This writing challenge is to encourage even more creativity in this fandom by encouraging you to create original character(s) within the Stranger Things universe! The event will take place between February 12-17 and have daily prompts (see below).
What does this mean?
Your original character (OC) should be involved in the Stranger Things universe: maybe they are related to a canon character, maybe they moved to Hawkins during the Upside Down events, maybe they met a character later on, whatever way you can make them connect is fine!
The rules are simple:
Along with the above statement, the only rules are to make sure to properly tag any submissions with content warnings at the top of the post AND put any explicit material under a read more.
Please consider using this type of format for your posts:
Title
rating | word count | link to ao3 if applicable
cw | tags
Here are the dates and themes for the event:
[February 12th: Introduction
February 13th: Alternate Universes
February 14th: Love In Every Form
February 15th: Songs
February 16th: 80s, 90s, Today
February 17th: Favorite Tropes
February 18th: Party Time]
You can take creative liberties with any prompt, but if you're worried about your idea not fitting the theme, feel free to message this blog!
A special thank you to @steves-strapcollection for introducing Tig to the Steddie fandom, and encouraging so many of us to create our own characters. This challenge would not be possible without you and your encouragement!
Please keep in mind that this is a creative exercise and overall engagement with original character-focused work may not be as high as it is with canon characters/ships. This should NOT stop you from enjoying this challenge! If anything, I hope you carry your OC(s) into your other fandom works as often as possible!
The following link is for the AO3 collection for this challenge. This will not be moderated, so please be considerate and only include submissions for this challenge in the collection. If you have a late submission, please feel free to add it to the collection when complete!
Stranger Things OC Week AO3 Collection
rated t | for @strangerthingsocweek day 1 "introduction" | 1,573 words
cw: mentions of illness (just a cold), mildly suggestive language | tags: future fic, corroded coffin, original character, robin gets to have a girlfriend because i said so
author note: a lot of meg's original backstory also revolves around OCs that other people have created, so I've doctored it up a bit to fit in without pulling the other OCs into the mix.
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Meg rolled her eyes the moment she walked onto the tour bus.
The boys, and they were in fact boys since they refused to act like grown men, had left clothes scattered across the floor and couch, empty beer bottles and bags of chips on the table, and a pack of cigarettes on the counter.
Unbelievable.
But actually, totally believable.
They weren’t always like this. It’s just that the first night of the tour was always a celebration when they got off stage and Meg had the unfortunate task of making sure they were alive and prepared for the rest of the tour.
She wasn’t their manager, or security, or really anyone of importance in the grand scheme of things. All of those people were just not good at the job, and she took over quickly to ensure the members of Corroded Coffin didn’t end up ruining their careers before they even got started.
“If I see a single ass cheek when I come back there, I’m quitting!” She yelled towards the back of the bus. It was an empty threat, and they knew it, but she’d seen enough ass cheeks to last a lifetime.
She leaned over to pick up the pile of pants and pair of boots right in front of the door, face crumpling into disgust as she caught a whiff of sweat and weed.
“Meg, good to see ya!” Gareth said as he came from behind the curtain leading to the bunks. “Are we in Cinci already?”
“Yep.” She popped her mouth and continued picking things up off the floor. “Soundcheck in two hours. You guys have to at least try to get your shit together for it.”
“We will! You doin’ okay?” Gareth started gathering the trash on the table, throwing it all in the trash can without even seeing what was full and empty.
“Yeah. Good show last night. Didn’t think you’d do the new one on your first night,” Meg admitted. She’d worked on the song with them for weeks in the studio, curating it exactly to their tastes while still staying true to her own style. She didn’t think it would make the setlist at all, especially since they hadn’t even decided if it would make the next album yet, but sure enough, they performed it last night.
And they’d given credit to their “amazing songwriter friend who made sure they didn’t die or forget to eat.”
She would never admit to the tears that fell when she watched them perform their song.
“Ed and Robin agreed it should be a surprise. I think they both just wanted to see you cry,” Gareth nudged her on his way over to grab the guitar on the couch to put it into its case. “Steve told them not to.”
“This is why Steve’s my favorite,” she joked. Well, half-joked. She considered Steve to be the other half to her Keep Corroded Coffin On Track Team. Without him, Eddie would have been left at a rest stop the first time they went on the road.
“Yeah, that’s no secret.” She could hear the eyeroll in Gareth’s voice, but chose to ignore it. “He was snoring so bad last night, I almost had to consider kicking him off the bus.”
“Wait. Snoring? Steve doesn’t snore unless he’s-”
“Fuck.”
They both realized at the same time what was coming. Gareth looked back at Meg, eyes wide.
“Not now! It’s the beginning of tour!”
“Maybe if I load him up with vitamin C? I have a whole vitamin kit in the van and Robin has that nebulizer for her breathing treatments.”
A round of sneezes came from the back and Meg cursed under her breath.
“He’s gotta get away from everyone. He can take the van with Robin and I’ll bunk on your couch for a few days. Did he have a fever?” Meg was known for being dramatic over small inconveniences, but this wasn’t small. It had the potential to ruin tour dates. If anyone in the band got sick, it could ruin a concert.
“Don’t know. I don’t think so? He seemed fine when we went to sleep. He passed out before all of us though.” Gareth quickly set the guitar down and opened the cabinet closest to the bus door. “We’ve got cold meds. Some cough syrup. Tylenol. Cough drops. You think that’ll be enough?”
Meg nodded. “For now. Let’s see how bad it is first.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Eddie and Jeff came out at the same time, panic written all over their faces.
Meg sighed. “Bad?”
They nodded.
“Okay, stay away from him. It could already be too late, but you guys have to stay healthy.” Meg grabbed the basket of meds and a bottle of water from the fridge. “All of you get outside, tell Robin what’s up, and go with security into the building. I’m gonna get him settled in the van and scrub this place from top to bottom.”
“But I’ll miss him,” Eddie pouted. “How long does he have to stay in the van?”
“Until he can breathe through both nostrils.”
“Can any of us ever really breathe through both nostrils?” Eddie wondered.
Meg blinked at him. “Get a shirt on and get out of here before I make it impossible for you to breathe out of one nostril.”
Eddie threw his head back and groaned. Jeff patted his shoulder and turned to grab a shirt that was still on the couch.
“It’s okay man. Might just be a little cold. Could pass quick!” Gareth tried to reassure him, but Meg could already see how this was gonna go.
She was surrounded by slightly codependent idiots. She loved them all dearly, but she needed them to function individually sometimes.
The door banged open and Robin came up the steps.
“I swear, I sleep in one time and my girlfriend abandons me for her harem of idiot men.” She glances between everyone and tenses. “What’s wrong?”
“You stupid soulmate is sick,” Meg grumbled. “Everyone is in the process of leaving this bus before it happens to them.”
“I’ll wake up Frankie. He’s gonna be pissed,” Jeff sighed. “He got his pillows just right.”
“I’ll get him, you guys go,” Meg shooed them away, waiting for them to all leave before turning to Robin. “Hey, Robbie. Sorry I didn’t wake you up, just wanted you to get plenty of sleep.”
Robin leaned her head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, babe. Steve gonna make it?”
“Haven’t put eyes on him yet. Think you could go check? I gotta avoid getting sick, too. The less I’m around him, the better,” Meg handed her the basket and kissed the side of her head. “Get him to the van so he can contaminate that area instead.”
“But then I’ll get sick.” Robin pouted.
Meg couldn’t resist leaning down and pulling Robin’s bottom lip between her teeth, smirking when she let out a yelp.
“You’ll be fine. You’ve got a strong immune system. Promise I'll make it up to you in a few days. Maybe we could convince them to let us have a hotel room so we can-,” Meg said, pulling away when she heard shuffling behind the curtain. “Oh, good, it’s you. The rest of the guys are gone. Steve’s sick. Don’t come back in here until I give the go ahead.”
Frankie yawned, scratched his head, and nodded. “Got it.”
He was slowly becoming her favorite just by the fact that he never really argued with her. Maybe that was because he was terrified of her, but she could enjoy her power a little if she wanted to.
He walked out of the bus in his pajamas, probably not awake enough to realize he wasn’t properly dressed, but also probably not caring at all that he wasn’t. Frankie was a chill guy.
“Eddie?” Steve’s pitiful raspy voice came from behind the curtain. “Eds?”
“I’ll go,” Robin gave one final kiss to Meg’s lips before walking behind the curtain.
Meg only caught a glimpse of Steve, but a glimpse was all she needed to come to the conclusion that he was miserably sick and she needed to air this bus out immediately. She could hear Robin gently explaining where everyone was and trying to bribe him to put some comfy clothes on to move to the van.
She looked around and wondered what he’d touched last night before going to bed.
She opened the window behind the couch, and propped the window by the sink open to get some fresh air in the bus.
“Sorry I’m sick,” Steve suddenly said behind her, his eyes glassy and nose and cheeks bright red with fever and congestion. “Don’t know how.”
Meg smiled sadly at him. “Not your fault, bud. Just make sure to keep your distance from the guys until your fever’s gone. Don’t need them all getting sick at once and having to postpone a concert.”
Steve nodded sadly. “Okay. Can you tell Eddie I love him?”
“‘Course I can.”
