouncing on another man’s dick.

After that Wavell stepped back and allowed his words to do their magic. Simply watched while making a few more notes as Theo worshiped himself with a newfound sense of appreciation for his new body. Instead of confusion and rejection he felt love and acceptance for his hairy, muscular new form. Sure he might’ve been a little older but that was perfect! He’d always wanted people to look at him like a daddy anyway and now they would with his mature features and thick stache. Honestly the only thing he can remember liking about his old body was how cute and fuckable he looked. If he could’ve fucked himself then he absolutely would’ve!

“Holy fuck Mr Wavell! I have no idea what I was so worried about!” Theo exclaimed while bouncing his pecs with pride and rubbing his bulge a little. Loving the feeling of power and dominance that surged through him with every flex.

“This body is everything I’ve ever wanted!” He was practically jerking himself off through his jeans at this point, not being able to contain his horniness for his new body. His now fully hard cock snaking down his leg with how huge it’d grown. Bucking and pulsing with an eagerness to break free from the tight material that confined it.

“Oh? Well, isn't that lucky.” Wavell replied innocently. “But maybe you should take those jeans off before-” but Wavell wasn’t able to finish his sentence before the other man let out a long groan.

“UGGGHOOOOOOUHHhhhhh…” Within seconds a dark spot made itself known on Theo’s jeans. A wet sticky patch the grew with every grunt as his daddy bull nuts pumped rope after rope of thick cum out of his fat cock. There was so much delight on his face as he unloaded and unknowingly locked in the small mental changes Wavell had made to him. “Thank you Mr Wavell!” He said as soon as he caught his breath. “I don’t know what I felt so anxious about this before. This body is amazing!”

“It was my pleasure.” Wavell responded and as he did Theo went right in for a hug. It wasn’t something the warlock had been expecting but he welcomed it, patting the hunky daddy on the back a little before they pulled apart. “Besides, meeting you has been a big help. You’re definitely one of the anomalies from all the cases that have been recorded so far. What I’ve gathered here will prove quite useful in my research.”

Theo wasn’t quite sure what the suited man before him was going on about but he was just happy to help. “Of course! Anytime!”

“Well. I suppose I have everything I need for now so unfortunately I’ll need to be on my way. I know we haven’t talked for long but I’ve got a lot of cases to go through. However, if I need anything else I’ll be sure to stop by again.” Wavell said as he outstretched a hand.

With a huge grin Theo took Wavell’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “You’re always welcome! Maybe if you’ve got some more time we could get a few hot studs over here with fat asses for us to fuck together. I get the feeling you love ass just as much as I do.” He winked.

“You got me there.” Wavell chuckled. “I might take you up on that offer as long as my boyfriend is allowed to join us.”

“The more the merrier.” Theo responded, completely unaware of how his personality had changed. “Anyways I think I’m gonna kick back and pop open a few beers. I hope the rest of your interviews go as well as this my friend.”

With that the two said their goodbyes with Theo looking happier than ever before. Just before he went however, Wavell thought he’d do the guy a quick favour. With the flick of his wrist Wavell transformed all the clothes in the house so that they’d fit the new Theo, saving the man any trouble of having to buy a new wardrobe. Once that was done he found himself back out on the street once again and checking over his notes.

Theo Adams. 25 years old. Headstrong individual but seems to fall apart when put in situations he can’t easily fix. Was already completely homosexual prior to the Homo-Bomb and seems to have been affected by it in an abnormal way instead. Has physically aged by about 15 or so years. Has put on substantial muscle mass. Has grown substantial body and facial hair. Has expressed having a deep sexual desire for older hairy men with strong physiques. I believe this to have a connection to the transformation caused by the Homo-Bomb as he seems to have become the exact thing he desired most. Is having trouble accepting his new form and believes it to be compromising to his identity. To combat this I’ve used a little magic on his mind and subconscious to help him settle into his new body and fulfil the role he and the Homo-Bomb manifested for him. In conclusion Theo is certainly one of the few anomalies present around town. I can only guess that my magic targeted him by mistake somehow and when it found his desires were already homosexual, it instead decided to turn him into the object of those very desires. But of course this is still speculation…

Wavell seemed pleased with what he had for this particular subject. He still wasn’t entirely sure what about his experiment had caused anomalies like this but he hoped as he gathered more results that the answer would become clear. ‘I wonder how Dane’s getting on?…’ he thought as he made his way down the street towards his next interview.

If you enjoy my stories please consider supporting me via Patreon! It would mean the world! ❤️

[zaceouiswriting]

The new guy

Characters: Sean Walcott x male reader, Liam Dunbar x Ethan, and Aiden Steiner, mentioned Theo Raeken

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

You leaned against your locker, not hearing a word Liam said to you. All your attention was on someone behind him. You could only see Liam gesticulating wildly out of the corner of your eye. Until he lightly hit your arm. It snapped you out of your daydream.

“What’s wrong with you?” Liam asked you, irate. The only thing you could remember was him complaining about his boyfriends treating him like a child. In your opinion, if he didn't want to be treated like a child, he shouldn't act like one. “Is it the new guy?” he suddenly asked you.

You gave him a dismissive look and averted your gaze, but your flushed cheeks told Liam enough. Even without it, he was never one to give in easily.

“His name is Theo. He is 173 cm tall. He has dark brown hair and sapphire blue eyes. He is bisexual and has dated a girl named Amanda and two guys, Josh and Eric.”

You stared at your friend in amazement as he casually listed everything there was to know about that stranger.

“Do you also know what underwear he wears?”

“Calvin Klein, black with white edges.”

As you move your head to look at the guy again, you can see that there is no way to see his underwear like that.

“How?"

Only a second after you asked that question, Liam looks up from his phone with a raised eyebrow. It answers all your questions. Although he can't sit still for long and has massive anger issues, Liam can also be obsessive. If he wants to know something, he will find out. Even if only so he can put it aside and switch between dozens of different activities again.

Before you can say anything else, he hands you his phone. There are dozens of pictures of the new guy: Shirtless, some even in just his underwear, and two where he is fully naked. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. His chiseled body, broad shoulders, thick pecs, and thighs captivate you.

"He's literally the hottest guy I've ever-"

“What are you two talking about?” a voice suddenly asked you from behind.

The voice startled you so much that you threw the phone. You didn't even have to turn around to know who was behind you.

Turning around, you wanted to lie, but when you saw the phone in your boyfriend's hand as he smiled dangerously at you, all that came out was a loud gulp.

Behind your boyfriend Sean were Ethan and Aiden, Liam's boyfriends. At first, Liam didn't see them. But when he realized what was going on, his face turned pale because he knew he was in deep shit. You could see him trying to escape, but his boyfriends were faster. When they caught him, they brought Liam to your side.

Liam and you stood on one side, while your boyfriend and his two stood on the other side looking at the pictures of the new guy on Liam's phone.

"So this is your new "history" obsession?" Ethan asked mockingly, looking down at Liam's phone in Sean's hands.

“Yes, but-“

"Liam," an annoyed voice similar to Ethan's said warningly. It was Aiden's voice, and he was clearly fed up. "Why? You already have the two of us." He pointed aggressively towards his brother and himself.

"Nobody knew anything about him, and he never wanted to tell anyone. I just couldn't. It was getting on my nerves," Liam confessed quietly.

Aiden's annoyed expression softened, obviously knowing how his boyfriend could take it. Even his brother mockingly nudged him for being too soft, but Aiden didn't go down to his brother's level, at least not where everyone could see them.

Just as relief washed over you, a strange feeling came with it. When you looked around, you saw your boyfriend glaring at you. Without a word that needed to be said, you knew it was your moment to be questioned.

“So you think he’s hotter than me?” Sean asked you, clearly unhappy with the words you’d used.

After taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes briefly and composed yourself. When you opened them again, your resolve was strong again. “We both know you're hot, a nine and a half out of ten, but this new guy? He is a ten out of ten, literally, the perfect picture of the American boy.”

Sean just shook his head, smiling softly. He knows your likes and dislikes in bed and normal life. When he saw the guy's pictures, especially the naked ones, he knew he was more your type than him.

“His last name is Raeken,” he said, his voice monotone. “He moved here with his parents after his sister died a month ago. He doesn't want to make friends here because he is still plagued by grief. He’s on our lacrosse and football teams while maintaining good grades.”

You were freaked out because he knew more about him than even Liam, and he's a master stalker. Sean was easily approachable because of his boyish face and charm. Theo probably spoke to him on the first day. Your boyfriend has this aura of peace and wisdom around him, perhaps because he's been through a lot. After all, he narrowly escaped death the night a burglar silently killed his entire family. That's why it didn't even surprise you that someone with Theo's past told Sean and no one else. After all, to you, he was the perfect boyfriend, a gentleman.

“If you’d like, I could ask him to meet with us.”

“What?“

“Theo has already shown interest in you. He asked me about you after training last week. When I told him you are with me, he looked sad and apologized profusely. He wanted to ask you out.”

For a moment, you thought you were in a dream. You looked between all of your friends and then at Theo, who tried to look at you discreetly, but after your eyes met for a second, he quickly averted his nervous gaze.

“No,” you said unconvincingly, “I am with you and would never give into desire.”

With a strange smile you've never seen on your boyfriend's face, Sean comes up to you and pulls you into a warm hug.

“It’s okay,” he told you ominously. He gently intertwined his hand with yours, leading you away from your friends. But somehow, you had a strange feeling that something was about to happen that could destroy something you hold dear.

[Masterlist]

[gerrystamour]

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

Rated E | Steve/OMC, Steddie | Complete

Related to i could be honest, i could be human

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

August 1985

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about I show you, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve shrugged, looking away from Tig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like Iron Maiden?” Tig asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was flattering, embarrassing, and extremely hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was too much all at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The expression on Tig’s face was hungry and with another push from Steve, he started to fuck him properly.

It was hard and fast, and a lot of it hurt but Steve could take it. He was happy to, with the way Tig was groaning, calling him sweet names and telling him how good he was, how well he took cock, like Steve was made for it. Steve was crying, tears streaming down his face as he met each hard thrust, sobs tumbling from his lips as he nodded and pleaded for more.

“Touch yourself, princess, gonna come soon,” Tig growled and Steve didn’t wait to be told twice.

Wrapping a hand around himself, he only managed two quick pumps and then he was coming, letting out a sound best described as a scream. Behind him, Tig groaned and fucked Steve’s hole as it spasmed around him, thrusts growing erratic until he snapped his hips forward one last time with a surprisingly soft exclamation. Steve shuddered as he felt the warmth of Tig’s release fill the condom inside him, new tears spilling from his eyes at that intimacy.

Tig dropped to his elbows above Steve, draping himself over Steve’s back as he ground his hips against him. The sensation of Tig’s softening cock moving against Steve’s twitching, aching hole pulled a hiss from Steve. With a chuckle, Tig lifted himself up and off of Steve, pulling out with a wet sound that had his ears turning red.

There were several moments where Steve was alone in the bed, maybe even alone in the whole room while Tig muttered something about dealing with the condom. He stayed where Tig left him, chest against the bed, knees under him to keep out of the wet spot, and another wave of tears welled up. He wasn’t upset, he knew that much, that he felt honestly amazing despite the ache in his pelvis. So why was he crying?

Steve thought back to one of the first girls he ever slept with, the way she had cried when they were done. He thought about Nancy’s quiet melancholy after their first time.

“You okay, Steve?” Tig asked, and Steve jumped at the gentle touch of a warm washcloth against his tender ass, wiping away some of the lube.

“Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair in a bit,” Steve replied hoarsely, chuckling lightly.

“Steve, if you think I’m not cuddling the shit out of you after taking your ass virginity, you’re literally insane,” Tig said teasingly, yet firmly and Steve blushed.

“How did you know?” he asked, barely keeping a flinch at bay as he flopped onto his side to look up at Tig, who was smirking.

“I didn’t. I suspected, and you just confirmed,” Tig chuckled, laying on his side next to Steve and facing him. “You could’ve told me.”

Steve shrugged a bit. “I didn’t want you to treat me like I was fragile,” he admitted, shrugging and wiping his tears off his face. “I thought you’d stop me if you knew.”

“Steve, I was pretty sure you’d never had your ass even touched the first time I fingered you,” Tig replied with a smirk. At Steve’s questioning look, Tig said, “you got that look on your face when I found your prostate that kinda screamed that you didn’t know that was there.”

Steve blushed, remembering the way he jolted and stared wide-eyed at Tig. “That’s fair,” Steve admitted, chewing his cheek.

“It’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t handle, so if you said ‘hey Tig I’ve never done this but please don’t stop’ I would’ve happily still fucked you,” Tig said, cupping Steve’s cheek gently.

“Noted,” Steve sighed, smiling tiredly at Tig who leaned in and kissed him, deep and sweet.

October 1985

Steve ended up getting Tig’s number as he was leaving the next morning, and while he didn’t call often, they still formed a solid friendship. The lines of that friendship blurred whenever Tig would ask Steve when he was going to come back to Indy, and Steve would immediately say his closest day off.

There was once that Steve stayed at Tig’s place for two nights in a row. They hadn’t even gone to the bar, Steve just went straight to his apartment.

It was a lot of fun, and Steve had quickly figured out the answers to his questions. Was he actually interested in men? Yes, emphatically. So it wasn’t just his confused, concussed brain being weird about Eddie? No, absolutely not.

And Steve really liked Tig, could see himself loving Tig someday even.

Tig, however, was already there.

Steve could clearly remember the moment he realized that Tig had fallen harder than he did.

They were laying in Tig’s bed, and Steve had set an alarm to leave extra early so he could still make it back to Hawkins to give Robin a ride to school. He was going to go home the night before, but he was talked into staying until the morning.

Steve moved to slide out of the bed and Tig’s long arms wrapped around him, pulling him back in with a sleepy whine.

“Don’t go,” Tig murmured sleepily, kissing Steve’s shoulder.

Steve laughed and rolled in Tig’s arms to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’ve gotta get back. I need to drive my sister to school,” he explained again and Tig captured his lips sweetly.

Even in the moment, Steve felt something different between them, something naked and vulnerable that wasn’t even there when they were having sex.

“Seriously, Tig, I gotta go,” Steve murmured against Tig’s mouth with a laugh, wiggling out of his embrace so he could start grabbing his clothes off the floor.

“Can’t anyone else take her to school?” Tig asked, his tone lacking the teasing tone it usually had, and Steve looked over his shoulder at him with a frown.

The expression on Tig’s face was open and unbearably soft and dread sunk into Steve’s gut. He knew that look because he had seen it enough times in the mirror when he had thought about Nancy when he was first dating her, when he decided to throw away even trying to get into college right after high school.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” Steve asked with a little smile, trying to laugh it off as if Tig was just goofing off.

“I just like having you here,” Tig confessed, reaching out to touch Steve’s arm gently. “I want you to stay.”

The weight of that sentence was crushing.

Tig’s expression closed off a bit when Steve did not react the way he had possibly hoped, and the guilt Steve felt was overwhelming. He would give anything to feel the same way, to want to stay the way Tig was asking him to and he wanted to say all of that. All Steve could do was turn his face away and mutter a soft, “shit.”

Behind him, Tig chuckled hollowly. “Yeah, shit,” he said before he scoffed. “Is it because of that guy back home? You were able to pretend you were fucking around with him until the feelings got too real?”

Steve flinched. “No, Tig. It has nothing to do with him,” he bit out as he stood up, fighting back guilty tears.

“Then what is it?” Tig was sitting up in the bed, jaw set with hurt and anger.

“Jesus fucking Christ, why are you doing this right now?” Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to actually talk this out with you.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Tig said flatly, not even angrily. Steve looked at him, somewhat alarmed at the suggestion, and Tig was looking at his bookshelf. “You can leave and we just go our separate ways.”

Steve stared at Tig, his mouth hanging open before he closed it with a click. He should just turn and leave, just as Tig suggested. He could do that, and justify it as doing as he was asked.

But Steve was never very good at running away.

“I’m sorry, Tig. I really am because I wish I felt like that for you. I hate that I don’t, I feel sick about it,” Steve said in a rush, looking down at his hands while he gathered his thoughts. “You’re one of my closest friends, you know things about me that only my sister knows, and if I could choose to fall for someone, I would choose you, Tig.”

