#by: madonna from space | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tarjapearce · 5 months

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Chapter 4: But It's Cries Were Unheard

WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Depictions of toxic relationships (I do not condone nor encourage them), verbal abuse, mentions of mental disorders, character background, character study, mentions of abortion, comfort towards the end.

Summary: Honest talks either make it or break it.

A/N: A little nervous for this chapter jsksj. Hope you enjoy ❤️. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ✨

Chapter Song:

Running away wasn't something you did, it wasn't in you to suddenly turn into the direction you had come and run away leaving an unforgiving mayhem behind you, yet something in your body told that if you remained in the same space as them, something terrible and ominous would happen.

The first warning was your body, forcing you to fold over and empty your stomach in the nearest trash bin you could find, the slap your cheek received was the final hue-and-cry. You didn't look back, Dana's cries and angry words were too much to digest.

You really wanted to believe at least something good had happened from all this piping hot mess. You refused to believe that she would take him back, that she was a masochist, and although as excruciatingly painful it all surely was for her, you had freed her from someone that didn't deserve her. You had set her free from Miguel.

Someone that underservingly just like you, were dragged to this messed up triangle that spun so hard, it had turned into a tornado of lies and half truths.

Get rid of it

How could he?

His words had brought to light so many memories you had tried so so hard to bury, only for them to crawl back to the surface, as heartrending as ever in your mind and your beating organ that threatened to stop at any second if you didn't get the keys to unlock your car and leave.

An imaginary monster breathed in your neck, salivating at the anxiousness brewing within yourself, ready to pounce on you with full force in the shape of a panic attack, despite your car being away from the war zone. Your little heaven, where you had still control pulled you out, injured, maybe crippled from the shards of the hearts broken and left forsaken by a man that did nothing but burn everything in his wake.

Your was pulled out, smashed against the floor, stomped on and then doused in gasoline while all you could do was seeing his beloved fiancé, have her own receiving the same treatment.

You left. It was clear that none of them wanted you around. None of them could stand the sight of you. Dana specially. unknowingly, you had dragged her into the light, yanking away the blindfold Miguel had masterfully crafted over the years. Needless to say he wasn't appreciating that little stunt from you.

And he definitely wasn't enjoying one bit having all his lies finally exposed to the four winds. If you could go back to that night, knowing what you knew now, you wouldn't have even assisted to begin with, but that meant another woman would've been left at his mercy.

Apparently life had chosen you as the sacrificial lamb, and with a creature growing in your guts, you had accepted the role, unwillingly bestowed upon you.

Your fingers had dialed the only number you kept in your emergency list. MJ while in traffic. It wasn't a nice nor understandable talk since you were all over the place, hyperventilating and weeping in your little car despite the lights turning bright green some seconds ago, provoking the cars tailing at you to honk angrily, as if their noise would make it away.

Would make it all go away, but in opposite, it just gave you a major headache, rising your nauseas again.

"Dana, mi amor-"

"Mi amor?!" Her angry yelling enervated Miguel's docile demeanor, "Don't you dare to call me that."

"We can work this out, just listen-"

"No, Miguel. I won't listen, I won't and I don't want to!"

"Can you stop behaving-"

"Like a what?! A crazy bitch?, say it!"

A little twitch in Miguel's eyes was the only response Dana got in return. In other times, that was the signal for them to just remove their clothes and raw eachother silly until one of them were either spent, which was usually her, after two rounds.

Miguel's hand tried to reach for Dana's arm but she quickly recoiled, as if he had burned her skin with a bright lit coal. Now, she wanted everything but to be touched by him, or even talked to. Nothing believable came out the pretty lips she once used to bite and kiss at her whims. But there was nothing but disgust blossoming in the more she stared at them.

His crooked teeth contained after the meaty pair of muscles that covered them, they moved but Dana paid no attention.

"Dana! Puta madre, Escúchame!" (Listen to me!)

"No! You listen to me, you... pathetic excuse of a man."

A little growl rumbled on his chest, but his now ex fiancé didn't budge.

"Careful with your words"

"Or what? What were you thinking?!"

"I wasn't! Ok? I wasn't fucking thinking-"

"Of course you weren't. Your dick was thinking for you"

"It was a-"

"I swear If you say that it was an accident-"

"It wasn't. I was angry at you."

"And just cause you were angry you had to go and fuck someone else?! Even worse get her pregnant?! Are you stupid?"

"Clearly you're not-"

"Understanding? Oh poor Miguel got so angry that he fucked someone else. What did you expect to get?! A million dollars to grow inside?! Man the fuck up!"

Miguel rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose a bit too hard, but the pain grounded him. Anchored him to his rational line of thinking.

"You got someone else pregnant, Miguel."

"She'll get rid of it, I know-"

Dana had to take some steps back. Not only what he just said made her queasy and uneasy, no, it wasn't the words alone, it was the mood and tinge he used to pronounce them.

"How... how can you call your child an it? It's a baby! Not something you can get rid of!"

"I don't wanna be a father, she doesn't wants it either. What is the most logical thing to do?"

"Manning up and take responsibility for your actions."

"Oh, qué la chingada... No, Dana. Why would make the... baby or whatever to suffer unnecessarily?"

"Suffer from what? For having a terrible father?"

"You know why."

"You're so so phony. Oh my goodness, and to think I was going to marry you."

"No, no no. Dana, hermosa. Look, we can still get-"

Another slap.

"Listen to yourself, not only you want your baby's mother to abort it, you were... you were about to pay her..."

Her voice broke, and Miguel gulped. The both pushed and pulled, but Dana was the strong one in this occasion. He was losing the tug of war game, big time.

"You cheated on me cause I wasn't... I couldn't give you a child, didn't you? Is that it?!"

"No... I was stupid."

"Pretty fucking stupid. Give me the apartment keys."

"Don't be ridiculous. That's my apartment too."

"Oh, no. Not anymore. Remember the pre-nup?"

Fuck...

His shoulders once more rose. Tension taking a hold of his barely noticeable shaky body.

"Remember when you said you'd never cheat and even dare me to add that? Well, thanks for the idea, Miguel."

His nose flared angrily, the first columns that supported him crumbled. But no matter, he had his own and it was better and more roomy than the current one he shared with her.

He tossed the keys in her hands

" You know... what actually hurts the most about it besides knowing you cheated?"

Dana hiccuped and wiped her eyes. Her hair bobbed softly as she wiped her eyes.

"That... You were about to pay her to get rid of your child. When... I had been trying so hard to give you one. Someone else is making you a father. And... its not me, Miguel."

Another wave of fresh tears rolled down her flushed in anger cheeks. In another time, she'd melt into his touch, bask in the warmth and comfort he, in his own way provided. But now, she didn't want him. Repulse bloomed in every pore of her being whenever he insisted on touching her.

"We can fix this, I know. Give her some time to think about it-"

"Think about what, Miguel? She's obviously scared! I'd...I'd give anything to be her right now."

Miguel grunted, derision as expected and slicked his hair back.

"What? An underpaid receptionist?"

"No, you... heartless dick! A mother to be! And probably a single mother now..."

Silence made it's way towards both, permeating the ambience, but Dana broke it with a deep and blasé sigh.

"You have one week to get your stuff out."

"That's not enough time-"

"Funny for you to still think I care. You better start tonight then."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Dana pulled the ring out and tossed it at his face. The metal band bounced on his chest to then fall to the ground. Miguel kneeled to pick it up and rub off the dirt on it.

"If you don't tell Gabriel about it, I will."

"I don't need supervision."

"Are you sure about that?"

Miguel's eyes turned icy towards her, but he turned around with a huff to finally toss everything inside his car.

"You better take responsibility for that child."

Dana chided, angry and hurt as she was, she also tried to appeal to the human and logical side of him.

"Or what?, You're telling my mother?"

"You're so full of shit, man the fuck up for once and own your mistakes."

"For all I know that thing wouldn't be mine. She could be lying!"

He was now the junkie hooked on denial, but another slap didn't shake him, just made him angrier.

"Yet you were willing to pay a stranger to get an abortion. I heard enough to know it's your mess. It's not a thing, it's a child!."

"Are you done?"

"Act all though shit if you want, but you know I am right. And I know how much you hate when I'm right. Tell me something."

Her eyes met his, and a chill ran down her spine upon finding nothing but coldness in them.

"Was it worth it? Cheating on me and keeping me in the shadows for almost three months?"

"No. It wasn't."

"Then why? Why you did it?"

He'd be a bigger liar if he came up with an honest answer, cause in truth he didn't know. He gave into his intrusive thoughts, simple as that. Yet, oh such a mess was born from it.

"I... I always knew that sooner or later you'd cheat on me. I'm not perfect by any means, but... you... Not wanting to do anything with your own child? That's..."

"Enough. Move it. I gotta go."

"As ironic as things are? Mark my words when I tell you, you'll beg to have a spot in that child's life."

"Dana, move."

"And when you do? All you'll get in return is the same treatment. And God, I hope you do."

"Muévete de una pinche vez!" (Move the fuck away)

She didn't trembled nor waned her bravado because of him yelling. She was used to his outbursts.

"One week."

"Fucking heard you already."

His car's door was slammed, Dana had to step back, to watch him drive away. The new reality he left her drowning in was crushing her, yet she knew that one way or another life had given her the answer to the question that often assaulted her mind in those little moments of self introspection she had after a long day.

Is Miguel the one for me?

No. Not anymore. She wasn't even sure before the elephant had popped in the room, yet, she had clung onto him so hard that letting go was still one the most difficult things she had ever done. The usual part of her had the urge to call him, and talk things through, like they always did. But this time was different.

Damned her if she called him back. She wouldn't endanger the little dignity that remained in her. Besides, her own problems were just delivered. She now had to explain her family why she was single again, she'd spare him the gruesome details, a last proof of her undeserving love for him.

How could he had been so stupid? He knew he had to change the condom, he knew he had to stop for a minute and pull a new one. Seconds he had decided to ignore were now knocking on his door, in the shape of something so horrific that reminded him of his past, his roots and everything that he rendered to his family.

But his own saying had no room when Dana had laid his cards pretty much clearly before him, and so had you. Had you taken the check?

Of course you did, if you wouldn't need it, the paper piece would've be on the floor. Hopefully you'll use it to wipe that little mistake away. He refused to perpetuate his story. He wanted a child. Of course he did. But not like this. Not in the same fucked up way he was conceived.

