Chapter Text
Peter smiled softly to himself as he gazed at the tattoos that littered his body- most of those tattoos were Disney themed and dainty in size, small, innocent little tattoos that could be easy to cover up with a dab of concealer and careful clothes choices. But his favorite tattoo was on his back- spanning most of the entirety of the skin, delicate feathers varying in shades of gray and white made the delicate angelic wings that started and ended seamlessly.
He had been forty eight years old when he had gotten his first soulmark- leading him to believe that either there was about a thirty year age gap (which initially weirded him out, but he quickly grew used to the idea of having a platonic protector role to his soulmate) or they were older and went under the needle later in life. He wondered if his soulmate hated him for his heavily masculine tattoos- a bald eagle on his right arm, a panther on his left arm, a minus sign inside a zero on his right shoulder, a spider on the right side of his hip, and his most recent addition to his tattoos were on his fists- the Greek symbols for Alpha and Omega. He had been drunk when he got them done, and had been searching high and low for his other half- since he had gotten his fists tattooed, he’d been looking at people’s hands, trying to determine who his soulmate was.
In a way, he was terrified of meeting them- he had said things in the past, controversial things that had made his mother roll her eyes at her only son’s words. But on the plus side, he had long since given up doing cocaine and didn’t drink so heavily now- after a heart attack where his heart had stopped beating for four minutes until he was able to be revised, he had sworn to turn his life around. He was now over ten years sober and he hoped that his soulmate would appreciate the change he had put into his life.
He didn’t want to die before he met his soulmate.
~xoXox~
“I need to get out of here,” I murmured to myself, wrapping my arm around myself as I struggled in vain not to have a panic attack.
I could feel him- the legendary Peter Steele, headliner of the heavy metal band Type O Negative- staring at me from onstage as I was forcing myself to take deep breaths in through my nose and out of my mouth.
In, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Out, two, three, four.
My chest was tightening to the point where I could barely wheeze in a breath of air. I was lightheaded and my surroundings were blurring, making me feel as though I was underwater.
Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts , I urged myself as my soulmarks began to burn. I could feel the world around me blurring into darkness as my eyesight slowly faded to black. I didn’t faint- more like I was sleeping while awake. I was aware of what was going on around me, but I was unable to respond.
Tears ran down my face as I huddled into my well-loved and broken in leather jacket, seeking the feeling of warmth and shelter that I associated with being safe.
I was dimly aware of someone taking my arm and leading me out of the crowd, going at a slow pace to help me keep up with my guide. I blindly reached out with my hand, grasping at my hood and yanking it over my eyes. I immediately began to feel better- not by much, but it was still a good start.
“Hey, are you okay?” It took me a moment to locate the speaker, who was another security guard flanking my other side, glaring daggers at people who were staring at me or not moving out of the way quickly. I didn’t respond though- I was unable to speak. I didn’t look up as I was led through a confusing maze of corridors and led past partway closed doors. Despite appearing not interested in my surroundings, I was constantly on the alert, looking for any sign of danger, and memorizing an escape route.
I withdrew into myself, wrapping my arm around myself, my other hand carrying my guitar case, my fingers gripping the handle tightly.
“Do you need anything?” the first security guard asked me as he motioned for me to enter a room. I went in and saw three lumpy couches, a refrigerator and a couple of empty guitar stands. I sat down, still breathing heavily, my fingers fumbling at the latches as I opened my stickered case. I didn’t answer him as I took out my guitar, already shutting down. I opened my necklace and extracted a pick, before folding myself into a cross legged seat on the floor and began to pick out a random tune.
I leaned back a bit, closing my eyes as I played a song that had been on my mind for the past couple of days. I lost myself in the music, already coming down from the high that had been a severe panic attack.
“You’re good.”
I stopped playing, my eyes darting up to the giant of a man who stood in the doorway. I literally felt my heart stop as I gaped at the Peter Steele. He looked awkwardly concerned as he shifted on his feet- was he concerned about me?
“I learned from my da,” I whispered almost breathlessly. “He’s been playing since he was eleven or twelve years old.”
“And how long have you been playing?” he asked me, slowly crossing the room, giving me space.
I quickly did the math in my head as I continued to pluck at the strings.
“Twenty six years or so…?” I answered in a question, squeaking when he sat next to me, close but not too close. “So a good chunk of my life.”
“Who did you say taught you again?” he asked me again, his own fingers twitching as though he wanted to ask me if he could play. “Your dad?”
“Da- he’s not my biological dad, he’s just someone who I know through faire,” I explained, handing him my guitar. “I just call him my da because he’s the official unofficial dad at faire.”
“Faire?” he asked, clearly confused as he stummed, his heavily callused fingers doing an acoustic version of Christian Woman.