“That makes no sense,” Tig argued, and Steve couldn’t blame him.

They shared so much, had been vulnerable and genuine and open in ways Steve hadn’t even felt with Robin in some ways. Yet there was this wall between them in the shape of Demogorgons, Demodogs, and Mindflayers and all the trauma that came with those. Over the months, there were days where Steve knew he couldn’t stay the night with Tig because the chances were good that he’d be waking up with a screaming nightmare. There were several times he canceled a trip out entirely because one of the kids was slow to respond to a check-in and Steve knew the entire weekend was toast.

And if he managed to fall for Tig the way he wished he could and Tig asked him to stay again, Steve couldn’t leave the kids until he was certain the Upside Down was gone. How could he possibly explain to Tig that he was going to stay in his homophobic hometown where his father lived for the kids he babysat? Especially since they were all plenty old enough to not need a babysitter?

There was an ocean of monsters and confidentiality agreements between Steve and anyone who was blissfully unaware of the evil alternate universe under Hawkins, and he couldn’t cross it while he was still barely staying afloat himself.

“You’re right, it doesn’t, but just… those are the facts,” Steve said weakly, his lip trembling. “I love you and need you in my life, but just… not the same way as you, and I promise I hate myself so much for that.”

“Steve, stop, I don’t want that,” Tig said and he shifted to sit at the edge of the bed and wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and pull him into a tight hug. “I don’t want you to beat yourself up over how you feel.”

“Why are you comforting me right now?” Steve asked, his voice pathetically small as he wrapped his arms around Tig’s shoulders.

“Because I’m hurt over something you can’t control, and you’re hurt because I was mean,” Tig said, his words a bit muffled against Steve’s chest. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Steve let out a shaky sigh of relief, sniffling slightly as he petted Tig’s hair. “I think I could love you like that if I had more time,” he said softly, tipping his head back to blink up at the ceiling, tears falling back into his hair. “There’s just… a lot that I’m dealing with that I can’t tell you about.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tig sighed, then he tipped his head back to meet Steve’s gaze solemnly. His eyelashes and cheeks were damp with tears, and Steve’s heart broke again. “I can’t wait for you, though. And I’m not a strong enough person to keep sleeping with you either.”

“That makes sense,” Steve said, wiping Tig’s tears away. “Can I still call you to talk sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Tig said sweetly, smiling a bit. “And you better say hi when you come back out. No avoiding me because you think you’re doing me a favour.”

Steve laughed at that, even if it hit a bit too close to the truth of his character. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied instead.

“One more kiss for the road?” Tig asked, and he looked like he regretted asking the moment it left his mouth, but he let the question stand.

Steve nodded and stooped to press his lips to Tig’s. It was a soft, chaste, and desperately sad kiss that tasted of tears when it inevitably deepened.

Pulling away, Steve stepped out of Tig’s loose embrace and finished getting dressed.

“I’ll just see myself out?” Steve said as he grabbed his overnight bag and went to leave.

“Wait, Steve,” Tig stopped him, and when Steve turned to look at him, he was grabbing something off the desk next to the stereo. Crossing the room in a couple strides, he handed it to Steve and said, “I made this for you.”

Steve stared at the cassette case in Tig’s hand with wide eyes. No one had ever made him a mix-tape, but Tig had and was giving it to Steve, even though Steve broke his heart.

“You still want to give it to me?” he asked.

“It’s yours, Steve. I made it for you, so it’s not for me to keep,” Tig reassured him, and Steve took the mixtape.

“Thank you,” he said, and it sounded pathetic to his own ears.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” Tig said, and he turned away from Steve to go back to his bed. Steve could tell he was wiping away more tears.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed and he left Tig’s room, closing the bedroom door behind himself and hurrying out of the apartment to his car.

Once he was in the Beemer, he inserted Tig’s mixtape into the tape-deck. The moment the first song started, with the almost upbeat synths over hard guitars, Steve knew it was a tape of all of his favourite songs he’d noted as he listened to the various metal bands Tig liked.

Steve smiled, even as he teared up all over again and started the lonely drive back to Hawkins.

May 1986

Over the following months, Steve and Tig stayed friendly. They still called each other to talk, and sometimes Tig invited him out to Indy, but they were strictly friends without the additional benefits. Tig was almost always on the arm of another guy when Steve would arrive at the bar and usually left before Steve was done dancing and scoping out the possibilities.

Steve was popular with the alternative crowd, partly because of the three months he spent on Tig’s arm he was sure. He belatedly came to learn that Tig was actually fairly well-known in the scene in Indy, and by extension Steve was too, at least a little bit. That revelation had worried Steve at first, that it would hurt Tig if he fooled around with his friends and acquaintances.

Tig put a stop to that worrying one night when Steve was reluctant to flirt with a guy Tig encouraged to approach him.

One day in February, Tig invited Steve out to Indy specifically to meet his boyfriend Charlie.

They were adorable together, already settling into domestic habits that hinted at their future together. Charlie was a bit older than Tig and owned a home, which is where they hosted Steve when he visited. While he didn’t outwardly appear to be as deeply into the metal scene as Tig, when Charlie rolled up the sleeves of his sweater Steve was treated to the sight of tattoos covering every inch of his skin.

As Tig set Steve up in the guest bedroom that night, he asked nervously, “What do you think?”

Steve had blinked at him, confused. “About what?” he asked.

“Charlie,” Tig said, laughing and rolling his eyes. “What do you think about him?”

“I think I’m jealous you found him first,” Steve said with a smile at Tig. “He’s a great guy. You deserve him.”

Tig glanced away with a smile so fond and happy that Steve’s chest ached with how much he cared about Tig. He was so pleased that Tig got the happy ending he truly deserved, the one he never would’ve gotten if he stuck around waiting for Steve.

“I think I love him,” Tig confessed quietly, and Steve laughed.

“You just think you love him?” he asked skeptically and Tig covered his blushing face with both hands.

“Okay, fine, I’m definitely in love with him,” he mumbled into his palms and Steve grinned.

“I definitely think he’s just as gone on you, too,” Steve said after a bit, and Tig looked at him nervously.

“You think so?” he asked, and it was weird seeing Tig so off-balance and timid.

Steve pulled Tig into a tight hug, who returned it even tighter. “I know so, Tig,” Steve said firmly.

When Steve left the next morning, he promised to bring his sister to meet them when she was on spring break in a few weeks.

Between the world almost ending and waiting for Eddie to wake up, Steve had forgotten to call Tig and let him know what was up. He didn’t even think about the fact that the earthquake had made national news until a couple weeks after Eddie was discharged.

Steve was covered up to his elbows in flour in the kitchen when the phone started ringing, and he cursed a bit.

“I got it,” Eddie called from where he was lounging on the couch next to one of the receivers. Picking it up, he drawled in an almost sickeningly sweet tone, “you’ve reached the Henderson-Harrington-Munson household, how may I direct your call?”

Snorting a bit, even as his gut fluttered at Eddie inserting himself in the home he created with the Hendersons, Steve started to wash his hands.

Eddie hummed. “Hey man, slow down—Steve’s right—yeah, he’s just in the kitchen, alright? Hold on,” Eddie said in a calming voice, and Steve looked over his shoulder with a frown. His boyfriend was returning the expression, an eyebrow raised high as he pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out. “It’s for you, Stevie. His name is Charlie?”

“Oh, shit,” Steve gasped, hurrying across the phone to take the receiver from Eddie and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Charlie, I am so sorry. I can’t fucking believe I forgot to call you guys—”

“Steve, it’s okay, Jesus, I’m just relieved to hear your voice,” Charlie said with a quiet laugh, and then there was a bunch of noise on the other line as if Charlie was fumbling his phone in his hands.

Then the rustling noises stopped. “Steve, what the fuck?” Tig practically growled over the line.

“I am so sorry, Tig—”

“Do you fucking understand how out of my mind I’ve been? There was a huge fucking earthquake! We felt it all the way out here!” Tig said, properly shouting at Steve. There was no heat in his voice, only weeks of anxiety and worry being released, but Steve still flinched a bit.

“Tig, I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, I just need you to dial back the volume,” Steve said and instantly Tig took a deep breath.

“It was all over the news, about half of Hawkins being fucking leveled, and a ton of people still being missing, and there was some murderer running around?” Tig started again, this time much quieter but no less upset. “And then we couldn’t get through to you at all.”

“Yeah, the phone lines were out for a while,” Steve said weakly, chewing his lip.

“When we did get through, a woman answered the phone and said you were at the hospital?” Tig added and Steve groaned.

“That was Claudia, and she didn’t mean I was injured—” Eddie made a stern noise and poked Steve gently in the side, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his point across. “Okay, I was injured, but I wasn’t at the hospital for that. I was there for Eddie.”

There was a long pause. “Like, Eddie Eddie?”

Steve felt his ears heat up a bit. “Yeah, that one,” he replied, and he could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “He was at the hospital until the end of last month—”

“Wait, wait, is he the same Eddie that was on the news, with the murders and shit?”

Steve tensed up, his stomach sinking at the thought that Tig might have bought into the bullshit. “He had nothing to do with those,” he said firmly, his anger already crawling into his voice.

“Shit, Steve, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. We only really got the news about the murders after everything else happened,” Tig said quickly and Steve slowly relaxed again. “Seriously, most of the news on that shit was a lot of ‘hick town recalls witch hunt on innocent nerdy metalhead following massive earthquake.’ I just meant if he was the same Eddie that was in the news as one of the Creel survivors.”

“Yeah, the very same,” Steve confirmed, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, Tig, I should’ve called. There was just a lot going on.”

Tig sighed as well and Steve could hear Charlie murmur something. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I was just so fucking scared, Steve,” Tig said, and Steve could hear the tears in his voice.

“I know, it’s okay,” Steve said softly.

There was another pause before Tig asked, “So when can Charlie and I expect to meet him?”

Steve laughed loudly, tipping his head back. “He’s still healing. I’ll let you know when we can make the drive.”

“Sounds good,” Tig said before he sighed. “Don’t ever leave me off the post-emergency phone tree ever again, Steve, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Steve agreed instantly and sincerely. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, talk to you later. Love you,” Tig said, and Steve grinned.

“Love you, too, man,” he said and hung the receiver up. When he finally turned to look at Eddie, the other man was staring at him with his brow furrowed.

“Who was that?” Eddie asked.

“My friend Tig and his boyfriend Charlie,” Steve said with a shrug as he got up to go back to the kitchen. He knew that wasn’t the full answer Eddie wanted, but Steve kind of liked the way Eddie would get huffy at his vague answers.

“Okay, obviously I gathered their names and that they were boyfriends, but how do you know them?” Eddie asked as he got up shakily and followed Steve into the kitchen. When Steve looked over his shoulder, he saw Eddie standing in the doorway of the kitchen and leaning heavily on his cane.

“I met Tig in Indy, and then I met Charlie when Tig started dating him,” Steve replied as he got back to his baking.

“Is Tig one of the guys who popped your cherry?” Eddie asked and Steve grimaced.

“Okay, first off? Don’t say that phrase, it’s gross,” Steve insisted before looking at Eddie. “Are you going to be weird if I say yes?”

“I’m already weird, Harrington,” Eddie replied airily with a sniff.

“Fine, he was the first guy I did almost everything with,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes when Eddie let out a devastated noise behind him.

“I hate him,” Eddie claimed without any amount of sincerity and Steve just laughed as he heard Eddie shuffle back to the couch.

April 1987 - Bonus Track

Eddie was never nervous before a show.

Sure, he was jittery and scatterbrained, and even a bit short-tempered. But nervous? No. Being nervous would imply he didn’t think the band was talented or something. Plus, nowadays they had Steve around, helping them out with moving and setting up their equipment since Eddie couldn’t lift and haul things around like he used to. Having Steve’s steady presence helped ease any nerves anyone in the band might have.

Not Eddie though, because he was never nervous before a show. Not even this one, their first show since the world almost ended and their first show in Indy since ‘84. This show that was actually sold-out because apparently being framed for murder and then allegedly surviving being targeted by said murderer did wonders for your reputation as a metal band.

“Dude, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg, you’re gonna get exhausted before we even go out there,” Jeff said, gingerly grabbing Eddie’s knee and stopping the movement.

Eddie nearly snapped at him about it, but just barely stopped himself. Of course, Jeff was correct because now that he was stopped, he was forced to acknowledge the ache already settling into the muscle beneath the scar.

“What’s your deal anyway?” Gareth asked point-blank, because yeah. Eddie wasn’t acting normal.

The deal was that Steve apparently knew a fair bit of the metal scene in Indianapolis better than Eddie did. He even knew the bartenders there and a couple of the other bands that were playing that night, too. He didn’t stick around chatting very long with anyone, but it was obvious he was weirdly part of the community. Hell, when they arrived at the bar, there was practically a chorus of “Steve”s from the bartender and patrons alike.

The deal was that Eddie knew Steve had fooled around with a couple of these people, and that woke something possessive and territorial in his gut.

Eddie had understandably taken the first opportunity to say ‘mine’ as subtly as possible.

Which obviously meant he wasn’t subtle at all.

Shucking off his battle vest, Eddie held it out to Steve expectantly, clearly telling him without words to wear it. A wordless command to show all his metalhead friends who he belonged to now.

Steve had looked at the vest, then slowly lifted his gaze to Eddie’s face with a raised eyebrow and a very small part of Eddie worried took it too far. However, without breaking eye-contact, Steve took the battle vest and, in front of all his metalhead friends, shrugged it on over his leather jacket. Steve looked down at himself as he straightened the vest out, but when his gaze returned to Eddie, there was a simmering heat in his eyes that set Eddie on fucking fire.

Then Steve just turned around to sidle up to the bar for a drink.

“I’m just excited, Garebear,” Eddie said, and it wasn’t actually a lie. He was excited to perform, to show the world—or at least this dive bar in Indy—what Corroded Coffin could do, to prove that nothing could hold him back from the stage.

Eddie also just wanted to get through their set so he could get his mouth on Steve and mark him as his even more. He wanted to bite and scratch and bruise perfectly tanned and freckled skin, wanted to spell out PROPERTY OF EDDIE MUNSON with the marks. Eddie wanted to make Steve bleed, make him feel it for days so he couldn’t possibly forget who he belonged to.

And Eddie knew that wasn’t necessary, none of it, because he knew Steve was his, and Steve knew that too, happily reinforced that almost every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. Even beyond the sex they had. They were absolutely secure in their relationship together, and neither of them were worried about the other breaking what they had off.

Eddie just wanted the world—or at least this dive bar in Indy—to understand that. He wanted them to understand it and despair that they would never get to have Steve like they used to.

“Okay, now you look pissed,” Frank finally spoke up, and Eddie groaned. Couldn’t a guy have his revenge fantasies in peace?

“I’m fine! I’m excited! I’m just getting myself in the zone! Fuck off!” Eddie exclaimed, and then finally they were allowed to take the tiny stage.

The other guys took the stage ahead of Eddie, letting him take the stairs at his pace with his cane. Jeff was talking to the crowd to warm them up as Frank and Gareth got set up, and he introduced Eddie to what was actually a deafening cheer.

Seriously, being framed for murder and then gored by Demobats was the best thing to happen to his reputation with the people outside of Hawkins. He was absolutely wearing a tattered Iron Maiden shirt and jeans so full of holes they barely counted as pants, all just to show off the twisted knots of scarred skin.

As Eddie took his spot at the center of the stage and leaned back on the stool the bar provided, he immediately scanned the crowd with his eyes and instantly found Steve. He was still standing near the bar and cheering loud enough that his voice rose above the rest of the din.

Steve looked delicious, standing there in a shitty dive bar, wearing denim and leather like he actually belonged there. Steve had even indulged Eddie and let him put some eyeliner on him. That had made them almost late leaving the shitty little hotel room they were renting.

Grinning toothily at Steve, Eddie turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. “Hello Indianapolis! Been a while since we’ve been here,” Eddie said with a teasing lilt, shrugging as he looked back at the rest of the band. “Nothing too eventful happened for us, right guys?”

The crowd all snickered and cheered, and that was Gareth’s cue to count them in. Eddie stood up fully as he came in on the opening guitar riff, frowning as his leg twinged but it was easy enough to push through and the pain passed quickly. He should be able to get through most of the set standing as long as he didn’t do anything too wild while playing.

