she/her. currently only writing for peter steele. posting blurbs for now until I get my long form fics take more shape. they are linked below in chronological order. thanks for stopping by <3
check out my ao3
to read pile on storygraph
series
lost the plot pt.1 pt.2 (smut)
borrowed time chapter 1, chapter 2 (slow burn, strangers to lovers, eventual smut)
synopsis: after a chaotic late night tv appearance leaves nora bracing for fallout, she tries to move on as her career starts taking off. but some encounters are harder to shake than others, and peter steele has a way of lingering.
please read chapter one here before you read chapter two
wc: 2713
tags: enemies to friends to lovers; slowburn; mdni; peter steele/OC
thanks as always to @worthyhoundglacier for always taking the time to read my numerous edits, and again thanks to my readers <3
pic from pinterest divider here
you’re not the only one i know - the sundays
Your alarm blared. Up before the sun. You were about to hit the snooze when you remembered you unplugged the landline. You weren’t ready for the fallout of your appearance from the night before, but you knew it was better to face it than put it off any longer.
You plugged the landline back in and called down to room service to deliver you some coffee, now it was time to face your home voicemail. A robotic voice informed you you had 5 new messages and 35 old messages.
“Message one of five.” The dulcet robotic voice said.
There was a brief pause and finally the voice of your sister, Angie. “Oh my God, Nora, I can’t believe you did that! Are you ok? What were you thinking? Call me back. Oh wait, were you able to get my CD signed?”
“To delete the voice mail, press pound. To hear the next message press one. To repeat th-” you hit the number one before hearing the rest of the options. You’d deal with her later.
“Message two of five.”
A pause then “Hey, Nora, it’s Larry, I know I talked to you briefly on the elevator but I want you to know PR is already having strong words with both Letterman’s and Steele’s teams. What happened last night was unapproved and unacceptable. Get some rest, love. You’ll need it tomorrow. Don’t forget you will have hair and make up showing up around noon and I will be along after. Other than that, you did amazing. Sleep well.” It was Larry, your sweetheart of a manager. He was one of the first people to really see your talent and believe in you. He was also a master at managing a crisis, not that you’d ever experienced one like this before. But most importantly, he was one of the few people you could truly trust to have your back and represent you for who you were and what you deserved.
“Message three of five.” followed by a brief pause.
“Noraaaaa! Are you up right now? I was just getting home. I hope you did well on your interview or whatever. Um come over if you want or don’t I’ll just cry myself to sleep and dreamiiiing of youuuuu!” That was your boyfriend, Julian, clearly hadn’t watched your appearance last night, but it was probably for the best not to bother him with your problems. He’d been drinking, clearly, and who knows what else, but at least he was thinking of you. Hopefully he would be halfway presentable by the time of the carpet tonight.
“Message four of five.” Another pause
“Uh, hey, Nora. Um, this is Peter Steele. I tried to catch you before you left, but uh you seemed to be.. In a rush. But I, I just wanted to apologize for pushing your buttons during the Letterman appearance tonight. Um, I got your number from my manager by the way who I think got it from yours. Either way, they both had words with me. Um if you ever want to get a coffee or something, so I can make it up to you, uh call me at this number…” You were surprised he called you at all, let alone so quickly. It must have been Larry working his magic or he’d joined some kind of twelve step program in the last 6 hours.
“Message five of five.” pause.
“Nora, good morning, hope I’m not waking you. I just heard early, early reports from the network and everybody loved your appearance. The audience read the whole thing as a witty exchange of banter. Women liked to watch you put Peter in his place, men found you sexy doing it, win-win! Middle America was not as pleased, but who needs them anyway? Honestly, you two really did have terrific chemistry. Lightning in a bottle, baby!” It was Larry again. Apparently everyone loved it.
“To delete these me-” You returned the phone back to the receiver, just as you heard a knock on the door indicating your coffee had arrived.
____
The premier went as well as it could have. It was a busy day full of preparation building to about 15 minutes posing and answering questions on the red carpet before skipping the film screening all together and going to a dinner hosted by the producers. Watching the film was out of the question. Seeing yourself perform made you feel claustrophobic in your own skin. Something to unpack if you ever got around to seeing a shrink.
Julian even made it and presented himself well for the cameras. There were many reporters there curious about the night before and whether Julian would try to fight him or other equally tacky and invasive questions. Luckily, you’d spent all day with your PR team figuring out the best responses to those kinds of questions. You’d settled on “He would, but Peter seems like he’s been through enough, it would be sad to see him lose a fight.” Julian looked like he might blow away in a strong breeze, which added to the humor while deflecting in a manner that would be satisfying to the press, it did make it hard to keep a straight face while swearing he’d mop the floor with the rockstar.
There was a part of you that wished he would do more to defend your honor, but you were just happy he was there supporting you. You were proud to be on his arm, but it sometimes felt like he made a point to show up only for the good times, taking credit for your successes, but if things became hard or uncomfortable he always found an excuse to bow out. Overall, you didn’t want to bother him for too much; he’d been there for you a lot when not a lot of other people had doubted you and you had to give him credit for that.
You forced any thought of what happened after the taping out of your mind. As far as you were concerned it never happened. Not that there was anything wrong with masturbation, (you had to remind yourself as a former Catholic school student) but it was just not something you did and certainly were never interested in men like Peter, that was your sister, and especially not when you had a boyfriend.
Audiences seemed to approve of your banter and your film. It was a box office hit from its theatrical release through New Year’s. The reviews raved of your performance and the film in general.
The whole Peter Steele thing was forgotten as the news cycle wore on, spinning out more pressing stories as time passed. You never reached back out to him, but at some point after Thanksgiving you received a bouquet of deep red, nearly black, calla lilies with the cryptic note, “Congrats on your film, you were incredible and it would be a travesty if you didn’t get an Oscar. - PR”
Who the hell was PR? You checked with your PR agency and they said they hadn’t sent anything since the premier. It could be a stalker. However, another thought stuck in your mind like a sore tooth you continued to trace over with your tongue: maybe Steele was a stage name.
The next time you talked to your sister you asked her if she knew if Peter Steele was the bassist’s stage name. She confirmed it was but couldn’t remember how his real surname was pronounced, something Polish and starting with an R. And with the apology about Letterman, you had to assume it couldn't have been from anyone else.
When you told her your suspicion, she lost her mind. She demanded you to take a photo and send it to her immediately, or at least show her at Christmas, or maybe you could get them preserved so she could see them. She settled for my description of it over the phone and a picture at Christmas. She was still mad that you never got her CD signed but this would have to suffice. You’d have to remember to look for your polaroid before they died.
The family said they couldn't be more proud of your success. This came after years of major disapproval. They saw your choices of going to a private university and following your dream of being an actor as a risk not worth taking. Now that it has paid off, everyone wants to say “they were there when”. Their disapproval still burned in your memory but you moved past it to enjoy your holidays together.
The only person in your family who believed in you, who’d helped you fill out applications and loans and scholarships wasn’t there. Your Auntie Linda had passed away two years ago from an aggressive form of cancer. No one would have been more proud of you than her. The loss still tainted your family gatherings with grief, but at least you had the time to share memories together. You wished deeply she had been alive to see you succeed.
Things with Julian could have been better. Your schedule made it hard to spend too much time together and you were getting a suspicious feeling in the pit of your stomach that you wanted to keep ignoring. You were having to spend more and more time on the West Coast and he was still in New York, living off his parents’ money and missing auditions and not returning your calls as frequently as you liked. You were starting to feel like maybe he only wanted to be with you to be seen together, like he was riding the coattails of your rising star.
He was funny and magnetic and when you were with him it was like you were the only person in the world, his full attention on you. He was kind of scrawny but had wild messy curls that fell in his face perfectly imperfectly. The kind of hair that made his parents nag him to get a hair cut, but if he ever did you told him you’d cry. He had great style, too. He could pair anything together and make it work without trying. He had an air of effortlessness and nonchalance about his entire being that constantly frustrated you and bewitched you. It also didn’t hurt that he had old New York money and connections when you were so new to so much in the business.
You’d spent New Year’s with Julian in what was supposed to be a fun rave for you to let loose for once, but ended up dealing with his fucked up ass most of the night. You missed the countdown to midnight trying to drag him through the subway without him getting a public intox. You tried not to let it bother you, you were happy you were able to spend some time with him at all.