He had vaguely explained Dana his past, but omitted that crucial part he was sure would have served as an empathy source in her reasoning for this situation.

He didn't want to admit that her curse had unnerved him. Dana and her omen had stirred something he kept locked away for so long he thought it long dead.

Nothing mattered anymore. He went to a nearby store to get some boxes, the sooner he'd pack and leave, the least chances would be to see and explain Dana's family about the whys about his sudden leaving. And to his luck, they loved him.

They thought Dana had won the loterry with him.

The least he wanted right now was to face his problems, or them talking back to him. Feelings and emotions too raw on him to allow them run rampant.

His lies were out, exposed, with no other way for them to hide. The deed was done and so was his bed. For now, he partially fixed it. Putting the bedsheets ontop. Cause if he was gonna lay in it, he'd do it comfortable enough to do so.

MJ gave your shoulders a gentle rub, before serving you a warm cup of chamomile tea with a bit of honey.

The ride back home from the clinic had been quiet, none of you dared to say a peep. MJ knew that you were too shaken to be functional enough. Too affected to articulate something, and still, she didn't ebb you to speak. She sat across you, giving your hand a gentle rub.

Minutes ticked by, the little tic tac of The clock made your own thoughts to pace to it's rhythm despite the racing and jumbled tempo inside your head. And when silence felt too deep and stretched, you spoke.

"Ever... felt like you've done something you thought right for the wrong reasons?"

"You did what you though was right, sweetie."

MJ looked at you with a softened and judgement devoid gaze.

"I... I couldn't do it, MJ. I thought that... I was able to. But I chickened out last second."

"Do you wanna share with me the why?"

"That's the thing! That I don't know!"

A shake of your head cut short a little broken whimper, while you pushed some strands of hair away from your somber face.

"I know it was the right thing to do! Even Miguel is right, but I couldn't!"

The knot in your throat tightened, making a sob to die suffocated. MJ squeezed your hand tighter.

"I'm sure you must hate me. "

"Why would you think that?"

Her face went from a frown to then morph into a surprised grimace

"Cause... I wanted to abort when I knew your struggles to-*

Your name was chided in such a soft yet firm way it had your eyes glossing once more. The kind of voice she'd use to discipline Mayday, full of love yet not taking any shit.

"You truly can't be serious right now. Sweetie, my pregnancy has nothing to do with yours. You owe me nothing. You owe those who struggle, nothing. Don't blame yourself, ok?"

"But I-"

"But nothing. You have the right to choose. You can still choose."

"The thing is... I don't know what to do."

"And it's perfectly normal to feel lost."

"I ran away cause... I didn't want to be like my mother. And that's a selfish-"

"Babe." MJ pursed her lips in a saddened smile, "Whetever reason you didn't do it, it's fine. You're not selfish or alike your mother for wanting an abortion."

"When Miguel told me to get rid of it... I... I got so many of my memories with her back. I wanted to cry and... scream."

"Then cry and scream, let it all out, sweetheart. And after you've done so, choose again."

"I can't, MJ. I... felt like my mother when I was about to enter that room. She was always... telling Dylan to get rid of me once her pills were over."

You sniffed and the redhead you had for a best friend passed you a handkerchief, which you used to wipe your eyes and tears, right away.

" It didn't help that Dylan hid them, and I was the only one to blame. I... I am the least adequate person to have a baby, but I'm too much of a coward to abort."

MJ pushed the tea closer to you, it had grown a bit less warm, but she listened.

"And... I feel like a monster to wish that sometimes my body would act like the silent killer and take it all away. But I know it doesn't works like that."

"Whatever you choose, I'll be there. If you want to reschedule your appointment at the clinic, I'll help you out after it's done."

Your eyes finally broke down at her next words.

"But If you want to give them for adoption, I'll help into looking for the right people. And, if you change your mind later about it all, I ask before anyone else to be the godmother."

"God, you're... you're such an angel MJ."

Hot and fat tears soaked the flimsy piece of fabric.

"Hell, even if you need some economic help-"

"Oh no no... No. I... I can't take that from you when you're already doing so much for me."

"I don't think Miguel is willing to help out."

"I don't need him. I've done it on my own for the past couple of months and I've done so great, didn't I?"

"Will you use the check?"

"And have another reason for him to be around me? No. I tossed it to the trash after tearing it apart. Kind of regret not giving it to someone in need."

"What If he tries to, you know, go the legal way?"

"Then he'll only prove he's a shitty parent."

"Just... It's so damn hard for me to wrap my head around it, you know? How could you just ask to get rid of something?"

"That's just who he is. I don't want anything to do with him."

"So... you're... carrying the pregnancy to a term?"

"Yeah." You sighed and looked at her, "I'll give the baby for adoption."

MJ nodded.

"You still have a couple of weeks to reschedule, you know? You don't have to force yourself to do this."

"I know. But I'm not forcing myself. I... I choose to do this because I refuse to just be like her."

"You're not your mother."

Those simple murmurs had your throat knotting impossibly tight.

"I know it's selfish to... use a child like that. Just to prove yourself something else. But I am unable to abort. I can't... I just can't. I'll feel even worst if I do."

"I'll look into adoption programs we can discuss later, ok?"

You could only nod.

"It's alright. Everything is gonna be alright."

"I gotta find a better job though. My current salary isn't enough to cover up future expenses and my insurance plan is gonna be ridiculously expensive."

"Want me to help you in that too?"

"Are you sure?"

"Obviously. You hate being pitied on, understandably so, yet, we gotta be realistic in some stuff."

"I'm not ashamed to ask the government for help."

"I know. But what if Miguel actually has a bit of conscience left and tries to help?"

"No. I don't want anything coming from him, I rather overwork myself than to ask him for shit. He'll throw it at my face. He thought I wanted money to keep myself shut!"

"Didn't Alchemax offers maternity insurance or something like that?"

"It does but... It's only for a little time. And I'm not sure to keep working in that place, knowing I can see them anytime or... something could happen to me."

"I still can't believe that woman hit you."

"She had the right to do so. But I'm also scared of her. He's such a manipulator that he could bait her into taking him back."

"I don't know about that. She seems like the kind of woman that takes so much for so long until she decides it's enough."

"Pretty sure having your fiance knock up a stranger is enough."

"Focus on you, ok? You already did your part in telling them both. What they decide to do, is up to them."

MJ wasn't wrong. It was up to them. If Dana was to take a grudge, you'd bear it. You were brave enough to spill it all to her, even if that earned a slap from her. But now she was free.

And Miguel...

Another deep sigh.

You'd pretend he didn't exist, just like he had been playing for the last months. The more you thought about the clinic and the business you were about to perform, made you unnerved.

You didn't want to go back, even if your life depended on it, you'd refuse. In all the categorical and brazen truth, you weren't able to abort cause it didn't feel right.

Although MJ told you weren't your mother, that's how exactly you felt while being before the pristine white walls of the surgery room.

It brought back one of the many coldhearted memories you had from your messed up childhood. Social services were regulars in the doorstep of the paltry looking and shabby located apartment. Post partum psychosis had your mother in and out of the psychiatric ward, a distant relative took care of you in the meantime.

Joy lasted for almost five years, until her schizoaffective disorder acted up, often endangering you. Until one day you were sure she was taking your life away, with her own hands.

With a blink of an eye, you removed your attention back to MJ whose eyes had turned in a deep concerned stare at your sudden shut off.

"I'll put the baby for adoption."

"Alright. I'll help you."

There was no hesitation in your voice, yet the little heart growing inside beat harder, borderline excited to have an extended stay inside.

Taglist:

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#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x y/n #dana d'angelo #mj watson #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #Spotify

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lurkingshan · 8 months

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Only Friends and Engaging with Queer Male Media as a Cishet Woman

I’ve had some good conversations this week with friends as we’ve been unpacking our early reactions to Only Friends, which has only just begun getting into the messy dynamics we know the show is going to explore. One of the things that has come up in conversation is our different reactions to the scene between Boston and Top in the shower stall, and how we each read that in terms of consent, sexual coercion, and what it says about each of the characters. Some of us were relatively unfazed by the scene, finding it to be a fairly realistic depiction of a pushy aggressor and his conquest who is not that into him, but also not really opposed to getting sex anywhere and any way he can. Some were more uncomfortable, recognizing behaviors we might call assault in other contexts and wondering whether we should be condemning the character or the scene for the behavior depicted.

For me, this discussion brought up a lot of my previous fandom experiences, taking me all the way back to ye olden days when Queer as Folk (US) was airing and the majority cishet woman fandom spaces were scandalized, scandalized I tell you, by some of the aspects of gay male culture it depicted. It was not the first or the last show to do so, but it stands out in my mind as an important cultural moment at the turn of century as I was coming of age, when the internet was booming and the proliferation of online fandom spaces was rapidly accelerating. Because QaF did it all—casual sex, cruising, group sex, very public acts of indecency, aggressive boundary pushing and peacocking, open and polyamorous relationships, cheating and betrayal, age gaps—and it depicted it all quite explicitly, which made a lot of people uncomfortable. Especially women who were used to thinking about sex and relationships through two primary, and heavily socialized, lenses:

heteronormative romance, and

heterosexual rape culture.

Let’s take a moment to unpack those terms. Heteronormative romance is a big, broad term that I’m using as a kind of container for a lot of things, including patriarchal structures, misogyny, rigid gender roles, purity myths and fetishization of virginity, courtship rituals, promiscuity and respectability politics, the madonna/whore complex, sex as an act primarily for breeding and procreation, expectations of sublimating sexual desire in service of caretaking for others, and so on. Basically, all the bullshit cis women get jammed into our heads from birth that gives us so many hang ups about sex and love. With heterosexual rape culture, I am referring to the undeniable culture of sexual violence women also endure in a majority heterosexual society, in which we are in constant danger of having our boundaries transgressed, being physically and psychologically hurt, and then being told it doesn’t matter because our personhood has always been in question and never mattered as much as any one man’s power or pleasure. I’m not going to drop a bunch of citations for the above because this is tumblr and I have escaped the icy grip of graduate school, but if any of these ideas are unfamiliar to you, google is your pal (and please read about intersectionality as it relates to these concepts while you’re at it, because there are layers of identity that make these dangers worse for some, like our trans and BIPOC sisters, and all of this is undergirded, as ever, by white supremacy).