Despite generally being the face of Corroded Coffin, Eddie wasn’t the main vocalist. He shared that spotlight with Jeff, and he did a majority of the singing. Eddie was the lead guitarist, which meant he handled a lot of the more difficult guitar riffs and that was typically easier to do when he wasn’t focusing on vocals at the same time.

While performing, Eddie kept finding Steve in the crowd, meeting his gaze and smirking at the way Steve was so thoroughly engrossed in the performance. Steve had watched them practice and rehearse, but he’d never seen them perform and Eddie was fairly confident Steve enjoyed it.

Eddie did a bit of a flourish near the end of the next guitar solo, swiveling his hips in a filthy rolling grind behind his guitar. The movement had pain zapping through his thigh, but he was okay, he was perfect, because Steve’s mouth had dropped open and Eddie knew the man was blushing.

Once the song was over, Jeff started talking to the crowd again and gave Eddie a look that clearly said ‘sit the fuck down for a minute’ and Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course, he did sit on his stool because his leg was not happy after that little move with his guitar.

Eddie looked out toward Steve, who was frowning slightly at seeing him sit, but he smiled brightly when their eyes met.

Then a tall man with long blond hair walked up to Steve and touched his arm. Even from his vantage point on the stage, Eddie could tell the man was gorgeous with features so defined he looked like he was carved from stone. Steve turned his head, and Eddie was excited to watch his boyfriend rebuff the literal god vying for his attention.

But then Steve’s entire face brightened and then he hugged the man. Steve fully wrapped his arms around him, their bodies pressed flush against each other, and Eddie’s head filled with static.

The man pulled back, gestured at the vest Steve was wearing, and Steve just laughed and gestured at Eddie on the stage. When Steve’s gaze met Eddie’s, he froze under the weight of Eddie’s possessive glower.

Only a handful of songs left and then he could get down there himself to handle that situation.

Eddie did not look away from Steve for the rest of their short set, making promises with the heat of his gaze and the way he moved his hips as he played. The man leaned close to say something directly into Steve’s ear and Eddie could definitely tell his boyfriend was blushing, even from that distance.

That possessive, territorial thing inside Eddie roared to life and it took everything in Eddie to not end the set now and drag Steve into the nearest bathroom to mark him so deeply that the asshole wouldn’t even look at Steve again. He wanted to choke Steve on his cock before he bent Steve over one of the sinks and fucked his perfect little hole with only lube to ease the way. Wouldn’t even prepare him with his fingers, just bully his way in and fuck Steve until he sobbed. Eddie wanted Steve to feel his cock in his guts for days.

Three songs later, their set was done and Eddie barely put his guitar away in its case before he was striding across the bar to where Steve was standing with the blond man.

Steve looked over at him as he approached, his smile almost timid under the heat of Eddie’s possessive gaze.

“Stevie!” Eddie said with a toothy grin as he practically boxed Steve in against the bar. “What’d you think?”

“You were amazing,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless as Eddie leaned into his space and pressed his pelvis against Steve’s hip, letting him feel just how badly he wanted him already.

Eddie turned to finally acknowledge the blond man, and this time he noticed a second man standing with them, his hand in the blond man’s back pocket.

“Who are your friends, Stevie?” Eddie asked in a sickeningly sweet voice and Steve blushed deeply.

“This is Tig and his boyfriend, Charlie,” Steve replied and Eddie’s head filled with static all over again.

Tig, the man who fucked Steve first, taught Steve how to suck cock, got Steve into metal music, the very man Eddie declared a nemesis that he hated.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Eddie said, his tone perfectly pleasant in his opinion and Tig just smirked down at him.

“And I’ve heard lots about you,” Tig said knowingly, glancing at Steve. “Well before you guys finally got together, even.”

Now that had Eddie curious, but Steve kicked Tig's boot to shut him up. Tig stepped backward quickly and actually stuck his tongue out at Steve, revealing a tongue piercing. Looking back at Steve, Eddie’s mouth dropped open as he watched his boyfriend ogle the piece of hardware in Tig’s mouth.

Steve licked his lips as he looked at it, his eyes a bit hazy as he clearly thought about that piercing and what Tig likely did to him with it.

Eddie’s ears were ringing as Steve finalized plans for the next night with the other two men, and finally he was able to drag Steve to the dingy bathrooms at the back of the bar. Eddie barely got the door shut and locked behind them before he was devouring Steve’s mouth with a loud growl, hand curled tight in Steve’s hair.

His other hand made quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them out of the way until his cock was free. With another growl, Eddie shoved Steve to his knees and his boyfriend immediately opened his mouth with a needy moan.

Eddie wasted no time pulling Steve onto his cock, guiding his perfect pink mouth up and down the hard length of it. Steve groaned at the rough treatment, his eyes fluttering when Eddie twisted his hand in his hair. With another possessive growl, Eddie buried his other hand into Steve’s hair and pulled until Steve whimpered and tears sprung to his eyes. Eddie fell back against the door, his bad leg shaking and threatening to buckle. Eddie wanted to scream; he was so frustrated, his head thumping against the door as he prepared to pull Steve off his cock before he collapsed.

He couldn’t even fuck his boyfriend’s throat in the bathroom of a seedy bar?

Without missing a beat, Steve crawled just a touch closer and then hoisted Eddie’s bad leg onto his shoulder. When Eddie looked down at him, Steve was looking up at him through damp lashes, the eyeliner smudged around his eyes and streaking his cheeks.

It was filthy, and perfect, and now they didn’t have to stop.

With a wicked grin, Eddie pulled Steve further onto his cock, hitting the back of his throat and making him gag which was still one of Eddie’s favourite noises.

Barely giving Steve enough time to recover, Eddie set a punishing pace for several thrusts before sliding his cock into his throat until Steve’s nose was buried in the hair at the base. Eddie loved to hold Steve there almost as much as Steve liked to shake with the effort of keeping his throat open while his breath ran out. Eddie loved the way Steve’s throat fluttered around his cock, the way Steve’s whole body would heave as his gag reflex was belatedly triggered. He loved the way the fingers wrapped around his thigh squeezed hard enough to bruise

Eddie was desperately close, so he pulled back to let Steve breathe again, and then he went back to fucking Steve’s mouth. Steve whimpered loudly, wantonly, his eyes rolling back as Eddie took what he wanted from him.

With a hiss, Eddie came hard and sudden, his cum painting Steve’s tongue before he bullied his cock as deep as he could to finish down Steve’s throat. Steve choked, his whole body shuddering with it, but when Eddie tried to pull him off, Steve refused to move.

Steve, the absolutely perfect boyfriend he was, sucked and swallowed around the cock in his mouth until Eddie was nearly sobbing with the stimulation. Only then did Steve let Eddie pull him off his dick.

When Eddie’s eyes focused on Steve’s face, he moaned at the sight of him with eyes half-lidded and smeared with black eyeliner, his chin coated in spit and cum. Steve openly played with the pool of spend still in his mouth before swallowing it loudly.

“Jesus, Eds, should’ve brought you out here to meet Tig a hell of a lot sooner,” Steve teased as he slid Eddie’s leg off his shoulder so he could stand. “You’re never that pushy.”

“Well, we’re not always in your slutty stomping grounds, now are we?” Eddie shot back and Steve just laughed.

“I was a slut in Hawkins too—”

“Not with other men though,” Eddie pouted, sniffing indignantly at Steve’s full laugh. Then Eddie started reaching for Steve’s pants. “C’mon, your turn.”

“Eds, you think you could just hold me with your cock down my throat and I wouldn’t fucking cream my pants?” Steve asked incredulously and that just had Eddie’s cock valiantly trying to wake back up.

“We should get back to the hotel,” Eddie said after a few moments.

Steve just smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” he asked knowingly.

“I need to make sure you have a decent limp to your step when we go to dinner at Tig’s tomorrow,” Eddie replied simply as he reached down between them to pull his pants back up his hips and do them up.

Steve just grinned and nodded, adjusting his pants a bit before practically carrying him out of the bathroom and then out of the bar.

FIN

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amaretto

Miguel/Reader | Explicit | Chapter 1/?

a/n: I brought this blog back from the dead to post this so I hope y’all enjoy. Gonna be a few chapters but not sure how many yet. Femdom reader, Bartender Miguel basically. Horny and angsty modern NYC AU, no powers. Bit of a slow burn (ish). Enjoy lol

***

The Basilica is, for all intents and purposes, a mediocre bar.

There’s a pothole steps away from the bar’s entrance that customers have to maneuver past in kitten heels and designer sneakers, and the embossed metal sign at the front of the door is almost completely covered in rust. It’s clearly an establishment that’s too pretentious to be a dive bar, but not exactly up to code enough to be an upscale cocktail bar either.

Recent attempts to rebrand the place as a hole-in-the-wall speakeasy have been successful, meaning that it’s now the common haunt for every art history graduate student, Bauhaus enthusiast, and unattainably gorgeous bisexual poet in lower Manhattan who’s willing to spend 17 dollars on a drink.

You stumble across the small chipped navy blue door after a brutal day at work. The patrons at the luxury handbag store you have the distinct displeasure of interacting with were particularly snippy today, and your pair of not-yet-broken-in oxfords feel more like a prison than a fashion statement at the moment. You need a drink to help forget the past ten hours ever happened just so you can do it all over again tomorrow. You’ve never heard of this place, but you don’t feel like getting on the subway just yet and looking for a bar that’s closer to home. This vaguely sketchy place will have to do.

The cozy interior of The Basicilia smells of cigar smoke and melting wax. Lit partially by candlelight, the brick walls and small antique cherrywood tables feel distant, yet homey. There are large gothic-style lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, and servers expertly move through the crowd carrying stainless steel trays full of thick-cut fries and bowls of green olives.

Despite the bar being relatively full, only one other person is sitting at the actual bar when you approach it—everyone else appears to be relegated to the various tables and benches strewn about the space, or hugging the walls holding glasses of craft beer.

With all of the fuss that sitting down on a stool, pulling off your winter coat, and hanging your things on a hook underneath the bar causes, it takes you a moment for you to see him.

But you do.

There’s a blur of movement in the corner of your vision as a tall man in a black button-down with rolled-up sleeves vaults over the bar wall and stalks over to the other end of the restaurant before knocking on a solid black door with the sole of his boot.

“Hey! You awake in there? They need help running food!” The man shouts, not waiting for a response before rushing back across the room and climbing back into the bar.

The sound draws a few eyes, but no one appears to be shocked—it seems to be a common occurrence here, judging by the way the person who appears to be the manager steps out of the previously kicked door looking bleary-eyed and sheepish, a pair of noise-canceling headphones around his neck and a set of keys jangling at his belt.

But your attention has been drawn elsewhere.

The man is tall enough to reach for a bottle of Belvedere vodka on the top shelf to hand to a nearby barback without straining. You notice his hands first—broad, veiny, with nails cut down to the bone. There’s a bandage wrapped around the middle finger on his left hand. A smattering of hair on his triceps, which are all muscle and sinew. And two tattoos—-a fang on his right bicep, and a bundle of marigolds on his left forearm. He leans onto the bar table to address you, his button-down snug around his chest.

Jesus fucking christ. If you had a drink you would certainly spill it.

“What are you getting,” he says—his voice raw from shouting, you assume—and his voice trends downward at the end of the sentence, as if he doesn’t want to ask you, as if it isn’t a question. You can’t even pretend to be offended—working in the service industry is a thankless task, and you know that well enough. But even you can admit that the level of tension in his jaw and the shuttered look in his eyes is disconcerting in a way that has to do with more than the fact that he presumably hates his job.

“A mojito, please,” you say, with less confidence than you’d normally have. You’re used to sitting at bars alone and making conversation with the bartenders, but tonight doesn’t seem to be going in that direction.

“A mojito?” The man repeats, and you know it’s the wrong choice somehow. Other than an almost imperceptible eye roll, he nods, turning his back to you to grab the right ingredients.

Still. It makes you curious.

“What’s wrong with a mojito?” you ask, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. It’s like his entire being is on constant guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop–you can see it in the way he turns back to look at you, his jaw set as he sets down a collins glass and starts picking damp mint sprigs out of a chilled metal container.

“First time here?” he says, and again, it isn’t a question. He places the mint leaves on a paper towel to dry before rubbing them on the rim of the collins glass and putting them in a separate pint glass.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with a mojito?” Normally you’d take your cue from the bartender and quit trying to make conversation, but something about him makes you want to poke and meddle, like touching a live wire with the tip of your finger.

“Nothing.”

“I won’t get offended. Is this one of those ‘what your drink of choice says about you’ things?” you probe, leaning onto the bar top. The other conversations seem to fade to a lull in the background of your mind, your sights set on tormented brown eyes and tense, broad shoulders.

“No.”

“Because that kind of seems like what this is—”

“No.”

“Then what is it? If you don’t mind me asking. I hope I’m not committing a major bar crime, or something.” He clearly minds, and the sigh he lets out is nothing short of torturous sounding, but he seems to indulge you anyway. You briefly register his hands reaching for various cups and bottles at an even tempo, his movements intentional as he makes your cocktail. He crushes mint and lime and sugar together with a blunt tool before opening a carafe of ice. A shiver runs through you, completely against your will, as you watch him work. You’ve always had a soft spot for competence.

“It’s more of a practical thing,” he explains, and you settle onto your stool, sensing a tangent incoming. “Mojitos aren’t complicated to make, but they take time. They have a lot of moving parts. And then once one person orders it, I get ten more people who saw me making it asking for it too, and I have to start the process over again. And then more people order it, and next thing you know I’m making mojitos for the rest of the night.”

“So when I ask for mojitos at other bars and they say they’re out of mint, are they lying?” you tease. He places your drink in front of you then, topping it off with a mint spring and a lime wedge at the rim of the glass.

“...Every bartender hates you,” he says in response, leaning in, and you give him a soft smile, sipping from the glass. It’s one of the best drinks you’ve ever had.

There isn’t an ounce of enjoyment to be seen in his eyes, or in the shadows of his face. But you swear you see a flicker of something there, like something that has long since lain dormant coming back to life—if only for a second–before it dissipates.

“What’s your name?” you ask, pushing your luck. Any spark that had once been lit is extinguished. He backs away, the lanterns from overhead casting shadows across his features that make him look like a stranger again. You silently curse yourself.

“I don’t do that,” he shakes his head, before venturing to the other end of the bar to help a seemingly new bartender whip up a martini. You wait patiently, watching the way his mouth moves and his hands gesture as he corrects the bartender on their…technique, or something. You have no idea. From afar, he looks equally as intimidating, if not more so. The lines of his body don’t indicate any kind of softness, and his shoulders are slightly hunched as if he’s ashamed of himself. You wonder if he does bicep curls in a concrete room for hours until he sweats out all of the vulnerability. Or maybe he runs from it, in the early morning, breath labored and lungs aching until his sneakers are worn out.

“You don’t do names?” you ask him as soon as he returns, and his time he doesn’t even pretend to hide his exasperation, rolling his eyes again before resting his elbows on the bar so that his face is inches away from yours. Your heart lurches. A quick glance around rewards you with a few of the patrons regarding you with a vague amount of interest—and concern.

“Listen. I’m not a therapy session bartender,” he says with enough disdain to cause your eyebrows to raise in surprise. “I like the theory of it. The drink making. That’s it. Talk to that guy,” he continues, gesturing to a fellow bartender with a man bun and gauges who’s currently chatting up the only other person sitting on the other end of the bar. “He’s chatty.”

This close-up, you can see the dark circles around his eyes, his slightly chapped lips. You get a brief urge to trace the wrinkles across his forehead with the pads of your fingertips, but you hold off, of course. The man seems like he’s too old for anyone. He’s lived a million lifetimes.

“I don’t want to talk to that guy,” you say, feeling emboldened. I want to talk to you. “No offense.”

Something in his expression flickers back to life once more, like a butterfly trying to fly without one of its wings.

“Miguel,” he says after a while, sounding pained. You tell him your name, and he gives no indication that he’s registered it.

“Do you wanna open a tab, or close it?” Miguel asks then, and his voice sounds weightier.

“...Keep it open.”