The benefits of your rise were many, but it did get harder to be in public. You were recognized more and paparazzi would show up when you least expected it. Even going to the grocery store became a trial of anonymity, finding new ways of hiding in plain sight. You didn’t mind the fans so much, unless it was your new stalker, Gary, but their presence could definitely cause disruption. On New Years with Julian, you were riddled with anxiety that someone would get footage of you partying or worse, pathetically dragging Julian home as you took breaks every few blocks to help him through the next round of vomiting.
The winter holidays came and went. January was bleak but had you campaigning for award season just around the corner while preparing for your next big project, playing the sexy, misunderstood evil villain, Venomheart in the upcoming superhero film Nightwatch: First Light. It was not the type of film you normally did, but they assured you your role would have a feminist bent that would make it different from other supervillains. Not to mention, the pay day was like nothing you could have imagined, plus the publicity you would get was beyond anything you’d done before. It would keep you afloat long enough to give you a couple more years of doing smart indie films and maybe start planning for your future, like a wedding or something.
You were starting to get excited about the opportunities that lay before you. You were on the cusp of being the biggest rising star, of winning an Oscar, of starring in a superhero movie. You should have been happier, but you knew that at any moment it would inevitably fall apart and your hard work would have been for nothing and your family would have been right and your boyfriend wouldn’t want you anymore. You had to keep working, for everything you gained made it all the worse to lose.
____
You got a phone call one afternoon from Larry that you weren’t expecting. Couldn't have been a big deal, he called all the time.
“Hey, love how are you doing?” He said sweetly.
“I’m fine, how are you?” concern tinged your voice at how carefully he delivered his greeting.
“I was just curious; you been listening to Howard Stern today?” he said even more gently.
“No,” You said in a sickly sweet voice to imitate his, “Why would I listen to that creep?”
“Well, he made an interesting comment about you…”
“Which was?”
“He called you an “uptight prig”,” you were about to freak out when he quickly continued, “BUT, he was saying it to Peter Steele - who was on to promote some new edition of his album or something - and Peter came to your defense immediately.”
The news hit you with such mixed emotions. On one hand, you couldn’t believe that someone would say that about you publicly, but on the other you wouldn’t put it past Howard Stern. You’d never been a fan in the first place because of how he treated and talked about women on his show. But you were also surprised that Peter would come to your defense so quickly. He had to have really been sorry.
“Wait, what happened? Is there a recording of it? How are people taking it? What did Peter say about me?”
He recounted what he’d heard, and promised he would get you a copy of it, but the gist of it was: Peter was on to play and promote their “top shelf” release of Bloody Kisses and perform a song with the band. During the interview, Howard asked him about the Letterman thing but referred to it as “an assault on Peter Steele” and said you were too much of an “uptight prig” during the interview. Peter immediately came to your defense. He said that it was in no way an assault, and if anything, he joked, it was a love tap. He said it was his fault that he was being a bad dog and you’d just been reminding him how to behave in polite society. He then went on to say that you were very talented and hoped you got the Oscar for Covenant.
You were so surprised to hear him talk you up like that and take the blame. He didn’t need to do that.
“Well, how’s the public perception?” You asked cautiously.
“Well” he said carefully, “Howard Stern is pretty influential and it appears you’re not doing as well with men aged 25 to 40 as we thought. If Howard Stern doesn’t like you, the guys may not as well.”
You hated to admit it, but he was right, Howard Stern was incredibly influential and if he didn’t like you, it could cost you Nightwatch. The main demographic of Nightwatch was men aged 25 to 40, and if they didn’t like you or thought you were uptight you could lose the role to someone else more palatable.
Your hand reached toward your mouth, absent of consent from your head as you chewed on the corner of your pinky nail. A habit you swore to yourself you would break. You mulled over the thoughts flying through your brain making every attempt to not catastrophize the situation, when suddenly, a possible path forward occurred to you.
“Can you get me Peter’s number?” You asked tentatively.
synopsis: A decades spanning slow burn following Nora Byrne (OC) and Peter Steele as their lives intersect and diverge through fame, failure, and everything in between. An enemies-to-friends-to-lovers story defined by restraint, timing, and a relationship that survives by remaining mostly unspoken.
w/c: 3,126
tags: enemies to friends to lovers; slowburn; SMUT; nsfw; 18+; minors mdni;
a/n: y'all i can't believe this piece is finally ready to post. it was the first pic i started when i got into the type o/ peter steele fandom back in october.
the story begins in fall 1994 and is AU due to some changes I have made to the timeline, such as bloody kisses and the playgirl both coming out summer 1994. but i will try to make a note whenever i change the timeline for my own literary whims.
huge thank you to @worthyhoundglacier, @beyourowndruidess and the other cultists of weird pete for your help editing, picking the name and listening to me blab about it or literal months. and thanks to anyone who wants to read all this, haha <3
pic from pinterest divider here
Seether - Veruca Salt
“Oh my god. Lorraine, please tell me you’ve seen the walking brick wall of sex on the show tonight?” the red haired make up artist asked the other one, apparently Lorraine, as she walked into the room.
“You mean that goth musician? I don’t know. He gives me the creeps” Lorraine replied as she applied a shimmery powder to your eye lids.
“I’d kill for a night alone with him. You saw him in playgirl, right?” The other makeup artist asked.
“Not me, you know Steve would kill me if he ever found out.” Lorraine stated. You couldn’t tell if she was joking.
You sat in the make-up chair in the green room for Late Night, the number one rated late night talk show hosted by David Letterman. Tonight you were the first guest, you would be on right after Letterman’s monologue– well, after the commercial break of course. You were promoting your film Covenant, a period piece about the Salem Witch Trials, which was due to come out on Friday.
“And you?” The first makeup artist said.
“Me what?” You asked. You’d stopped paying attention to their conversation.
“Have you seen that goth rocker guy?” She repeated herself.
They were discussing the second guest and musical performer on tonight’s episode, Peter Steele. He was the lead singer for an up and coming goth metal band that you were familiar with, but not necessarily a fan of, Type O Negative. Steele was also known for being well over 6 feet and built like a marine, but keeping his hair long and dark like a vampire. He was on to promote their latest album Bloody Kisses, but over the summer there had been more buzz about the August issue of Playgirl in which he was the centerfold. You knew it had to come up in the interview, but hoped you’d be able to play it off tactfully if asked about it.
“Um, well, my sister is a fan of the band, she actually asked if I’d get his autograph, but I don’t want to bother him.” You were downplaying it. She was an obsessed freak, she’d always been the rebellious, metalhead of the family and at her bachelorette party over the summer, his centerfold was passed around extensively. You’re pretty sure you remembered her friend pouring a shot through the rolled up magazine, but you can’t really remember much from that night. That was for the best. You really didn’t need any distractions tonight, especially not the long haired, tattooed, 11 inch kind.
“Hmmm, feeling shy?” She asked with a suggestive eyebrow, “I don’t think a girl as pretty as you should have to worry about that.”
“Just trying to focus on my work, not someone else's." You said hoping that would be the end of it. They took your hint and started discussing tomorrow night's guests and fretting over whether to use powder or liquid foundation on Don Rickles.
“Hello, hello!” your agent Larry said cheerfully, with a chaste kiss on either side of your face, expertly dodging your fresh make up and hair. He was always attune to your indulgently moody pre-show nerves.
“Hey Larry,” you said, embarrassed he caught you in the middle of your mood again, but allowing his presence to instantly cheer you up. “You know, I think you’re the only person I know who could pull off those patterns together. And you need to send your tailor a fruit basket for how well he tailored that suit.”
“Don’t worry, I paid enough for it.” he responded, rolling his eyes. “Enough about me, how are you feeling? It’s a big night for you.”
You took a moment to breathe. He wasn’t wrong. You had a lot riding on this appearance. It wasn’t your first time on Letterman but it was your first time on as the main attraction and would introduce you to an even larger audience. Even before the movie has premiered there are already whispers about Oscars, not just Best Picture, but you too. You had to remember it was at least as exciting as it was daunting.
“I think I’m ready.” you said, determined to believe it.
“Well, you look absolutely stunning, you’ve prepped for days, and I can honestly say, I’ve never met anyone from Massachusetts as charming as you.” Larry teased, forcing a laugh out of you. “You’ve got this.”