So, yes, engaging with media about sex is fraught for women, especially when that media does not conform to our heteronormative ideas of morality that have been shaped by all of the above, and particularly when we as individuals have not done the work to unpack and interrogate our socialized beliefs, which is often the case for cishet women especially. Many of us instinctively cringe away from unromantic depictions of sex. Many of us can’t stand cheating and betrayal in our love stories. Many of us shy away from media that depicts the unfortunate reality of grey and dubious consent. All of that is valid, to an extent, and rooted in the way we have been taught to think about this stuff from birth, and the ways we’ve had to adapt to survive.

But, here’s the thing, girlies: most of those socialized hang ups I just talked about? Do not apply to a story by, for, and about queer men.

Before you start yelling, here is your disclaimer: of course patriarchy and misogyny also hurt men. Of course rape culture also exists in queer communities, and of course some queer people engage in heterosexual sex, so these are not mutually exclusive categories of people. And, importantly, cishet women are not the only ones who struggle with these tensions—just the ones who are most relevant to this particular post.

So, after that long and winding road, back to the point: this debate about the bathroom scene in Only Friends is the same shit that’s been debated in majority female fandoms around depictions of queer male sex since time immemorial. And whatever your personal feelings are on that scene, or the no doubt numerous other depictions of questionable romantic and sexual etiquette and dubious consent coming our way in this show, what it boils down to is this: can a majority cis woman fandom step outside of our own conception of sexual morality to engage with this show not with judgment, but with curiosity about what sex and relationships look like for queer men? This show has an entirely queer male writing and directing team. It is made with love by people of the community, for the community. They know what they’re about, they have resumes demonstrating they are damn good storytellers who understand safe sex, consent, sexual health, and sex work, and they are here to tell us a story grounded in their reality. BL has been moving in fits and starts toward depictions of sex that are more honest about queer male experiences, and Only Friends, spearheaded by the Jojo Tichakorn Phukhaotong (who demonstrated quite ably that he has a firm grasp on consent, sexual assault, and the damage that dubious consent can cause in The Warp Effect), is the next step in that evolution. The key point is that sexual activity simply does not mean the same thing or carry the same associations and hang ups for queer men as it does for cis women. With that in mind, can we try our best to process and critique this story on their terms, instead of our own?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Only Friends is not going to be a good time for people who are looking for romantic depictions of relationships and sex or invested in identifying heroes and villains amongst this cast of characters. This show is about deeply flawed people hurting each other, rooted in the lived experience of the Thai queer male community—and those of us who do not share all of those lived experiences may not understand the nuances of every single thing that is happening. We can be sure that the characters will all be wrong sometimes and they will all do things we think are stupid or reckless or unkind. Does that mean we can’t have empathy for them? Do they have to act in a way we think is morally “correct” in order to love them? You don’t have to be comfortable with the things these characters do, and it’s certainly valid to point out when you think lines have been crossed. But attempting to sort them into “good” and “bad” camps is pointless, and moralistic judgment of their behavior is out of place, particularly when it comes from a place of trying to force them into our own irrelevant frameworks for sexual politics.

And with all that said, I am passing the baton over to my dear friend @waitmyturtles, because there’s an entire aspect of the intersectional cultures at play here that I have barely touched on—Only Friends as an Asian queer story that is building from a specific lineage of Thai queer media. I’m gonna let her take the mic for that part, and say thanks to her, @bengiyo, @neuroticbookworm and @wen-kexing-apologist for reading this over and helping me think through what I wanted to say here, and shoutout to @williamrikers whose post I also linked to above.

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

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flwersgarden · 2 years

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princess orders. ୭‌⋆*｡

pairings : soft yandere!eddie munson x hyperfeminine!female reader.

summary : eddie doesn't follow orders but when he is with you, well, he changes his own rules on obeying.

includes : dark themes, kinda angsty, mainly fluff tho.

author's note : i thought of this while listening to my mom's record of madonna and i just loved the idea so much i had to write something about eddie listening to her. this is my first (kind of a) long fic so feedback will be appreciated! hope u girlies enjoy it<3

for Eddie, school is not something important.

to be a guitarist in a band, he doesn't need maths, psychics, chemistry or one of those boring sub themes of math.

he sometimes would skip classes and go to the school's parking lot to smoke, paint people's cars or to sell weed.

“munson!” the harsh scream of his name shut his spaced out self. “Paying attention?” Mrs. Wells annoyingly asked, her glasses in the top of her head.

“Of course, why would I miss knowing about... ” His eyes went small as he tried to read what was on the board. “ World War II. ” His monotone voice made some students laugh, other roll his eyes while his teacher only sighed.

“Just, pay attention. ” He nodded, sinking in his chair while glancing at the classroom clock. Five more minutes until he sees you.

the reason he started showing up to these boring classes, doing his homework, showing up in time to school rehearsals or those stupid championships it's because of you.

you, beautiful you.

a lovesick smile showed in his face while his thoughts drifted to your existence.

you're probably in class listening to your teacher explaining some weird science thing, your legs intertwined with each other, biting your pencil trying to figure out what the hell are you learning.

oh, what he would give to be with you right now.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣

a heavy sigh left your lips as you left the classroom along some other students, walking to your closer, wishing to go home and sink in bed; or to go to your boyfriend's van and listen to him playing guitar while you draw in your notebook literal hearts, stars, flowers...

your thoughts were interrupted to the heavy sound of your locker being hit by some jock.

“ so, y/n. ” you smiled, nodding your head as you hugged the chemistry books to your chest.

“ that's me! ” you enthusiastically said, a giggle coming out as your turned to open your locker; the jock moving himself to stand next to you.

“ well, i was wondering, some of us are going to go to this party. ” you nodded again, not really paying attention to him as you left all your books in the small pinkish inside of your locker. “ wanna go with me? ”

before you could even process what he asked, you felt another hand grabbing your waist.

“ move, ken doll. ” the voice of your boyfriend made you smile, turning to him as you closed your locker, squealing as you hugged him.

“ eddie! i missed you so much! ” he smiled triumphantly, wrapping his arms in your waist, trying to cover your pink lace panties that your skirt failed to hide.

“ i missed you more, sweetheart. ” he said back, ignoring the jock scoff before leaving with some friends of his.

“ nope, i missed you much more. ” you brought your hands to his denim jacket, closing the distance between the both of you with a kiss, a hard passionate kiss.

you'd think that by the way the both of you made out in school hallways you didn't see each other for a long time and not just for thirty minutes but well, for eddie and for you that's a lifetime.

a hard thud was heard as your back hit the locker, his hands gripping your short pink skirt, both of your bodies almost molding into one before the bell rang making you break the kiss and opening your eyes comically wide.

“ practice! eds, i gotta go. ” he almost whined, making his lips a thin line as he moved to the side so you could move. “ remember i end in twenty minutes— oh, could you get my pink lemonade from that place we went? ” at the end of your sentence you pouted as you always did when asking him to do something for you (which was almost every moment of the day), your pink glossy lips looked so beautiful eddie had to steady himself.

“ of course, baby. wan' me to get you a cake too? ” he asked with that crazy love showing in his eyes as he watched you open your locker again just to fix your makeup, closing it again with a dramatic gasp.

“ yeah! ” you pouted again almost smiling this time. “ you, eddie munson, are the best boyfriend a girl can have. ” you came closer just to kiss his right cheek, 'booping' his nose and giggling as you went to your cheerleading practice after saying a quick and soft “ g'bye. ”

eddie could die happy in that moment.

“ 'cause we're living in a material world, and i am a material girl! ” you hummed the rest of the song, now focused on finishing your nails as you painted them with the new nail polish eddie bought, a cute pink you didn't had before, this one had glitter on it!

your voice was something that always made eddie smile, doesn't matter if you're teasing him, explaining some movie you watched with your family, telling him about the new clothes you got, he will always pay attention just as long as he can hear your voice so, in this ocassion he had to endured the loud music of madonna you have being listening for the past hour.

seeing eddie in your room could be comical, a dark spot laying between your plushies, in a soft pink sheet with dark pink pillows; surrounded with a pink room, filled with posters of elvis presley, michael j. fox, river phoenix and paul mccartney, a big closet filled with different tones of pink, few white clothes too (those were ones nancy gifted you, smiling as she saw how excited you were of the soft material) and your iconic shoes with small heels.

there's a lot of difference between you and eddie as a couple, you are a big splash of pink with glitter while eddie is the black edgy spot you sometimes see. when you both began dating, some people in school made fun of it, thinking it was some mean prank you were pulling on eddie, everyone waiting for the punchline.

it wasn't until the whole school saw the both of you making out in the school's cafeteria that they confirmed it, in a gross way for them anyway.

you jumped out of bed when you finished painting your nails, giving eddie a kiss on his cheek as you walked to your closet, choosing your fluffy pajamas you liked to wear in this type of cold nights.

“ will you stay? ” you asked as you turned to look at him, taking your shorts and blouse off, an innocent look in your face.

if eddie was a beginner in your relationship, he would've mistaken what you were doing as a simple accident but he is better at figuring you out. the glimpse of mischief in your eyes always gave you away.

“ my, my, does my spoiled princess wishes me to stay? ” at the nickname you giggled, nodding as you put the pajamas on. he sighed, faking a (dramatic) thinking face as you whined, making your way to the bed with a pout. “ hm, i don't know if i should... have you been a good girl for me? ” he asked with a soft teasing tone in his voice, watching you crawl next to him in the bed.

“ i'm always a good girl for you! ” you whined again, looking up at him with those pretty bambi eyes and as you cuddled to him feeling the warmth of his body, you saw how a smile appear on his face.

“ well then, i will obey my little girl's orders. ” you laughed, that soft laugh you keep just for him to hear, he always knew the real you.

“ goodnight. ” after a small yawn you left your hands in his chest, resting your cheek in his shoulders while he turned the cute night lamp you had next to his side of the bed, kissing your head as he mumbled a goodnight as well.

eddie stayed there, staring at the ceiling and smiling a little for a few minutes before closing his eyes. he can take your mother screaming at him for sleeping in your room tomorrow — for now he just wants to enjoy the feeling of your body against his, the feeling of you and just you.