“Renaissance faire,” I muttered bashfullly. “I’m what’s commonly referred to as a floater- that’s someone who can go to any one of the guild positions and work wherever needed.” Peter was still looking at me with a puzzled look on his face. “My favorite spots are the archery range and the onsite bar.”
“Oh?” I could tell he was just being polite, but that he wasn’t really interested in what I was saying.
“Yeah.” I began to slide out of my leather jacket. “Sorry, it’s a bit warm in here…” I began to fan myself with my hand before Peter let out a strange sound. “Are you alright?”
He silently set my guitar to the side before rolling up his shirtsleeves. He revealed his muscular arms, colorful with tattoos. It took me a moment to recognize the tattoos.
He had my tattoos.
A stuttering gasp flew out of my mouth as I took his arm into my lap and gently traced the watercolor styled Rapunzel on the inside of his bicep.
“It’s you,” I whispered in a dazed shock.
Peter reached out a hand and pushed my red curls behind my ear.
“It’s me,” he cooed, moving to his knees so that he was now kneeling in front of me. “I can’t believe I found you-”
“I can’t do this,” I whimpered, scrambling to my feet before bolting towards the door in an effort to find an escape. I was cut off by guitarist Kenny Hickey’s sudden appearance in the doorway, blocking me in.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa now, sweetheart,” he addressed me with a charming smile. “Yo Pete- whadup?”
I didn’t have to turn to see that Peter had risen and was crossing the room. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and I shrank back away from him with a terrified whimper of fear when I noticed him looming above me.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I choked out as he rested my cheek against the palm of his hand. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Sweetheart, I would rather stab out my left eye with a fork then lay a finger on you with intension of bringing harm to you,” he told me, his thumb gently stroking my face. “Who hurt you?”
“Eric Dessmor,” I muttered, trying to turn my head to look at the floor, but Peter’s hand traveled down to my chin where he held me in place. “Google him- he had an entire Wikipedia page detailing what he did to eighty three other little girls- all aged from four to sixteen.”
Peter whipped out his phone and typed something into it. His eyes widened as he stared at his phone.
“I was his last before he was caught and trieds,” I confessed softly, looking away from Peter’s green eyes. “I was eleven years old when-”
“FUCK!” Peter yelled in anger, clenching his fist at his side. I whimpered in fear as I stared at him with frightened eyes; he looked pissed. His eyes caught mine and he quickly settled down before slowly approaching me once more.
“Please,” I sobbed, holding my arms up in front of me as a shield.
“Sweetheart,” Peter breathed, his green eyes holding nothing but kindness and compassion as he gently grabbed onto my hands and uncovered my panicked streaked face. “I’m so sorry I lost my temper like that; do you know where he is?”
I read through the lines and knew that Peter would maim and destroy my childhood rapist within a heartbeat if I asked him to do so.
“He’s at Rikers, I think,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes. “Again, he serving eighty three consecutive life sentences, plus another six hundred years for good measures. But he’s been trying to apply for parole for years. If he gets out, he’s only going to resume his old lifestyle- he had a psych evaluation and the phycologist who observed him said that-”
“Look at me,” Peter said, his hand still under my chin. “Sweetheart, please look at me.”
His voice sounded so broken, so helpless, so against my better judgement, I looked up at him. The expression on his face made my heart shatter- he just looked so lost.
“Big men terrify the living willies out of me,” I confessed in a squeak. “You’re a physically big man; you can inflict some serious damage if you wanted to-”
“But I will never hurt you,” he promised me, his voice low and soft as he pulled me in to kiss the top of my head.
“You say that now,” I muttered, not daring to move away from him. “But words are one thing, actions are something else entirely different. I’m sorry, but in my own experiences, it’s true.”
He flinched away at my words and I took that opportunity to step out from his reach. His arms stayed where they were, as though he was expecting me to step back into his embrace. I suddenly felt cold without him touching me, and I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to get warmed once more.
“You don’t want me,” I whispered, wiping the tears out of my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he snapped harshly. “You’re mine.”
I shook my head- I had read the interviews where he described the girl of him dreams- I wasn’t that girl.
“I’m not tall; I’m pushing four foot ten inches. I’m not slender; I’m more curvy and muscular in build. I can’t wear heels; I’m the clumsiest thing on this planet. I don’t smoke; I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes and cancer and heart problems and stuff runs on both sides of my family so I’m not going to subject myself to an early death. I’m-” I began to list everything about me that went against what he had said that he wanted in the girl of his dreams. He just sighed, pressing a finger to my lips, effectively shutting me up.
“But sweetheart, that was before I met you,” he said point blank. “But now that I’ve met you, I can see that you’re just absolutely perfect for me. So what if you’re not tall? I want to be your protector. You’re curvy? All the more reasons to hug you close to me. You’re unable to wear heels? No problem, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t care if you smoke or not- you’re smart about your health and I like that.”