On the monitor in the green room, Letterman’s monologue ends with “And up next, Nora Byrne!” You got onto your mark to enter the stage as the commercials ended. You heard your cue and the curtains lifted. You tried not to be frazzled by the blinding lights and roar of applause from the crowd. You’d been training for this. You navigated from your mark and waved generously at the audience as you made your graceful way over to the seat nearest Letterman’s desk and remembered to shake his hand before you finally got seated.
You and Letterman settled into an easy rhythm almost immediately, the kind that came from having similar reference points.
“So you’re a New England kid,” he said, shuffling his cards. “And you filmed Covenant pretty close to home, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Which was surreal. I went from borrowing my mom’s car to go to play rehearsal to suddenly having a trailer parked twenty minutes from my childhood home.”
That got a warm, approving murmur from the crowd. It was the part of your story people liked best, your grounded beginning. A handful of indie films, theater work that paid more in credibility than cash, the slow climb that had taken years rather than exploding overnight. You’d been the girl casting directors “kept an eye on” until suddenly they didn’t have a choice but to notice.
“And then you’re working with Anthony Hopkins,” Letterman continued. “Which seems like quite a leap.”
You laughed. “The first day on set I was terrified I was going to call him ‘sir.’ I tried to impress him by introducing him to a North Shore roast beef sandwich.”
Letterman leaned forward. “How did that go?”
“He took one bite, looked at me very politely, and said, ‘Ah. Yes. This is… food.’”
The audience laughed.
“So not a fan?” Letterman said.
“Not even a little,” you smiled.
Letterman flipped to another card. “And now—this just broke—you’ve been cast as the super villainess, Venomheart, in the upcoming reboot of the classic comic book Nightwatch: First Light.”
The crowd perked up instantly.
“Yeah,” you said, a little bashful despite yourself. “Which is wild, because for years I was auditioning to play ‘girlfriend who dies tragically’ or ‘girl who leaves town.’ Now suddenly I’m allowed to be dangerous.”
“That’s a big shift,” Letterman said. “Sexy villain.”
You shrugged lightly. “I’m choosing to interpret it as growth.”
The audience laughed again, and then Letterman gestured toward the monitor.
“Well, you’re here to promote Covenant, so let’s take a look.”
The clip rolled. Your monologue filled the studio—quiet, controlled, devastating. No one laughed this time. No one shifted. When it ended, the silence broke into loud, sustained applause that made your chest tighten just a little.
You exhaled, smiling as Letterman leaned back toward you.
“Let’s hear it for Ms. Byrne, everybody! Up next we have Peter Steele from Type O Negative joining us to discuss his new album Bloody Kisses!” Cut to commercial. You nailed it, absolutely killed. Everyone laughed at your jokes and Letterman was gracious in making you stand out and feel comfortable. You were in the zone.
“You did great, kid! You’ve got a great career ahead of you, hope to have you back soon” Letterman said.
“Oh wow, that means so much, coming from you!” you gushed quickly before he was gestured by a producer to go banter with the crowd and you took a moment to breathe and drink your water. The redhaired makeup artist returned to touch you up.
“Honey, you did so amazing. Had the crowd eating out the palm of your hand.” she gushed.
“Oh thanks,” you blushed.
“Honey, I wouldn’t lie to you, sometimes these starlets just flop and it's sad to watch, you did great.”
You felt bad that you’d thought so little of her earlier when she was so kind and just trying to put you at ease. Must have been your nerves.
“Would you mind reminding me your name? I feel bad I forgot it” you said.
“Celeste. But don’t worry about me, hon, you’ve got enough going on.”
“Thanks, Celeste. You’ve been really kind.”
“Don’t mention it, kid.” She said with a warm smile.
The showrunner cued up the band and the host, and Celeste hurried back to the wings. The break was about to end and the next guest was preparing to join you.
“Welcome back folks, please join us in welcoming our next guest, the notorious Peter Steele!”
The stage band played some generic rock riffs as the curtain lifted, revealing the enormous rockstar. The crowd responded by roaring in a way you hadn’t heard previously. High pitched screaming overpowered the room. His frame seemed to fill the vertical space on stage as the curtains exposed him. It was clear now that more of the audience was there for him than you, but you hoped given the witchy content of your film and his goth band, there would be some overlapping interests as we got closer to Halloween.
His sizable hand reached for your small one to shake with that sly devilish grimace. You couldn’t help but notice the way his long black hair fell out of his face, catching the stage lights and making his almost jewel toned green eyes glint. It also would have been impossible to miss how tall and broad he was, maybe the tallest person you’d met. You had to crane your neck to meet his eye.
Peter settled into a wide manspread in the chair nearest Letterman’s desk. His knees bumped yours absentmindedly as he was likely too big for the chair. He apologized quietly as you quickly switched your crossed legs from one side to the other to give him some room. You weren’t surprised that a guy like him didn’t mind taking up the space of a woman, but you tried not to let it show. You tried to ignore the electric buzz you’d felt at the brief unexpected touch.
Letterman leaned forward smiling, easing into the segment:
“Peter, welcome. As the singer and bassist for Type O Negative, your album Bloody Kisses, which came out over the summer became a sleeper hit. How have you been adjusting to all the success?” Letterman quizzed.
“The hardest part has been believing that anyone would like this garbage.” He said, sarcasm oozing through his deep baritone voice and Brooklyn accent. The audience chuckled.
“Maybe there’s more to it than just your band’s music. It seems like you’ve made quite a splash this summer as well, appearing as the centerfold in Playgirl.” Letterman said and the audience howled, some women shrilly shouted their love for him. If the sound wasn’t so overwhelming you’d be worried about blushing at the thought of his photoshoot. One woman screamed “MARRY ME PETER!”
“Settle down, settle down,” Peter sardonically commanded. “Yeah, I really just did that for exposure for the band, but I am glad if it somehow brought joy to others as well.” The audience screamed again.
“Well it sounds like the exposure worked” Letterman said suggestively and the screams were mixed with chuckles.
“Nora, did you have the opportunity to check it out?” Letterman cheekily asked you. You were surprised you were put on the spot to answer about it right in front of the man on live TV.
You drew in a measured breath and delivered your response:
“Yes, actually, it was passed around at a bachelorette party I attended over the summer.” The audience oo’ed and gasped. “And it’s amazing what a few clever camera angles can do.” you continued with a grin, the audience laughed.
Peter leaned forward, that devilish grin playing on his lips, voice low but teasing, “Angles, sure… but did you get the scratch-and-sniff version?”
A ripple of laughter and more screams rolled through the audience. You blinked, momentarily flustered, but managed, “No, I skipped that… Some things are better left to the imagination.”
The audience erupted into laughter. Peter’s grin faltered for the briefest moment: he hadn’t expected such a cutting reply from the young actress beside him. Letterman smirked, nodding, clearly pleased with your poise.
For a beat, you both sit there, the tension thick but playful, the kind that makes everyone in the room lean in a little closer. You remind yourself to breathe, to remain composed, though inside, you’re still trying not to let him get to your head. You couldn’t have been more excited to promote this film, which was finally your big break in a leading role. You’d been prepping for months for all the PR you had to do, because you knew that this could be a defining moment in introducing yourself to a larger audience and lobbying for the Oscar. You wanted to play along but needed to tow the line of remaining professional.
“Have you listened to any of our previous albums?” Peter asked you directly.
“Origin of the Feces? No, I can’t say that I have,” you said dryly. The audience laughed. Peter briefly looked surprised you even knew the name of it. “But I have been enjoying Bloody Kisses.” you offered.
“You should probably get that checked out,” Letterman joked and the audience laughed.
“You don’t seem like the average Type O fan,” Peter said, as though he already knew the answer “which song is your favorite?”
“Christian Woman.” you replied, a light blush swathing your cheeks against your will. You weren’t prepared enough for this unexpected line of questioning to think of a decent lie in time. He smirked knowingly with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Well, have you seen any of my work?”you asked.
“Maybe if you did a centerfold, I’d have been more inclined to seek it out,” he suggested.
“What a great idea, let me know if you’re looking for work in talent management, I’d be happy to bring you on my team.” You retorted sharply, doing all you could to hold it together.
“What?” Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m appreciating art and women are, in my opinion, the highest art form.”