Steve was acting like he was dying, but Meg didn’t say anything. Robin had been honest about a lot of her past, their past, but couldn’t say everything. She knew why they were all a bit codependent on each other. Sometimes small things like the common cold felt like a monster they couldn’t fight.
As Robin led Steve out of the bus, Meg made a checklist in her head of everything she needed to do before the show tonight.
written for @strangerthingsocweek | rated T | 1486 words
cw implied sexual harrassment, misgendering, period-typical homophobia
When Steve returns from the back with a new tub of ice-cream, Robin tears her eyes away from the entrance of Scoops Ahoy to suggest, "You ready to shoot your shot again, Harrington? Or should I take this one?"
Steve picks the empty container out of the display case without looking, slotting the new container in with ease as surveys the shop, then turns back to Robin with a confused squint. "There's no one here," he tells her, which Robin only doesn't roll her eyes at because he did just literally come out of the back.
"Nah, over there, by the planter," she explains, nodding vaguely towards the walkway in front of Scoops. "She's walked past here, like, twice, slowly, and now she's just - staring at us. She's definitely coming in here, as soon as she works up the nerve. Though I'm not quite sure what she's so scared of."
Steve looks out at their potential customer. Then he looks back at Robin. "Buckley, that's a teenage boy."
Robin does roll her eyes this time, very pointedly, before turning away from Steve and back to a slim figure in men's jeans and an oversized polo, banged up sneakers and a light brown mullet much like Steve's, except this one fans wide instead of high. A round face with tired blue eyes, a paper note in a calloused hand. Looking at the other girl makes Robin giddy - she's never had the guts to dress so masculine, but she's always wanted to. Never thought she'd see someone like this in Hawkins.
There's no way she can explain this to the King of the Heteros, but knowing for sure he'll get rejected again delivers its own kind of satisfaction. "No, she's not," Robin says derisively. "Look at the shirt. She works at A&D's, you know, the women's clothing store on the ground floor?"
Steve frowns. "A teenage boy could be working at a women's clothing store. Don't be sexist."
If this were anyone but Steve Harrington, Robin would be impressed by their open-mindedness, but he's probably only saying that to be contrarian. Or get in her good books. Both kind of icky, really. "Work there, yeah - but not running the place. I've seen her lock up at night, open in the mornings. She instructs the other girls on how to dress the mannequins, which dressing racks to put in front of the windows. Face it, Steve, that's a woman - but, to be fair, from the way you've been striking out, you don't know much about women, do you?"
Steve looks so offended it takes everything in Robin not to burst out laughing. "Excuse you?", Steve says hotly, "I am very knowledgeable about women, and you know what? I'll prove it to you, once she's - oh, shit."
Apprently, she's finally decided to walk into Scoops, shoulders hunched and eyes sharp as she approaches the counter. Robin stares unashamedly, trying to commit everything about her appearance to memory - she's not attracted to A&D girl (unfortunate though that may be, because she's probably never getting another chance like this), but Robin is drawn to her all the same. Like recognizing like, and all that.
Steve doesn't recognize shit, though. "Hey there, beautiful," he purrs, twirling his scoop in that way which would be impressive if Robin hadn't seen him fumble it twenty plus times while practicing, even smacking himself in the face once. "No need to be shy; if you're unsure of what to get I'll be happy to guide you to a more, uh… unconventional flavor. My name's -"
"Steve Harrington," their customer interrupts, voice surprisingly soft, "I know. Though I was not aware your flavor included guys."
Oh, Jesus. Robin was wrong. Robin was super wrong, which is extremely disappointing but also sort of morbidly funny, because Steve immediately turns pale as a sheet.
"Oh, I'm - oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"
A&D guy allows himself a small grin, half amused, half - resigned, almost. "Don't worry about it. I suppose you weren't technically wrong yet, I was just being a little mean."
Steve looks about as confused as Robin feels. "Yet? I'm - what? Are you a guy or not?"
And A&D guy… shrugs. Actually shrugs, like he doesn't really know either, and doesn't particularly care. "In my experience, other people have a lot stronger opinions on that than I do, so I just let them decide. I only ask for consistency in return, because trading pronouns all the time gets messy fast. So, uh," he clears his throat, and fidgets with the note in his hand. "You assumed I was a woman, so to you, I am one. Might not want to flirt with me anymore, though, I'm pretty sure I'm not your type."
Steve blinks. Swallows, blinks again. Then, much to Robin's surprise, he says, "Fuck it. Okay, sure. What's one more tally on the board, right, Buckley? And what can I get for you…?"
"Kicks," the - person in front of the counter says, shoulders relaxing marginally. "Kicks Maguire," which, alright, is a sick-ass name, and Robin can respect commitment to the bit when it's coming from such an obviously queer person. "And I have a list, it's, uh - each scoop in a separate cup, please, and that's uh, chocolate, chocolate again, strawberry, vanilla, caramel, and lemon."
"Wow, someone's hungry," Robin can't resist joking as she waves Kicks over to the register, and when Kicks laughs Steve fumbles his second chocolate scoop, dropping it back into the container with a curse. "No, this is for the entire team," Kicks explains, "my coworkers. They've been working hard, thought they deserved a treat."
Aw, that's sweet. Robin subtly skims a quarter off the total, then quips cheekily, "What, and none of them wanted to help you carry their prize back to home base?"
Kicks' eyes flicker to Steve for just a second before returning to Robin, and his - her? No, his, Robin decides, his smile is still perfectly friendly as he forks over a few bills, but Robin is sharper than a lot of people give her credit for. "Nah, I just told them I could handle it."
"Handling it, huh," Robin muses, dropping the change in Kicks' outstretched hand. "Is that why you were messing with Steve, then? Punishment for making your girls uncomfortable?"
Kicks' eyes widen visibly, and Steve freezes in his movement. "What? Hey, is that true?"
Kicks shrugs uncomfortably. "Not everyone wants to be flirted with when they're just getting ice cream, Harrington," he says, voice carefully neutral, but Steve still looks like a kicked puppy. "I didn't mean to -"
Then he frowns, shakes his head. "But I did. I did make those girls uncomfortable, even if I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry Kicks, I - they're probably not gonna want to see my face, but could you tell your girls my sincerest apologies?"
Kicks looks kind of stumped, which Robin can relate to. "Yeah, I - I can do that. Yup. Sure. I'll just head out then, uh, Steve and -"
"Robin," Robin fills in the blank, "Robin Buckley."
Kicks shoots her a quick, nervous grin. "Robin. You should come by the shop, sometimes. Even if we don't have a men's section."
His eyes dart back to Steve again, then away, and he grabs the tray with ice-cream they prepared for him. Steve frowns after him when he walks away, gaze lingering thoughtfully on the curve of his back. "He said that to you, right? That's weird. What would you be doing in the men's section?"
Robin shoots him a tight-lipped smile. "I don't know, Harrington. Tell me, though, which part of the men's section do you get your lip gloss and hairspray from?"
Steve turns an adorable shade of pink and huffs, "Yeah, yeah, point taken. Whatever."
He still keeps his eyes on Kicks' retreating form, and so does Robin. Kicks just makes for such an odd contradiction - he's so casual about his disregard for gendered expectations, self-assured and easy about it in a way that makes you agree with him, because why wouldn't you? And yet, at the same time, there's this caution about him, a smallness, like he wants nothing more than to disappear into the background. A hyperawareness of his surroundings that Robin knows from herself, the craving and the fear to be other inextricably linked.
And yet he sticks to his guns, stubborn and open. Robin always thought to be publicly other you'd have to be loud and bold, someone like that Sinclair girl that keeps bugging her for free samples, or like Munson from her drama class. She likes this quiet self-assuredness, though, this stubborn persistence in spite of the fear, not for a lack of it.
Maybe she will check out A&D's sometime. If only to find out how Kicks gets his hair to defy gravity like that, because like hell she's asking Steve.
down on your two knees (to save your soul) [chapter one... kinda]
Teen (for now)★Gareth/OMC★In Progress
So this is technically a prequel to my fic here i have found some peace of mind and it's about Gareth and my OC Tig!!
Thank you @strangerthingsocweek for give me the push to actually like... finish this fucking chapter? I guess?
This is largely unedited, but like... alas!
Tagging the Scromies: @starryeyedjanai @sidekick-hero @steddieas-shegoes @stobinesque @vecnuthy @tboygareth @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @puppy-steve @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut
And tagging the honorary Scromies: @hellion-child @spectrum-spectre
“This isn’t my decision, Eddie—”
“Oh, come off it, Chris. Even if it was, you know you’d be saying the same fucking thing—”
“Then why are you wasting our time arguing with me?”
Now that was the million-dollar question, right there. Why was Eddie arguing with her? Gareth was pretty sure Eddie just liked the sound of his own whining and Chrissy couldn’t help but rise to it every time.
“Because this is our band—”
“Enough!”
Everyone jumped at Freak’s loud outburst, silence falling over the tiny boardroom they were all piled into as they looked at him. He was massaging his forehead, a grimace clear in his expression.
Glancing at the screen of his phone, Gareth flinched as he realized they had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, and forty of those were dedicated to Eddie and Chrissy arguing in circles. Jeff had had his head on the table before Freak’s shout, and his mouth was still a tense line.
“You’re right, Eddie. This is our band, and that includes Chrissy,” Freak said pointedly, and Eddie actually had the grace to glance away, shame-faced, his mouth snapping shut. Seemingly satisfied, Freak said, “Stop being a dick and let her actually finish what she was saying.”