#yandere!eddie munson #yandere eddie munson x reader #yandere eddie munson #dark!eddie munson #dark eddie munson x reader #dark eddie munson

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piratefishmama · 10 months

Note

OK, au where Eddie survived,

Its 1990, Steve hears this song and decides to drunkenly serenade Eddie with it

https://youtu.be/wv-34w8kGPM

Steve had had maybe… four beers, maximum, maybe one little fruity cocktail, and a shot of something that tasted like apple but that was it.

He wasnt even thirty yet and already his alcohol tolerance had gone to shit.

It was new year’s though! They’d hit the big Nine-O! The kids were allowed to be there, to celebrate with them as adults! They’d made it to ADULTHOOD, They’d, against literally all odds, survived the eighties and all the horrors that came with them.He was allowed to get a little white girl wasted in his and Robin’s apartment.

He was allowed to be free and silly in his own space surrounded by only his people.

No strangers to be seen in that apartment. Sure there were a few friends of the family, but he knew them, he knew them well enough that they knew him. The new and improved him, not the douchey high school him they once sort of knew. There were no strangers.

The music was loud, the track list riddled with cheesy pop, glam metal, rock, one or two reasonable metal tracks that the CC boys wouldn’t ridicule because Steve had been adamant that he wanted them (Eddie) to enjoy themselves, a few Madonna tracks, Queen, Bowie, plus, Dustin had brought a karaoke machine, in the hopes that Jonathan would capture something stupid on the fancy video camera Hopper got him for Christmas.

Wasted Steve was happy to accommodate as the something stupid.

Happy to be the first person brave enough, or drunk enough, to turn that silly little machine on because he was the only one just drunk enough to not care about embarrassing himself for fun. He was happy to peruse the list of songs Suzie had managed to acquire for it like a wine list at a fine restaurant, feeling excited eyes drawn to him. It was happening. Someone was going for the Karaoke.

Who better than Steve.

Who better than the King?

Who could switch from kegs to karaoke so seamlessly that it felt effortless, Steve. That’s who.

They had a projector screen for the words, but Steve didn’t need them, he’d been humming that damn song under his breath for weeks, having heard it on the radio driving to work. He related to it is all. Having a stupid crush that wouldn’t go away on someone who clearly didn’t seem to feel the same, but he couldn’t get over it.

He didn’t want anyone else.

Who else could say they’d understand the trauma they’d been through? Who else could be woken up in the middle of the night by screaming nightmares and just get it without having to ask? Who could he even talk to without breaking several NDA’s?

That issue alone had lost him a few partners since ’86. Who wanted to be with someone who couldn’t tell them the truth?

He hadn’t gone through a whole goddamn bisexual crisis in ’88 when he REALISED his crush was an actual sexual sort of crush and not a ‘he’s just pretty Robin, it doesn’t have to mean anything!’ appreciation of another man’s ridiculously pretty face. Honestly what the fuck was up with his big doe eyes, his laugh, those lips, he made facial scars look so damn good, and—

The music was starting, he found Eddie’s eyes from across the room and locked on them, laser focus, go big or go broke! Worst case scenario Eddie punched him, he could probably take Eddie in a fight.

Maybe. Eddie was scrappy. But Steve had back up. At least a fight would probably shut his crush up.

“I love myself, I want you to love me When I'm feelin' down, I want you above me—” Jonathan’s camera was ON him.The kids mortified, like they were watching a train wreck in motion, unable to look away. Eddie was just staring at him, wide eyed and flush cheeked. Or was that his usual big ol doe eyed stare and the alcohol hitting his cheeks? Steve was too drunk to know for sure, but he felt seen. He felt warm, full of liquid courage!

“I search myself, I want you to find me I forget myself, I want you to remind me” Eddie wasn’t moving, so Steve, in his infinite white girl wasted wisdom, decided to take a step from centre stage, to cross that distance and hope those pesky bandmates of Eddie’s didn’t get in the way. They didn’t. they moved out of the way actually. Leaving Eddie to gaze up at him from his seat while onlookers stared in amazement.

And maybe a little horror on the kids part, Dustin especially.

Those were his dads. His male role models. His big brothers. His dudes.

One of which was damn near sensually lowering his pretty self down into the other man’s lap, straddling it as if they were the only two people in the room. They were not. Steve didn’t care. “I don't want anybody else, When I think about you, I touch myse—”

“Alrighty that’s enough of that!” And the music was gone. Leaving Steve to awkwardly look over his shoulder at the culprit who’d turned off his thing. Eddie’s hand had landed on his hip to steady him, which was nice. Warm. Big. Grounding. He liked it.

Didn’t mean he was gonna focus on that instead of the culprit. “Dustin you shit! That was my big MOMENT!”

“That was horrifying beyond anything I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen. Some. Shit. No dry humping our DM at the GROUP New Year’s party! Do that in your own private time! In your own room!” At least he wasn’t saying not to do it. just. Not in public. Got it.

“Boy you have no idea what dry humping is, you’re like twelve.”

“I do TOO!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!!”

Robin chose that moment to turn the normal music back on to drown their bickering out so the party could continue around them. It did. There were no strangers at that party. No matter how surprising Steve Harrington serenading Eddie Munson with a sexy song was, there were no strangers at that party. They were family.

Even the other Corroded Coffin boys were family by association. Nobody would start shit in that apartment.

They’d be outnumbered.

That hand was still on his hip. Squeezing to get his attention back from where Dustin had managed to claim it. Whatever words he’d been yelling in a failed attempt to get over the music dying in his throat when he looked down at the man he was still straddling. He knew that look. Recognised it from days long since passed. Want.

Desire, lust, need, Steve swallowed his own saliva, then licked his lips to dampen the drying skin.

“You touch yourself a lot, Harrington?”

“Mmnhm, I’ve been needing a hand with it actually, you offering, Munson?”

“Bedroom, now.”

Nothing quite like bringing in the new year with one hell of a bang.

#steddie #pirateanswers #piratewrites #the shitpost is strong with this one #THANKS FOR THE ASK THOUGH!

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2broschlininahotub · 11 months

Text

To continue with the self aware honkai star rail or SAHSR au

To explain how the aeon affinity is. For example in the aeon of melody. The player used to be an idol or a popstar. If you want to say Aeon of cooking, you could say the player used be a chef or restaurant owner.

After the aeon appeared, the mc or Caelus or Stelle started to get this feeling to return back to the space station to meet with go to where the player first manifested. March and Dan heng also get this feeling. As they

You can imagine the powers of your aeon. In my case, the aeon of melody has the ability to use the powers of that are basically reality bending but the requirements to do that is they must have heard a song that could match the effect they want by the lyrics, music video or title and if the song has more than one person singing it, they need another person to do sing or dance with them. The player has to first do the steps to dance it first and while doing that lipsyncing it or singing it live and perfect every step before unlocking the ability to do apply the effect they want. If lip syncing or singing it live, it would sound as if the original person was singing it. To help the Aeon in doing this they could see the steps on what to do if they are perfecting it the first time. If the player is dancing it while lipsyncing, it would sound as if the original singer is singing it. I will give an example to do make it easier. If the Aeon were to dance the song slow mo from the euro vision contest. They would have to do the original steps of the song while lip syncing and perfecting it to unlock the effect to slow someone down to 0.0000001 percent speed.

Second example if the player were to sing it. They need to sing the entire song and perfect the tone and keys like that to activate the effect. This only applies to song with no choreography to perform like the song "like a prayer" by Madonna. The effect would a total party revive with after being revived all part members which is a shield that is given 100% of the total Hp of all four party members.

For the third example lady gaga and Beyonce telephone, You had to perfect the choreo with someone who can do area of effect damage while not looking at their opponent. Himiko and Kafka are an example. If you had perfected this with Himiko, then you don't need to perfect it with Kafka. The effect for Telephone is basically an execute or one hit based on total Hp of each individual enemy and if the opponents were multiple lives then total Hp of all their lives if that is less than fifty percent instant kill.

Part one here

#honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #self aware honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #hsr

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survivors-of-barovia · 1 year

Photo

i did this

#curse of strahd #strahd von zarovich #strahd #meme #Dungeons and Dragons #by: madonna from space

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unforgettable-realms · 1 year

Photo

A cute mushroom creature we met in Feywild!

#dnd art #dnd #dungeons and drawings #feywild #mushroom #art #the songs of fey and wild #by: madonna from space

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gerrystamour · 1 year

Text

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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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year

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a/n: a fun (long) little something! @making-it-big requested wedding night/honeymoon and i’m giving you guys both! also writing smut is hard (lol) sometimes and i lost track of limbs at a certain point, so like, just go with it. i actually went to greece this past summer so some of the trip details are pulled from my own vacation! 🥰 let me know if you guys want a separate post of the pics that sort of correspond with this fic, including one of the hotels!

word count: 9.1k (!!!!!)

tw: smut smut smut with dirty talking drei and our standard google-translated russian disclaimer 😂

summary: a wedding in raleigh followed by a honeymoon in greece, island hopping with andrei

Everything after the priest declared you husband and wife and Andrei dipped you back in a dramatic kiss is a little bit of a blur.

You’re announced as Mr. and Mrs. Svechnikov at the reception and have your first dance to Madonna’s Crazy for You, which is mildly embarrassing but it’s the song that was playing when you kissed for the first time, so it’s kind of your song. Andrei dances with Elena and you dance with your dad, wiping your tears on the tissue you keep wadded up in your fist.

Dinner is served and the table of hockey players clink their knives against their water glasses every twenty minutes so Andrei will kiss you. He obliges happily every time, cradling your face and kissing you sweetly. You grin against his mouth, the cacophony of cheers from your wedding guests the best soundtracks.

After you cut the cake - vanilla with white chocolate raspberry filling and a spray of flowers that match your bouquet falling down the sides of the tiers - the DJ kicks into high gear and everyone is crowding the dance floor. Andrei’s hands are on your waist while you dance, holding you close, your ass against his groin. You laugh, barely caring that there’s so many of your relatives watching. You can barely feel your feet and your face hurts from smiling.

The first reception carries on until one and by then all the older guests and both sets of parents have gone to bed.

You and Andrei thought ahead and rented out the attached and enclosed patio space for another few hours and while the music is playing, you both rush up to the honeymoon suite, giggling and holding hands.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful?” Andrei asks, kissing a trail down the back of your neck while he unzips your dress.