That was it. You lost your grip at his latest misogynistic comment and leaning forward you flicked him roughly on the nose like the dog he was, in need of correction.
Peter blinked, stunned, and let out a low laugh rubbing his nose like he couldn’t quite believe he’d pushed you that far. The audience shrieked with laughter and surprise at your outburst.
Fuck. He did it. He got under your skin and pushed your buttons. You had a younger brother, you knew what he was doing, baiting you, trying to embarrass you and make you squirm and you hated how he was so good at it. You hated how he had destroyed your meticulously built composure and sent you to your breaking point with his goading. You spent years trying to be taken seriously as an actor and he, in the span of three minutes, made you look like you were either a blushing groupie or an aggressive lunatic. You hadn’t prepared for this interrogation about a band you really hardly listened to, and certainly not his brilliant suggestion that he’d be more into your films if you were naked.
“Woah, hey, ok, time for another commercial break before these two get any more physical. And when we come back, Type O Negative!” Letterman finally intervened.
The crowd screamed again. And you left your seat in a huff and stormed to your green room. You thought you heard him calling after you but were too pissed to check. Whether you were staying to watch them perform at this point was not even a question. You were incensed you just wanted to get the fuck home and forget about this night. You had another brilliant day of public humiliation to look forward to tomorrow with the film’s red carpet to prepare for.
You seethed to the wings to have your mic removed. You seethed to the green room to get your bags and you seethed to the car waiting to take you back to your hotel. Larry, your manager tried to talk some sense into you at some point but he seemed to sense his attempts would be futile. There was nothing to talk about. You had been humiliated.
You got to your room and flung all of your belongings down, pulled the cord out of your phone, heaved your body onto your bed and screamed as loudly as you could into the luxurious down pillow.
You thought of the wicked grin on his face, his twinkling green eyes and even the hint of his smell lingered in your mind, a detail you hadn’t realized you’d noticed until you were without it. That piece of shit bastard.
Your needy hand betrayed you and moved to the hem of your dress. Fuck, what were you doing? It continued to move under the silky fabric of your dress and over your soft thighs until it snuck under the elastic of your panties and found its favorite spot and rubbed in gentle circles. Fuck. Why were you doing this right now? You never masturbated, it wasn't worth your time. And why to that asshole? Probably, because of his broad shoulders and deep voice and enormous skillful hands.
Your hips began to meet your hand more fervently as your fingers dug into your flesh. You were so slippery and making such a mess between your thighs as you dipped your finger in and out methodically. You felt the tension build at your core when you used the palm of your hand to gently rub your clit in hasty circles and your fingers worked in and out.
Finally, combustion. Relief. You felt the weight of everything just drain from you completely. A wicked grin found your lips as you basked in your own sin. For a few short moments you felt the bliss of a mind clear of all thoughts, stresses and expectations. You attempted to hold on to that feeling for as long as you could.
Your soul returned to its body and it was time to face reality. You wiped your messy fingers on the comforter. You were grossed out by yourself again. Time to get ready for bed, get ready for tomorrow. The phone was still unplugged. You’d deal with that tomorrow. For now you needed to wash this man out of your head.
happy snow day, this chapter is a little shorter and honestly, kind of cringe but it felt right for the characters. sorry for that in advance, hehe. hopefully you can enjoy these two weirdos matching each others freak a little. either way, let me know if you think it works. i love yall's feedback <3
still no smut, in due time, dear reader.
please read chapters 1 and 2 before this if you haven't yet.
thanks again to @worthyhoundglacier for editing <3
tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, eventual smut, pre fame peter, slow burn
wc: about 1100
pic from pinterest and divider here
The summer days were long and longer after losing that cute parks guy’s number. He hadn’t stopped into the library in weeks during your shift. Not even to shit, or at least not that you saw.
The day after he gave his number to you you checked the whole desk and anywhere else you could have left it in the library and it was nowhere to be found. You even asked Teresa about it in an act of final desperation, she said she hadn’t seen it and even kept her judgemental thoughts to herself. You checked his record for it as well, but his number wasn’t listed. He wasn’t listed in the phone book either, and those New York City phonebooks were mammoth to have to dig through to find anything. How mysterious.
You finally decided to give up on your own intervention and put your faith in the universe, if he’s meant to find me again, he will.
The weather was temperate enough in the shade for you to take your lunch out in the park. It felt like a good place to redevote yourself to serendipity and not let men get in the way of you living your life. There was a shady grove not too far down a path across Flatbush. Walking there was kind of out of the way but still enough sight of the path to people watch, joggers and weirdos and kids, who happen to be passing by. Taking your lunch outside made the underwhelming brown bag sandwich and apple combo slightly more nourishing. You took off your cardigan, shoes and stockings and sat under a tree with a generous trunk and draping branches, heavy with bright leaves that would soon be dead on the ground, completing their life cycle to nourish the next. Laurie had been nagging you to get more sun.
You pulled out your copy of The Dispossessed, one you’d been meaning to get around to for awhile and began to dig in, savoring the gentle breeze and rustling around you. Your concentration was suddenly interrupted by some loud clanking coming down the nearby path, not uncommon since moving to the city.
You looked toward the distraction, expecting some sort of park freak but recognized it as Peter, the tall cute parks guy. He was attempting to carry what appeared to be some long heavy fence posts.
The arms of his green coveralls were tied around his waist, revealing his arms and chest bulging out of his sweat drenched tank top as he struggled with his heavy load. His face was set in a grimace to match his struggle, perspiration appeared like dew glistening on his skin.
“Peter!” You shouted, waving and smiling. He looked your way. “Do you need a hand?”
He settled the posts in a position that looked like they might not fall as long as he kept holding them, leaning on his shoulder as he stooped for a moment to catch his breath.
“Oh, hey,” he said between labored breaths “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Whatchya got there?”
“Uhhh, just some cumbersome fucking fence posts. I thought I could carry em and now I’m regretting that choice… Clearly I overestimated something here…” he said as he adjusted the long unwieldy poles in his arms. “Jane, right?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out” you said sarcastically making him roll his eyes with a groan. You weren’t sure if that landed how you wanted it to “Hey, I’m sorry I never called you. I lost your number on accident… almost immediately.”
“Hey, don’t even mention it, it’s no problem. Wouldn’t blame you even if it was on purpose” he said with a self deprecating laugh.
“No, it is a problem because I had some recreational needs and I was bummed I couldn’t reach you.” you said with a shy smile.
The twinkle returned to his eye, “Oh you don’t say. That is a shame, indeed. Well, do you have lunch plans tomorrow?”
“None aside from repeating this,” you said, gesturing to the glen you’d made home for your short break.
“Well, I’d hate to interrupt your important plans here, this honestly looks nicer than what I was going to suggest.” He said taking in the view around him, you caught his eyes darting quickly away from your exposed legs.
“There’s not enough nature in the city. I’m trying to enjoy what I can.” You said stretching out your arms and legs, discreetly revealing a little more of your skin to match his.
“You’re not wrong there. It gets miserable here in the winter.” His eye caught the apple in your hand. “Hey, mind if I take a bite of that? I hate to ask but I’m parched from lugging this shit.”
“You do look like a draft horse carrying all that shit.” You said dusting yourself off and walking to where he stood.
In response he shocked you with a highly accurate impression of a horse whinny.
“Hey, you are surprisingly good at that”, you laughed.
He fed off your attention and started to make galloping noises as you approached him. Laughing harder you held the apple up to his lips, letting him take a bite. Your eyes met as his teeth sank in, snapping through the skin and into the white flesh of the apple, taking more than he intended, leaving juice to drip onto your fingers and down your wrist. You held his gaze as you dragged your tongue up your wrist and hand, Licking up the dripping juice.
“That was almost my whole apple” you teased, taking a bite yourself.
“I guess I do have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew.” He joked with his mouth still full. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, if you’d allow me. There's a diner nearby that’s pretty good, better coffee then the swill they serve in the breakroom I’m sure and if they don’t have apples, they do have apple pie, which is always better anyway” he suggested
“I think I could make that work.” You said pretending to think about it. “But would you mind waiting for me outside? I don’t want to have to explain to Teresa.”