“Thank you, Freak,” Chrissy sighed, sitting back in her chair at the head of the table. “Now, as I was saying, the label can’t have us canceling shows if we’re headlining.”
“Gee, thanks, Chris,” Eddie bit out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
“It was different when we were openers,” she continued a bit shakily, shrugging a shoulder, “but we’re about to start what the label’s anticipating being a sold-out arena tour.”
Jeff’s expression went slack, and Gareth knew his own eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jeff asked, tilting his better ear toward her. “Did you say sold-out?”
“Anticipated, yes,” Chrissy replied, smirking just a bit smugly about it.
Gareth scoffed incredulously. “Fuck ‘sold-out’, did you just say arena tour?” He looked around the table. “How the hell did we score an arena tour?”
“Between your explosion in popularity and the docuseries deal…” Chrissy said, trailing off as she looked at Eddie a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how much you wanted to make this the tour you were back for, but canceling two of our appearances and needing a sub on guitar at the end of Ghost’s tour has the label spooked.”
Gareth sneered at the mention of the sub they were saddled with. When he looked over at Eddie, though, his chest squeezed at the way his oldest friend was staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. All the fight had left him, and Gareth could tell he was resigning himself to the decision. Jeff leaned over to wrap a hand over Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.
Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoever we bring on better be good,” Eddie bit out eventually, his voice thick as he turned a flat look on Chrissy. “We’re not slowing down for them.”
At that, Chrissy actually broke into a grin and clapped her hands together. “Well, you’re in luck because I’ve already brought someone on and he’s ridiculously talented,” she said in a rush, and they all just blinked at her. There was a sinking feeling in Gareth’s gut about the whole thing.
“He should actually be here soon to talk to you— oh, that might be him,” Chrissy continued, hopping up when there was a quiet knock at the door. When she opened it, she smiled politely and said, “Yeah, just send him back.”
Turning back to them, Jeff gestured for her to elaborate. “Are you going to tell us who it is?”
Chrissy frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t act like you don’t know who it is,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes dramatically.
Gareth immediately thought of the smug behemoth that subbed for Eddie’s guitar parts and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. At the same time, however, the rest of the band’s faces lit up excitedly, even Eddie’s. Of fucking course Eddie would be fine with being coddled, babied— nay, treated like a fucking invalid if it meant some hot, overrated giant was going to be around more often.
There was another knock on the door and Chrissy immediately opened it with a grin. “Morgan! Welcome back,” she said brightly, and the name threw Gareth off just enough that his shoulders relaxed and dropped down from around his ears.
He didn’t know a Morgan, he didn’t think, but that was fine! At least it wasn’t—
“Ugh, that’s the name the lawyers use for me,” came an impossibly deep, slightly accented voice as Chrissy stepped back, staring up at the man coming into the boardroom with nothing short of awe.
Sure e-fucking-nough, in walked the very giant Gareth had hoped wouldn’t be returning. The asshole actually ducked his head under the door frame is if it was too fucking low for him to clear it.
“Please, just call me Tig,” the man said before looking around the room with a giant grin, his blue eyes pausing on Gareth just long enough to wink at him.
It had been months since the band saw Tig last, and Gareth hated that he looked good. His hair was a vibrant pink at that moment (very much not the blue it was when he was touring with them) and with complete and utter dismay, Gareth realized he had a new fucking tattoo on his throat. It was almost a blackout tattoo, but on the front of his throat it looked like a honeycomb. The pattern faded into proper blackout where it wrapped around the column of his neck and up to the line of his jaw. It was distracting, and Gareth just wanted to chew that shit off.
Tig had been brought in as quickly as possible at the end of Corroded Coffin’s tour with Ghost when Eddie’s nerve pain flared up to the point that he could barely perform, let alone play his guitar. Despite being unable to play and upset about that, Eddie and Tig immediately hit it off. They had been nearly inseparable, between Tig’s (admittedly genius level) skill on guitar and Eddie’s passion for finding the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable. What was worse was that Tig had the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable tattooed all over his body.
Even Freak had taken a shine to him, actually finding his fucking childish antics hilarious. Jeff barely even hesitated about returning Tig’s over-the-top flirtations, too.
Gareth couldn’t fucking stand him.
Across the table, Freak was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and a little, smug smirk. Gareth flipped him off before crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair.
The first problem he had with Tig was that the man was so goddamn tall. It honestly hurt Gareth’s neck to meet his eyes most of the time, and then the dick went and wore fucking platform boots as if he needed three more inches. Whenever he did that, Gareth was practically eye-level with Tig’s goddamn bellybutton (and the man’s stupid fucking piercing there) which filled him with something that could only be rage with how hot he felt all over. Hot like flames were engulfing him, flames of anger and shit.
The second problem was that Gareth was, apparently, Tig’s fucking fan.
See, Tig used to be part of a masked, anonymous band named Rake as the lead guitarist and unclean vocalist. Their whole get-up, especially in the last era of their career as a band, were full suits and bird-themed masks, leaving only enough skin visible for the guitarists to play and the vocalists to sing. Rake was up there in popularity, even for a metal band, somehow making it big while maintaining their anonymity. That was until, of course, a fateful music festival in Nevada during a record-breaking heatwave.
Gareth was a huge fan of Rake— they were literally his favourite band, so when he found out Corroded Coffin was going to be playing at the same festival as Rake and they were scheduled perfectly so he was going to be able to see Rake perform? He was ecstatic and he weaponized his elbows to get to the barrier.
Their entire aesthetic looked fucking rad but watching them perform in triple-digit weather really put it all into perspective.
Mid-set, it was obvious that the lead guitarist was suffering. Somehow, Tig was still hitting all the correct chords and nailing every single one of his lines, but between songs he was guzzling water, pouring it on himself, turning his back to the crowd to lift his mask up off his face even. He had already shed as many layers of his costume as he could just short of showing off skin. The other members were also having a rough time, but none of them seemed nearly as bad as Tig.
(Since meeting him, Gareth had come to learn that Tig is just annoying and dramatic, especially in any amount of weather hotter than 90 degrees.)
Eventually, Tig swayed unsteadily enough that the other vocalist had to grab his arm to keep him from eating shit. There was a moment where they were clearly arguing, though it was hard to tell with the beaks of the masks being in the way. Eventually, Tig began to roll up his sleeves, exposing very distinctly tattooed forearms that had more than a few audience members shouting in excitement.
The thing was, Gareth recognized the tattoos, but where he recognized them from was escaping him. The tattoo that stood out to him in that moment was the Lichtenberg figure that started on his thumb and crawled up his arm, branching out into a perfect mess of lines and angles. It had been almost thrilling to have that moment of knowing, that split-second where he knew who was under that mask even if he couldn’t actually immediately recall who it was.
But then there were gasps in the crowd, and people began shouting something that Gareth couldn’t quite hear properly, and Tig’s shoulders drooped a bit. Looking around himself, Gareth took in the sea of people around him and noticed that a few of them had their phones out. The girl next to him at the barrier was on Twitter, frantically scrolling through the people she followed.
Upon realizing that his favourite guitarist (after Jeff and Eddie, of course) was apparently Twitter famous, Gareth was pissed. It just felt ridiculous that a metal guitarist would be famous on the fucking bird app without their music as the reason. It felt like they sold out, like some influencer was behind the music.
Then Tig stepped up to the microphone and— in an impossibly deep and slightly accented voice that Gareth absolutely fucking knew in a way that had him blushing in the middle of a crowd of metalheads— he said, “well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”
See, Gareth knew on some level that the members of Rake were probably recognizable in some way other than their looks off the stage because none of them ever spoke. They would go on stage, perform their set, and leave. It wasn’t that weird, given their entire gimmick with the masks, so Gareth really didn’t think too much about it. Now that Gareth heard that voice and recognized it immediately as one that frequently featured in his horniest daydreams, the gimmick made a whole lot more sense.
The thing was that Gareth knew that voice and those tattooed arms— and, yep, the man was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the massive and distinctive tattoo of a cicada across his chest— and they belonged to the one OnlyFans creator he was fucking subscribed to.
“Let’s get back to the show, then,” Tig growled into the mic, and the music immediately picked back up as if a quarter of the crowd didn’t just get their shit rocked.
Later that night when he was back at his hotel, Gareth pulled up Twitter and sure enough, there was a new post from xX-Tamer Tig-Xx. It was a selfie of Tig standing in front of a mirror, completely naked while he held his iconic plague doctor mask over his cock. Black body paint was still on his hands, throat, and around his mouth, as if he just stripped and took the selfie after the concert. It was posted with a caption that read, “So, big news incoming 😳 IYKYK 😏”
The ensuing chaos the news threw part of the metal scene into was nothing short of fucking batshit insane. Gareth and Eddie were eating it all up as they watched YouTube reactors express their opinions on the matter. They watched the way Rake blew up on TikTok now that it was known that at least one of the band members was already a well-known “accountant” on the app. After about a week, the rest of the band unmasked too, and it turned out all of them were sex workers by trade.
It was shortly after that when Rake announced that they would be permanently disbanding now that they were unmasked, which was devastating for Gareth. He mostly understood, of course, because the anonymity was ultimately important to them, so their sex work and music was wholly separated. Plus, Rake was very vocal as an entity on their socials that they were always intending to complete a trilogy of albums and they achieved that. It just felt wrong, as if their hands were forced to announce it early, or they were robbed of their chance to just quietly disappear forever without revealing anything.