I choked out yet another sob and this time, I let him wrap his arms around me in a comforting hug. My hands curled into tight little fists against his broad chest as I rested the side of my head over his heart.
THUD THUMP
THUD THUMP
THUD THUMP
The sound of his heartbeat was comforting, I decided as I pressed myself in tighter to him. I felt him maneuver his arms so that so that one was wrapped around my shoulders while his other hand cupped the back of my head almost…
Lovingly?
“Is this alright?” he asked me softly, the two of us just standing there unmoving. I nodded my head, not wanting to speak and ruin the tranquil stillness.
“Peter?”
“What?” he practically snarled, not letting go of me.
“Intermission is just about over- you’re needed onstage in a minute,” the oblivious stagehand said before whisking away.
“Fuck,” he growled before turning back to me. “Will you stay? I don’t want to lose you.” He wore a pleading look on his face. I hesitated before nodding, wanting to say yes, I’ll stay with you but I couldn’t bring the words out. Luckily, he seemed to understand and he led me over to one of the couches. He helped me sit down, collecting my guitar and jacket before handing them to me.
“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” he promised me softly, tenderly tracing the underside of my right eye with his thumb. Like a character in a movie, I leaned my head into his palm, bringing my hand up to keep his fingers where they were. He caught my hands and carefully tugged off the gloves that covered my soulmarks, where he gazed at the backs with a small smile crossing over his face as he gently traced the soulmarks that marked my knuckles.
“I never really liked those tattoos,” I informed him in a timidly soft voice. “If you ask me, they’re too ‘in your face’. Besides, I need to cover them up for faire- they aren’t the most historically accureate thing out there.”
“Oh that’s right,” he smiled yet again, drawing my wrists up to place a tender kiss to the backs. “Renaissance faires, if I remember correctly?”
“Peter!” the same stagehand yelled.
“Give me a motherfucking second!” he yelled at the open door. “I’m with my soulmate.”
An excited chill ran down my spine at what he had called me as he turned back to me.
“I swear I won’t say anything out there on stage until you’re ready,” he murmured, tracing my face with his nose. “Is that alright?”
“Okay,” I whispered as the annoyed stagehand made another appearance.
“Peter, come on; the other guys are waiting on you!” he sighed, grabbing Peter by the arm and beginning to drag him out.
Peter snarled like a rabid animal, baring his teeth as though he was going to attack the poor stagehand.
“Peter, go,” I gently ordered him. “I’ll be here when the show is over.”
“You promise me?” He stopped at the door, placing a hand on the doorframe and turning to me, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” I quipped, flashing him a shy smile. He didn’t have enough time to say anything in response as how he was being dragged away.
~xoXox~
“Thank you, New York, goodnight!” I heard someone bellow in my dreams as I slept.
I felt hurried footsteps that vibrated throughout the floor, making their way over to the room where I was sleeping and felt a thrilled streak racing run my spine- my soulmate is coming.
“Peter, wait up!” Someone who I took to be Josh Silver called out. “Kenny was saying something about you meeting your soulmate…?”
“Jesus fuck it Kenny, can’t you keep a secret?” I started to rouse myself when Peter opened the door to the dressing room, where I heard him scrambling to turn the lights on.
The room was bathed in sudden light, and I heard him breathed out a sigh of relief as my eyes fluttered open. I sat up and saw the gentle smile gracing his face as he crossed the room and knelt next to me, placing a gentle hand onto the side of my face.
“You tired there now, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, ignoring the other three band members, who were standing around awkwardly as they watched his affection for me play out.
“Hmmm?” I hummed, half-awake as I blinked open my startling blue eyes. I rolled over so that I was now facing Peter and sat up, tucking my legs underneath my petite body. Using the heel of my hand, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I used the other hand to block back a yawn. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little past midnight,” Peter answered, glancing down at his phone. “Do you need a ride home?” I shook my head in response. “Where do you live?”
“Upper East Side; I took the subway to 5th and End Street, then I walked here,” I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Unacceptable.” Peter’s nose flared. “I’ll drive you home tonight- no argument.”
“But it’s like a two hour drive, and that’s if traffic isn’t knarly!” I protested weakly. “Besides, the ride to my stop is half that, plus I just catch a taxi or a rideshare when I get to my stop and-”
“Sweetheart,” Peter leaned in to brush his nose against my cheekbone. “I said no arguments.” I just clamped my mouth shut at the tone of his voice- he sounded dangerous.
“Okay, you win,” I squeaked out nervously. “But you can’t follow me to my apartment- I don’t want you to know my exact address… at least, not yet.”
“I understand,” Peter smiled gently as he took my face into his hand and gently brushed his lips against my cheek- not quite in a kiss, though, but clearly meant in affection. I hummed quietly as I leaned deeper into his hand more, letting him know that I was getting more comfortable around him.
“Hey Peter, are you going to introduce us to your pretty little lady friend?”