You both coordinated the details and he lumbered off with his posts. You watched him, laughing to yourself at his struggle. You checked your watch and if you didn’t leave soon, you would be late returning from lunch. You grabbed your things and headed back to the library with a bounce in your step.
thanks so much to everyone who has liked or commented on chapter 1. i've really been enjoying writing it so hopefully you enjoy reading it.
thanks as always to my editor @worthyhoundglacier
please read chapter 1 here if you haven't already.
tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, eventual smut, pre fame peter, slow burn
wc: about 1900
pic from pinterest and divider here
The next several days passed quickly. Otto, as always, kept you busy most nights with a different party or dinner or art show and some nights you just had to stay in and watch reruns of The Civil War on PBS because you couldn’t pay for cable.
Work went by a little more slowly. You kept looking for the cute tall guy from parks and rec to come and use your bathroom again or return his book. He still had a couple days left on it, but surely there was something needing him in the park that would eventually lead him back to the bathrooms in the stacks and therefore past your circulation desk. It wasn’t that you really cared that much for him specifically, you told yourself. You just wouldn’t mind a cute tall distraction.
You checked the records to see if he’d returned it while you weren’t there or maybe even used the book slot, but no, still out in the wild. Would it smell like him when he returned it? You imagined him musky, earthy, and warm. But you banished those thoughts: he was a patron at your library, you wanted him to feel welcome, not harassed, so you stuffed those feelings away.
Time ticked on and you busied yourself with whatever was around to keep yourself from obsessing over the parks guy, and it was working. You realized you hadn’t taken your lunch break when a tall silhouette glowing in the natural light streaming from the open door sauntered toward your desk. You looked around quickly to see if Teresa was nearby eavesdropping this time and seemed satisfied that she must be somewhere else in the vast library.
“Hey, you.” He said plopping the book on the desk. He looked sweaty and disheveled. His hair frizzed over the sides of his green bandanna.
“Hey, yourself.” you said, trying and failing to come up with something better, “How was the book?”
“It had me paranoid that my attic might be plotting something against me, but uh, on the other hand, oddly comforting in a dark sort of way.” he said dryly.
“Interesting,” you replied, curiously turning the book over in your hands and inspecting the cover. “It looks like the last time someone took it out was three years ago. I’d never heard of it before, but honestly, now I’m a little intrigued.”
“I’d recommend it, especially if you have sleep apnea. It was good but definitely a little heady.” he said. “I’m surprised I finished it early, if I’m honest.”
You didn’t know what to expect when he gave it back to you, if he’d actually read it or not, but you were surprised he had an actual review of it. You’d gotten good at being able to tell when a guy was lying about a book to impress you, but he seemed sincere.
“Yeah, I’m glad too. I’d hate to have to fine you for tardiness.” You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.
“Me too, I’d hate to have that on my permanent record.” He joked.
“It would be so shameful. Library debt is no joke; if you don’t pay your fines Mr. Rogers will come to your house and lecture you about the importance of public access to knowledge until you do.”
“Oh boy, you have me shaking in my boots. I’ve run afoul of this library before. I won’t let it happen again; scout’s honor.” he said, placing his hand over his heart. You hoped your face was straight enough to convince him you had no knowledge of his previous wrongdoings.
“I’m glad to hear it. By the way, is there anything else I can help you with? Book recommendations, passports, ancestry, computers?” you asked.
“Uh, I'm probably good on reading for like at least a month after that one.” He joked, “but um, If you need anything parks or recreation-related you call me” he said with that twinkly smirk again, sliding over a scrap of paper with his name and number scribbled mostly legibly on it.
“Parks OR recreation?” You asked, biting your lip.
“Yeah, I’m good for both. Need someone to put down a feral squirrel? I’m your guy. Need someone to bring you to Brooklyn’s best deli? I’m that guy too.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind if I see any feral squirrels, or find myself in need of a sandwich.” You said smirking, unable to keep the flush off your face.
“Good,” he rapped his knuckles on the desk. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a good one, Jane.”
“You too, Peter, and watch out for feral squirrels!” You both laughed as he left.
Good lord! Nothing like that had ever happened to you before. You’d never been hit on by a hot tall guy at work before. You’d been hit on at work plenty– just never by someone you actually found attractive, and funny, and cute, and charming, and smart. That was a lot to project on a person you’d spoken to for less than 10 minutes, but you couldn’t help it. You slid the slip of paper into your purse, and before you forgot, you went to smell the book. You were slightly disappointed to learn it just smelled like a book, even though old book was your favorite smell.
That evening you stopped at the bodega on your block and hummed along to the songs that played as you purchased groceries for dinner. It was your turn to cook that night. The shop’s cat surveyed you at the counter as you counted your change to ensure you weren’t going to run off without paying for your peppers and eggs.
You hauled your goods up the several flights to your apartment you shared with Otto and his boyfriend Laurie. Laurie worked as a courier and would spend most of his time cycling through the city with deliveries and messages for one of the big law firms. He loved it. He was also a collector of small trinkets and the most skilled dumpster diver you’d ever met, which was great because you came to the city with nothing but a suitcase. Every inch of space on the walls of your apartment had been meticulously curated by the two of them and you felt lucky to bask in their creativity.
Since finishing your degrees - plural, thank you very much- you weren’t sure what would be next for you. You had a dream job in your dream city in a cool as hell apartment. Being exposed to so much art and creativity since you had been there had been exhilarating, but it was intimidating to think of where you fit in it all, what you had to contribute.
“Hey Miss Jane!” Laurie shouted over the sounds of grinding coming from the kitchen.
“Whatchya working on?” you shouted. He was kitted out in goggles, gloves and ear protection as though he was on a construction site using some kind of power tool on what appeared to be an abundance of dismantled bike parts. You were certain at this hour your neighbors wouldn’t be pleased by his ingenuity.
“Huh?” He shouted, then finally relented with his work. “Oh, I thought you could use a lamp for your bedroom. Also, I found a side table for you and put it in your room. Now we just need to get you a bedframe to get that old mattress off the floor.”
“Oh, thanks, Laurie!” you said, looking forward to discovering what he decided would make good night stand for you. “Do you know how much longer you’ll be in there? It's getting pretty late and it's my night to make dinner and I was thinking about frittata.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him playfully.
“Oh, Otto and I were going to go out for our anniversary. I was going to finish up when he got out of the shower. There is a new sushi place, to die for, and the secretary to one of the partners at the firm got me a reservation.” he wiggled his eyebrows back at you and then looked around at his mess. “Yeah, maybe I’ll start cleaning this up.”
“Aww, I hope you guys have a blissful evening and more sushi than you can contain. I will make sure to have my earplugs in tonight.” You said cheekily.
He smiled, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You seem like you’re in a good mood tonight. Did Teresa announce her retirement?”
“No, I would be so lost without her for as much of a curmudgeon she can be.” you paused thinking whether you wanted to tell him about the parks guy or not. You didn’t want to jinx anything. “But- there has been this cute parks guy who keeps coming into the library while I’m working.”
“Who are we talking about?” Otto asked, entering the kitchen while pulling his shirt over his head, fresh from the shower.
“This guy from work.” You said, picking at your thumbnail. “He gave me his number.”
Laurie and Otto squealed with delight. You’d had guys, and girls honestly, come onto you since moving here, but the first date you went on when you first moved to the city was pretty bad so you’d sworn off dating for a while.
“Go on!” Otto insisted.
“Well, he’s super tall and he works for the parks department. He comes in occasionally to use the bathroom, but a couple weeks ago he checked out a book-”
“That’s not the only thing he checked out!” Otto interjected. You gave him a look and he whispered an apology for his excitement.
“He checked out a book” you continued “and we got to talking a little, and it turns out Teresa knows him from when he was a kid… But anyway, he came back to return the book today, early I might add, and we talked and he gave me his number and told me to reach out if I needed anything “parks OR recreation related”!”
“Oh my god! I want to hear all about this tomorrow. I’m so sorry, we just have to get ready to-”
“It’s ok, it's ok! This frittata isn’t going to make itself!” you said as they went back to their preparations. You were finally able to put your groceries away since Laurie cleared his project out of the kitchen.
“A frittata for one, is no fun.” you said to yourself after you heard the door slam shut from their departure.
Was it too early to call Peter? It had to be, he probably had other plans already. You went to find his number from your bag to put it somewhere safe for when it might be a more reasonable time to call him. You dug through your bag and it wasn’t there. You took everything out, you checked all the pockets, shook it out and nothing. Now he was going to think you didn’t like him and would avoid the library or something and you’d never see him again.