After a couple months, Rake sat down for a full profile piece for an article about them unmasking, their feelings about it and the end of their careers as Rake. All five of them seemed happy with the way the band was ending things, that they could finally be more open about their friendships with each other, even outside of their working relationships. Hell, the drummer and the lead vocalist were fucking married. Like, real-life married, and they had to hide that on stage. In the interview, they said they were most excited to be able to actually interact with their opening bands, and something in that made Gareth realize how much that anonymity probably felt very isolating. Thinking about how much Corroded Coffin got to learn from the bands they were opening with and for, he couldn’t imagine that lack of collaboration.
The article itself had images of all the members unmasked and in various states of undress. Tig’s photo was the most provocative, with him standing in profile and completely naked except for his platform boots, one leg bent just enough to keep his modesty. His arms were held up, hands tangled in his own hair, but he was looking directly at the camera over the muscled curve of his biceps.
Despite being subscribed to his OnlyFans, Gareth still saved that image to his phone and told himself that was completely normal behaviour. He had lots of photos and videos of Tig naked on his phone. It wasn’t weird.
Plus, he foolishly thought, it wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking meet the man, especially since Rake was breaking up and none of them had immediate plans to return to the stage, even as a solo act.
Gareth jumped as someone knocked on the table to get his attention, and he glared at the heavily tattooed hand that was there. Turning his sneer up at Tig’s face, he felt something squirm in his gut as the man just smirked knowingly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Tig crooned as he sat down, leaning close to Gareth to ask in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “miss me?”
“Like a fucking toothache, Slenderman,” Gareth spat, and Tig only grinned broadly at him, showing off all of his perfectly white teeth. They weren’t perfectly straight, but they were so fucking white, it was ridiculous. Unfair. Disgusting even.
“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Tig sighed before turning his attention to Chrissy as she stood back up to start going over the details of him temporarily joining Corroded Coffin.
This was going to be the worst, Gareth thought— nay, he knew.
written for @strangerthingsocweek | rated G/T | wc: 841 | cw: mention of unsafe binding practices | tags: nonbinary character, transmasculine gareth emerson, canon typical monsters
I'm not gonna lie, y'all, it was hard to find someplace within the canon universe to introduce Willow Byrne, since they were created from a deeply expanded AU (and then AUs upon AUs and etc etc) BUT we've done it!
There’s something about quiet days at the clinic that sets Willow’s teeth on edge, gets their anxiety pumping in a way that it hasn’t since their stint at the emergency clinic in Indy just after graduating veterinary school.
It’s the days like this, where Willow has all the time in the world to sit and eat their lunch in peace and quiet, to monitor their surgical patient as he comes out of the anesthesia, that Willow knows in their heart of hearts that something major is going to come barreling through that door at about ten till seven as Willow’s techs and receptionist are just beginning to clean up the clinic.
It’s been a good day so far, is the thing. They started the day successfully wrangling a fractious cat into submission for her vaccinations, and then overseeing their newest tech’s first dental on an elderly Yorkie, and then performing a neuter on a hundred pound yellow lab. And then it was time for a late lunch when Willow’s youngest employee—Gareth Emerson in his black band tee shirts and tattered jeans—pushes open the clinic door with his backpack slung over his shoulder and dark circles beneath his eyes that spoke volumes about his workload between school, home, and here.
Willow likes Gareth a lot. There’s something about him that Willow recognizes, down to their very soul. It’s something that—had Willow grown up in a different environment—they think maybe they could have had for themself at that age.
Willow has seen the Ace bandages wrapped tightly around Gareth’s chest when he changes out of his school clothes and into his scrubs. Willow hasn’t brought it up, and likely never will, but they hope that Gareth recognizes them the way they recognize him.
As he’s restocking the syringes at Willow’s work station, Gareth is,,, fidgety. That’s really the only way to describe it. He keeps looking over at Willow, real shifty-like, all anxious buzzing and tappy fingers.
“Hey doc?” he says at last. Willow glances up at him, over the rim of their glasses, and sets down the patient chart they’d been perusing to give their employee their whole attention. “So my buddy Eddie, uhhh… he found this… weird dog, he said? I dunno what it is, but he was wondering if he could bring it in and have you take a look? Maybe see what’s wrong with it?”
It’s not what Willow had been expecting Gareth to say, but the way he says it… it sends a chill up Willow’s spine, one that they can’t place.
“Sure,” they shrug, tugging their glasses off to rub their eyes. “Probably just a stray with mange.”
“I dunno…” Gareth mutters, his voice heavy. “This thing… Doc, I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything, but I’ve seen it. I don’t think it’s a dog at all.”
There’s that chill again, creeping across the back of Willow’s neck, the one that hasn’t fully gone away since the day they rolled into Hawkins.
There is something wrong with this town.
Gareth’s friend Eddie shows up with all his boisterous, boundless energy, with his dimples and his hair and his larger than life laugh, twenty minutes before the clinic closes. He is carrying something wrapped in a leather jacket like he is hiding it from the sun. Whatever it is—mangy dog, rabid raccoon, sickly feral cat—is squirming in his tight but careful grip, trying to run, trying to escape the fluorescents and the overwhelming scent of medical equipment.
Gareth is frozen in place, staring hard at the bundle in his friend’s arms. There’s a fear in his eyes that Willow hasn’t noticed in him in the few months he’s been working for them. Gareth has muzzled demonic chihuahuas and coaxed terrified, reactive rottweilers out of hiding without so much as batting an eye, but whatever his friend has dragged in here scares Gareth, and that makes Willow nervous.
For his part, Eddie is still grinning ear to ear, cooing at his mystery bundle, calling it Gamgee and talking sweetly to it like he’s shushing a nervous cat.
Heart racing, Willow motions to the exam table before them and tells Eddie to set the “dog” down there.
He does, and he pulls back the leather jacket it’s wrapped in to reveal the monster beneath.
Willow does not believe in monsters.
This thing is a monster.
“That is not a dog,” they breathe to Gareth.
“I know.”
It’s… flesh. It’s not flesh. It’s plant matter. No, it’s not. Willow wants to reach out and touch it. Willow is terrified that if they come into contact with its flesh it will kill them.
The monster turns its head—if it can even be called that— toward Willow.
It doesn’t have any eyes but Willow has the unsettling feeling that it can see them anyway. It tilts its head, like a curious dog.
And then its face splits open, blooms like a flower of blood and guts and viscera and Willow feels ill.
For day two of @strangerthingsocweek!! This is an "official" publication, I guess, of a fic I wrote last year for Dom and Freak. @steddieas-shegoes gave me a lot of inspiration for this one, so thank you so much again, as well as organising this event! You're awesome, Mickala!!
I don't tend to go back and re-read my own work, but re-reading this to make sure it was decent enough to put on tumblr made me realize how much I liked this one. So that's nice!
Pairing: transmasc OMC x Unnamed Freak || Rating: E || Words: ~6.7k|| Tags: modern!au, some emotional self-harming behaviours, rough sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, Dom/sub undertones, impact play, under-negotiated kink, aftercare, first kiss
For some context, this is set in @steves-strapcollection's Stranger Things modern!au "here I have found some peace of mind" but after the events of his fic. It also mentions his OCs Charlie and Tig, as well as @sentient-trash's OC Eric!
Title from I Wanna Be Adored - The Stone Roses
Coming to this fucking party was a mistake.
Dominik was trying. He was determined to be on his best behaviour and shove his mess aside for the night to at least keep some peace. It wasn’t like he (fully) intended to make this schism worse, he just… he couldn’t always keep his mouth shut. And paid for it. That he was even invited to hang out with his friends and the Corroded Coffin folks tonight was an olive branch from both Tig and Gareth and even if Dom hadn’t gotten hold of the reins of his runaway feelings yet–at all–he was determined to at least try. To put on a brave face, a stiff upper lip, what-have-you.
And, importantly, to try to keep his stupid mouth shut. He didn’t need to poison the air with his usual venom right now.
Even if it meant that Charlie kept shooting him concerned looks. Eric mostly just gave him an awkward pat on the back. Dom knew it was because he’d probably said less than ten whole words all night while he kept his distance from the–understandably, even he can begrudgingly admit–suspicious Coffin boys and their friends.
None of that trying helped, though.
Seeing Tig practically glued to Gareth’s side all fucking night was hellish. And the way he smiled at Gareth… that extra wide grin, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and sparkled every motherfucking time that short shithead cracked a barely funny joke, like he was the sun in Tig’s sky. Uhg. Made Dom want to throw his glass of wine at the wall so hard it shattered, rip his own heart out, and throw it at Gareth’s feet to be stomped to mush so at least it looked how Dom felt. But that was a tad too dramatic, even for him.
So Dom suffered quietly, slowly sipping his only drink of the night and offering the blandest smiles and clipped answers to the very-brave very-few who dared approach him and the figurative thunderstorm brewing over his head. One that snapped into a deluge when he caught sight of them again.
It was awful to watch Tig wrap his arms around Gareth’s waist from behind and nuzzle his face into his neck, his lips moving with whatever secret affections he whispered into that undeserving cunt’s ear–
Tearing his gaze away, he started to take a series of deep, measured breaths, tapping out the time between each on his glass with a finger. He was trying. Trying, god-fucking-damnit.