“Yes, but you can say it again,” you laugh, letting the dress fall to the floor and stepping out of it.

Andrei turns you in his arms and kisses you deeply, his hands warm and broad on your skin. You clutch at the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing you softer.

His hands slide down over your ass, squeezing, and you wriggle in his grip, pressing against his front. “As much as I can’t wait to have wedding night sex,” you grin, twisting your fingers in the untied fabric of his bow tie, “I want to change and get back to our friends!”

Andrei’s hands slip between your thighs and you squirm, his fingers thick and pressing against the seam between your legs. “They won’t miss us,” he murmurs, teasing you, stroking his fingers gently against the fabric of your underwear.

“Oh,” you gasp, knees turning to putty under his touch, “we only get one wedding reception after-party.”

He presses a kiss, chaste considering where his fingers are, to your temple and hums against your skin. “I guess. Just means you’ll be even more ready for me,” his voice is low, husky, and you’re honestly tempted to say fuck the after party and fuck him against the wall.

You shiver and dance away from him, the hot imprints of his fingers still burning your skin. “I’m always ready for you,” you admit shakily, taking your after-party dress off its hanger and slipping into it. The feathers on the miniskirt’s hem tickle at your bare thighs and you do a little twirl to get the skirt flaring out. You fell in love with the dress after seeing it in a little boutique after your bridal shower and thought about wearing it for the rehearsal dinner, but the feathers and thin straps felt more appropriate for the after-party.

Andrei looks over from where he’s hanging up your ceremony dress - you have him trained so well with all this wedding stuff - and his jaw drops. “Solnyshka,” he breathes, “you have to let me take that dress off of you and fuck you. Please.”

“Later, Mr. Svechnikov,” you croon, trailing your fingers over the edge of his jaw. It’s been so many hours since he last shaved, his jaw is lightly stubbled again. Andrei leans into your touch, growling when you giggle and skip to the door. He hurries after you, snagging your hand and lacing your fingers together.

You’re immediately handed a shot when you get back to the party and toss it back, grimacing a little. Andrei accepts a glass from Geno and you’re almost positive it’s full of vodka, but he doesn’t react at all when he takes a drink. The music is loud and you’re immediately dancing, shimmying and jumping to the old-school classics. Andrei, Geno, Brady, and Pyotr jump and shout lyrics at each other, but Andrei’s hands never leave your body. Even when he’s not looking at you, his hand is in yours or touching your back.

Eventually, he loses the bow tie and his shirt gets unbuttoned. Geno has his tie around his head and all the groomsmen are in various states of disheveled. You gravitate to Andrei, looping your arms around his neck and swaying against him, lazily grinding on him. He’s hard behind his tuxedo pants, kissing softly behind your ear. The music doesn’t match the tempo of your dance and all of your friends are jumping and dancing around you. But it’s dark outside the venue and right now, the only thing you’re aware of is Andrei’s fingers tangling in the bun that’s loosening at the nape of your neck and the feeling of his body against yours.

“Party’s winding down, zhena,” Andrei whispers in your ear, warm breath sending a shiver up your spine. And that's a new thing, how he's been calling you wife all night. In Russian or in English, he doesn't care. He's marking you as his.

The loud music and flowing alcohol is telling a different story, but you blink up at Andrei. His hair is mussed, flipped over his forehead, and his face is flushed from dancing and drinking. His lips curl up in a soft smile and you lean up on tiptoes to press your lips to his.

“I don’t think they’ll miss us, muzh,” you murmur against his lips, feeling his smirk when he realizes you called him ‘husband’ in Russian. You'd learned the pronunciation specifically for today. His hands tighten in your hair, angling your head back a little so he can kiss you again, deeper this time.

Your body melts against Andrei’s, warmth rushing through your veins. “Take me to bed, Mr. Svechnikov,” you whisper, giggling. He wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet. Holding you against his side, Andrei practically runs from the room. You cling to his neck, laughing the entire time.

In the elevator back up to the suite, Andrei pins you against the wall, resting one hand next to your head and sliding the other up and under your skirt. You lean into his touch, kissing him hungrily. His fingers play at the edges of your panties, disappearing beneath the fabric to stroke you gently. The doors slide open before he can really do anything and you’re back in his arms, being carried into the honeymoon suite.

Andrei lays you out on the bed and you kick one foot up. He grabs your ankle with fast reflexes and grins at you. “Yes?”

“I can’t do the buckles from up here,” you pout, batting your eyelashes at him. Andrei laughs, traced his index finger over the arch of your foot and over the top. He taps at the buckle.

“What’s the magic word, zhena?”

“Pozhaluysta, muzh,” you coo, butchering the pronunciation and slurring the words together a little. Even still, Andrei’s grip tightens around your ankle and the front of his pants grow tighter.

He makes quick work of the little buckle, letting your heel fall to the ground. The bow on the toe of the Jimmy Choos is likely to get crumpled, but Andrei kisses your ankle bone and your brain short circuits a bit. He sets your ankle on his shoulder and grabs for your other foot, undoing that buckle equally as quick. Before you know it, both your ankles are draped over Andrei’s shoulders and his hands are roaming up your thighs. You whine his name and he pinches the inside of your thigh gently.

“I want to enjoy this,” he murmurs, hand grasping at the lace of your panties and tugging. You frown at the sound of the fabric ripping, but immediately gasp and arch your back when Andrei buries two fingers in you without warning.

“Drei!” You moan, clenching around his fingers, wiggling at the sensation. Your legs try to snap together, trapping Andrei’s head between your knees.

“Zhena,” he whispers, “moya zhena, I’m going to make you come until the sun comes up.”

You think you make orgasm from his words alone, but then he crooks his fingers and you shout, kicking one heel against his shoulder and twisting the sheet in your fists. He grins, self-satisfied, and leans down to kiss you, the change of angle driving his fingers even deeper. You push at his shirt with your heels, getting it off one arm and leaving it to drape over the mattress, still on the other arm.

“Drei, please, I need,” you babble, sucking in a breath when the pad of his thumb finds your clit and strokes it roughly. “Shit, more, please.”

He adds a third finger and you cry out his name, grinding against his hand, heat coiling and building low in your stomach. His other hand grips at your thigh, massaging the muscle while he encourages you. “Come on, solnyshka, come for your husband, like a good little wife.”

“Andreiiii,” you chant his name, breathless, arching your back and clenching around his fingers. He crooks his fingers and presses down hard on your clit and you’re over the edge, starbursts dancing behind your eyes. He’s talking you through your orgasm, stroking your thigh with one hand, murmuring about what a good girl you are. You gasp and slump back against the mattress, a few feathers drifting around your head from where they’ve basically been fucked off your dress. “Christ,” you mumble, dazed.

Andrei slowly withdraws his fingers, the loss of them making you feel empty. He shakes his shirt off his arm and it flutters to the floor while Andrei sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean while holding eye contact with you.

You groan, “are you trying to make me come without even touching me?” You wiggle against the sheets, feeling hot and sweaty. Your dress bunches up at your upper thighs and Andrei’s gaze dips down.

“My love,” he grins, kneeling on the bed with one knee so the mattress dips with his weight, “you’ll know when I’m trying to make you come.”

He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clinking of metal on metal when his wedding band slips against the buckle making your gaze trail down. The fly of his tuxedo pants is open and you can see the bulge of his erection against his black boxer-briefs. You sit up a little, angling to lean forward and reach for him, but Andrei shakes his head.

“No, no,” he murmurs, wrapping a hand around your wrist. “What kind of husband would I be,” he brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your palm, “if I didn’t take care of my wife?”

His voice, deep and warm, fills you with desire and you sigh, pressing your thighs together, already a mess for him. “Andrei, don’t tease,” you whine, wiggling your fingers at him. “I just want to feel you. I want you in me.”

Leaning down and forcing you to lie back again, Andrei braces his hand next to your head and kisses you sweetly. “You will,” he promises, smoothing his other hand over your cheek. “I’m going to make love to my wife,” he murmurs, kissing you again. His hand moves around your back and he plays with the zipper of your dress. You get the hint and scoot into a sitting position so he can work the zipper with one hand and slip the dress off your body, leaving you bare except for your strapless bra. Andrei kisses the swell of each breast and flicks at the clasp, discarding the bra to the floor. You kick a little at the dress and it slips to the floor where it’s joined quickly by Andrei’s pants, leaving you staring at his erection straining behind the black cotton.

“Lie back,” he commands and you do, already slightly breathless. He kneels on the bed again, your legs falling open to make room for him to get in between your thighs. “So beautiful,” he mumbles, absently, almost to himself, while he pulls himself out of his boxer-briefs, stroking his already hard length into a steel rod. His cock juts put in front of him and your mouth waters at the sight. You can’t believe that this gorgeous man is yours, forever.

“Andrei,” you pout, hand sliding between your legs to alleviate some of the growing pressure. He doesn’t make a move to stop you and instead his gaze is laser focused on where your fingers are circling your clit. You gasp. “Please, I need more, I need you,” you whisper, hooking an ankle around his thigh and tugging. You can’t move him on your own, so when he shifts forward, you know he’s going to give you what you want.

He lowers his body over yours, nestled in between your legs, his weight braced on one hand. You grin up at him, tracing his bicep with your free hand and pushing at his boxer-briefs with the other. Your fingers brush his cock and he shivers, hips jolting. “Make love to me, Andrei,” you murmur, lifting your head to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip in between your teeth. He groans into your mouth and your guide him to your entrance, the head of his cock bumping against your clit and sending delicious shocks down to your toes.

Still kissing you, Andrei rolls his hips and enters you. You gasp into his mouth and meet his hips with yours. He sets a slow, leisurely pace, thrusting gently and keeping control. Your legs hook around his waist, deepening the angle. His hips roll and you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Drei,” you gasp his name, raking your nails down his back. “More, please.”

He picks up the pace, but just barely, the tension building low in your stomach. Your hands roam his body, slick with sweat, and tangle in his hair.

He kisses you again and it’s cheesy, because you’ve kissed Andrei hundreds, thousands, hundred thousands of times, but this is different. These kisses are so much more. They’re soft and hungry and lazy and so full of love.