Defeated, you walked back down to the bodega, right before they were locking up, and got a pint of Cherry Garcia. A much better meal for one, you decided. You tried to ignore the shop cat's judgement, but you knew he had to find you pathetic.
hello, thanks for checking out my first longform fic. it takes place in the early 90s in nyc and brooklyn, pre bloody kisses maybe and follows a female oc.
tags: friends to lovers, fluff, eventual smut, pre fame peter
wc: about 1800
pic from pinterest & divider here
You felt the hot smelly burp of the subway as you stepped onto the platform and it screeched off to the next stop. When you dreamed about moving to New York City, you had no idea about the hot sweaty summers. It wasn’t even 8am and you already felt a puddle forming in your maryjanes as you schlepped up the subway steps to street level.
You’d learned the concept of the ‘commuter sneaker’ since moving to the city: a tennis shoe you wear to commute to work in, so your nice work shoes don’t get destroyed by the city. That was all fine and dandy until you stepped in hot garbage juice in your crappy sneakers and were forced to wear your nice maryjanes to commute in. And now you were late. What a hot garbage start to a hot garbage day.
Your destination was the Brooklyn Public Library Central Branch, your place of employment as a librarian with a shiny, brand new (expensive) Master of Library and Information Science degree. After wasting away a year in your hometown’s library with the mean old lady who’d held a lost book from your childhood against you, you finally applied to and got hired at the Brooklyn Public Library. You had to remind yourself that the sweating and schlepping was as much a part of the dream as the old book smells and access to archives were.
It was your cousin Otto who convinced you to apply. His real name was Brian but he started going by Otto after a few months of living in what he claimed “wasn’t an artist squat” in Williamsburg. He was slight and impish and dyed his hair with Kool-aid when he felt like it. You weren't sure what his actual job was but he paid his rent on time, so you didn’t make it your business. Everything was happening there, he claimed, and he was right. Nearly every night since you’d arrived he found another thing to drag you to, and you loved it. You had done more new things in six weeks than you had in your whole life. Plus he’d left the squat to move in with his boyfriend Laurie and they needed another roommate to make rent, thus, you became a city girl.
You arrived at the library and were able to sneak away to the employees-only bathroom, to give your hair a fluff and attempt to wipe away any mascara that had bled onto your face during the commute. What was even the point? Looking probably better than you did when you arrived, you headed to the break room to punch in, grab some coffee and settle in at the circulation desk.
Your manager, Teresa, was there to open with you. Teresa had lived in Brooklyn her whole life and sounded like it. She had worked for the library since she was a teenager, starting as a volunteer, got her degree and came back. Everyone knew that no matter who the executive director was, Teresa really ran the place. She was tall and plump and had as fierce a “shush” as you’d ever heard from a librarian. She picked out a hairstyle in the 70s and never changed it. It worked for her. You didn’t know how old she was but she talked about retirement more and more fondly everyday. She had more knowledge in her pinky than every book in the library, probably. You knew you could learn a lot from her.
When she saw you coming in late wearing a vintage slip dress as your outerwear she gave you a look.
“Jane, you’re late. And I don’t know how to say this anymore kindly, but you look like a streetwalker. You have to wear clothes to work. I guess they didn’t teach you that in your hippie arts school.” she said.
“I’m sorry, it's just a million degrees out and I got hot garbage juice all over my commuter shoes so I had to-” you started to explain but she gave you another look that told you to ‘shut up’ in a way that was more kind than if she had opened her mouth.
“I’m not going to write you up this time, but if it happens again, it will be on your record.” She warned, “It is a million degrees out, after all, if I had that figure I might be in my slip too.” she winked.
You helped Teresa with the opening tasks such as checking that the Xerox had paper and all the other mindless chores that took up the morning before they unlocked the doors and patrons began to filter in. Finally came time to sit at the circulation desk and assess the day ahead of you. You were looking at a lot of books that had to be sorted, processed, reshelved etc. etc. You swore you actually enjoyed this work, but the day was already off to a tedious start and you were compelled to make the least of it.
Around mid morning, you saw a guy you’d recognized from the parks department. He always wore the green coveralls of the parks department, and a green bandanna or cap which you assumed was his own and classic black shit kicking steel toed boots. He was mostly recognizable because he was so ridiculously tall. He sometimes came into the library to use the bathroom down in the basement stacks to take shits, you suspected anyway. They were a step up from the bathrooms in Prospect Park you supposed.
Usually he was one of a pair and you distinctly remembered their unsuccessfully muffled laughter from their last visit as they were walking out, forcing you to have to shush them. You didn’t like falling into the stereotype, but it was Librarian 101 and Teresa would be pissed if you weren’t “upholding the venerable silence expected of this institution” or something else equally annoying. It was embarrassing, but they were in a quiet section of the library. They nodded and hushed and walked more quickly out of the building.
This time, he emerged from the stacks with a book and came straight to your check out at the circulation desk.
“Hey, sorry about the last time I was in here with my uh, colleague, he’s kind of stupid and doesn’t know how to behave in the library, go figure.” he said with a smirk and a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’m Peter” and offered you his large hand across the desk.
“Ya know, working in the library I shush so many people I lose track of all the offenders. I doubt I would have remembered if you hadn’t reminded me.” You replied, taking his hand. “I’m Jane.”
“Jane. Nice to make your acquaintance. I come in here pretty often so I figure it must be time to introduce myself. You haven’t been here that long though, correct?” He asked, handing you his book and library card.
“No, I’ve only been in the city about six weeks. I’m kind of surprised you noticed.” you admitted, handing him the book card to fill out.
“Well, I’ve been here my whole life. Let’s just say me and Teresa go way back.” He said wryly while filling out his name and handing it back, “Seeing you at the desk here is a little more welcoming for a numbskull such as myself.”
“Hmm, I didn’t think a numbskull would be reading ‘The Poetics of Space’.” You say, cocking an eyebrow as you stamp the card with the return date and hold the book out to him. Just as he reaches for the book you pull it back, just out of his grasp, and a smirk appears on your face as your eyes meet.
“Oh this?” His eyes lit up as he swiped the hardback from you. You tried to ignore how his rough fingers brushed your hand as he did. “This was just an excuse to talk to you.”
“Anything to get young people reading.” You rolled your eyes and handed back his card. “Well it worked, and now it appears you’ll have the pleasure of talking to me again in two weeks on the 31st.”
“I look forward to it, Jane." He said, leaving with his book and a grin.
As soon as he turned, you felt a hot blush creep from your chest to your face. Good lord, what just happened? You’d seen he was tall, but you hadn’t noticed previously the sideburns, or the small silver hoops in his ears or how green his eyes were. Explained all the green he wore.
When you turned around you saw Teresa peeking around a stack, she had clearly unabashedly eavesdropped on your entire conversation.
“Was that the Ratajczyk boy?” she questioned looking at you over her bifocals that hung from a beaded strand around her neck.
You looked back at the book card he’d filled out. ‘Peter Ratajczyk’. His handwriting was surprisingly neat. Still, it was hard to read with all those consonants.
“It could have been. Peter? He said you two go way back.”
A wry grin played carefully on her lips, “Yeah, I had to ban him from here for a year when he was a kid because he snuck in a nudie mag.”
You stared at each other for a moment before you both burst out laughing.
“Are you serious?” you asked, gasping for air through your laughter.
“I wish I was joking. His poor mother was livid, she dragged him out of here by the ear. Everyone at church was talking about it for weeks” she said, “It’s all water under the bridge though, as they say. Let me tell you, that is certainly not the worst thing I’ve found smuggled in here and not the first or last time it was pornography either. Between you and me though, he’s not too bad to look at these days.” she said, waggling her eyebrows.
You rolled your eyes to try and keep from blushing harder and turned away. She wasn’t wrong, he certainly was not hard on the eyes. And he had noticed you.
Another patron had come up to the desk for some assistance and you were just going through the motions to assist. You couldn’t stop thinking about the cute, goofy guy who’d apparently been noticing you at the circulation desk. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Hey Jane,” Teresa called, “No one ever checked the book return slot yesterday. It's overflowing and I need you to go sort it.”