***

The bar is sweltering, but the cold, sour tang of the mojito keeps you cool as you watch Miguel make his way across the bar to help mix drinks for other patrons. You feel pinned to your stool somehow, like a bug under a microscope, even though Miguel doesn’t spare another glance in your direction. The music in here is alright, but not noteworthy. You wish you had someone to dance with.

The bartender with the man bun makes you another mojito before you can say otherwise, but it tastes different somehow. Too much mint maybe. Not enough bitterness. Miguel’s theory seems to be wrong; you scan the bar for other tall glasses with sprigs of bright green mint and find none. After brief consideration, you decide not to bother him any further by informing him of this fact.

The bar gets increasingly more crowded as the night goes on, and it becomes abundantly clear that Miguel isn’t going to check on you again. You want to believe it’s because he’s too busy, but you wonder if you made the wrong impression somehow. You wonder why you care. You hate that you do.

You settle your tab and gather your things before buttoning your coat and setting off into the night. Your two drinks have muddled your senses just so, but not enough to be completely disorienting. On the precipice of happy, maybe.

As you zip your coat up to your chin and walk down the sidewalk, you think about going home to your studio apartment and cuddling with your cat Cinnamon. You think about hopefully getting a few hours of sleep before the workday comes back around in the morning to swallow you whole once again. You think about the harsh line of Miguel’s jaw, about the fact that he’ll likely forget about you come morning.

“Every bartender hates me,” you repeat to yourself—a truly harrowing fact—before shaking your head and walking down the steps into the subway.

a/n: lmk if you enjoyed/if you wanna see more—mwah x

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price dress rehearsal for Victoria Regina (1935)

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 2 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - As you arrive at Spencer’s ranch, an intrusive look around his home offers some insight into the stranger. Meanwhile Spencer has his injuries seen to whilst taking a nostalgic glance down memory lane.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - antidepressant medication, smoking, hospitals, mentions of Spencer’s past canon injuries, pain relief, bisexual Spencer and talk of sexuality, a rundown of Spencer’s past sexual encounters, brief mention of past drug addiction and Maeve, mentions of casual sex, talk of prison, broken bones.

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 2 - Take Me Home, Country Road

As promised the large creature led you to the strangers ranch, but at her slow gait it had taken almost an hour to travel four miles. It was a pain to drive so slowly, feeding her slices of apple and carrot out of the car window every five or so minutes. 

By the time she led you off the main road and up a dirt path, your hand was almost black from feeding her. 

You travelled a little further up the path until you came to what you assumed was the lodge Spencer had told you about. 

You slowed the car to a stop and cut the engine, opening the door and sliding out before giving Willow the final piece of fruit from the bag. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” You nodded at her, tentatively reaching up and patting the side of her face. 

She mewled and nuzzled against your hand in appreciation. It might have been the first time you let your guard slip a little. 

She was huge and imposing, terrifying from the offset to someone who had never spent any time around horses. But now as you looked at her, really looked at her, you saw her beauty.

She was a stunning greyish blue, with slight dappling in her coat. Her mane was nearly black, long and sleek. Her large eyes were a deep brown, almost as intense and alluring at her owners.

She was broad and tall, intimidating yet graceful. She made a soft snuffling sound as she slowly turned around and started trotting in the direction of the lodge. 

You quickly followed her, making a grab for one of her reins in case she wandered off somewhere she shouldn’t. She led you passed the old lodge and further up a slight incline to where the ground levelled out again and you caught sight of where she was heading. 

Up ahead was the stable Spencer had told you about and she took you right to it. Upon reaching it you unlatched the large barn doors and heaved one opened, Willow already making a move inside. 

As told there were two more horses inside, one brown and one jet black and both slightly smaller in size than Willow. They eyed you up as you passed by and you tried to keep your head down. 

There were three empty paddocks, two of which you could tell weren’t in use. Willow knew where to go and led you to her own. 

She was content in being motioned inside and once her whole body was in, you closed the fence behind her, latching it like the others. 

She headed straight for the trough of food - despite the snacks you’d bestowed on her - and happily started munching away at her dinner. 

The black horse was near his own fence, eyes boring into you as you offered Willow another pat on the side of her back. 

The darker horse seemed wary of you, making little grunts of disapproval at your presence. The auburn horse didn’t pay you too much attention.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.” You held your hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving, don’t worry.” 

You backed out of the stable, keeping your eyes on the dark stallion as you went. Once outside you were quick to close the doors and fix the latch in place. 

Spinning around, it was too dark to make out the extent of his land. Given that he had at least two lodges, a stable and he’d mentioned cattle you assumed had must have a reasonable amount of acreage. 

You padded back toward the lodge you’d passed earlier and fished out the keys. You really should hit the road, you could drive down to Mexico before Spencer was even released from hospital. When they inevitably rang you, asking after the fake name you’d given, you could tell them they had the wrong number.

Or simply ignore the call. 

Staying in one place for too long could be dangerous. However Spencer’s ranch was certainly secluded, no other buildings or claimed land for miles you would ascertain. So if you had to lay low somewhere for the night, this was probably the best place to do so. 

You climbed the creaky wooden stairs to his lodge and located the largest key on the loop before slipping it in the lock. You pushed the door open and fumbled for a light switch. 

Finding one and flicking it, the room was suddenly awash with light and you had to blink a few times at the onslaught. 

Adjusting to the light you glanced around the small quarters. The floor and the walls were all the same wood as the outside and it was furnished minimally. 

There was a single leather couch beneath the back window and a small coffee table in front of it stained with coffee rings. A newspaper sat folded neatly on the corner, upon closer inspection you frowned curiously at the copy of The Washington Post dated today. 

Next to the couch was a large bookshelf that spanned from floor to ceiling and books were packed in so tightly it looked fit to burst. Another stack of books was on the floor next to it, unable to stuff a single extra hardback on the shelves.

You run your fingers along old, cracked spines. His collection covered everything from War and Peace in its original Russian, an extremely old and battered copy of a book titled The Log of a Cowboy, to poetry anthologies and books on behavioural profiling. 

Eclectic and diverse, neither things you expected from a cowboy. 

The key to his second lodge hung by the door like he said and you should take it and leave. But you’d always been a little too curious, couldn’t stop yourself from continuing around the small abode.

To the right of the door was a kitchen, if you could really call it that. It was essentially a small breakfast bar separating it from the living space and another counter that held a microwave and an stove top that looked as though it had never been used. 

On the breakfast bar was an empty mug of what you presumed had once held coffee judging by the smell and an extremely outdated cell phone. There was a book next to it, closed with a sliver of paper sticking out you presumed to mark his page. There was a fridge which you couldn’t help but peer into - he did tell you to help yourself - but it was mostly baron. 

It held a half empty glass bottle of milk, a small tub of butter, two sad and lonely looking microwave meals and a couple of half eaten tubs of Chinese take out. 

Closing the fridge you dared breach beyond, stepping past the fridge towards a closed door. You opened it and stepped into his bedroom, switching on another light. 

His king sized bed took up most of the space and was made with near military precision with an olive green bedspread. The pillows were neatly fluffed and the sheet tucked crisply over the top. 

The bed on one side was pushed up against the large window with its blinds tilted almost fully closed. Without opening them, you peered between the slats but given the darkness outside you couldn’t see much of anything. 

The side of the bed that wasn’t cast against the wall had a nightstand next to it with another six or seven books piled up on it, almost entirely obscuring an old alarm clock. 

There was a wardrobe in one corner which you pushed forward to and swung open its double doors. 

Most of the clothes were reminiscent of what you’d seen him wear today: various cuts of jeans in different washes, multiple plain t-shirts in a variety of colours, several more denim shirts in both blue and black and an array of flannel shirts in all kinds of colours. 

Rifling through them a little, you did come across something more curious. 

At the back of the closet hung several knitted sweater vests, a couple of crisp button downs and two pairs of black slacks. You found them to be out of place in this man’s closet, and given their proximity, hidden away at the back you found it a little strange.

There was something soft and plush on the floor, kicked towards the back but you ignored it. Shaking your head you closed the closet and turned back into the room. 

On the other wall was a desk with a small stool tucked underneath. On the desk was yet another stack of books - you didn’t peg a cowboy to be as big of a reader - and two framed photographs.

The photographs were the only personal touch in the place. You picked up the first one and studied it. The man in the image was most certainly the injured cowboy but he looked to be at least ten years younger you would surmise. 

His hair was a little shorter, still messy and curly. He had his arms wrapped around an older woman with short white hair you could only hazard to guess was his mother. It was just a head and shoulders shot but you could vaguely make out he seemed to be wearing a sweater vest similar to one in his closet.

The other photograph was of a group of eight people, four men and four women. Spencer was in the middle, one arm slung around the shoulders of a blonde woman dressed in bright, garish colours with thick rimmed glasses and his other around the shoulders of an older man with grey hair and a grey beard. 

Aside from the grey haired man, they all looked to be around a similar age, and they were all smiling brightly at the camera. In this picture you could see Spencer was wearing a pale pink button down, tie and black slacks. It looked to be fairly recently, maybe no more than a few years old. 

You scanned the faces and your eyes narrowed on the man on the end who had a large goofy smile on his face and an arm slung around the shoulder of a woman with raven hair. 

He was latino, with jet black hair swept off of his face. His large dark eyes were expressive and his smile reached all the way to them. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, brow furrowing as you took in the details of his face. 

There was something about him that caused a knot to form in your stomach but you couldn’t place it, couldn’t put a name to what you were feeling. 

Shaking your head again and replacing the photo on the desk you glanced around again. 

It was clear he lived here alone. There were no feminine touches, nothing to point to the idea that he shared his home with someone else, woman or man. The bed even dipped a little on one side, a clear indicator that it was only slept in by one person. 

You carried on through to the bathroom but it wasn’t until you started going through his medicine cabinet that you realised what an invasion of privacy this was. 

This man had been nice enough to give you a place to stay for the night when you’d been belligerent. He’d offered you his home while he was in hospital and you were repaying him by snooping in his life. 

And now you stood in his bathroom with a half empty orange pill bottle, the label of which read Paroxetine.

Returning it to the cabinet and closing it, you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that was pulsing through you and without really meaning to, you pulled out your phone and googled it. 

Paroxetine - Brand Name: Seroxat - is a type of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). It’s often used to treat depression, and sometimes obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), panic attacks, anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). 

You read the words in your head, hand gripping the phone tightening. Now you felt guilty. You should not have been rummaging through his things like this, unearthing secrets about a man you barely knew. 

But now you did know he suffered from some kind of mental health issue and you would have to see him again and pretend you knew nothing of it. You couldn’t imagine living out here on his own like this was helpful to his mental health. But it wasn’t your problem, not your concern. 

You forced yourself to leave after that, the guilt clutching at your chest for snooping in the first place. You grabbed the keys to the spare lodge, switched the lights off and exited this stranger's home. 

You stepped out onto the porch but before you could get too far you lowered yourself to the top step. Your firearm which was still tucked into the back of your pants shifted a little as you did so. 

You pulled out a packet of cigarettes from inside of your jacket. You weren’t a regular smoker but on occasion you enjoyed the relief that came with having one. 

You lit one and took a long drag on it, staring out at the quiet expanse of land rolling out into the darkness. 

This was so far removed from anything you’d ever known, this way of living was so out of the realms of normal to you. 

You’d been born and raised in the city, surrounded by people and tall buildings and a constant swell of traffic on the roads. Your life was always bright and loud, chaotic in a sense. But this place brought about a certain peace. 

You watched the smoke dance up into the still air and as you followed it, your eyes landed on the sky. Out here, away from all the light pollution of the big city, you had an uninhibited view of the stars. 

You felt your chest tighten in a kind of whimsy. You’d never experienced the sky in such a way, unhindered, uncensored. You’d never had a chance to just sit and watch the sky, take in the beautiful pin pricks of light that decorated the dark blanket above you. 

It was so quiet. The only sounds you could discern were the tiny crackle of the cigarette paper as you took a drag and the occasional snuffle coming from one of the horses in the stable. 

In a sense, you could understand why people choose to live like this. It was tranquil, soothing. You almost felt yourself cleansed as you sat there. 

Maybe you could put Mexico on the back burner. Perhaps this place was the perfect haven for you to remain hidden away and maybe you’d even get some clarity and peace of mind while you did so. 

That was to say, if Spencer was okay with you hanging around. He seemed to be a loner type, living out here alone with his horses and cattle. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate an uninvited guest. 

But you had saved his life in a sense, didn’t he owe you? 

Being out here in this sleepy sanctuary, the quiet and the pull of nature were only part of the appeal. The injured cowboy who had opened his home to you was not at all hard on the eyes, quite the opposite in fact. 

And on top of that he intrigued you. There was something in his eyes when he looked at you that told you he’d seen some things. There was a slight crack in his foundation, a chink in his armour which was further proven looking around his home. 

There was a reason someone had such few personal items, causes for a person to live so far off the grid like this. 

You dragged on the cigarette as your brows furrowed in contemplation. Perhaps he was running from something just as you were. Maybe the two of you weren’t so different. 

He most certainly had a story to tell and for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you wanted to hear it. You wanted to bury yourself deep in the tale of this lonely cowboy by the name of Spencer Reid. 

You finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor before descending the stairs and stamping it out with the heel of your sneaker. Returning to your car you popped the trunk and grabbed out the small duffel bag before heading back up past the stable to the other near identical lodge. 

Somehow this one was even more sparsely decorated than his own. There was a single couch, no coffee table and no bookshelves bursting at the seams. The kitchen layout was identical minus the microwave and upon further inspection the fridge was empty and unplugged from the wall. 

The bedroom had a small double bed, but much like his own it was made with precision. This one wasn’t pushed up against the window like his own but in the centre of the room. There were no nightstands, no desk, just a small chest of drawers in the corner. 

You dumped your duffle bag on the bed and kicked off your sneakers before padding through to the bathroom. As he said there were clean towels hanging on the back of the door. It only occurred to you then that you’d been driving for days and hadn’t showered since the day you jumped in a car and left everything behind. 

Making quick work of stripping out of your clothes, setting your gun down next to the sink and switching on the shower, you were soon standing under the flow of warm water. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling the breath through your nose as the water coursed around you.

The water pressure left a lot to be desired but it was a decent temperature and it would at least clean you. There were little bottles of what appeared to be hotel shampoos and body wash lining the bathtub which you helped yourself to.

You washed your hair before turning your attention to your body and cleaning yourself thoroughly after days spent inside your car. You massaged the aching muscles of your neck and shoulders, lathering up the body wash as you did so. You stretched your back and your limbs, only really now taking heed of how sore you were from being confined to your vehicle for so many hours. 

You supposed you couldn’t complain, imagining what Spencer was going through in the hospital. 

You finished your shower and got dried before changing into a pair of shorts and tank top from your duffel bag. You carefully untucked the sheet from one side of the bed and slid beneath it. 

Your eyes closed as soon as your head hit the soft pillow. You sunk into the mattress, the smell of clean linen wafting around you. 

You were asleep within minutes of crawling into the strange bed. 

***

Given the late hour in which he’d been admitted, as Spencer suspected he was required to spend the night in the hospital. 

He was taken for x-rays of his knee, back and arm and pumped with fluids via an IV to combat his dehydration. 

It had grown awkward rather quickly when a nurse tried to offer him something for his pain and he’d had to explain that he didn’t take opioids without actually having to explain why. 

The pain was manageable at least in comparison to some other times he’d landed himself in hospital. But if he could refuse morphine after being shot in the neck, shot in the knee and whilst suffering from anthrax poisoning, he could go without now. 

He accepted a couple of Tylenol to help him rest while he awaited the results of the x-rays and honestly it did help. It eased the aching in his back and the pain in his extremities enough for him to close his eyes and drift a little, although he didn’t quite reach the allusive REM stages sleep. 

With his mind more at ease he was consumed by thoughts of you, the stranger that had saved him from being eaten alive by desert critters and potentially his own animal companion. 

It was only really now he allowed himself to dwell on just how breathtaking you were. He’d told you he thought you were pretty, but that was doing you a disservice. 

It had been more years than Spencer could count since he’d last been so taken by another person. His history when it came to physicality or matters of the heart was painfully thin, more a pamphlet than book. 

Ethan had been the first person he’d ever had romantic feelings towards when he was just a teenager. It was also with Ethan that he’d first explored sexually. 