Andrei thrusts again, dipping his hand between your bodies because he knows exactly how to get you to come and your thighs are trembling with the building tension. “Come on, little wife,” he murmurs hoarsely, biting gently at the swell of your breast, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “Show me how beautiful you are when you come.”

You cry his name, clenching around him and then you’re both coming, clutching each other’s bodies. Your nails dig into his arms and Andrei’s face is buried in your neck. He’s breathing heavily, filling you and pumping his hips and it’s overwhelming, just how much you love him. You melt into the mattress, boneless, and encourage Andrei through his orgasm, stroking his neck and murmuring softly to him. He exhaled roughly and drops down from shaky arms, half of his body covering yours.

“I think I like married sex,” you huff a laugh, twisting a piece of Andrei’s hair between your fingers. His thigh is wedged in between yours and you resist the urge to rub your still sensitive clit against the hard, corded muscle.

He kisses your shoulder. “Me too,” he chuckles. His fingers trace a lazy pattern over your side, dragging from your hip bone up to the side of your breast and back down. You yawn, the repetitive motion soothing you and dragging your eyelids shut. You have no idea what time it is, but it has to be late, or early. The blackout curtains are drawn, but you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun is starting to come up.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Andrei says, already rolling off of you. “Let me clean you up.”

He gets out of bed and pads naked to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to roll on your side and ogle his firm, round ass. His entire form is lean muscle and strong, solid thighs. You swipe a hand between your legs and press at your clit, unfairly aroused and overstimulated by his body. Andrei’s back with a damp washcloth before you can really do anything about it, but he catches you and smirks, eyes flashing. He holds the cloth up and crooks a finger at you. “Come here,” he says, even as he’s climbing back into bed and dragging your legs over his lap.

Slowly, torturously, he runs the cloth between your legs and you squirm. The rough fabric is too much for your sensitive nerves and Andrei knows it. He moves even slower and only smiles when you grind your hips over his hand. “Going for the hat trick?” He laughs, everything brought back to hockey with him.

You frown. “It’s not fair that you’re so damn attractive,” you’re breathless, working yourself over the cloth and his hand. He just laughs again, the bastard, and helps you along until you’re coming for the third time, sweaty and completely limp in his arms. Andrei gathers you against his chest and you press your hot, sweaty cheek against his heart.

“I have to get up and pee,” you mumble, “but I don’t think I can walk.”

He kisses the top of your head and carries you into the bathroom, letting you do your business and get cleaned up while he goes back to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s yawning when you come back, still naked, but face clean of the stray makeup smudges. Your hair is tangled and still half in its bun, so you’ve left it to be tomorrow’s problem. Andrei opens his arms and you step in between his legs, resting your forearms on his shoulders. He leans forward and rests his forehead in the valley between your breasts, breathing softly. Another yawn works it’s way through your body and you shift, pushing Andrei back on the bed and climbing up with him. “I really need to sleep,” you sigh, your eyelids getting heavy again.

Andrei nods, looking tired himself. You both climb under the covers on your usual sides of the bed - Andrei closer to the door and you closer to the window - and lie down facing each other. You trace Andrei’s features with your index finger, running over his jaw line, forehead, and the line of his nose. His eyes flutter shut at your touch and his hand reaches for you, landing on your hip and pulling you close. You tuck your head under his chin, trailing your fingers over the column of his neck and feeling the stubble that’s there. “I love you, solnyshka,” he says quietly, his chest vibrating under your body.

“I love you,” you sigh, curling up close to him and falling asleep within minutes.

You wake up late the next morning, sunlight streaming brightly around the cracks of the curtains. Stretching out your entire body, you realize Andrei’s still asleep too. He must be exhausted since usually he’s up well before you. He’s flat on his back, arm thrown over his face, and sheet tented over his lap. Andrei’s mouth is a little open and he’s snoring softly - looking adorable while he’s at it. You reach for your phone, planning on taking a picture - the first picture of your husband (!) that you’ll take on your own phone - but when the screen lights up, you catch sight of the time and wince. It’s nearly noon, which would be late in the day normally, but your parents planned a day-after-the-wedding lunch for the guests staying at the hotel, scheduled to start at one. You both need showers and to change, so you drop your phone in the covers and smooth a hand over Andrei’s stomach, gliding it up over his pecs and curling it around the back of his neck before cupping his cheek, scratching your nails into his stubble.

“Drei, baby, time to get up,” you murmur, leaning down and pressing kisses to his chest and shoulder. “We have lunch in an hour.”

He grumbles - the only time he’s not a bouncing ball of energy and positivity is the few minutes right before he’s fully awake - and turns his head so he can press his cheek fully into your palm. “No,” he mumbles into your skin. “Nyet, do obeda. Ostavat'sya v posteli.”

He does that too, revert to Russian in his sleep. You brush your nose against his cheek. “I don’t know what that means beyond ‘nyet’ so whatever you said isn’t going to stop me,” you laugh a little.

Andrei cracks one eye open and squints at you. His lips curl up in a lazy smile and his hand lands on your waist. “I said,” he sighs, “no to lunch. Let’s stay in bed.”

You let him pull you against his side even as you’re shaking your head, which is a mistake because that seems to trigger your hangover. You press your lips together and wait for a minute before continuing, “we have two and a half weeks in Greece to relax and stay in bed, let’s go see everyone and eat because I’m starving.”

“I’ll order room service,” Andrei jokes, waking up and sitting up to kiss you.

“I want to see how hungover everyone is,” you giggle. “And you know what they say, happy wife, happy life.”

He swats at your ass a little when you roll away from him, laughing, and climb out of bed. You wiggle your ass in his direction playfully, “your wife wants you to join her in the shower, aren’t you going to make me happy?”

“That I can do,” Andrei promises, getting out of bed and wrapping his arms around your waist to carry you into the shower.

Of course, the shower takes twice as long as it should and by the time you get dressed - casually because once you opened the blinds, the afternoon North Carolina sunlight had nearly blinded you and caused a headache to form right between your eyes and nausea to roll your stomach - you’re running late to your own celebratory lunch. Andrei’s fingers play with the tie straps on your sundress as you head downstairs and you lean against him heavily. “I don’t understand how you don’t get hungover,” you mumble. “It’s unconscionable.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. “I’m bigger and Russian,” he shrugs, all the explanation you’re going to get. Truthfully, you just think he didn’t have as much to drink as you did. Even during the off-season, Andrei isn’t that big of a partier.

Once you get down to the hotel’s dining space, it’s all you can do not to laugh. The room is split into two camps - the older relatives who checked out by the end of the main reception and the friends and younger relatives that had partied with you at the after-party. The adults look tired, but happy, and your friends look like death warmed up.

Brady’s cradling his head in his hands while Gracia nudges toast in front of him. Pyotr has his head pillowed on his arms on the table. Geno has his sunglasses on inside and you spot Elena pointing him out to your mom and laughing, shaking her head at him. Jordan’s nursing a mug of coffee and you spot your best friends taking a carafe of coffee directly from the waiter and setting it on the table in front of them.

“Rough night?” You giggle, pressing your fingers to your temple at the spike of pain. The girls look up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Tia groans, “who challenges Russian hockey players to a drinking contest?”

“A moron, that’s who,” Kate murmurs, her voice nearly gone from scream-singing.

“Who’d you challenge?” Andrei asks, munching on a piece of bacon. You look at his food with a jealous eye and he holds out the half-eaten strip for you. You take a bite gratefully and chew while you wait for Tia’s answer.

She wrinkles her nose. “Who didn’t I challenge is the question, but I finally tapped out against Pyotr and Geno.”

“It was impressive,” Geno mumbles, holding his hand up for Tia to slap in a high-five.

“Party of the year, Svechy,” Brady grins. “But fuck, I’m gonna feel this hangover for a week.”

Andrei smirks at his friend and says, “good thing it’s off-season.”

Your mom calls you both over and you wind your way amongst the tables, leaving your hungover friends to recover. Andrei’s hand is warm against your lower back as you head across the room, his fingers splayed out.

“Honey,” your mom pats your hip when you reach her side, “I think you could use a little make-up, right here.” She waves her hand in the general area of her neck and you flush, knowing she means the hickeys Andrei sucked into your skin the night before.

“I, um, I’ll take that into consideration,” you stammer, even as Andrei sniggers behind your back. You swing your leg back, kicking your heel into his shin, and he just wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

Shooting the parents a wide and innocent, but sincere, smile, he says, “thank you, all of you, for helping us have the best wedding yesterday. We appreciate it very much.”

Your mother’s attention is now on her new son-in-law and not the marks on your neck. She smiles at him, “it was more than our pleasure. You two deserve it.”

“And especially the vacation,” Elena chimes in. “It’s well-earned.”

It definitely is. Andrei’s fresh off a Stanley Cup victory and you’re fresh off the stress of planning a wedding around the playoffs. You can’t wait to soak up the Mediterranean sun and have sex with your husband in between delicious meals. Your flight leaves the next afternoon and you’re more than ready to get going.

The parents release you back to your friends and lunch becomes a fun, lazy affair, a continuation of the after-party, where it’s revealed that Kate and Pyotr had hooked up in the hotel’s garden and half the team had lost money on that bet.

Eventually, you’re gently kicked out of the dining hall and your parents come up to the honeymoon suite to take both of your dresses to be cleaned and preserved for you while you’re in Greece. Elena and Igor take Andrei’s tux and put it in their car along with the three other tuxes belonging to your dad, Igor, and Geno. They’ve kindly volunteered to return them so it’s one less thing for Andrei to worry about when you get back.

Geno unloads Andrei’s honeymoon suitcase from his car, setting it next to yours in the back corner of the suite where it’s been since the morning of the wedding. You’re getting another night in the hotel before you leave for Greece, so all the luggage had to be brought with you. Not that it matters really, you’ve been packed for a week, beyond excited for the trip, and you’d packed most of Andrei’s stuff too. “What do you have in here?” Geno asks, teasing. “All of your hair products?”

Andrei raises an eyebrow at his brother and deadpans, “sex toys.”

You giggle while Geno processes for a few silent seconds before cracking into his trademark missing-toothed grin. He laughs loudly and cups Andrei’s face in his hands, squeezing his little brother’s cheek’s together. “You’re a little shit,” he shakes his head affectionately, “you know that?”

“Learned from the best,” Andrei mumbles, trying to smile while Geno is squishing his face.