Fabulous. There was always something to keep you grounded.
thanks for coming over here to my new blog. tbh tumblr had changed a lot by the time i finally got the balls to start posting so i kind of effed up making my publishing blog connected to my throw away so i am remedying that before i get further along in publishing. as a big ol' thank you i'll be posting my first longform fic tomorrow for peter's birthday
hey folks, excited to share that i am remaking my blog over at @xdrabromanticx. I will be honest, i had no idea what i was doing when i started this blog because tumblr had changed so much from when i used it back in the day so here i am, humbly asking you to go follow me over there. thanks y'all for reading, i have some fun stuff coming for you soon!
merry fluffmas everyone! please enjoy this hallmark level holiday fluff, I just want peter to have a nice life 😭
thanks again as always to my editor @worthyhoundglacier
wc: 1200
pic from pinterest divider here
The air was so cold you could see your breath. Perfect soft fluffy flurries of snow swirled through the air. You and Peter were giddy running through the streets to make it to his sister’s on time for her christmas party. Every house was lit up and decorated, trees sparkled through the panes of glass. Peeking in the windows as you passed by it was like you two were window shopping your future together. Every option was warm and inviting.
You both giggled as you bounced down the sidewalk hearing the bottles in Peter’s bag clinking together. You two had been assigned to bring the punch and hauling the bottles had you reminiscing sneaking out of the house to party in high school. Peter was notorious for spiking it more and more throughout the night so that by the time you made it to midnight mass, if you sang too close to a candle you’d be at risk of catching fire. He was like Santa for alcoholics.
He grabbed your hand to stop and draw your attention to the window of a brownstone walk up nearby. Inside the tree was lit with gold glowing bulbs and carefully decorated with hundreds of baubles and ornaments. Each one looked like it held a different memory or experience of a loving family. There was a little girl with dark curly hair and bangs who ran up to the tree and pulled out a gift with a big bow from underneath. Right as she looked as though she was about to tear into it someone who appeared to be her father picked her up and distracted her with one of the shinier ornaments making her laugh. A fat fluffy cat jumped on a chair nearby and stared guilefully at the twinkling lights on the tree.
“Would you ever want something like that?” Your hair stood up on your neck when you felt his breath on your ear when he whispered, stooping behind you. He laced his arm around your waist and held you close to him. You could hear some vulnerability in his voice. For a moment it felt like all the sound in the city stopped and there was no one around but you two in the snow, and this family in the window.
“Maybe with the right person...” you said nervously. You didn’t know what to say, you were afraid that if you said yes and admitted your true feelings it would scare him off. Guys didn’t usually like to talk about this stuff.
He kissed your head and grabbed your hand guiding you down the street before the family spotted you two snooping.
“Ok, well what would the right person be like?” He inquired with an eyebrow raised.
“Hmmmm…” You faked laborious thought and consideration before continuing “He would have to be tall since I am so short. If I want my kids to even have a chance of reaching tall shelves.”
“You are quite vertically impaired." he agreed.
“I’d also want someone with a good sense of humor. Not that I have any experience raising kids, but I can’t imagine it going well with a grump.”
“Well that takes me out of the running.” he chuckled
“You make up for your terrible temperament in your height, so maybe that evens you out a little bit.”
“Mhmm that makes sense, although I wouldn’t want you to have to lower your standards.” he joked
“Babe, if my standards were too high, I couldn’t reach them.” you pointed out.
You both laughed hand and hand as you turned the corner to his sister’s house. He stopped before the two of you were in view of the house.
“Well, I would want that with you.” He said sincerely and settled onto one knee on the snowy sidewalk and held out a glittering ring he’d pulled out of his pocket. You gasped as your jaw dropped in surprise. “My love, there is no one in the world I could imagine myself decorating a tree with year after year, no one else I could imagine weathering the good times and the bad, no one else I would want to spend my life with. You’re everything to me. You see me in a way I’ve never been seen and I can’t imagine my life without that. I need you and I love you. Will you do me the honor of promising your life to me?”
You hadn’t expected this so soon, but you had definitely thought of it. You did picture yourself with him and having his children and working through whatever life threw at you. He’d been a rock for you in the time you’d been together and you shared the sentiment that he saw you for who you were and still loved and accepted you, not despite it, but in spite of it. He loved you for your eccentricities and vulnerabilities and the things you hid from everyone else. You knew that to your bones. It was an acceptance you’d never experienced in your whole life and once you had it, you knew it was something you never want to be without. To be seen and accepted and loved.
“Yes, Peter.” You pulled his face to yours and looked deeply in his eyes. “It would be the honor of my life.”
You pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him more deeply and passionately than ever before. Your head swam, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden from the insurmountable joy and the realization of the commitment you two had just made.
All of a sudden you heard honking and cheering. Some cars stuck in traffic had witnessed his proposal and wanted to join in on your celebration it seemed.
“She said yes!” He screamed as he picked you up and spun you dramatically. You laughed until you couldn’t breathe and enjoyed his excitement. More hoots and honks came from down the street.
His family started pouring out of his sister's house to investigate the commotion and when they saw your embrace and the cheering of passersby, they put two and two together and rushed over to join the commotion.
After hugs and tears and pats on the back you two made it inside to the party. You were surprised that you were able to find a moment to yourselves again so soon.
“What would you have done if I said no?” you jokingly asked.
“Well, I had a backpack full of liquor and I knew where the nearest bridge was.” He joked back. You both laughed but you pinched his arm til he yelped anyway at his dark humor.
“Not on my watch.” you said meaningfully staring into his eyes. He stared back at you with deep adoration in his eyes. He was looking forward to a lifetime of you caring for him. He took your left hand and kissed it, before kissing you deeply once more.
“I know baby, I know.” He said into your ear, rubbing his hand up your arm.
You loved his family and you couldn’t be more excited to be part of such a big, loving, wild bunch. You couldn’t be more excited to spend the rest of your life with Peter.
Fandom: Type O Negative
Rating: Mature
Characters: Peter Steele, original female character
Chapters: One-shot (1.8k words)
Additional tags: AU - Priest, power imbalance, unresolved sexual tension, catholic guilt, self-flagellation, masturbation
Summary:
Assigned as chaplain to a remote convent attached to a psychiatric hospital, Father Peter brings silence and discipline with him. For the young Sister Agnes, his presence becomes a form of devotion she has no language for.
y’all it is the 1st time in 8 weeks that I don’t have a fic to post on monday night, not that anyone expects it but me. I do have some fun things planned for the new year and peter’s birthday coming up on the fourth.
This was thought up in the discord chat where people were talking about writing priest Peter x nun reader fic. I was drunk, opened a google doc and just wrote some shit (then edited it when I was sober). Shoutout to the girls on the discord for helping me with the accuracy to Catholicism bc idk shit.
1.1k words, explicit so this fic is 18+ only, lots of sexual tension, physical punishment, power imbalance, blasphemy so I'm sorry about that, no y/n or description of reader
Modest black shoes click against the stone as you walk to the clergy house. Your heart pounds as you pass a fellow nun. You’ve debated turning back multiple times on your way here, but each time, you find that you can’t help but keep going. You take deep breaths as you approach the door to his study, sweating and shaking slightly, you knock on it. After a few minutes it swings open and Father Peter is on the other side, smiling down at you in that soft and warm way he always does.
“Hello sister, what a pleasant surprise.” His voice is deep and velvety.
“Good evening father.” You bow your head slightly.
“Come inside.” He steps aside to let you in and closes the door after you.
The light in the room is dim and warm, cast by big lamps. Things feel so cozy in here, but your heart isn’t beating any slower. You don’t speak, you just stand there and stare at the floor.
“Is something wrong?” He asks, his voice full of gentle concern.
“Yes, I’ve…I’ve sinned, father.”
His eyes just fill with understanding and he steps closer to you slowly.
“Perhaps you can go to confession tomorrow.” He says.
You shake your head quickly.
“No father, I…” Your face burns and your stomach turns over, “Confession isn’t enough.”
His brow furrows and he moves further towards you. Your chest heaves as you’re cast in his shadow, your habit feels heavy and suffocating. He’s so close to you right now.
“What are you trying to say, sister?” He asks gently.
“I-I need…” you take a deep breath, blinking slowly and looking away from him and down at the floor, “Can you punish me father, please?”
His eyes flare open wider just a little and a slight smirk begins to spread over his face before he quickly composes himself.
“Punish you?” He asks slowly, “Whatever for?”