He cast around for anything else more interesting and less heart wrenching, a distraction, and saw someone else. Someone who also watched Tig and Gareth’s sickening little display, and who Dom knew also held some measure of jealousy about it.
Freak also stood off to the side, just a little ways away from the group. Had this kicked-puppy expression as he stared at the happy couple over the rim of the can. His stunning blue eyes reluctantly left their mutual, though opposite, objects of desire and jealousy and, amusingly, landed on Dom.
Raising his glass in a wry gesture of camaraderie, he took a sip as Freak gave a humourless laugh and followed suit. This wasn’t the first time they’d “commiserated” over their feelings, though Dom was still endlessly bitter that Freak, at least, had gotten to fuck them a few times anyway. Freak had snarled in his ear, while he fucked Dom into the floor, that maybe he could’ve too if he weren’t such a bitch; that had ended with both of them covered in scratches and carpet burns, and had Dom limping for almost a week.
The memory left him feeling a little warm. He held Freak’s gaze and tilted his chin up a little so he could look at him through his lashes, letting a slow smile stretch across his lips. They could both use a distraction, he figured. Why not offer one?
Freak glanced at his friends gathered just a few feet away, then back at Dom, letting his eyes roam lazily down Dom's body. Against the wall, Dom preened under his attention and stood in a way that he knew made his willowy frame look subtly more enticing.
They've danced this dance before so Freak skipped the act of trying to seem disinterested and walked over instead. "Having fun?" he asked dryly, and Dom snorted with a disbelieving stare.
"Does it fucking look like I am?"
"Yup. Really the life of the party over here."
That pulled the tiniest, most reluctant smile from Dom, and he hid it with a sip of wine and a roll of his eyes. He did a sarcastic little bow with a flourish of his free hand, and said, "Welcome to the party, then."
"Happy to be here," Freak replied blandly.
"No you're not." Dominik pointedly looked at Tig and Gareth. "Neither of us are."
Freak laughed. "Fuck, you're miserable."
"Fuck off," Dom snapped, his irritation rising like bile in his throat, "like you're any better."
"Yeah I am."
Freak said it so plainly that Dom wanted to lash out at him. If they weren't here, if they were somewhere private, he would have. Instead he glared up at Freak, feeling caged and prodded at, and started trying to suss out any cracks in the armour of superiority Dom was convinced he hid behind. He'd knock Freak down a fucking peg even if he took himself out at the same time.
"Prove it," Dom demanded, his tone just shy of a growl. He stepped up into Freak's space with a dangerously coy tilt of his head. The closeness reminded Dom of how deliciously overwhelming Freak could be when provoked hard enough and a familiar zing of interest raced down his spine, only fueling his need to push and anger the man. So he added,
"Fuck me like you'd fuck him."
Freak's eyes narrowed, his lip upturned in a sneer. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Well, it should be easy, a fucking walk in the park, if you're that much better than me. And besides, darling." Dom lowered his voice and stepped just close enough to feel Freak's body heat and smell his cologne. Using one finger, he turned Freak's head in Gareth's direction and watched, with self-satisfied glee, as Freak's eyes flicked over, right where Dom had intended. "You could just close your eyes and think it's his cunt you're fucking instead."
He lowered his hand but didn't step away, so he heard the unsteady breath Freak took. Dom waited patiently for him to respond. The more seconds that ticked by, the more certain he felt that he'd won this part of the battle. He looked forward to the next part.
Without looking away from Gareth and Tig, Freak finally spat out, "Fine."
"Great. I'll meet you at mine? Unless you back out like a fucking coward and prove me right," Dom asked with a smug smile. Freak's downright furious expression just made him smile wider.
"You'll regret that."
"Oo, I adore threats."
They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither one backing out of the bare few inches of space they'd left between themselves, Dom grinning and Freak fuming. Gritting his teeth, Freak was the first to break away, schooling his face into something much friendlier before going to say his goodbyes to his friends.
Dom went back to leaning against the wall. He figured he'd finish his wine first and privately revel in his petty victory. He'd earned it.
There was a chorus of farewells and the front door shut, so Dom swirled the rest of his drink, giving Freak a head start of a few minutes. But he wasn't able to enjoy his small moment of peace.
"Nickie."
Sighing, Dom gave Charlie a tight smile and a short hum of acknowledgement. His friend looked anxious, that iconic moustache of his tilted in a frown, which seemed to be the only way he looked at Dom these days.
"Dominik," Charlie continued, sounding vexed, "come on. What was all that? Did you drive him off?"
"Not this time," Dom grumbled.
"I'm serious." Charlie crossed his arms over his chest.
"So am I, fucking hell, stop riding my ass, it's–" Clamping his mouth shut, Dom exhaled through his nose and let the wall take his weight. Then he looked at the floor and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Sorry, Chuckie," he said, with actual remorse.
Charlie patted Dom's shoulder, letting it rest there as he spoke. "I know. We're okay. But, really, what the hell was that? You were all up in his space, he looked pissed, and then he left."
"I did piss him off a little," Dom admitted, unable to help the satisfied lilt to his voice, "but it's not what it looks like, alright? It's just a… an arrangement."
Dom glanced up at Charlie and was met with the second most disappointed look he'd ever seen on his friend's face. Didn't appreciate the reminder that he was also the reason for the most disappointed look he'd ever seen, too. "Nickie–"
"Don't. Just, shit, don't. I know."
Sighing, Charlie squeezed Dom's shoulder and reined him in for a side hug. Dom bristled but let it happen, refusing to cause some kind of scene. Again.
"I hope you know what you're doing, and that you're talking it out and being safe. Freak's pretty rough."
"Yeah he is." Dom flashed a salacious grin at Charlie, hoping that it would distract him from the fact that he didn't acknowledge the rest of what he'd said. The tired eyebrow levelled his way said that Dom didn't succeed. "Listen, it's fucking fine. It's nothing. Stop wasting your time mother-henning me and go be with the well-adjusted assholes over there," he said sullenly, though without his usual bite.
"It's not a waste of my time to worry about you, man."
And that there was too much, too far. Dom ducked out from Charlie's arm with a thin smile. "Either way, I'm wasting my handsome gentleman caller's time the longer I'm here. So if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my brains fucked out of my head. Say goodbye to Eric and… and Tig, for me."
"Nickie–"
"Good night, Chuckie."
Dom made for the back door, where he figured he could slip away with only Charlie knowing. He opened it carefully, not wanting to make his exit obvious, and when the door creaked lightly he glanced over his shoulder. Which was, of course, a stupid mistake.
Tig was watching him.
Pinned in place like an insect, Dom couldn't look away from Tig's blatant worry and sadness. Shame and guilt and want flooded his chest, threatening to drown him, drag him under and into the dark, so Dom bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The bloom of metallic-tasting pain was enough to get him through the door without so much as a wave goodbye.
The drive home was a blur. Dom could barely remember any of it beyond pulling into his parking space, when he pried his tense hands off of the steering wheel. Groaning, he flopped against the seat and ground the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until he saw stars.
He shouldn't have gone to that goddamn party.
The thought echoed in his head, taunting him, until there was a tap-tap-tap on his window and Dom jolted. He almost started yelling at the person for being a creep until he realised it was Freak. The parking lot light cast his face in a yellowed half-light, enough to see his slight frown. Dom had had enough of people looking at him like that.
"Come on," he said when he slammed his car door shut. Freak followed silently, a steady presence at Dom's back as he led them into the building. In the elevator, he punched the button for the 6th floor and stared at the display wordlessly.
"We don't have to do this," Freak hedged to break the quiet ride up.
Dom crossed his arms. "You backing out now?"
"Not backing out, giving you an out. Kinda looks like you don't want–"
The elevator came to a stop with a ding, the door rattling open. Dom shoved his foot against the gap where it disappeared.
"What I don't want is to keep being treated like I don't know what I'm fucking doing." He sneered at Freak. The seal on his temper was so close to bursting. "So are you coming in, or going home?"
Freak examined him for a moment. Seemed to weigh his options. The elevator tried to close, but as it met Dom's foot, Freak stepped forward and held it back, looming into Dom's space at the same time.
"You're going to let me know if you want to stop. At any time. And don't snap at me when I check in," he said.
Dom tilted his head, one eyebrow cocked. "Fine. But talk to me again like I don't know basic etiquette and I'll rip your dick off."
"Oo," Freak cooed, both sarcastic and alluring, "I adore threats."
The callback made Dom bristle, but the dark thread of desire woven through his tone made it more fun than annoying. Marginally. That, and the way Freak leered at him, using his extra few inches of height to his advantage, felt like a challenge, and Dom craved that push, that fight.
Trailing his hand up Freak's leg, smirking at the small hitch of breath he heard, and held his gaze as he hooked a finger into a belt loop, pulled, and said, "Good."
Freak shoved Dom out of the elevator, his patience clearly worn thin, and Dom muffled his cackling as he jogged backwards down the hall, unzipping his coat and grabbing his crotch suggestively. He managed to ruck up his black shirt when he ran his hands up his chest, knowing that Freak could see the thatch of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. Freak watched hungrily, following at a pace slow enough to enjoy the show. But when Dom turned to unlock his door, Freak was on him, crowding him against it.