The rest of the day and the next morning passes in a blur of last minute preparation, couples massages, and sex on every surface of the honeymoon suite. You put the shower bench to particularly good use.

Finally, after a quick lunch, you’re on the way to the airport, vibrating with excitement in the back seat. “I can’t believe we’re going to be completely and totally off the grid,” you sigh, closing your eyes and thinking about it. You’d decided against an international plan and are keeping your phones on airplane mode the entire trip, save for a few minutes at the end of the day when you’ll connect to hotel WiFi to check in with your parents. “It’s going to be so nice.”

“I’m just looking forward to spending time with you,” Andrei says sweetly, kissing your cheek.

Your flight ends up delayed for two hours, meaning more time to people-watch in the airport. Andrei gets bored sitting around and does laps, reporting back that he found no less than four Auntie Anne’s pretzel shops. “And you didn’t bring me cinnamon sugar pretzel nuggets?” You shake your head. “Bad start to the marriage.”

He does another lap and brings you the nuggets along with a lemonade, stealing a few pretzels from the cup before he hands them over.

Once you’re on the plane - first class(!) - Andrei takes both of your carry-ons and stows them away, letting you have the first shift in the window seat. You’ve learned over the past few years of dating that you both love the window seat, but Andrei would rather sit there during touchdown and you like it during takeoff, which makes it easy to switch off.

After takeoff, you get comfortable in your seat, kicking off your sneakers and folding your legs up on the seat. Andrei stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankle, grinning when he sees you aiming your phone at him for a picture and throwing up a thumbs-up. Picture taking and documenting memories in scrapbooks is one of your love languages and Andrei learned early on how to be an Instagram husband, to pose for shots, and to always be aware that you’re taking candids.

“Make sure you save your boarding pass,” you say. “It’s going in the honeymoon scrapbook.”

He holds the slip of paper up in between his index and middle fingers, smirking, “whatever you say, wife.”

“Excellent,” you lean over the armrest and kiss him softly.

The flight attendant comes by with drinks and catches you kissing Andrei. “Aren’t you two adorable?” She comments, handing Andrei a water and you a ginger ale (it just tastes different on a plane).

You can’t help yourself and burst out, “we’re on our way to Greece for our honeymoon!”

“Well!” She beams, clapping her hands. “That’s so exciting! I wish you both a long and happy marriage.”

You thank her, Andrei chiming in at the same time.

The flight is uneventful. Andrei falls asleep almost immediately, since he’s so used to plane travel, and you know to wake him up for snacks and meal service. You’ve never been able to sleep on a plane, too excited and eager to enjoy the experience, so you find a movie to watch. Over the seven hours, you watch Top Gun and cry when Goose dies, Ghostbusters: Afterlife and cry when Harold Ramis’s character appears as a ghost or vision or whatever at the end, and The Parent Trap. You don’t cry during that one, but that’s mostly because you’ve seen it so many times and you’re desensitised.

Andrei stirs a little, waking up for dinner and to tease you about crying over old movies. You wrinkle your nose at him and he holds your hand when he falls back asleep.

You booked the trip through a Greek travel company, which means literally everything was taken care of including all transfers to and from the airport and the different hotels and islands, so all you have to do when you land, is gather your luggage and find the man holding up the SVECHNIKOV placard. Andrei drags the one large checked suitcase and his carry-on behind him, his backpack secure on his back. You’re left with your rolling carry-on and the old Jansport you’re using as a personal item for travel purposes.

“Mr and Mrs Svechnikov?” The man smiles at them. “I am James, I will drive you to the hotel.” He takes the suitcase from you and tries to take one from Andrei, but your husband is firm that he’ll pull his own suitcase. You traipse along behind both men, still taking in the sights and sounds of the Athens airport.

The heat hits you the second you step foot outside, a warm wall that has you sweating witching a few feet. The sun is bright and the air feels thick. You slide your sunglasses over your face and push up the sleeves of your travel sweatshirt, grinning like a fool at Andrei. He shares your smile, looking around at the mountainous surroundings.

It’s about a half-hour drive to the hotel and you find yourself dozing, leaning against Andrei’s arm, as you drive. The time difference and lack of sleep over the past few days are catching up to you. The warm of Andrei’s body next to yours isn’t helping. But after your little nap, you feel refreshed when you get to the hotel. So refreshed that you immediately drop the bags off and start exploring the neighborhood. Andrei holds your hand as you walk, taking in the vibrant surroundings and the smells of amazing food. You bounce on the balls of your feet every time you spot a stray cat and squeal when you stumble on the Acropolis.

“Oh my god, Drei!” You grin. “We’re actually here. Like we’re actually, really in Greece on our honeymoon.”

He laughs and kisses you. “I know, solnyshka. It feels like a dream.”

The entire trip is a dream. You get up early the next morning and hike up the slope of the Parthenon to see the Acropolis. It’s hot, but beautiful. You looks around in awe, overwhelmed by the history and architectural work. Andrei asks a couple if they’ll take a photo of the two of you and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his side and smiling widely for the picture. You lean up to kiss his cheek for another photo.

By the time you start the walk back down, it’s even hotter and the crowds are getting out of control. Andrei is at your back, keeping a watch as you go down the marble steps. Once you get to the bottom, you get two frozen lemonades, plain for Andrei and strawberry for you, and lean against a nearby wall to suck them down and cool off.

“There’s so much history here,” you say, looking around. “It’s just so cool! I mean, to think that the Acropolis was built so many hundreds of years ago and it’s still standing.”

“Nerd,” he teases you affectionately.

After a few days in Athens, you’re shuffled off to the ferry via car service early in the morning. It’s still dark when you get in line to board and you’re wrapped in a sweatshirt while you lean on the big suitcase. Andrei’s hand is warm on your back and your legs tingle a little, still sore from the marathon sex you’ve been having. You sip at your coffee, enjoying just how strong the Greek coffee is. “We definitely need to bring some of this coffee back home,” you say, holding your cup up for Andrei to have a sip.

“A cup of this before a game and I’m flying,” he agrees.

“You could use that, old man,” you tease him, nudging his foot with yours and he smacks at your ass a little.

“Brat.”

You smirk at him. “Guess you’ll have to punish me, then.”

Andrei’s eyes darken in the dim light, but before he gets the chance to say anything, the line starts moving and there’s an announcement that boarding is happening. You shuffle along, Andrei’s hand reaching out to pinch your ass, making you yelp. When you look back at him, he just smiles innocently.

The ferry ride to Naxos from Athens isn’t very long, just about four hours, but it’s long enough for you both to get in quick naps once you find your seats. Andrei has his legs propped up on the suitcase, keeping it close, and your lips tilt up at the sight of him with his head back and his baseball cap over his face. You snap a picture.

Naxos is gorgeous, but your hotel is smack in the middle of nowhere and has an outdated 70s vibe that makes you think of murder motels. It’s an uncharitable thought because everyone is so nice and polite, especially when they find out you’re celebrating your honeymoon. The beach is a thirty minute walk in one direction and the town is more than an hour’s walk in the other. You manage to figure out the bus system and are on the beach, laying on side-by-side lounge chairs in under an hour. The water is too gorgeous to be real and it’s warm enough that you don’t have to tentatively step in and get used to it.

The days pass by in a blur of sun and sand, picnics packed for lunch, and in one memorable afternoon, a stumble on a nude beach.

“Oh my god!” You yelp, eyes going wide. “We have to turn around.”

Andrei’s laughing so hard he can’t speak, averting his eyes from looking directly at all the old people baring it all. You cover your eyes on the side like you’re wearing blinders and speed walk back in the direction of your chairs. “Solnyshka,” Andrei calls after you, still laughing, “it’s natural! What if I decided to strip down? Would you run away from me?”

“No!” You smother a horrified laugh. “But you’re my husband and your balls don’t hang down to your ankles. It’s not exactly a hardship to look at your naked body, Andrei!”

“Well that’s good to hear,” he deadpans. A smirk cracks his facade and he starts to giggle again. “You just looked so horrified.”

“They’re old! And wrinkled! And their skin is like leather - has no one heard of moisturiser?” You shake your head, planning on rubbing in another layer of sunscreen when you’re back at your chairs.

Dinner is usually a relaxed affair, sitting at some taverna by the water, plates of appetizers covering the table. You have a Greek salad with every meal, thoroughly enjoying the feta and fresh tomatoes. Naxos is known for their cheese, so you order a cheese platter one night and share approximately two pieces with Andrei, fighting each other with your forks. He distracts you, pointing over your shoulder and exclaiming that he sees dolphins, and when you look over to see nothing, he pulls the cheese plate to himself and protectively encircles his arms around it, laughing when you start tugging at his hands. There’s this amazingly bright beet dip - a perfect magenta pink and so addictive with the grilled pita bread.

“I could marry this dip,” you moan.

Andrei raises an eyebrow. “I could be okay with polygamy.”

After Naxos, you take the ferry to Paros - just an hour on the boat and you’re in a completely different location. It’s amazing how efficient the ferries are and how civilized the whole process is. You get to keep your luggage the whole time and since seats are assigned on your ticket, no one fights for a seat.

Paros is a gorgeous island. Similar in size to Naxos, but more built up. Your hotel is magical - a true five star - with palm trees by the pool and perfectly manicured grounds. There are hot pink flowers everywhere and you breathe in the fresh air, feeling like a different person.

“I love this place,” you sigh, stretching out on a lounger next to the pool. Andrei toasts you with his drink, something in a coconut that he’d never normally order at home.

“Top hotel so far,” he says, tucking one hand behind his head, making his bicep pop. He’s been running in the mornings, to counterbalance the food you’ve been eating. But he’s also been so relaxed, which is something you’re glad to see. The last few years have been a lot on him - his ACL injury that had led to a shortened season when he returned followed by the deep playoff run leading to the eventual Stanley Cup. He needed a minute to unwind.

He reaches out over the distance between your chairs and wiggles his fingers at you. You reach your own hand out and let him lace your fingers together. Unfairly, he’s tanner than you are, his skin turning a nice golden brown under the Greek sun. Andrei’s thumb traces over your knuckles.

Neither of you say anything, just enjoying the company and quiet.

The beach is a two minute walk from your hotel, so in the afternoons, you make your way over there with just your towels to swim in the sea. You’re actually addicted to the Mediterranean now and have no idea how you’re going to go back to swimming in the Atlantic. There’s some cliffs around the beach and Andrei eggs you on to climb them and jump off.