Up until his kiss with Lila Archer in her pool he’d assumed himself to be only interested in men. She was the first woman he’d ever been attracted to and their kiss had certainly sparked something within him. 

Years later, after Gideon left, after his battle with dilaudid, somewhere between accusing his father of murder and getting shot in the knee, he reconnected with her during the course of another case in LA. After a few drinks and some not-so-subtle flirting on her part, he found himself in her bed. 

She was the first woman he’d been with sexually and still to this day there was only one other woman he’d been with in that way. After Maeve’s death he’d been in a bad way and had ended up in the bed of a woman he met in a bar. It was nice, maybe more perfunctory than anything, but then again he’d felt the same with Lila. 

He was certainly attracted to both of the women and had been towards other women over the years - he’d thought Elle Greenaway to be beautiful and as much as he hated to admit it Cat Adams had a certain allure. And of course there had been Maeve, who he’d been consumed by without even seeing her face.

He often wondered if they’d had a chance to meet if their intimacy would have been different, perhaps because they had a deeper attachment with one another. But in his limited experience he’d never quite connected to a woman the same way he did with men. 

Again, it wasn’t to say he had a wealth of experience with the same sex either. After Ethan there was a long gap in Spencer’s sexual history, the next time he was with another man was long after Lila. It was a casual thing, he supposed it was a booty call kind of arrangement that never really did sit right with Spencer, yet he continued it for almost half a year. 

And then more recently he’d been involved in something more serious with a man for the first time. They’d started dating prior to his arrest and the relationship had continued after his release. 

However, Spencer’s time spent on the inside had driven him into the dark recesses of the human mind. What he’d experienced in prison caused him to view sex and intimacy in a different light. 

Even after months of therapy and medication being prescribed, Spencer was unable to allow himself to be intimate with his boyfriend and as such the relationship had ultimately ended. They managed to remain friends, more out of necessity than a true desire to do so, but things had never been the same. 

Since his incarceration, the idea of relationships of a physical or emotional variety, regardless of gender, had been off the table for Spencer. Part of the appeal of moving out to Bandera in the middle of nowhere was the social isolation. 

For years he’d been content on his own, not happy but honestly he wasn't sure he’d ever really been happy per se. But it was entirely probable, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was incredibly lonely. 

Since moving to Bandera two years ago he’d barely had any interaction with anyone, let alone anything meaningful. He went to the store once a week for groceries and exchanged pleasantries with the kindly elderly lady that worked the check out line. He had encounters with other ranchers in town when he saw them, mostly conversations pertaining to cattle rearing and farming.  

He spoke to the old members of his team on the phone from time to time although the longer he was gone, they calls became few and far between. Penelope called him more than the others, usually once every few weeks and they would spend a good amount of time talking about everything and anything. Jennifer called once a month, sometimes there was longer between the calls and Emily and Rossi phoned him once in a blue moon.

He had the rare text exchange with Matt and Tara and, even less frequently Luke, but it had been a long time since he’d heard any of their voices. 

So for the most part, he was alone, his horses and cattle his only company. But that had been by design, Spencer intentionally shut himself off from the world to save any further disappointment in his life or the having to explain why he was such a damn basket case to anyone. 

And then you appeared on the side of that abandoned stretch of road and saved him from uncertain death. You had ignited something in Spencer he thought had long ago been burned out. And now maybe the idea of being alone didn’t appeal to him quite so much anymore. 

But of course he inevitably would be. You’d made it clear that you were in a hurry to get somewhere and certainly wouldn’t be sticking around longer than you had to. Perhaps it was for the best, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of sharing his neuroticism with you. 

He was awoken from his drifting by a young doctor with friendly eyes. She introduced herself as Doctor Rhodes and offered Spencer a cup of water which he gratefully took despite his IV fluid intake earlier. 

She had a folder under her arm which she opened now, he could see the x-rays peeking out from within. 

“You should consider yourself very lucky, Mister Reid.” She began.

There was a time when Spencer would have corrected her misuse of his title but since relocating to Texas he’d left his honorific behind in an attempt to feel more normal.

Internally he was screaming, Doctor Reid, it’s Doctor Reid, not Mister! Externally he remained silent. 

“The swelling in your knee is already subsiding and it doesn’t appear that you’ve done any muscle or tissue damage. It may be sore for a few days, but it should get better over time. Your spinal x-rays didn’t show any damage either, the radiologist did note some bruising on your lower back but again the pain should ease up.” She informed him with a smile.

“Thanks, it’s easing up already a little.” He nodded stiffly.

“As for your arm, you have a hairline fracture in both your ulna and radius at the farthest distal end of the bones.” She held up an x-ray of his left arm and Spencer squinted, making out the small area in which his arm had broken thanks to the wild horse. “Again, this is a very favourable outcome, I see a lot of injuries of this nature due to the number of rodeos and ranches nearby and I have to say this is very minor in comparison to what could have happened.” 

“Okay, that’s good.” He nodded again. “So, what, I need a cast or something?” 

“Had it been more severe you may have needed surgery to fix the brake but in this instance a cast should suffice. I imagine six weeks in a cast at most and you should be good to go, Mister Reid.” 

Doctor, Doctor Reid.

“Can I still ride? I don’t have any other form of transport other than my horses.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“That would really depend on how competent of a rider you are. If you think you’re safe to ride one handed then that’s really your call. I would suggest, given the fall and the residual pain you might be feeling in your patella and lumbar, to give it at least a few days before you attempt to get back in the saddle, literally.” She chuckled at her own bad pun. 

Spencer’s own lip quirked a little at the corner. 

“Okay super.” Spencer nodded. 

“I’ll send in a nurse to get your arm set and then I don’t foresee any reason you can’t be discharged. I’ll write you a script for some more Tylenol,” she glanced at her notes with a small brow furrow. “I understand you turned down anything stronger?”

“I, uh, I have a history with opioids. I’d rather not go into it.” He shrunk down a little in the bed. He didn’t need to go further into detail, it was clear what he meant. 

Doctor Rhodes offered him a slightly melancholy smile and a nod of her head, closing the folder and slotting it back under her arm. 

“Say no more. I’ll send a nurse in as soon as possible and then barring any complications you should be able to go home.” 

“What time is it?” He frowned. He’d lost all sense of time, had no idea how long he’d been drifting on the cusp of sleep for. 

Doctor Rhodes raised her left arm, shirked her lab coat out of the way and checked her watch. 

“A little after six am.” She spoke as she glanced back at him. 

“Oh man,” Spencer pulled a face feeling suddenly disorientated. “I had no idea I closed my eyes for so long.” 

“Dehydration can have that effect. You should be feeling much better now we’ve pumped you full of fluids.” Rhodes smiled once more, giving a brisk nod of her head before turning on her heels. “I don’t want to see you back here after another botched animal rescue okay?” 

Spencer chuckled lightly to himself, nestling his head back against the pillows. 

“I make no promises.” He yawned as he spoke. 

A small titter met his ears and seconds later Doctor Rhodes was gone. 

***

You were rudely awoken from an extremely peaceful night’s sleep in a ridiculously comfy bed by the sound of your phone ringing. 

You had to drag yourself out from between the soft sheets to locate your jeans where your phone was cradled in the pocket. 

You pulled your legs under your body on the cool hardwood floor and blinked a few times at the device before answering the call. 

“H-hello?” You croaked, eyes heavy with sleep and your head spinning in unfamiliarity. 

“Miss Parker?” A female voice assaulted your ears. 

You frowned, closing one eye and inhaling deeply. 

“Uh…sorry I think you have the wrong number.” You grumbled, rubbing at your forehead to ease the confusion. 

Light swarmed the room through open blinds and you took in the neutral decor trying to ascertain where you were. The last few days had been a blur, you couldn’t quite bring to memory where you’d ended up. 

“Oh…” the confusion was evident down the phone. “My apologies. I have you listed as an emergency contact on a patient discharge form.” 

Emergency contact? Discharge form? What was she…oh…oh! 

“Oh right, sorry, yes!” Your brain started to lift from the fog that was surrounding it. “Cowboy dude, uh, Sp…Spencer?” 

“You do know Mister Reid?” The voice sounded even more befuddled.

“Yes, yes, good friend of mine.” You lied. “Sorry I just woke up, I’m a little disoriented. Has he been discharged?” 

“He’s just filling out his discharge papers and said you would be collecting him.” 

“Yes, of course.” You nodded sleepily. “Uh…what hospital is he in?” 

There was a short stretch of silence, you ran your free hand through your hair while you waited for confirmation.

“University Health in San Antonio.” The voice replied.

Right, no help at all.

“I’ll, uh, be there as soon as I can.” You nodded again, mostly to yourself. 

“Very well.” The clipped female voice replied. “I will have him wait in the main lobby once he’s completed his paperwork, Miss Parker.” 

Soon after the woman hung up and you dropped your cell phone to your lap. You rubbed your eyes and stretched out your legs. 

Signing a fake name on the patient form last night had been a force of habit. You were trying to run away, trying to fly under the radar and it would have been a potentially disastrous oversight had you given the EMT’s your real name. Giving over your phone number had been risky enough, but hopefully not damning. 

You picked the phone back up and almost googled the hospital for its address before cursing under your breath. You couldn’t risk leaving an internet paper trail, even though you doubted it would put you in harm's way, it wasn’t worth it. Hopefully you could find the route the good old fashioned way, with the use of the paper map in your car.

Pushing yourself back up to your feet you remembered Spencer mentioning the nearest hospital being about forty five miles away and you groaned to yourself. You’d appreciated the decent night’s sleep you’d gotten but at what cost? 

You found your duffle bag and dressed in clean underwear, the same black jeans you’d been wearing yesterday, a clean tank top under an oversized blue and black checked sweatshirt. You collected up your belongings, firearm and Spencer’s keys included, before padding your way to the door. 

You grabbed a quick glass of water before leaving the lodge, wondering if you may entertain the idea of staying another night in this safe haven or if you would never step foot inside that cabin again. You locked the door behind you and took the steps down, bag slung over your arm. 

You exchanged his keys for your car key and drew a cigarette from its packet as you walked. You opened the car and dumped the bag on the backseat, returning your firearm to the glove compartment and starting the engine. 

You lit the cigarette cradled between your lips whilst rolling down the window, picking up the map from the passenger's seat and scrutinising it. Holding the cigarette out the open window, your other hand drew a path on the map towards your destination.

It was a good job you had a decent sense of direction otherwise this would have been made impossible without a GPS system. 

You tossed the map aside and took a drag on the cigarette as you cranked up the radio. You slid the car into reverse and turned around until you were facing the dirt road that led out of Spencer’s ranch.

Once you hit the road you slammed your foot on the accelerator and sped along through the isolated desert with your hand out the window and the breeze ruffling your hair. 

***

Spencer limped almost comically towards the open car door whilst you leant against the side of the vehicle offering no help whatsoever. His purple casted arm was cradled against his dirty t-shirt. 

“Probably should have asked you to bring me some clean clothes.” He grumbled, noticing you eyeing his dusty attire. 

“Hmm so you could further exploit the kindness of a stranger?” Your lip twitched into a small smirk. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did you not enjoy spending a free night at my ranch?” He scoffed, hobbling closer and wincing a little as he did so. 

“Eh, it was okay.” You held open the door for him. 

Spencer rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself into the passenger seat, trying to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on his sore knee. He groaned as he swung his legs inside. 

You closed the door behind him before rounding the car to the driver’s side and quickly starting the engine. Spencer removed his stetson and laid it in his lap, cradling his arm closer to his chest. 

Soon you were pulling away from the front of the hospital and heading back towards the memorised route. 

“So, broken arm, huh?” You asked as you drove, sending him a sidelong glance. 

“Apparently I was lucky. Don’t feel very lucky if I’m honest.” He grumbled again. 

“You’ll be fine, big tough cowboy, like you.” You smirked to yourself. 

“Big and tough?” He turned his head to face you. “I can categorically say no one has ever referred to me as big and tough.” 

“I thought it kinda went with the territory. Rangling cattle, riding horses.” You teased in a fake southern drawl. 

“Hmm.” He simply responded, clearly unamused. “So you’re names Elizabeth? Elizabeth Parker? I saw it on the intake form.” 

“Indeed.” You nodded, keeping your eyes focused on the road. 

“Huh.” He mused, narrowing his eyes on you. 

“What?” Your forehead pinched into a frown. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Just heard that name before.” 

“I’m sure it's a very common name.” You shrugged. 

His gaze on the side of your face was making you feel a little uncomfortable and you tried to ignore it but his eyes bore into you heavily. You gripped the wheel tightly, hearing him shift slightly in his seat. 

“You know where I think I‘ve heard it?” His tone held a thinly veiled hint of amusement. 

“Where?” You sighed in frustration. 

“Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame.” He noticed the way your back straightened in your chair, how your grip tightened on the wheel. 

You huffed out a breath and rolled your eyes.

“Fine, you caught me. My name is not Elizabeth Parker.” You confessed in a slightly irked tone. 

“So what is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” You grumbled.

“Well, seeing as you know my name and you’ve stayed at my ranch, it would be nice to know your name.” He shrugged, shifting again in his seat and struggling to find a position that didn’t ache his back. 

“Y/N.” You spoke under your breath, half hoping he wouldn’t hear you over the radio. 

He did.

“Y/N…?” 

“Just Y/N. Consider me like Cher or Madonna. No last name.” You murmured. 

To your surprise, Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He brushed his hair back off of his face with his good hand and sat back against the chair. 

“Okay, Y/N. I guess it’s nice to meet you. And I suppose a thank you is in order, seeing how you kinda sorta saved my life.” His laughter subsided and he glanced at you seriously. 

You offered him a brief look before focusing back out the windshield, your lip tugging a little at the corner. 

“Kinda sorta?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Dude, I totally saved your life. You’re forever indebted to me now.” 

Spencer smiled to himself, the sound of your laugh alleviating his pain momentarily. He turned his attention out of the window as you sped down the road. He wouldn’t at all mind the idea of that, he’d take any excuse to keep you close. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart

[catmansquad]

The Sidhe (1)

You should really know better than to trust a handsome stranger…

Fair Folk Miguel X M!Reader

Bisexual Miguel, Possessiveness, Seduction, Fae Morality, MXM (Riding), Intoxication

Your first thought was that he was handsome. Perhaps more than just handsome. In a sea of ordinary faces, his stood out; this broad shouldered, giant hunk of a man sitting alone by himself in one corner, bathed in the golden rays of the setting sun that spilled through the window behind him. He looked absolutely divine. How was it that everyone else in the entire club was oblivious to him? Your eyes briefly met across the crowded room, the little smirk curled onto his lips and he looked away, back to the drink in his hand. But that second or two of the gaze of his beautiful brown eyes had been enough to hook your interest. If he was lonely, then you’d be the cure for it.

‘You seem lonely, mind if I join you?’ Those had been the words that started it all, and he hooked you with a warm smile, gesturing to the empty chair opposite. You had quickly decided that he was even more handsome up close; rugged, tanned and with an amazing smile. ‘Who do I have the pleasurable company of today…?’ He rested his hands under his chin, smiling, and it only grew fonder as you gave him your name. ‘Mm, charming… I’m Miguel. Nice to not be so lonely anymore….’ His voice dipped to a low purr, there was a soft, slight accent to his words. It was almost implacable. You swallowed nervously, feeling the heat already building in your cheeks. When had you last had another man in your love life, let alone one so handsome? You were determined to get off on the right foot with him. ‘Can I get you another drink, Miguel…?’ ‘Mm, if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind. Get one for yourself, why don’t you…? I’m quite partial to something sweet and fruity.’ Miguel spoke like he was at utter ease with the world, his voice soft and honeyed, yet his tone carried easily over the music of the club.