"Such an attention whore, huh?" Freak growled appreciatively in Dom's ear. Dom shivered, grinning. "Fucking starved for it. Bet I could fuck you right here where your neighbours could see and you'd get off on it."
Laughing low and breathless, Dom fished out his keys with one hand, jingling loudly in the quiet hall, then reached around to grab Freak's ass with the other to yank him closer with a hard squeeze. The words, the idea, made his cunt throb. He could feel how Freak's breathing picked up, with his chest against Dom's back and their faces side-by-side. The slightest turn of his head had Dom's lips brushing Freak's stubbled jaw.
"While I do love putting on a show," Dom murmured, rubbing against Freak's hardening cock with a satisfied sound, "we have other plans."
Freak groaned in complaint when Dom let them inside, leading the way. Whirling around on his heel, Dom started stripping, flinging his coat one way, his shirt the other. He could almost feel the way Freak watched him, a little stunned but intense. "Don't forget to lock the door, darling," he taunted, smirking. With one hand held up, two fingers crooked to beckon Freak along, Dom undid his belt with the other, the leather making a loud snap as he whipped it out of the belt loops. Freak slammed the door shut, throwing the lock, still staring as he shoved his jacket off.
"You just gonna fucking gawk or–oh shit!" Freak charged, scooping Dom up as he squawked in surprise, and started towards the bedroom. "Jesus–fuck–put me down!" He scrambled for purchase, forced to wrap his hands around Freak's neck and trust that he'd hold Dom up. Though the way his biceps flexed as he hoisted Dom a bit higher left zero room for doubt.
Freak's confident, cocky stare fed the heat pooling in Dom's belly. His self-assuredness was so frustratingly hot. And shit, it was fun to fuck around with someone again that matched his energy, that kept up with him. That bit back.
Dom tangled his fingers into Freak's dark, curly hair and tugged, and though he hissed Freak also laughed and dug his blunt nails into Dom's jean-clad thighs in retaliation. But then they passed the doorway into Dom's room. And Freak grinned. It clicked just a split-second before–
"No–!"
With an effortless shove, Freak flung Dom onto the unmade bed. He landed in an undignified heap amongst the pillows and blankets with a muffled yelp. Getting up on his elbows, Dom blew his hair out of his face and glared.
"You told me to put you down," Freak said, shrugging.
"You… clichéd asshole," Dom fumed, his jaw clenched to keep from laughing or smiling. He refused to show that he'd actually enjoyed being hauled around so fucking easily.
He watched as Freak shrugged again, unbothered and amused, before pulling his shirt off and propping a leg up on the bed frame to start untying his boots. Dom kept watching as he unlaced his own boots. Admired his thick thighs, the swell of his belly over his jeans, the dark hair that covered his forearms and torso. He wanted to get his hands on every inch of skin and leave bruises that would last for days.
Seeing Dom start to open his fly, Freak grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him across the bed, standing between his outstretched legs before pulling Dom’s jeans off so roughly he heard a seam snap, taking his boxer briefs with them, leaving him naked and spread open. Dom gasped, looked up. His gut swooped at the way Freak studied him, almost cold, calculated, the fun from earlier hidden behind whatever was going on in his head. Then, slowly, Freak sank to his knees.
Shock coursed through Dom’s nerves. They hadn’t done this before. They had an agreement to not use their mouths; no lips, tongue, teeth. Only hands, fingers, Freak’s cock or a toy or two. So Dom asked hesitantly, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You wanted me to fuck you like I fuck Gareth,” he responded flatly. That name sent a sick spike of jealousy through Dom’s heart. “So I’m giving you what you wanted. Unless–”
“Fuck you, I’m not backing out,” Dom spat. Anger seethed alongside his jealousy, but not at Freak, not really. At himself. He’d forgotten, so fast, that that was why they were even here tonight. He fucking forgot. Some unnamed feeling sank like a stone in his chest, so he buried it. Swiftly.
Dom hooked a leg over Freak’s shoulder and dug a demanding heel into his back, catching the barest wince on his face before he came closer to Dom’s bare, glistening cunt. The thrill at the sight of Freak on his knees between his legs warred with the bitterness of knowing why he was there. Dom grit his teeth. “Get to it.”
Freak gave him one last significant look before closing his eyes with a short huff. His broad hand grabbed the leg that wasn’t over his shoulder and held it in place so he could bite. Dom let out a surprised sound, the new feeling of Freak’s teeth in his skin going straight to his dick, and throbbing when he started to suck.
Freak sucked two more hickeys into Dom’s thigh on his way up, each one harder than the last, leaving Dom panting, his leg twitching in Freak’s strong grasp. Dom didn’t realise his own eyes were closed until he felt Freak’s hot, wet tongue lap at the seam of his cunt, licking over him and then in with a throaty groan. Moaning in surprise, Dom let his head fall back.
He wanted to swear, to run his mouth like he usually did, but something held him back. He didn’t want to ruin whatever fantasy might be playing in Freak’s head and change the scene, remind him of who he was actually eating out and be treated differently. Even if this was only because Freak was picturing Gareth, he wanted to know. Wanted that awful, twisting stab in his chest, knowing how that asshole got pampered.
Biting his lip to keep silent, Dom started rocking into Freak’s face when he felt him latch onto his dick. But Freak laid his arm across his hips, pinning him easily as he shoved Dom’s leg wider, sucking harder and licking at the tip of his dick in a way that had Dom trembling and choking back every sound. Freak was fucking eager, greedy.
All he could do was lie there and feel. Dom’s hands fisted in the blankets as his pleasure built and built, gasping and breathless when he wasn’t desperately trying to be quiet. Freak’s laser-like focus on his cock made it really goddamn hard.
Distracted, Dom didn’t notice at first that Freak’s hand, the one holding him down, started moving. He jolted when Freak’s nails pressed into the sensitive skin at the bend of his hip, dragging up in harsh red lines. They’d stand out on his pale skin for hours.
When Freak’s fingertips reached Dom’s chest, he paused. Dom thought it was because his hips jerked up helplessly against Freak’s mouth. Then Freak’s fingers trailed over one of his scars, halting and almost gentle, before thumbing at Dom’s pierced nipple. Confused, Dom opened his eyes and looked down at Freak to find he was already looking back.
“What?” Dom asked. Freak pulled away, his chin shining with slick in the low light, and Dom strangled the sound of protest that tried to escape him as his cunt throbbed at the sight.
“You’re not Gareth–”
“You think I don’t fucking know that–?” Dom snarled, but Freak slapped his thigh hard enough to make Dom jerk, his breath catching in his throat at the sting.
“Shut the fuck up for one second, christ!” Wiping his face on his arm, Freak surged up from his knees to cage Dom in against the bed. His jeans were rough against Dom’s thighs when he squeezed his legs around Freak out of instinct, habit, need. “You’re not Gareth, and I don’t want you to be! Let go of the stupid game and let me fuck you. Just you, Dom.”
Dom blinked up at him, stunned. Emotions whirled messily in his chest, bursting into sparks as they collided with his ribs. His eyes darted over the other man’s face, finding frustration–a familiar sight–but also hunger, sheer want, and… earnestness. It only worsened the chaos in his ribcage. Part of him wanted to end it all right here, send Freak home, delete and block his number and snuff out the sparks, swift and sure and cynical. But then Freak’s face started to close off the longer Dom took to respond and something dug its claws into his bones and begged.
“Do it, then,” he rasped, his heart thundering as he deliberately held Freak’s gaze. “Screw the game.”
“Thank fuck.” Freak burrowed into Dom’s neck, immediately biting at his tattooed skin. He couldn’t make himself tell Freak off for it. The movement brought their hips together, both of them gasping when Freak’s hard cock, still trapped in his jeans, pressed against the wet mess he’d left between Dom’s legs. They rutted into each other, Dom thriving off the rough drag of fabric against his swollen cock and the sharp bite of Freak’s teeth, digging a trembling hand into his curls to hold him against his neck.
Fuck the game, fuck their agreement. Dom wanted this.
Wanted Freak.
When a particularly hard bite made Dom choke back a moan, Freak growled into his neck, “Stop. Stop fucking hiding, wanna hear you.” He laved his tongue over the red, painful spots he’d made and Dom shuddered.
“Then fucking do something worth moaning about.”
Chuckling darkly, Freak yanked Dom’s head back by his hair, using the leverage to thrust against him, and bit down at the soft spot under the hinge of Dom’s jaw, sucking a hickey there so hard that Dom cried out, his cunt clenching around nothing. God, fuck, he needed Freak’s cock fucking immediately.
Reaching down, he scrabbled at Freak’s belt, squeezing his length for good measure and preening at the sounds that earned. It took some fussing and swearing, and Freak helped not at all as he kept nipping his way across Dom’s neck, but Dom finally managed to pull those goddamn jeans down and get Freak’s thick cock out. He smirked when he felt the eager twitch in his hand as he pumped it, smearing precome along it.
“So wet for me, darling,” Dom purred into Freak’s ear. Guiding him to his cunt, he hissed when Freak took the hint and started thrusting again, sliding through Dom’s slick folds and rubbing against his dick. “For me.”
“You’re no better,” Freak laughed, “listen to this.” He straightened up, grabbed Dom’s hips, and thrust faster, the wet sounds getting wetter each time the head of Freak’s cock ground against Dom’s.