You’re a chicken when it comes to stuff like that, but with Andrei encouraging you, and screaming all the way down, you jump from a decently high cliff. The adrenaline rush is unparalleled and Andrei enthusiastically responds when you jump into his arms, kissing him hungrily. With the buoyancy from the salt water helping, Andrei carries you into a secluded cove, shadowed by the cliffs you had just jumped off of. He presses you against the rocks, scraping your back, and twists his fingers in the ties of your bikini bottoms.

His fingers edge under the fabric and you squirm, wanting him to touch you. “Come on, Drei,” you urge him. “Touch me, please.”

“Anyone could swim by, zhena,” he murmurs against your neck, licking at the drying salt.

“Not if,” you gasp, letting your head fall back as Andrei licks and bites your neck. “Not if you’re fast.”

He hums against your skin, still toying with the fabric of your bottoms. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and you can feel the hard heat of his cock pressing into you. You grind down against him and he bites your shoulder in a little warning. “You like this?” He asks, slipping his index finger under your bathing suit and letting the tip of it tease at your swollen folds. The cool water laps around you, keeping your temperature down. “You want people to see you, my love? You want them to see me give you my fingers, see how many of them you can take?”

“I…yes…Andrei, please,” you whine, heels kicking against his back while you clench around the tip of his finger. “I…more… pozhaluysta.”

It’s a dirty trick, using your limited Russian, because you know he finds nothing hotter. Andrei slips two fingers inside of you and crooks them, forcing a cry from your throat. You press one hand against your lips to muffle your noises as he fucks you with his fingers, adding a third after only a few seconds. “You wanted this, my love,” he rasps, “don’t be quiet.”

“Andrei,” you whine his name, toes curling. Your hand fists in his hair and he hisses a little when you tug. His fingers are thick and rough inside of you and it doesn’t take too much longer before you’re clenching around then and coming on his hand. “Fuck,” you mutter, going boneless in his arms.

“Good girl,” Andrei praises you, kisses your shoulder. “I think it’s time for a nap.”

Your eyelids flutter and he carries you through the water back to your towels. Your legs are jelly underneath you, but you wrap yourself in your towel, pressing against his body to feel his erection press into your lower stomach. “You know,” you murmur, “there’s a hammock on the patio of our room.”

Andrei raises an eyebrow at you. “We have a good time in hammocks,” he says slowly.

Agreeing, you continue, “and the bathtub in the room is very, very big. Probably big enough for, say a 6’2” Russian and his brand new wife.”

“We should test that out,” he says, seriously, nudging you through the sand and back to the road leading to your hotel.

Turns out the tub isn’t quite big enough for the both of you and more water splashes over the sides than stays in, but you giggle your way through a bath that’s more groping than anything. The olive oil soap is a nice amenity, getting you both extra slick and slippery - which does eventually result in you banging your knee against the side of the tub, but it’s worth it when Andrei kisses the spot, working his way up your inner thigh.

After the bath, you dry each other off and roll around on the bed, making out and touching each other, but not really doing much more. It’s been a long trip and you’d like to be able to walk at the end of it. You order loukoumades - Greek doughnuts soaked in honey syrup and dusted with cinnamon - from room service and curl up on Andrei’s lap out on the patio to enjoy the warm night and the sweet treat.

Andrei feeds you a doughnut and you purposefully suck his fingers into your mouth when you take a bite. He raises an eyebrow at you and you giggle. “You know,” you say quietly, enjoying the peaceful evening, “one day, I’d like to bring our kids back here. Be the annoying parents that talk about their honeymoon and show their kids all the amazing sights and restaurants.”

“That would be nice,” Andrei replies, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Rent a villa and let them run around in the sun. We should have them learn Greek too, that way someone can translate.”

“Can you imagine?” You grin, leaning back against his chest. “Little babies running around switching between English, Russian, and Greek? They’ll be the smartest kids is Raleigh.”

“And the cutest too, probably.” He nuzzles his nose against the side of your neck. “As long as they look like you.”

Warmth floods your stomach, thinking about a little gang of Svechnikov babies. In your imagination, they look like Andrei, his warm brown eyes and that dimple. You curl closer against him, daydreaming about that future.

Your last island is Santorini and you’re actually spending the least amount of time here, just four and a half days before you fly back to Athens for an overnight stay before leaving for home again. Santorini is gorgeous, but it’s definitely the most crowded of the islands and the most touristy. The blue domes against the white washed buildings are beautiful and the sunsets are as gorgeous as promised. But, after the slower paced Naxos and Paros, you find yourself getting a little cranky with the crowds of Santorini.

“I think you need an ice cream,” Andrei says, guiding you towards one of the many ice cream shops. “You’re getting that hangry look in your eyes.”

“These people just don’t move!” You grumble, following him. “It’s so crowded and if they all stop in the middle of the path…” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“She’ll have the kataifi,” Andrei says to the woman behind the counter, ignoring you, “and I’ll have the chocolate hazelnut.”

Your ice cream order’s been fairly standard over the past few days in Santorini - the kataifi ice cream is cinnamon-y and sweet and has chunks of the crunchy kataifi phyllo and nuts mixed it. You take the cone and happily tear into it, already feeling a little better as you cool off. Andrei takes his cone and pays, joining you against the wall of the shop. You’re busy keeping your ice cream from melting all over your hands and so when Andrei leans over and licks from the edge of your jaw to your earlobe, you’re so startled you nearly drop the cone entirely.

“Andrei!” You yelp, turning on him with wide eyes. “What the —“

He smirks at you and points at the opposite wall where a blue neon sign proclaims ‘it’s not going to lick itself.’ You blink at the sign briefly and then start giggling. “Just doing what the sign tells me,” he says innocently.

“I don’t think that’s what it means,” you murmur, flicking your gaze down to the front of his shorts.

“You can lick that later,” Andrei promises, grinning. He licks his ice cream scoop very deliberately, flattening his tongue around the scoop and swirling it. Your cheeks flush and you bump his hip with yours. He captures your hand and squeezes, tugging you out of the shop and back into the packed streets.

You wander a little more, popping into a jewelry store where you immediately spot two puppies playing and squat down to play with them. Andrei disappears for a minute, but you’re too distracted to realize he even left until he’s back, hovering over you, asking, “ready to get going?”

“Where’d you go?” You ask, giving the dogs one more pet each before standing up and taking Andrei’s hand.

He waves his other hand, “just around. Looking at souvenirs.”

“Okay,” you squint at him a little suspiciously, but don’t question it. “I think we’ve covered everyone actually, unless you want to get anything else for your parents.” The entirety of one of your carry-on suitcases is dedicated to souvenirs, and there’s spill over into the big suitcase, so you’re kind of hoping Andrei’s done with gifts.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good.” He smirks at you, “besides, we don’t have any more luggage room, right?”

“You do listen to me!” You laugh.

“Of course,” he kisses your knuckles. “Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Your last day on Satorini is spent on the volcanic black sand beach, relaxing and fooling around in the sea. “I’m going to miss this,” you say, toes skimming the sand while you float in the deep water.

“Let’s come back next year,” Andrei suggests, tipping his face back to the sun. “Another two weeks, there’s hundreds of islands we haven’t seen.”

You find yourself getting a little emotional. “Yeah,” you whisper, emotion clogging your throat, “that would be nice. But it would just be a vacation, it wouldn’t be another honeymoon.”

“No,” Andrei floats over to you and kisses you softly, “it won’t be. But it’ll be a good first anniversary trip.” He kisses your cheek. “Or maybe a trip to celebrate a pregnancy.”

“I love you,” you whisper, wiping at your face. “This has been the best trip, Drei. Honestly. I can’t wait to take a million more.” You loop your arms around his neck and his arms come around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You made it the best trip,” he says, dimple popping. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend two and a half weeks island hopping with or getting lost on the way to the beach with. I wouldn’t stop whenever someone else pointed out a stray cat or dog, just you, solnyshka.”

You snort a laugh, “you’re really angling for me to lick something, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Andrei smirks, the sun glinting off of his tanned skin and his brown eyes twinkling, “I wouldn’t say no to a little licking.”

There’s a lot of licking on your last night in Santorini and you both sleep in the next morning, enjoying a lazy start to the day and getting breakfast delivered to your room so you can pack and eat on your own time. The flight back to Athens is only an hour - you spent longer going through security and waiting to board than actually in the air.

You’re only in Athens overnight before you have to leave for the airport at 11, so you make the most of it, wandering around and getting a little bit lost before having a final dinner in a romantic little taverna. Andrei passes a little jewelry box across the table to you while you wait for dessert.

“What’s this?” You trace a finger over the box.

“A present,” he smiles.

“You already gave me a pretty good present,” you hold up your left hand, flashing your engagement ring and wedding band.

He laughs a little. “I know. But this one is to remember Greece.”

You look at him, shaking your head a bit, and pop open the box to find a cross that looks exactly like his, but smaller. “Andrei,” you look back up at him, “this is - it’s just like yours.”

You know Greek and Russian Orthodox are under the same umbrella and Andrei had poked his head into a few churches, doing the cross and dropping a few euros to light candles. You’d gotten married Russian Orthodox and even though it’s your own background, your family was far enough removed from being in Russia that religion wasn’t a major aspect of your life growing up.

“I saw it the other day,” he says. “And you don’t have to wear it, but I thought it might be nice. For us to have matching crosses.” He pauses. “For yours to be a memory of the honeymoon.”

You’re halfway to tears as you’re pulling the chain from the box and clasping it around your neck. “Why are you the most thoughtful, sentimental man in the world?” You lean over the table, the cross around your neck swaying and bumping your chest, and cup his face in your hands to kiss him deeply. “I love it and I love you.”

Andrei’s cheeks are a little pink when you sit back down. He shrugs one shoulder. “I wanted you to have a little piece of me too, when I’m traveling.”

“I’m not taking it off, Drei,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the cool metal. His own chain is just barely visible under the collar of his shirt and you eye it. “We’re clearly going to have to come back and get more for the future Svechnikov babies.”

He laughs and catches your hand, kissing your palm. “Whatever you want, zhena. Whatever you want.”

A warm breeze carries through the street and it’s the perfect night to end your honeymoon.

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