Hours and several drinks later, you had learned that Miguel only rarely visited the city, that he had a homestead in the wild woodlands beyond the city limits. ‘Has… Anyone told you that you’re really…. Uh…’ You stopped yourself short, and watched Miguel give you another charming smile. ‘I’m really….?’ ‘… You’re really handsome, Miguel.’ His smile only grew more entertained at your flustered state. A soft chuckle escaped him and he rested one hand on the table, palm up and beckoning his fingers gently, until your own ghosted across his palm and he took your hand. He was warm, so warm, and the soft stroke of his thumb made your own cheeks blush. ‘Heh. You’re good looking, too… You want to do this again? I’d like to do this again.’ You were enraptured by his smile, his beautiful eyes, the way his hand caressed your skin. ‘… Please…’ Your voice was a breath, then he released his hold on you and stood up. Your eyes went wide for just how tall he was, and he moved with beautiful grace, standing beside you, looming over you like a stunningly handsome giant. ‘I hope I’ll see you here again, dathúil, mm? Maybe next week…?’ His smile caused some very impure thoughts to bloom like a brilliant flower inside your head. You brought your frantic nodding under control into something far saner and more rational. Thankfully, Miguel only seemed to find it amusing and gave a playful wink. ‘See you then…’

He lingered in your dreams every night you slept; the handsome man who lounged at that table, the man who reclined shirtless on your bed, beckoning with a wry smile, the man who walked hooded and cloaked in emerald green through misty woodlands with the playful smirk visible beneath his hood. A whole week of those enticing dreams, and the return to that same club could not come soon enough. Yet once again did you find Miguel sat at that same table, resting casually in the chair, top two buttons of his shirt undone, the hint of his muscular chest on display, and that smouldering look in his eyes that beckoned you without words. ‘A pleasure to see you again, dathúil. I was starting to worry you’d… forgotten all about me…’ He ran one hand softly through his silken locks as you took a seat opposite, dearly wishing you could feel his hair, too. ‘Is that… Gaelic?’ You guessed and he nodded with a playful smile. ‘Mm, Irish Gaelic… “Handsome”.’ He purred the last word and you felt your cheeks blush from the look he gave you. You took a hurried gulp of the drink Miguel had bought for you, a duplicate of his own and you gasped for the strong, fruity sweetness that clung to your throat like a thick syrup. Covering your mouth, you coughed several times to clear your throat and found Miguel giving you a pitying smile in return. ‘Careful now, it’ll knock the wind out of you…’ Miguel sipped his own glass, humming pleasingly before he swallowed. ‘It’s… So sweet…’ You rasped, breathing deeply. ‘I am quite partial to sweet things in life. Are you as sweet as you are handsome, mi amigo…?’ He licked his lips at the taste of his drink, smirking again at the confusion that built in your eyes as you processed his change from Irish to Spanish. ‘That depends, “amigo”…’ He snickered at your response, placing his glass down to rest his chin atop his folded hands, smiling at you still. ‘Uh-huh…? You want me to be enchanting? I can be very enchanting, I’m already very handsome… Heh… is dathúil é sin a dhéanann dathúil…’  He clicked his tongue with a playful wink, and you found comfort in the glass of sticky sweetness one more. ‘Wh-wha…?’ He chuckled again, enchanting you deeper. ‘”Handsome is that handsome does.” Don’t you agree?’ His tongue ghosted across his teeth, and your mind wandered into just how his lips and teeth would feel on your neck, leaving lovebites, marking you as his- and you would go so willingly, to wear them all with pride.

‘Come away with me…’ With glasses drained, he had whispered in your ear, hand ghosting up your spine to tangle in your hair. His voice was a gentle, enticing purr. You were turning to putty in his warm touch, his embrace stirred feelings in you that you hadn’t felt for any man in a long while. ‘Come back to my home, dear one… With me, for tonight…’ His teeth nipped gently at the shell of your ear and you muffled your little moan into his neck, he hummed in delight. This close, he smelled so delightful; the freshness of forest pines, summer flowers, and something uniquely masculine that was solely his, it created an intoxicating blend that left you utterly pliant. ‘We can have a lot of fun together... What do you say?’ Miguel, moved to kiss your cheek and you felt all tension leave you body, save where it was solely focused further south. This man was simply too attractive to drive you so wild so easily. ‘… Yes…’ You breathed, clinging to his shirt, feeling his muscular arms beneath the shirt tense as you gripped them. Miguel stepped back just enough that you could see the mirth in his eyes. ‘I thought so… Shall we get you home, before I have to carry you…?’

Miguel’s home was beyond the city limits, to the wild places of the woodlands. At the end of a dirt track, Miguel held the car door open for you and you stepped out onto the dry ground, surrounded by woodlands with a path beyond that could only be traversed by foot. ‘I do so hate driving…’ His tone was unusually bitter, he glared at the run-down, muddied car as he slammed the door shut and locked it. ‘Noisy, filthy, polluting machines…’ His irritation faded as he entwined the fingers of one hand with yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m just up this way; my cozy little cabin… Away from the aches and pains of the modern world. A natural place, very peaceful.’ He leaned in again, another soft kiss to your cheek that threatened to make you melt again. On his next attempt, you turned your face to intercept his lips with your own. He hummed in surprise, eyes widening briefly, then you found your back pressed suddenly against his car as he sandwiched you there, kiss deepening as he pressed your hands up either side of your head. Pressed this close against him, you could feel him swelling against you. Finally, he broke the kiss and relinquished his hold on you, licking slowly across his lips as if he wanted to recall the taste of you forever. You were dizzy, reeling, that delightfully intoxicating sent wormed its way through your brain from the closeness of him. ‘Mm…. Was that a promise of what’s to come? Heh… Let me show you my home…’ He held your hand still as he led you down the woodland path.

Miguel’s home was a lakefront cabin deep in the woods. With a garden of beautiful flowers and crops, a chicken coop, and a small shed to one side. The cabin itself appeared old, yet cozy and secure against the seasons. Inside, the gloomy interior was illuminated by the faint light of the moon trickling through the windows; shelves lined with books, hunting tools on the walls,  a writing desk, a stone fireplace with a cooking pot, a rocking chair before it and a bow and quiver displayed on the mantle above. An great oaken bed occupied the far end, draped in woven blankets. With a soft creak, the room was illuminated by a gentle, reaffirming glow of the lantern Miguel carried. ‘Home…’ He sighed in delight. ‘My home… It may not be as grandiose as the fancy apartments of the city, but I built this with my own hands…’ You took in the room once again, still heady with his scent, longing for his touch once more. ...’s really nice. Cozy.’ His smile was alluring, seductive as he crossed the room to place the lantern down on a table at the foot of the bed. He lingered there, with one hand held out, and you were almost compelled to follow and take his grasp. He pulled it close and kissed it softly. ‘I… Want more than just kisses with you tonight.’ He spoke softly, barely above a whisper, but you were all ears for his silken tones. His touch was heady, you swore his skin glistened in the light, and the scent of him was so sweetly intense that you wanted to bury your face into his neck; inhale it, lick it from him, rip his clothing away and grind against his body until you and your clothing smelled of him. You wished you could bottle that scent and save it for later. You didn’t realise how close you were until you found your hands on his shoulders, pressed against his chest. His eyes glinted with more than just mirth. ‘Mm… mi vida…. Is that what you want?’ You kissed him again, hands gliding down the front of his chest, unbuttoning the shirt as you went until it hung open and his bare chest was on display for your touch, and how you touched him; caressing his broad pecs, running over his hard abs, feeling him shiver and gasp at your touch before your hands settled on his sinfully narrow waist and squeezed gently, your fingers tingled softly from where you had caressed him. ‘Mmm… Maybe you’re as eager I am…’ He leaned forwards again, teeth nipping on your lower lip before sighing your name softly. ‘I have no protection to offer you… If we make love this night, it will be pure, natural bliss… Knowing this, do you still desire me…?’ His eyes were half-lidded, searching your face for your opinion. Some tiny voice of doubt, ever present, in the back of your mind urged caution, care. You took his hands in your own and nodded. ‘I want to be with you tonight, Miguel….’

His kiss was once again deep and passionate as he reclined back atop the soft blankets of his bed, allowing you straddle his waist, hands softly resting on his broad chest as he hummed in delight, his own massive hands spread across your back, pulling you closer against him, you fidgeted softly in his grasp, grinding against him and the building tension drew low moans from your both. His tongue flitted across your upper lip as your kiss parted and his brown eyes glinted in the lamplight with desire for you. ‘Mm… Why am I the only one half-naked, dathúil?’ His large hands ran down your body to grasp at your ass and squeezed hard enough to draw a needy whimper from you, grinding down onto him again. ‘Heh… We should both be very naked right now.’ He released his grip and pushed himself up leaving you scrambling to grab his broad shoulders for support. You blushed deeper as Miguel stole another kiss from you, humming in delight once again. ‘Ride me…?’ His purr was as much a demand as a question. Your hands ran down the glistening skin of his chest- fingers tingling at the touch of him, ghosting across his abs to where that soft trail of dark hair led below his waistband. A pleased growl rumbled in his throat as you unbuttoned his leggings and began to tug down the zip. You learned soon after that Miguel preferred to go commando.

‘Ó mo ghrá…’ His voice was a husky rumble, hands spreading your cheeks, squeezing flesh as you sunk deeper onto his throbbing organ. You had imagined that he would be proportional to the rest of his large form, and your imagination had proven insignificant for him. He had been caring and gentle, and despite how your hearts thundered with the desperate need, he was patient enough make sure you adjusted to each inch of him, waiting for your consent to ease himself deeper into your body. Maybe he was bigger than any man you’d had before. He certainly felt better. ‘F-fuck, Miguel… You’re… Just so much…’ He chuckled softly, one of his huge hands rubbed a small, soothing circle on your back, his other moving to grip one hip. ‘Uh-huh…? Just breathe. You’re doing so well… Got plenty more lube here if you need it… Mmm… Am I bigger than your past boyfriends…? Fitter? Better looking…? Mm, I bet the stretch feels amazing… ‘cause you certainly feel amazing around me…. Hnnn…’ You sighed in delight, eyes drifting shut and swallowed, nodding in confirmation. ‘M-more…’ Your little moan as met with Miguel’s sigh of delighted relief as he ease himself in completely, leaving you firmly in his lap as he throbbed with longing inside you. He brought his arms to bear across your chest in a firm hug, placing longing kisses on one shoulder then the other. You took deep breaths, willing yourself to relax, so achingly hard. ‘F-fuck, Miguel… I… I can feel you in my stomach.’ You felt him swell slightly inside you, throbbing harder as his mind sent your compliment straight south. His kisses became more intense, teeth grazing over you skin, and one of his hands ran down your chest to rest over your stomach, fingers spread out in a display of his massive handspan. ‘Heh… You’re amazed at this? Just imagine how good it’ll feel when you start riding…’

‘Ay cariño… Cariño, si… Si… Si…’ His grip on your hips was firm, guiding you as his husky rumbling only drove you on further. ‘Hey, hey… Calm down, just relax. Don’t go like that, you’re just gonna wear yourself out…’ He patted your sides softly, guiding you back down on him. True to his words, you could feel an ache starting to develop in your legs. ‘… Shall we try this another way, handsome?’ His hands left your hips and you felt him move underneath you as he pushed himself up, broad chest against your back as he sat up, voice a whisper by your ear. ‘… How about you lay down, just relax…. Think about me, mm… Let me take care of you…?’ His gentle kiss on your neck drove all doubt from your mind and you nodded in agreement, hearing him chuckle softly, hips rolling up into you. With some great remorse you lifted yourself from his intimate embrace. Silently mourning for just how empty and unfulfilled you felt without him. He gave you a brilliant smile before rising from the bed, allowing you to rest on your back on the soft blankets, warmed by Miguel’s body and looked up to see him looming over you. You breathed calmly, taking in the sight of his muscular physique, that dangerously narrow waist, that twitching organ of… considerable girth and size, and his eyes which seemed to glint crimson in the lamplight- he blinked and they were gentle brown once more. ‘Yeah… Just lay back and let me take good care of you.’ The bed creaked under his weight as he supported himself over you, guiding your legs to rest atop his shoulders and giving you a keen smirk. He pulled needy whines from your throat as he eased himself back into you, nearly folding you in half as he pressed in, reaching so much deeper than before as he filled you again. ‘Ohhh…. Dios mio… So good…’ Such pleasing tingles spread from where his skin met yours, and none were more pleasing and intense that the tingles that spread through your insides. Miguel looked down at you with a pleased hum in his throat, eyes half-lidded again, still smirking in triumph. ‘I’m going to rock your whole world…’ He assured you, smirk growing as you felt him throb again. From his first thrust, the pleasing tingle doubled in intensity, and he set the pace for the night to follow.

The bliss you had felt had whited out your world, your next clear memory was of waking bleary eyed, warmed by the lingering pleasure, the soft blankets draped over you, and the golden rays of the sun pouring through the window. You sighed across the soft pillow your head rested on. How was it possible to be so utterly relaxed? None of your partners before now had ever made you pass the threshold of ecstasy so hard that you felt like your soul had taken leave of your body. You felt a hand softly run through your hair, and lifted your head from the pillow; Miguel stood beside you, dressed in nothing than white cotton leggings, smiling fondly down at you. You drank in the sight of him; positively glowing in the light of the sun, his gentle smile, his impressive physique, the tattoo of a spider in its web on his neck, and the one of the black serpent that spiralled down his right arm. ‘Good morning, dathúil… You sleep like a little angel, all bundled up. Mm… Did I take you so high in pleasure that you’ve only just touched the earth again? Heh… I’ve drawn a nice, hot bath for you, so you can get cleaned up and soothe all those aches and pains I might have caused you…’ His hand ran down your neck, your shoulder and down your arm until he grasped your hand and leaned down to kiss it, eyes glinting as he looked up. ‘… I’m not going to carry you, beautiful, so you can either have the bath or lay here, but the water is cooling by the second…’ He kissed your hand again with another delighted hum before releasing you. You squirmed beneath the blankets, shivering at the weary ache in your lower body before pushing yourself up from the bed. A hot bath sounded great right about now.

The bathtub was exceptionally large, like it had been carved of smooth stone and decorated with planks of pattered wood. The entire cabin was off the grid, so Miguel had to have gathered and heated the water likely one bucket at a time. Given the size of the tub, likely designed to allow a man of his impressive stature to stretch out, it must have taken him an age to fill. Having seen that and refusing now would have been an insult to all his work. Your toes curled as you dipped one foot into the hot water, sighing at the pleasing heat- the water was indeed hot, but no scalding, for all the steam that rose from the surface. You sunk down into the water with a relived groan, taking in the sight of the numerous labelled brown bottles and handmade soaps of various flowers. Life off-grid had a certain joy to it, if you knew what you were doing. You, yourself, grown up in the busy city with the ease of convenience, probably wouldn’t even know where to begin without electricity, water on tap, nearby grocery stores, and a stable internet connection for your phone. You had easily managed to neglect the last houseplant your mother had given you into a dried husk, managing to grow your own crops was probably beyond your abilities.

You thoroughly enjoyed your bath, the soothing hot water, the sweet scent of lavender from the violet soap you chose. Finally at risk of turning into a human prune in cooling water, you pulled yourself from the bathtub and dried yourself on the fluffy towel that had been left for your benefit. Clean and dried, you fastened the towel around your waist and peeked back out into the main area of the cabin, searching for Miguel and hoping you could recover your scattered clothes and get dressed before he saw you. A small fire had been lit in the fireplace, and the space before it was occupied by the broad form of the man in question, his broad back, clothed in a white shirt, to you as he busied himself with whatever task. The floorboards creaked underfoot with nearly every awkward step you took, and you heard Miguel chuckle softly after the third one. Yet he did not comment or turn to you, and you gathered your clothing in a hurry, to vanish back into the bathroom and dress properly.

When you emerged again, towel in hand, Miguel wasted no time in stealing it from your grasp, a sweet kiss on your cheek as he pressed a plate of scrambled eggs and a fork into your hands. ‘Mm… Just for you…’ He purred, carrying the towel to the rack that rested beside the fire and hanging it to dry. ‘B-breakfast, too…?’ You spluttered, taking in the sight of what rested in your hands. Miguel glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting with mirth again. ‘Indeed it is. Well spotted. You don’t need to thank me, dathúil, I’ve already passed along your thanks to the chickens… Heh.’ He picked up his own plate, already tucking in. The eggs were still hot, well-seasoned, and delightfully filling to your hungering belly. Miguel was confident, handsome and attractive. He was a caring and attentive lover, and a good cook. What would you owe him in turn? What was the downside of this man who was almost certainly too good to be true? His dark eyes looked over you, he hummed softly in thought before swallowing. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’ He spoke up, distracting you from your thoughts and nearly leaving you choking on your food. ‘I… I wasn’t-!’ ‘Heh. I could see it in your eyes; not used to being looked after. Cared for. Just relax, enjoy your breakfast… I’m not going to hurt you…’ He returned to his own food with a soft chuckle, and after a moment of surprised hesitation, you followed suit.