Then he grinned, and before Dom realised it he was being pulled closer to the edge of the bed, and then up, into his lap, where Freak bent him nearly in half so he could leer down into Dom’s face as he spoke. “You were soaked before I even got my mouth on your cock.” He angled himself so his dick sat tantalisingly at Dom’s entrance, just barely pushing in, his grin growing wider when he felt his cunt twitch and flutter.
“For me,” Freak echoed, so self-satisfied, and Dom glared even as he desperately wanted to squirm, writhe, do anything to finally be fucked like he wanted.
“You smug fucking–oh, bastard, fuck!” Dom shouted as Freak bullied his way inside with a rough shove. His mouth fell open around a surprised, needy sound, turning into a hiss as his cunt had to stretch around the welcome intrusion. Freak sighed, his head falling back in relief. He might’ve been a bastard, Dom thought, but fuck if he wasn’t a hot one. As he wrapped his legs around Freak’s waist, Dom made plans to mark up his neck as revenge for mauling his own. And because he could, now.
Dom rolled his hips into each hard thrust, the push and drag inside him setting his already wound-up nerves alight. Their eyes met, and even as they both grinned, slap-happy and running on endorphins, Dom realised this was the first time they’d fucked like this, face to face, and he didn’t know what to do with the feelings building in his gut alongside his arousal. So, he did what he always does.
Digging his nails into Freak’s neck, Dom said with a teasing smirk, “This how you wanted to do it? Missionary, like we’re fucking vanilla?”
Freak rolled his eyes. “Don’t think you’re supposed to bend this far in missionary,” he shot back, forcing Dom to bend at the waist just a little more, his cock hitting deeper, at just the right angle to hit Dom’s g-spot and punch a high, reedy groan out of him. “Besides, wanna see your face for once when I make you come.”
“And you think—oh, fuck—you think this is all it’ll take?” He pressed his sharp nails further into Freak’s skin, making him wince. “Like I can’t go out and fuck someone else like this whenever I want? I fucking could—”
Faster than Dom could blink, Freak’s palm slapped Dom’s right cheek with a loud crack. Shock hit him before the sting, the burn, and Dom cut himself off with a fucking whimper, a full-body shudder rocking through him as he suddenly had to keep himself from coming right there and then. Holy shit. Freak grabbed his chin, forcing Dom to look up, wide-eyed and speechless.
“You’re mine.”
The dark, possessive growl behind Freak’s words made Dom clench around his cock. It shook him, down to his core. To be claimed like that, the evidence still stinging hotly on his red cheek, was almost more surprising, hotter, than being slapped.
Freak’s hand released his chin, instead resting on the centre of Dom’s chest, and he wondered if the other man could feel his heart racing, aching, under his palm; if he’d know exactly why it did. “Alright?” Freak asked, and Dom nodded, feeling a little dumb, a lot reckless.
“Again,” he said breathlessly.
He held Freak’s serious gaze until he seemed to find what he needed. Heat flared in Freak’s blue eyes, and Dom felt him throb, still buried to the hilt in his cunt. Freak lifted his hand and struck Dom again, on the same cheek, with the same force, and a moan ripped out of his throat as his eyelids fluttered closed and the coil in his belly went taught, threatening to snap.
“Fu-fuck, Freak, again, say it again, shit, please!” Dom pleaded. Freak switched hands, hitching Dom’s hips closer, before he gave Dom what he begged for.
The slap came down on Dom’s left cheek with so much force he cried out, his head whipping to the side. Freak ducked down immediately and licked a long, wet stripe along the clearly defined handprint he’d left, his fingers tangling in Dom’s hair as he said, with a low, gravelly snarl,
“Mine.”
And Dom came. Trembling, whining loud and guttural as he arched off the bed, fucking himself on Freak’s cock on drunken instinct as lightning arced through his body, knife-sharp and burning and fucking delicious. Freak thrust into him, helping Dom chase the high until he went limp on the bed, panting and still shaking. When Freak started to pull away, though, Dom’s legs kept him trapped, held him close.
“I swear to god if you pull out now I’m going to kill you,” he said breathlessly. “Keep fucking going.”
Laughing, Freak shook his head fondly and said, “Jesus christ you’re demanding.” Stubbornly, he shifted them both so that Dom wasn’t bent into a half-moon any more, and braced himself over Dom like proper fucking missionary. But, thankfully, he listened too, resuming his steady pace with a satisfied groan.
The overstimulation sent sparks skittering along Dom’s nerves and he knew, if Freak kept this up and he got his fingers around his cock, he could come again. So he reached between them and started rubbing himself in time with Freak’s thrusts, which grew faster, harder, when he noticed what Dom was doing. He rode the edge of pain and pleasure, gasping when Freak grabbed his waist and held him still, fucking into him rougher, using him.
Dom watched him as they raced towards their end, took in the sweat on Freak’s brow and the way his lips were bitten red, and that stupid, greedy recklessness swelled in him again. Unthinking, Dom reached up, guiding their faces close so he could kiss him.
His lips were soft. That was devastating, somehow. Life altering. Freak’s hips stuttered and his hands clenched where they grabbed his sides, but Dom felt him melt into the kiss before he licked into Dom’s mouth with a hungry, urgent sound. When their tongues slid together, Dom could taste the remaining salt and tang of his own slick in Freak’s mouth. It quickly turned messy and uncoordinated as Freak’s pace faltered and Dom quickly brought himself to the edge again.
“Dom, shit, I’m gonna—”
“Come on, darling,” Dom urged thoughtlessly, “fill me up, I’m yours, fuck, please.”
Freak pressed another sloppy kiss against Dom’s lips, which he met eagerly, his hands on his cheeks holding him there almost gently, and in just a few deep pumps of his hips Freak came, adding to the wet, frantic sounds of skin on skin. The feeling propelled Dom into his second climax with a choked out whimper.
Letting his forehead rest against Dom’s, Freak slowed, and then stopped, both men gasping for breath. Aftershocks sent tremors through Dom’s muscles, the twitching making Freak hiss and then chuckle lightly. Dom groaned, low and somewhat pained, when Freak pulled out so he flopped onto the bed beside him, the dip in the mattress bringing Dom into his flank, their legs dangling uselessly over the side.
Dom had a whole minute to soak in the bliss. The ache in his cunt, his thigh, and along his face and neck were so fucking good that the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself in satisfied delight was how loose-limbed he was. Instead, he hummed, a short, pleased sound. Then it hit him.
They’d kissed.
No. Dom had kissed Freak. He’d gotten so carried away by his own hormones and his stupid fucking feelings, whatever the fuck they were, that he’d seen the tatters of their agreement, his one rule, to keep their mouths to themselves, and skipped straight to kissing Freak. And then… I’m yours, he’d said. Oh fuck. Panic and regret flooded him, his heart racing with anxiety. The thing with the claws in his ribs shook, expecting to drown. Freak must’ve felt him tense, because he shifted slightly to look at Dom with a concern he desperately did not want to see right now.
“Are you—?”
Dom cut him off by quickly sitting up. “I’ll get us some water,” he said tonelessly. Standing, Dom snatched the robe hanging off his computer chair and slipped into it before walking on unsteady legs to the kitchen, ignoring the mess leaking out between them.
The only light he bothered to turn on was the oven hood light. Anything brighter and Dom illogically thought he’d be forced into a self-interrogation he couldn’t currently bear. Numbly, he pulled out two mismatched glasses and began to fill them.
At the sink, he caught his own faint reflection in the darkened window. His eyeliner was a dark, messy smudge around his eyes now, and even in the darkness he could see how red his cheeks were. He touched his left cheek and flinched at the sting.
He hadn’t noticed the glass was spilling over until a hand reached out and shut off the faucet. “Dom?” Freak asked softly, standing close enough that Dom felt caught in his gravitational pull. Dom’s howling anxiety kept him from giving in.
Freak seemed to mull over his words first, and when he finally spoke it was in that same soft tone that made Dom want to simultaneously lash out and fucking run. But his feet stayed glued in place as Freak said, “I know you’re not one for a lot of aftercare, Dom, but… christ, that was intense and even if you don’t need it I, uh. I think I do. I know I’m gonna drop if you send me home right now, or if you don’t… don’t say anything.”
God, he wanted anything but aftercare right now. Dom wanted to snap at Freak, tell him to fuck off and take care of himself; to curl up and tear out his own hair and rage and be miserable and—
Dom wanted the drop, could feel it, was probably in the midst of it right then, and something his brand-spanking-new therapist had told him suddenly clicked. He was trying to punish himself. For kissing someone, kissing Freak.
Letting out a shaky breath, Dom finally let himself lean into Freak’s side even as a part of him still wanted to rip and tear. “Okay,” he said.
“Thank you,” Freak replied and wrapped his arm around Dom’s shoulders.
“What do you need?” he asked wearily.
“To clean us up, and lie down with you. Make sure your face is alright. You?”
“That… sounds nice,” he admitted. “Zuko might have to join us.”
As if summoned, Zuko rose from his large bed in the living room and trotted over, his tail wagging so fast it smacked into the cabinets in a way that made both men wince in sympathy. Wrapping his robe tighter to his body, Dom leaned down and babbled baby talk at his dog while he scratched Zuko’s head. When he glanced over at Freak, he caught the tail end of an expression so soft that his panic threatened to return.