“For my lust, father.” You say, your face burning with embarrassment, “I…I need to be punished.” You look up at him, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. He holds it for a moment, his eyes are soft but hold an edge of something you can’t quite name.
“Very well.” He says and turns towards the tabernacle, where the tools for punishments are kept, “Bend over sister, please.”
You nod quickly and lean over his desk, pressing your palms against the surface of it and turning to look at where he surveys the instruments. He chooses a rod, on the more merciful side compared to some of the other ones. You resist the urge to ask for something harsher, you would never dare to disrespect him by questioning his judgement.
You attempt and fail to even your breathing, Adrenaline runs through you as he lifts up the skirt of your habit slowly. Almost tantalizingly, he pulls down your underwear to reveal your bare ass. You feel yourself throb between your thighs as he does it and shame burns through you. This is only further proof that you need to be punished.
He starts slowly, hitting you in measured and precise strikes. You stifle your whimpers as your skin burns, you fight to ignore the building ache. Why is it getting worse each time he hits you?
You clench your fists as he does it, little noises escaping you each time he hits you. You can hear his breathing getting heavier behind you and his big hand comes to rest on your shoulder. You arch your back inadvertently and the rod comes down across your cunt. You moan loudly as a strange, pleasurable pain shoots through you.
“Mm Father, harder please!” You cry out, fighting back tears. He stops and you feel him stroke your back.
“Please.” You continue, “I still feel it.”
“Feel what?” His voice sounds even deeper than usual.
You throb as humiliation shoots through you.
“My-my lust.” You say, “Please, help me father please!” You start to cry and he’s quick to comfort you.
“It’s alright sister, I’ll help you.” His voice is almost a whisper, “You’re taking your punishment well.”
He’s silent after that, and the rod doesn’t come down on you. You turn your head as much as you can to look back and you see him, just gazing down at where you’re laid bare for him. His eyes are heavy with soft hunger. When they shift to you looking at him, blush rises to his face. He looks away quickly and clears his throat before raising his arm and hitting you harder than the last strikes.
You moan loudly, it’s whiny and pathetic. You turn back to rest your face against the desk and clench your fists.
“Again…please.” You gasp out, shameful tears running down your face.
He hits you hard again and you choke out a sob.
“Thank you! Oh father, thank you!” You moan.
“Very good, sister.” He rasps.
You whine and squirm on the desk and he hits you again.
“Be still.” He commands you, “And focus on Him, he points to the crucifix on the wall where Jesus hangs, his body thin and toned, naked except for a small piece of cloth.
You stare up at it as your punishment continues, you try to muffle your cries as you fixate on it desperately, silently praying for these feelings to stop. You try not to but you end up begging for him to hit you even harder. He stops and when you turn around to look at him, his expression is hard.
“No.” He says.
“But I need to be punished father-“
He hits the table with the rod violently, cutting you off and making you jump.
“You are being punished, and I am the one deciding your punishment.”
You tremble slightly as he grazes your skin with the instrument before he brings it down on you again, with the same force he had the times before. You make a noise of pain, but the pulsing between your legs is only getting worse. You can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s seeing such a private part of you, and guilt floods you at the thrill it gives you.
When he finishes, he helps you get up and begins fixing your veil. You feel yourself blush and look down. Your cunt feels wet and it alarms you, you’ve never felt something like this before.
“I’m proud of you sister.” He murmurs and strokes your cheek gently.
“Thank you father.” You gasp out.
You stare at each other, both of you breathing heavily. His green eyes are almost piercing and you wonder if he can read your mind right now. If he can see that his beating did nothing but make your lust for him even worse.
oh my goddddd this was so fucking hot and fun to write. I'm not even catholic but I'd be on my knees for priest Peter for sure. Praise the Lord!!!!
I made another drawing of Peter. As a ref pic I used one frame from "My Girlfriends Girlfriend" video. I would love to know how many kilometers of drawing lines I made there. :D
Y'all I was really convinced that I was going to have more holiday inspo... And I still could... But that is not what this is, but it is short and sweet Pete Lives AU fluff.
Thanks to weird pete's cult for the community and inspo and support <3
CW: infertility... I think that's all? Let me know if you notice anything else.
WC: 900
pic from pinterest and divider here
You and Peter had taken to having horror movie nights. Tonight was going to be a rough one, Eraserhead. You’d seen it in your 20’s and weren’t a huge fan but after your fertility issues you knew it wouldn’t be great to watch. But it was Peter’s night to pick, he gave you an out but you figured it would be good exposure therapy. He didn’t mind stopping it for you if it became too much.
The two of you honestly laughed through most of the uncomfortable parts at the beginning, comparing and contrasting different dynamics in your own families. It was honestly kind of cathartic.
Then the baby came, “the dark side of the womb” Pete called it.
“The poor little guy, he can’t help that he has needs.” Pete said, throwing his hands up. It surprised you a little. The vastness of his empathy always did. Sometimes you had to remind Pete not to be a cranky old bastard in his old age, but he really did love all living things and had a strong desire to nurture. It hurt him as much as you to watch the child be neglected, even if he was a bit of a blight.
He’d given up on having kids as well. It didn’t appear to be in the cards for him, but he was always open to the possibility he could have someone show up on his door step and inform him of his fecundity.
“Yeah, I always felt so bad for this little guy. Like, I wish I could just pick him up and hold him.” You replied. It felt silly to admit. “He just needs a little love.”
“Honey, can you imagine if we’d been his parents?” Pete laughed.
“Well he has your looks.” you teased.
“Hey, ouch!” Pete feigned offense but laughed along with you.
“Alright, alright, he’s handsome. I think he looks like your father.” Pete said.
“I could see it, honestly. My dad's head is pretty lumpy. What do you want to name him?” You asked.
“How about Pete Jr?” Pete responded.
“No, that’s what I call your penis.” you joked. “Plus, wouldn’t he be the third?”
“No the fourth, if we’re counting my penis.” he winked. “What if we named him after you?”
“Oh, yeah? What would we call him?” you asked
“Reed,” he said simply.
“Reed, that is a very becoming name for a young gentleman.” you said.
“I like that. What will he be when he grows up?” he asked.
“He could be a rockstar like you.” you mused.
“No, our boy Reed is going to have such a good childhood that he won’t have anything interesting enough happen to him to write songs about.” Pete said firmly.
“That’s a good point.” You giggled at how sure he was that the two of you would be great parents. “Certainly a better one than he was afforded in this movie…”
“What about a teacher? He will have such a great childhood that his passion in life will be teaching kids and making sure they have great childhoods as well.” Pete proclaimed passionately.
You couldn’t hold back your laughter at this point. You were in tears and Peter couldn’t help but smile proudly watching you laugh at his joke.
“Imagine pushing him on the swing.” you said between your laughter, wiping away tears.
“I could teach him to throw a football.” Pete said. “Though I’d have to teach myself first.”
“You could teach him bass.” You suggested.
“We’d probably have to modify it for his creepy little hands,” Pete said with a playful grin, curling his fingers into a claw for emphasis.
“Peter, stop! That’s our son!” You wheezed through the laughter that had started up again.
“Mummy!” Pete said in a creepy little baby voice pulling on your sleeve, “Mummy, can I have a cookie, mummy? Push me on the swing!”
“Pete, I can’t breathe! Why is he British now?” you were laughing so hard you had a stitch in your side.
“Ok, ok.” Pete said, relenting. He held you as you regained your breath and wiped the tears from your red cheeks.
“I do think we’d have been good parents.” Pete said, tracing his thumb on your hand, when you calmed down.
“You do?” you said softly.
“Of course, any kid would be lucky to have you as a mom.” he responded, pressing a warm kiss on the side of your head and holding you tighter. “I’m sorry you never got the chance.”
You sighed, “It is what it is I guess.” Pete was the best, he lived for cheering you up and comforting you. He never made you feel like a burden, it genuinely made him happy to help and support you. You felt his loss as well, he would have been a great father, attentive and nurturing. “We have each other though.” you said softly caressing his chest.
“That we do.” He kissed your head again.
“And we have Captain Beefheart, who needs his meds” He grunted and his body creaked as he hoisted himself off the couch from under you. Your old fat cat, Captain Beefheart, had started meowing demandingly from the counter where he waited impatiently for his expensive diabetes medicine, and most importantly the little treat he got with them.