‘Can I-?’ Your attempt at helping were stopped as he softly took your empty plate from you with a gentle smile and a soft kiss to your cheek. As you blushed again, he chuckled softly. ‘No, no… You have done plenty for me already; you have been charming, attentive, loving… I want to take care of you, mo ghrá…’ The way he so casually purred into smooth Irish threatened to make you melt, and the little nervous chuckle escaped you, running one hand through your hair as your cheeks burned and blushed again.

Once again had Miguel refused your attempts to clean up after yourself, and you were left to examine the contents of his home; the soft woven blankets that had kept you warm through the night, the comforting heat and crackle of the flames in the fireplace, and the bow and quiver mounted above it. The arrow with the feathered flights of unknown birds, the bow carved with unknown etchings. Finally, you turned your attention to the writing desk, well used, the smoothed surface marred by scratches and faint stains of ink. Hints of an author who had spent many long hours sat here working on their latest creation. Miguel didn’t seem the type to sit and write, and you instead turned your gaze to the shelf above it, heavy with books, all by the same author. “The Winter Whimsy”, “The Fairest Folk”, “Wandering the Faelands”, and “The Tuatha, The Sidhe, and The Fae” Then there were far more numerous shorter novels, romance novels. You pulled one from the shelf and raised an eyebrow at the cover image; of a woman lost in the bare embrace of a muscular man. “Taken by the Fae Warrior.” You returned it to the shelf and ran a finger across the rest of the books. “Captured by the Fae Prince”, “Romance in the Wildwood”, “At the Mercy of the Faery King.” Among many others, all romances, all involving Faery folk. Gabriel O’Hara.

‘Who’s Gabriel?’ You couldn’t supress your curiousity as soon as you realised that Miguel had been lurking almost against your back, peering over the top of your head. He had been as silent as a shadow until you finished examining the book, then you felt his hands rest on your shoulders like falling feathers. ‘Mm….?’ ‘Who is Gabriel?’ ‘He is the man who wrote all the books you see. He is the man who sat at this desk many a night; scribing, typing, yawning in slumber, and pulling his hair in frustration.’ Miguel spoke like he was spooling the beginning of some great story, before catching himself, throat clearing softly. ‘… He’s my little brother.’ You turned to face him, meeting his gentle brown eyes and nervous smile. After a moment of silence, his smile faltered before returning. ‘…Hi.’ What did you do to land such a gorgeous man? The thought swirled across your brain along with several others, all focused on the man before him. A magnetism that made you want to press yourself against his body, kiss his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his entire body. Taste his tongue, feel his muscles, and surrender to him into the utter bliss that only he could provide you; his strength, his heat, his seed- He kissed your cheek softly and you melted into his waiting arms, the gentle tingling where his lips met yours, that heady scent that threatened to leave you boneless and thoughtless again. ‘Stay with me…?’ His eyes were enchanting, voice soft, but it was so much more of a question then a demand. You were pulled to him, and only tore yourself away as thoughts of your life beyond this cabin. ‘I need to go… I need to go…’ You repeated it like a mantra, reassuring yourself until you managed to gather the willpower to pull away from him. Miguel’s eyes searched your face, then it was like he remembered something- like a front he was supposed to be maintaining. His smile faded, he blinked and his hug slipped away as his arms fell back to his sides, allowing you to stand on your own feet once again. ‘Yeah. Let’s get you home, handsome.’

As the busy city returned, you found your eyes drawn more to the man in the driver’s seat than the view before you; how his expression turned sour, how his nose and eyes wrinkled in irritation as if he could smell the full pollution the city made. ‘I-I’m just here.’ You spoke up as the street with your apartment came into view. The tires crunched on the road as the car slowed. ‘Thank you, Miguel. You’ve been… You’ve been wonderful. Very good to me.’ You opened the door and had two feet on the road before his hand grabbed your wrist, fingers gliding softly across your skin, that soft tingling remained. ‘I hope we can do this again…’ He called your name softly, then his fingers slipped from your grasp and he returned both hands to the wheel. ‘Yeah, it’d be nice.’ You met his charming smile, and closed the door. You watched him drive off before heading inside, and softly calling out as you shut the door to your apartment behind you. ‘Sprinkles!’ You hung up your coat, surveying the eggshell blue walls of your apartment. ‘Sprinkles, I’m home.’ The jingle of a soft bell, and your cat emerged from beneath the coffee table, the little bell collar falling silent as she lingered at a distance before you. Smiling, you crouched down, holding out a hand for your cat and frowned as she sniffed at you, then her tail went up, back arched and fur bristled before she hissed. You drew your hand back sharply as she made to claw at you. ‘Sprinkles, what the fuck-?!’ Your cat had never reacted so violently to you before. She had always been friendly and eager for your company. To a point. She was still a cat. Friendship and affection was at her discretion. You watched her slink away, slipping beneath the shadows of a table and watching you with a little growl in her throat. ‘Is this because I didn’t come home last night? You had food, water, and a clean litter box.’ You shrugged in disbelief at your cat’s odd behaviour before deciding that it was time to get changed into some clean clothes and get on with your life.

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

Tag for @miguel-ohara-lover, who was looking forward to this.

Part 2 coming.

[lixiepixiedust]

Coffee and Charm

pairing — ot7 x minho; minsung leaning

word count — 3.5k

warnings — member x member, humour, dirty pick-up lines, minho's thighs, skz are sassy hot men

summary — Jisung flirts with the cute barista. Only to just be ignored. So he calls in his friends for backup. They all fall for Lee Minho so easily it's almost sad.

Here's the thing: Jisung knows that the barista is into men. He's wearing a little rainbow pin on his apron that says PRIDE, so Jisung is pretty secure in thinking he's at least bisexual. He also knows, after many years of insecurity and finding his confidence, that he is a good looking man. So, with those two things that he knows to be true, Jisung is left with one very big question. Why did the barista brush him off ?

He wasn't being a creep about it when he flirted. He had done it tastefully, he thinks, complimenting the man on his broad chest and soft brown hair. Asking him if any of the coffee the cafe made came in the same flavor of his honey-toned skin. He'd even giggled and played with his hair! All for the barista to just nod and smile and ask him if his latte was for here or to go?

The response had been so jarring that Jisung just stared at the man for a solid twenty seconds before stuttering out his answer. The barista had just nodded and waved him along so he could serve the customer behind Jisung. Three minutes later when his coffee came out in a to-go cup (even though he and Felix had planned to stay at the cafe), Jisung was still shaken.

The barista was gorgeous; tall, beautiful skin, toned arms. Definitely the most good looking man he's seen (outside of his own friend group) in a long time. If Jisung closed his eyes and tried to place the barista in a line up that included all of Jisung's modelesque friends - well he isn't sure he'd be able to say that the barista didn't belong.

With that being the case, Jisung wondered if maybe the barista just thought he was out of Jisung's league. Was Jisung just not good enough? He chewed on his thumbnail, now sat next to his soulmate and best friend, staring off at the man behind the counter. Felix reached to grab his wrist, tugging it from his mouth.

"Your manicure." He says. "It'd be a waste of money if you chewed your fingers to bits."

Jisung sighs, dropping his hand to the table.

"What is it?" Felix hasn't looked up from his book since he started speaking. It's some fancy novel about art in the renaissance that Jisung couldn't be paid to read, but it's holding Felix's interest well enough. He flips the page while he waits for Jisung to answer.

Jisung crosses his legs. "Do you think I'm hot?"

"Jisung," Felix says in warning. "What's this about?"

"Just answer the question. If I flirted with you - or say someone who was equally as handsome and maybe a bit taller and potentially a man who worked in a coffee shop - would you reciprocate?"

Felix's gaze flickered up to the barista. Jisung whined and bounced in his seat, telling Felix not to look at him. "That's what this is about? Did he shoot you down? If he did, he's an idiot."

"No, he didn't shoot me down." Jisung sighs. "He didn't even acknowledge that I said anything."

"Yikes. What an asshole."

Jisung bites his thumb again. Before Felix can pull his hand from his mouth again, Jisung drops it back down to the table. "You think he's just like - way too hot for me?"

"Jisung. Stop. Literally no one on this Earth is 'way too hot' for you."

He groans, dropping his head to rest on the inside of his arms. His latte is long forgotten, getting colder by the second. He's much too preoccupied trying to figure out how he could get shut down so quickly by the pretty barista.

Letting out an all too dramatic sigh, Felix sets his book down, slipping in his bookmark as he does so. "How about this," he says, placing a hand on Jisung's back. "I'll go up there, flirt with him, if he responds then we know he's just not into devilish twinks,"

"I am not a twink - how dare you."

"And if he doesn't respond, then maybe his little pin is just an ally thing. Maybe he's one of those straight guys who's really into gay rights." They stare at each other in silence for a few moments, before Jisung agrees and waves Felix towards the pretty barista.

Expecting a different response than the one Jisung got, Felix walks up to the counter with a bit of a swagger.

Felix has no doubt that Jisung is attractive, but if this potentially gay man wasn't interested in cute Jisungie, then he may be interested in Felix. He's not the exact opposite, but he can put on a bit of a show. Can deepen his voice, act a little dominant, run his hands through his hair - appear overall very menacing. If Jisung was a cute kind of sexy, then Felix could be a dangerous kind of sexy.

When he finally comes to stand face to face with the barista, he decides to pay a little more attention than Jisung did when he flirted. He looks past the little pride pin and reads the man's name tag.

"Hi! What can I get you?"

Felix smirks. This guy looked exactly how he imagined Jisung's type would be "Hi, Minho right?" The man nods. "Do you think I could get a raspberry scone?" Minho nods, leaning down to open the pastry case. Felix makes a show of watching him, pleasantly surprised with the view. "You're pretty standing up, but bent over you're a vision ." He says lowly, leaning farther onto the counter.

Minho straightens up. Felix is thrown a little off his game by the fact that Minho looks completely unfazed by what he's just said. He's COMPLETELY thrown off his game when Minho says, "Is that all for today?"

Too caught off guard - too unable to sputter out some other pick up line or compliment - he just nods and pays for the scone.

Jisung is looking at him hopefully as he approaches their table. "Any luck?"

Sitting, Felix takes a large bite out of the scone, crumbs cascading down down his lips and mouth and to the table below. He chews thoughtfully. "Do you think," he says, mouth still full. "That he doesn't speak Korean?"

Jisung slaps both of his palms into his forehead. "Felix, every word he's spoken so far has been in Korean."

"I know, I know, but hear me out - what if he's just reading off a script?"

"Are you being serious here? I'm being serious here. This is a real problem. How are we," Jisung gestures between the two of them. "This bad at flirting?"

"Are you sure that it's us? I'm still thinking he doesn't speak Korean."

Jisung wants to slap Felix. He loves his best friend, but holy crap he can be dumb sometimes.

Thinking, Jisung starts to come up with a plan. He whips out his phone and sends out a mass text. "Let's just get the others involved. If he can resist those them, then he might actually be just a robot."

"Good idea! If anyone can get a date with him it's the outstanding Prince Hwang."

They spend the time waiting for their friends in silence, watching the barista. He's great at his job. Quick, efficient, friendly. But whenever he's not speaking with customers he seems to just zone out and stare off into space. A few times he spaced out while pouring milk or creamer into cups of coffee, only to have the cups overfill and dump to the floor. When this happened, he blushed a deep red and made quick work of cleaning up his mess.

Nearly twenty minutes pass before two of the hyungs arrive. It's Changbin, dressed in black jeans and a dark red jacket, with Bang Chan, wearing a black tank top and basketball shorts. Changbin takes off his sunglasses and black bucket hat to greet the younger men. "Hey, what was that message about? Who's butt needs to be kicked for hurting my little Jisungie?" He reaches out to pinch Jisung's cheeks, but doesn't get to when said owner of cheeks smack his hands away.

"What did you even text everyone?"

"That my feelings were hurt because of some awful mean guy."

Felix rolled his eyes. "And you think I'm miserable."

The two elders took their seat at the table, setting all of their things down.

"So, who is it?" Chan asks, looking around the cafe. Felix points to the counter where Minho is currently fighting with the cappuccino machine. "The barista? Are you two that stupid? He's probably just turning you down because he's working."

"No, hyung, he didn't turn us down. He just ignored us."

Changbin raised a brow. "How so?"

"He acted like we didn't even flirt with him. I basically said I wanted to taste him."

"And I said he looked delicious bent over." Felix added.

"Subtle." Chan muttered.

Jisung throws his hands out in a way to say 'exactly'. "That's what we're saying! It's not like we were just saying he had a pretty smile, we were practically offering to fuck him."

"And you're worried that what - he's not into you?"

"That we're bad at flirting." Felix says.

Chan calls them both idiots with a smile on his face before standing up with Changbin and sauntering over to the counter. There's no line so they walk right up to Minho. They make a short conversation before Minho has them slide off to the side. The two don't even look back at Felix and Jisung while they wait for their coffee. In fact, Changbin doesn't look up from the floor until he sits back down at the table, cup in had. Steam snakes out of the little mouthpiece on the cup. "Are we entirely sure that he speaks Korean?"

Jisung could strangle him. Both him and Felix. "Is Seungmin almost here? I need someone with some brain cells."

"Hey now, I'm your hyung - and I'm being serious here. It was like everything we said that wasn't my coffee order just flew over his head." Chan spoke.

"What did you even say to him?"

"I asked if he would rather be tied up with silk or rope." Changbin stated.

"And I asked him if he was ignoring us because he would prefer to be dom" Chan said after Changbin.

"Yikes, maybe we shouldn't have called in the dom."

Jisung raised his hand to silence Felix. "You always call the dom during situations like this."

Just then is when Seungmin walks in.

He spots them, offers a little wave, then approaches the counter on his own. They watch as he orders his iced americano, waits patiently, then comes to sit with them. Jisung frowns. "Bro, you ruined it, you were supposed to come talk to us first before you spoke to him."

"Huh? I only came because you said you were at a cafe. What was this all for by the way?"

"The barista!" Jisung hisses.

Seungmin sips out of his straw. "Oh, yeah, he's cute. Kind of like a newborn cat."

"I know! That's the problem. We have all tried to flirt with him but he ignored us, we're trying to see what his type is. Or if we're all just terrible flirts."

Seungmin shrugs. "He didn't really respond when I flirted."

"You flirted?" Felix asks.

He nods. "Yeah, like I said, he's cute. I asked if he wanted to fuck or not and he didn't even say anything."

Chan laughs, hugging Seungmin and ruffling his hair. The younger boy groans at his hyung but doesn't make a move to push him off. "You're always so blunt Min!"

Felix jumps to his feet when the door to the cafe opens. "Hyung is here," he says, making his move to intercept Hyunjin - they don't want him to repeat Seungmin's mistake. He quickly fills Hyunjin in on the situation, including all the lines they've already used on Minho.

Hyunjin just laughs smugly at him and tells him to take a seat and watch the master. For the fifth time, one of the men approaches the barista with confidence bursting through the roof. From afar the table of already rejected men watch. Hyunjin the flirting master starts high, falters, and ends low. He leaves the counter with his tail between his legs and a cup of tea in his hand.

"Nothing, huh?" Felix asks. Hyunjin nods.

"I told him three - THREE - coffee based jokes and it was like I wasn't even there." He sits down at their table. "Am I not as good of a flirt as I thought I was."

"No, no hyung," Felix comforts him. "No, this barista is just a real life angel too busy for our bullshit pick up lines."

Hyunjin groaned. "Did any of you have luck?"

"Not even a little bit." Felix says. "He gave all of us the silent treatment - or rather the customer service treatment."

"I'm a customer he can service." Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh my god, tell me that is not one of the lines you used."

"It wasn't, it wasn't - why? Do you think it's good?"

"I think that if you said that to anyone you'd be subject to a slap in the face and a permanent ban for their place of work."

Jisung crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His legs were crossed over one another, foot on top bouncing to a silent rhythm. They did have one more person they could call. An ace up their sleeves, if you will. If anyone could get Minho to acknowledge their existence as someone other than a customer, then it was him.