“We should get cleaned up and put clothes on,” Freak said. “I don’t think I want to lie in bed naked with your dog.”
Dom snorted. “Good idea.”
They cleaned up in the bathroom, where Freak handled Dom so gently he had to blink back tears, overwhelmed by the care he was being treated with on top of the rollercoaster of the entire day. He let Freak examine his face and neck with careful hands, admitting to being very tender but fine. The wet cloth Freak used soothed Dom’s warm, raw skin. Dom used another to wipe away the sweat that still decorated Freak’s skin and the dried slick on his chin. Seeing Freak be so pliant for him, so trusting, his eyes closed as Dom cleaned him off with a thorough touch, was so new that Dom didn’t know what to do with it, couldn’t parse the emotions that welled up along with everything else.
When they’d dressed—Dom in pyjama pants, Freak in a flashy pair of harem pants from an old costume that were at least comfortable—they crawled under the blankets of Dom’s bed. Zuko, his patience having clearly worn out, ran and jumped onto the bed before squeezing himself between the wall and the nearest body, which happened to be Freak. His pained oof when Zuko stepped on him accidentally made Dom cackle tiredly. Then they were all settled, snug on the bed. How fucking strange.
Dom thought they’d just lie side by side, but instead Freak pulled him in, wrapped him up in a loose hug that made his heart skip a beat. They hadn’t done this, either. Cuddling. But it felt… nice. Laying his arm on Freak’s chest, he scratched through the hair there gently and enjoyed the novelty of just listening to him breathe.
“You’re okay, right?” Freak asked quietly.
He thought for a moment. It was still fucking weird, letting this happen, having Freak in his bed for longer than only needing to catch their breath. There was still too much going on in the cage of his chest; the weight of the kiss was still heavy on his mind. But it was easier to deal with, when Freak’s arms were there to hold him together.
“Yeah.” Dom wiggled in closer and wound his legs around Freak’s, his forehead resting in the crook of Freak’s neck. “I’m okay.”
—
Two days afterward, Dom found himself in front of his bathroom mirror for the third time that day. The marks Freak had left were still there. The snake skull on his neck, once monochrome, was blooming into deep purples haloed in yellow, and every time he turned his head the hickeys and bites ached dully. Even his cheek was still sore. It didn’t help that Dom was a little obsessed with how pink it still was, touching the spot more than he should to keep it tender. To keep the reminder of what happened.
It was useful, too. Now that the bruises were in their prime, he took a selfie, skillfully cropped so only his pinked cheek and the dark marks on his pale, tattooed neck showed between the splay of his spindly fingers. He posted it to his work Twitter and smirked at the instant flurry of notifications, but locked his phone so he could go back to admiring the damage.
He pulled himself out of it when a trio of messages made his phone buzz loudly on the counter. Laughing, he answered the first.
✨delicate boy✨: YEEEEEAAAAAAAH BOOOOOOYYYY 🥵🎉🍆🍆🥵💃
dom: 😎😎😎
The second, he shook his head fondly while he responded.
chuckie cheese: are you ok??? who MAULED you????
dom: a friend. i’m great thnx 😏
The third had Dom biting his lip against a smile as heat pooled low in his belly. Turning, he leaned against the counter and reread the text a few times before he finally responded.
Creating an OC is hard work, so here's some themes/ideas/starting points for you to consider when writing for this challenge:
February 12th: Introduction
first day of school/work
meet cute
moving in
childhood friends
upside down emergency
February 13th: Alternate Universes
pirate and/or mermaid au
mafia au
outlaw au
coffee shop au
angel/demon au
February 14th: Love In Every Form
romantic love
platonic love
familial love
complicated relationship with love
love of specific things: shows, movies, music, etc.
February 15th: Songs
Fall For Me - Sleep Token
End of Beginning - Djo
Your Needs, My Needs - Noah Kahan
I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE - Maneskin
Anything by Hozier
February 16th: 80s, 90s, Today
80s
90s
2000s
2010s
modern era
future fic
February 17th: Favorite Tropes
only one bed
enemies to lovers
fake dating
arranged marriage
grumpy/sunshine
hurt/comfort (physical or emotional)
February 18th: Party Time
Interactions with Dustin, Mike, Will, Lucas, El, Max, and/or Erica
Interactions with Steve, Robin, Eddie, Nancy, Jonathan, and/or Argyle
Interactions with Hopper, Joyce, Murray, Owens, and/or Brenner
Interactions with Corroded Coffin, Hellfire Club, the Hawkins Lab, Starcourt Russians, etc.
Again, these are just some ideas that might help you get going. There are endless possibilities with an OC and I hope you find creative ways to get them involved within the canon universe and outside of canon!
If you have any questions, please send this blog a message.
for @strangerthingsocweek prompt 'love in every form'
rated t | 909 words | cw: mention of alcohol/being drunk | tags: side steddie, side platonic stobin, meg needs a break, meg gets a break, established relationship
💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗
Meg looked at Gareth. Then Eddie.
“And you two thought you could just get away with that?”
They looked at each other and back at her.
They shrugged in sync.
“Getting drunk and flipping the furniture of the hotel room upside down.”
They shrugged again.
Meg had a migraine, a Corroded Coffin induced migraine.
“Where was Jeff?”
“His room.”
“That’s why he’s my favorite.”
“You’re lying. We all know Gare Bear here is your favorite,” Eddie said as he pulled Gareth into his side and rubbed his hair. “He just had a little too much tequila.”
“And your excuse?” Meg crossed her arms over her chest, raised an unimpressed brow.
“Steve abandoned me.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Him and Robin have platonic soulmate night every other Thursday night. You never do this shit. Try again.”
“I had bottom shelf vodka.”
Meg nodded, her worst fear confirmed. “And how did that happen? Who let that happen?”
“I’m not a kid! I just forgot to ask for the better stuff in my drinks and then it was too late,” Eddie protested. “We fixed it; Why are we still in trouble?”
“Because this kinda shit can’t happen again. It’s funny when it happens once, but then a rock band gets blacklisted from all the decent hotels because of what they’ve done in the past.” Meg rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, taking a deep breath. “This time it’s fine, but if it happens again, you’re on an alcohol ban until the tour is done. Period.”
“But-“
“No!” Meg pulled them both into hugs. “I know it was harmless and you were gonna fix it anyways. I know you guys rarely even drink or do stupid shit like this. But I love you guys and people are stupid about rockstar shit like that. I don’t want you to ruin your careers over something silly.”
Just when she started to pull away, Steve barreled through the door with Robin, Jeff, and Freak behind him.
“What happened?” He asked, rushing to Eddie, pulling him towards him and checking him over for any physical evidence of something being wrong. “I just saw the texts.”
“I’m fine.” Eddie kissed his nose. “Meg didn’t kill me.”
“Was that on the table?” Steve turned to look at Meg, who was busy whispering with Robin. “What did you do?”
As Eddie and Gareth explained their side of things, Robin pulled Meg further from the group.
“Sorry it took so long to get back here. We may have had a little too much wine ourselves,” Robin half-apologized, though there was no need for one. “I promise we came as soon as we got your texts.”
“It’s okay. I smoothed it over and everything’s fine,” Meg sighed, letting her head drop to Robin’s shoulder. “They’re gonna give me gray hairs. Will you still love me when I have to box dye my hair every four weeks?”
“I will love you even when you have wrinkles the size of a canyon on your face, my love,” Robin kissed the top of her head. “But I’d rather that not be at the very young age of 27. You need a break.”
“The tour-“
“The tour doesn’t need a break. You do,” Robin wrapped her arms around her, squeezing just above her waist the way she liked. “Steve agrees. He’s gonna cover for you while we take a few days off.”
“But-“
“I love you. They love you. That’s why you’re doing this. And when you’re back, the boys will be nice and behaved because Steve’s gonna make them regret they ever fucked up in the first place, right dingus?” Robin yelled across the room.
“Yeah. Community service hours in the form of helping me study for my midterms as punishment!” Steve knew they hated having to sit still and work on flash cards for hours. It was the perfect punishment.
Meg looked at Robin, then at her boys across the room. “So where are you taking me?”
“Lake Tahoe since we’re already close. You’re gonna shut off your phone and everything will go through me first. I’m like a pasta strainer,” Robin pointed at the boys. “They’re the noodles I’m holding back.”
“Okay, fine. But Steve has to promise to call if there’s a real emergency,” Meg agreed.
“I will!” Steve yelled from Eddie’s lap on the couch.
“And if there’s an emergency of someone’s creation, I’ll kill them. And then you.”
“I’m sure you will!” Steve was smiling at her, then turning back to Eddie with a serious face. “If you fuck this up, I’ll come back from her killing me just to kill you again, do you understand?”
“Sir, yes sir,” Eddie smirked at him before saluting at Meg.
“Alright losers. Come give me a hug,” Meg said. She’d never left them alone while on tour, or recording, or album release tours, or anything.
They piled into her one by one, hugging her and telling her to relax and have fun.
“I love all of you idiots,” she said fondly. “But if you bother me for anything less than someone dying or a show getting canceled, you will never see me again.”
***
As she walked with Robin to their Uber taking them to the airport, she reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“Isn’t it kinda nice to love so many people in so many ways?” She asked.
Robin squeezed her hand in response. “Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.”