The Baby Bread™.

Jeongin walks into the cafe with his head held high and his black hair freshly permed resting above his eyebrows. He's wearing a grey graphic t-shirt with baggy blue jeans and some silver accessories here and there. It was his typical style that made him look like a fashion model straight out of Pinterest. He shoots the group a glance then points at the barista. They nod in unison, then silently wish him good luck.

Much like the others, he approaches the counter with his confidence bursting through the roof. Jisung was kind enough to give him the rundown on what happened the rest of them. Apparently the barista had blown each of them off. Everyone from dark Changbin to sunshiney Felix. When hearing this, Jeongin had a few good ideas of how to play this out.

The barista isn't looking at him when he approaches and is instead trying to dry his milk covered apron. Jeongin clears his throat. Minho looks up and then offers his best customer service smile. "I'm sorry sir, one second I need to get a clean apron." He takes the apron off and tosses it to the floor, planning on picking it up once he was done with this new customer.

The group watched in horror as Minho removed his apron, revealing his plain clothes underneath. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt with the sleeves cuffed up high enough to reveal his beautiful biceps. And if that wasn't bad enough, the man was also wearing a pair of navy shorts. Shorts!

"That can't be safe," Hyunjin said, talking about the one thing they were all focused on. "He could dump hot water on those glorious thighs. They need protection." The others hummed in agreement. "Jeongin might need backup."

"It's too late," Jisung said, motioning towards Jeongin with a limp hand. "He's a goner."

Sure enough, Jeongin wasn't even speaking to Minho. Instead, he was ogling - moments from drooling really - at the exposed skin of Minho's legs. "Man down." Felix said, eyes also locked on the expanse of skin. "He needs an emergency evacuation."

Before any of them can get up and rescue their fallen comrade, Jeongin is walking backwards away from the counter, then shuffling over to them. He looks appropriately embarrassed and rubs his eyes to process what had just happened.

Jisung rested his hand on Jeongin's. "Did you even say anything?"

Jeongin shakes his head. "I'm sorry hyung, I think this guy might just be out of our league."

Resigned as a group, they decided to pack up and leave. Jisung mumbles something about returning the next day to see if maybe it was all just a fluke. Hyunjin is about to piggyback on that idea when the door to the cafe bursts open. A girl that looks a bit older than them runs past all the customers and tables to the counter.

Minho is completely oblivious to this until the girl taps on his shoulder. This seems to pull the barista out of whatever daze he's apparently been in all day, and his head pops up. "Mina? You're late." He pouts. "I have so much homework to do."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to! Anything fun happen today?"

"Nope, there's nothing happening now either. Are you good if I leave, Noona?"

"Of course, have a good day! Don't study too hard!"

Minho disappears to the back part of the cafe, coming out a few minutes later with a backpack. As he walks past the group of flirtatious men, Seungmin reaches out and grabs his arm. Minho stops in his tracks, staring them all down and lightly tugging at his arm. Seungmin doesn't let go. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Jisung says. "You're Minho right?"

"Huh? One sec." Minho reaches up to his ear and takes a little white earbud out, then stuffs it in his pocket. "What did you say?"

"Um, you're Minho right?"

"Yeah! Do I know you?"

The group looks bewildered. "You - uh - served us coffee today. All of us - um well almost all of us." Jeongin looks sheepish.

"Oh, I don't remember sorry....while I'm working I listen to my recorded lectures. It's not technically allowed, but I can tune in and out for coffee orders."

Chan raises his hand. "Wait, wait. Question. Does this mean you actually didn't hear anything we said to you?"

"Probably not." Minho chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. Did I miss something important."

Jisung nods, eyes wide. He can't believe this whole time Minho hadn't been rejecting them - he'd just be ignoring them. Which, arguably, wasn't any better. "I tried to - I did - flirt with you."

Minho blushes instantly, face and neck tinting red. "Oh, you - you did?" Jisung nods. "Shit, that sucks for me. You're like - super cute."

Jisung can't help it when he reciprocates Minho's blush. "Thanks."

"You're all crazy good looking. Are you sure it was me who you were flirting with?"

"Yes!" They say in unison.

Minho bites his lip. "Oh wow. That's a lot to take in. Sorry about ignoring you."

"It's okay." Seungmin says. "Can we maybe try it again?"

"What, flirting with me?"

"Yeah. I think you'll like what we have to say."

Minho is still blushing. "Okay, I'm not free right now, I've got some schoolwork to catch up on, but how's tomorrow sound?"

"Sounds great to me!" Hyunjin says. "We could all go out for coffee?"

Felix smacks his hyung with the back of his hand. "I doubt the barista wants to go to a coffee shop for a date."

"Is this a date?"

"Of course it's a date!" Jeongin says passionately. When everyone looks at him, he apologizes for his outburst, pouting.

Minho pulls out his phone. "In that case, you all should give me your number...so we can plan our date easier." Jisung snatches Minho's phone before anyone else can, quickly putting his number under the contact name 'Super Cute', then hands it off to the other guys. "So, uh, what was your line?"

Jisung smirks. "If you guys served coffee in the same flavor as you." Minho laughed. "Would it have worked?"

"Honestly you could've come up and spat in my face I'd probably still daydream about you."

Jisung can't help himself when he smacks Minho's shoulder. "You better be more than just a pretty face and thick thighs. If you turn out to be an empty shell I'm gonna be sorely disappointed."

Felix hands Minho his phone back. "I agree. I hope you're ready, we only let the best of the best into our group."

Minho licked his lips, glancing around the group of men. He would be more than willing to admit that they were the most attractive people he'd seen in a while. Not to mention the most attractive people that had fucking flirted with him in the last few years. "I will do my best to not be just a pretty face then."

[rapunzelforlorn]

A heartstopper AU where Nick Nelson is an out and proud captain of the rugby team and a bisexual icon while shy art nerd Charlie has only ever liked girls before.

(Idk how to tag fics but this is PG-13.

Straight!Charlie)

It was the first day of class and Truham School for boys has announced new form groups. Charlie stared at the room number scratched onto the back of his hand for what felt like the millionth time today. He made it to the classroom door and took a breath. He knew none of his friends were going to be inside, they had already compared schedules. Elle was at Higgs now anyway. Charlie entered the classroom and said hello to the teacher.

"Charlie Spring!" Said Mr. Lange.

"Happy new year! Let's see, where did I put you on the seating plan... ah, yes, you're over there next to Nick Nelson, he's in year eleven only a year older than you."

Charlie nodded and headed to the back corner Mr. Lange had pointed to. Nick was already seated and was busy looking out the windown as Charlie approached. He looked at the seated boy; tall, broad shoulders, athletic type, with strawberry blonde hair that fell over the top of his head as he ran his hand through it. His attention was drawn back to the classroom as Charlie pulled out the chair, and set down his bag.

"Hi"

"Hi."

Charlie didn't know very much about Nick at all other than he was the captian of the rugby team and that he came out as bisexual last term. He remembered a random year 8 walk up to him, Tao, Elle and Issac during lunch

"Did you hear? Nick Nelson is gay! What a lo-"

Elle rolled her eyes. "I heard he was bi, actually"

The kid ran off before he heard her.

The weeks passed and Charlie found himself looking forward to form every day. He and Nick had been getting along really well and Charlie just felt so comfortable around Nick even though he couldn't figure out why. One day, Nick's pen exploded ink all over himself and Mr. Lange assigned Charlie to go with him to the washroom. It was an unlikely paring but Nick had somehow become Charlie's friend.

Charlie was going to lunch when his phone buzzed. He looked down at a message from Beth. Beth was a very popular year 11 whom he had met a year ago in the hall outside the band room. Since then, Beth would text Charlie and ask to see him regularly. Charlie still wasn't sure why she wanted to see him sometimes, especially when she didn't ever seem to want to hang out with him or even talk to him in the halls, but she was beautiful so Charlie would always find the empty room and there she would be. As soon as he closed the door behind him Beth was right there hands on his face, pressing him with kisses. Charlie pulled back, hesitant.

"Hello to you too."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Hey. I missed you." In between kisses.

Charlie pulled back again, farther this time.

"What do you want Beth?"

"What? Can't a girl miss her best boy?"

"I'm not your best boy, Beth. I'm not your anything. You won't even look at me in the halls and I'm tired of only ever seeing you in empty rooms while you snog the soccer player of the week at the front gate."

"Oooh someone's mad today." Beth said with a fake pout and another eye roll.

"I don't see why you're upset, you get to kiss me too, after all. Besides none of them kiss like you Charlie Spring."

Charlie held back the rage.

"Well I'm tired of being your guy on the side. Last year you told me how much you liked me but you didn't want your parents to know you had a boyfriend. It seems you're not afraid after all, you just don't want to be seen with me."

"Charlie its not my fault my friends think you're odd. It's not so much you, but your friends are all reaaaally weird. And you're in the band so like, you're a little odd."

She scoffs at the end of the sentance but then exclaims "heyyy!" When Charlie pushes her off him and opens the door. With the door open Beth jumps back and before she can protest Charlie says

"Don't text me anymore Beth. This thing between you and me? It's over." He leaves.

Nick walked down the hall searching for Charlie, he was sure his locker was down this hallway. Nick stood a head above everyone else so it didn't take him long to spot Charlie's dark curly hair half way down the row or spot a slender arm reach up and pull drum sticks out from inside.

Charlie plays drums? That's really cool, Nick thinks as he takes a deep breath before getting closer. He and Charlie had gotten considerably closer this term and Nick was trying to assure himself that the sensation that came over him anytime he was near Charlie was strictly platonic- just the excitement of making a new friend. Last year when he told the boys on his team that he was bisexual, a few of them had reacted poorly at first, and the teasing grew beyond typical banter. It wasn't long though before Nick's friends and the coach rallied and put a stop to the bullying, from students on and off the rugby team. Since then, he'd been navigating being out with the support of his friends and mother. His father wasn't around at all and his brother David was a dick about it still, but David was a dick about everything all of the time so it didn't bother Nick all too often.

"Allright?" Nick asked as he arrived at Charlie's locker.

Charlie looked up at Nick and smiled. Nick couldn't help but smile wide back and he scolded himself internally as he needed to stop this crush on Charlie Spring. The devishly handsome musician with long curls and the brightest eyes Nick had ever seen. Charlie is -straight- Nick hissed to himself. He's one of those artsy boys that girls love because he's quiet. They think it's mysterious.

"Alright." Said Charlie.

"You play the drums?" Said Nick. "That's cool. So listen uh- me and my mates were talking and. Do you uhm. Do you wanna try outfortherugbyteam" it all came out at once.

"Do I what?" Said Charlie, processing Nick's one syllable question.

"Try out for the rugby team? We have enough players for the team but we cant compete without a reserve."

Charlie smirked and raised his eyebrows.

"A whole school full of boys and I'm the best reserve, Truham has to offer? I dont think I'm the right type" he said with a flourish of his drum sticks.

"Aw come on, we're not your typical team!" Gesturing back to himself. "Loads of different types can play rugby! And I've seen you in PE. You can run really fast!"

"I'll think about it." Charlie said.

"Just come to practice."

As he walked away Charlie watched him go before blinking and realizing he'd kinda been staring. Nick had such a beauty to him that was still unmistakably boyish. Charlie blinked again. Beauty?

~~~~~

I really wasn't planning on writing all of that the post started with the promt and then I kinda immediately wanted to write it??

I haven't written anything in like 7 years and I haven't ever in my life posted something like this so please be nice 🥲 if this gets even 1 note I'll definitely write part 2 cause it was fun but I let my dinner get cold so I thought that would be an okay place to stop/pause. I hope yall like it and hopefully I tagged it all properly.

[nuclearspring]

i know there's a little bit of info on him currently included in my roster but ! i wanted to cobble together a more detailed rundown of my courier (the sixth one) + his verses. he is a bit of an unreliable narrator, so i'm leaving gaps in this - thing is he doesn't know what's up, so neither shall we.

(that said, if anyone has ncr muses who could maybe piece some things together, hit me up. he can't keep getting away with this).

rough bio under the cut. trigger warnings for death, violence, drug use, the military, addiction + memory issues.

name & aliases: sasha dubrovhsky / boris medvedev / courier six. tag skills: unarmed, survival, guns. (note: given his backstory, he's proficient in these, and in stealth). age: late twenties / early thirties during the events of fallout new vegas. moving into his late thirties if in the tv show era. sexuality: bisexual. you know, for the extra damage. alignment: chaotic something. personality types: estp. enneagram 8. physical appearance: 6'3", buzzcut, brown eyes, cheekbones, numerous tattoos. imagine a large russian man who has clearly broken his nose more than once. he is russian jewish & roma ft. general slavic aura. always clean shaven if he can help it, but stubble happens to him frequently. if in the verse in which he's courier six, he will have two scars on his forehead courtesy of benny. notable features: speaking to six, one may get the sense that english isn't his first language. he doesn't really have much of a russian accent, but his cadence (especially when he is particularly tired), as well as his word choices can sometimes give him away.

he is also autistic, and may have adhd. both are undiagnosed. the latter may have something to do with six's mentat habit.

his face is rarely shown - he tends to wear full combat armour, helmet included.

the man who eventually becomes courier six is born in ncr territory to a family who are descended from vault 13, if a tad distantly (nobody in the family can track the exact lineage, nor have they tried).

six is born alexander dubrovhsky. his branch of the family are loyal to the ncr in some ways, though their primary ideology is born not of the ncr, but of memories of their heritage. sasha receives more of an education than he feels he needs, but he is a curious soul and enjoys picking apart the way of things. devours books when he can get them. is in trouble more than once in his childhood for taking things apart to see what makes them tick.

he is not yet of age when he enlists. he's tall and broad enough to pass for it, and nobody in ncr recruitment looks too deeply into the issue. even before taking two bullets to the forehead, he is an improviser - there's no real plan tied to his enlistment. he makes it through basic easily enough - can remember that fine. can remember being passed up for first recon so as not to waste his hand to hand abilities - he is, in a word, large. can remember being filtered into the rangers instead. can remember later leaving his dog tags on a corpse about his size. tossing the tags that had originally been on the corpse in question into the colorado river.

the why of it is unclear. but he remembers the bloodless panic, and in hindsight is certain he had something to do with that death. can't say for certain whether or not this is unlike him, but the potential will keep him watching himself out of the corner of his eye, waiting for some similar slip up.

he knows he picked his new name out of the past. boris was the name of some relative, he thinks. perhaps a distant cousin, perhaps not. medvedev, on the other hand, is born of the bear tattoo adorning his ribs. (two-headed, stick and poke, slightly weathered, scar cutting through it).

recalls a time, too, when he burns his armour and weighs his options. he knows how to kill things, and is the sort of person with at least a chance at surviving the wasteland. so far so good, anyway. he passes a town with a mojave express office, and volunteers himself for a job. from that point on, he is a courier.

post gunshots to the head, he'll wonder if the memory issues are new. thinks they must be. things improve with time, but some things, he thinks, will never come back to him.

he remembers just enough to feel like helping the ncr is the most deranged thing he's ever done. he does it anyway. that said, six saunters vaguely in the direction of socialism whenever possible.

he identifies a chem habit, but can't be sure he had it before he was shot. can remember snippets of things he used to know, and understands that a great deal of the information is barred now. one hobby of his is gathering it again.

choices in game:

these will be updated in time (i'm going to play again to refresh my memory on him), but he can either pick the independent or ncr route depending. if we're writing post game, his default is independent, though that was a difficult decision for him and he still feels two ways about it. he isn't a blind ncr loyalist by any stretch, and is aware that there are some in the ncr who'd string him up if they knew he'd deserted, but he is not immune to propaganda.

alternate depictions:

i have written him before as an ncr ranger spy who is only moonlighting as a courier, never properly deserted (because the desertion catalyst wasn't there; he made it through the battle of hoover dam in 2077 just fine in this verse), and didn't end up shot in the head in goodsprings. in that verse, he can be recruited as a companion - for anyone who's into that.

this version of him isn't as fleshed out right now (read: i don't remember most of the development i did when i was writing him this way) but i'll update this later, and i'm happy to plot things out on a character by character basis. he is generally motivated to fight the legion, and will in time become somewhat disillusioned with the ncr.