“Fuck it, Kenny,” Peter snarled under his breath as he turned his head to send a dark glower towards the curly haired brunet. He opened his mouth to cuss him out only to relax at my tiny hand on his shoulder.
“Hihi, I’m Mary Claire,” I introduced myself with a bashful little hand wave, my voice a quiet meep.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mary Claire?” Johnny me in a kindly voice, clearly falling into his natural fatherly role.
“I had a really bad panic attack after ten, fifteen minutes in from the opening number, and security bought me back here to recuperate,” I shrugged, ducking my head and allowing my wild red curls to curtain my face. I grunted suddenly and placed a hand onto my stomach, muttering a quiet “Please calm down in there, won’t you now, little girl?”
“Uh, are you alright?” Josh asked, his dark gray eyes taking me in fully.
“I’m a surrogate for a couple of really close friends of mine,” I explained, pulling my shirt up a bit to expose my tiny baby bump. “So far, I’m about twenty six weeks along, give or take.”
Peter could only stare at me, and I could almost see the perverse thought sneaking across his mind- what would I look like with his baby growing inside of me? He then must have practically kicked himself, and it was like I was privy to his thoughts- he was reminding himself that I very clearly had sexual trauma, plus there was a dramatic age gap between the two of us. I blushed as the idea that his hand would be his dick’s best friend later on.
“Where do you know these… friends of yours from?” Johnny gently probed. I ducked my head yet again, grinning as I opened my phone.
“Are you ready, kids?” the man in the YouTube video asked in an outlandish French accent, getting a loud cheer in response. “I can’t hear you!” He was wearing a ridiculous hand drawn mustache painted his handsome face. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”
“He goes by Jaques Ze Whipper at faire,” I giggled as the man- Jaques Ze Whipper- did a silly game of music roundtable, calling on the audience for song suggestions.
“My good sir… Let it Go?” Jaques sighed. “Everyone, look at the man who asked for Let it Go!”
“My good lord, who hurt you?” I asked, also appearing in the video as a stagehand, prompting much laughter.
“Whippy show, whippy show… Jaques Ze Whipper gonna do a show… Singing this song… Just feels so wrong!” Jaques sang as he used a whip to measure out the beat.
“We also have this act where he literally uses his whip to knock an apple from atop my head- hang on, I have that video here somewhere…” I busied myself by scrolling through the uploaded videos on my YouTube channel- I could feel Peter peeking over my shoulder just as I found the video and tapped on it.
“Alright now, ladies and gentlemen, for our final act, I shall whip this apple from the head of Lady Mary Claire,” Jaques was saying as I held a beautifully red apple in my hands.
“For God’s sake Jaques, how many times do I need to remind you that I’m not a lady?” I grumbled as I looped my hands around his neck and brought him down to rest our foreheads together for a moment before fitting the fruit on top of my head.
“We have this thing we do before dangerous acts,” I explained with a sparkle in my eye. “I say to him ‘Don’t hurt me’ and he goes ‘Never- I fear you too much’.”
“He fears you?” Josh asked skeptically as Jaques snapped his whip, sending the apple flying from my curly topped head, much to the crowd’s pleasure.
“You’d be amazed at how seriously people take you if you can Robin Hood an arrow,” I giggled, noticing Peter stiffening up in utter amazement.
“What even is a Robin Hood?” asked Kenny.
I took back my phone and picked another video, this one being of me firing arrows into a simple target. My final arrow was released and split one of the arrows in the center of the target straight down the shaft.
“Wow, remind me not to piss you off,” Kenny blinked, looking at me with the fear of God in his eyes. “She’s all yours, Peter- I’m officially terrified of her.”
“I love faire- it’s the only place where I can march around with an actual functioning sword at my hip,” I shrugged, biting back a yawn. “Forgive me- suffering a massive panic attack is both physically and emotionally draining.”
“Come on, I’ll take you out to my car,” Peter told me, stooping to pick up my guitar case and waiting as I packed away the book that I had fallen asleep reading. “What were you reading?”
“Oh, it’s an epic retelling of Beauty and the Beast,” I hummed, slinging my backpack onto my back and walking side by side next to the hulk of a man. “I’m a writer myself; my fifth book is coming out early next year on January 4th.”
“What’s that book about?” He poked his head out the stage door, on the lookout for fans. Upon deeming the coast to be clear, he ushered me out into the parking lot and over to a jacked up truck. He unlocked the car, holding the passenger door open and offered me a hand up into the lifted truck. After settling my guitar in behind my seat, he looped around and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“It’s about a girl who finds out that she is the kidnapped princess of a fairy tale kingdom, long story short,” I yawned again. “Do you want me to plug in my address to your GPS?”
“I can do it,” Peter smiled at me, typing in 6578 Sweetwater Lane.
“You can drop me off at the front office- again, I’m not comfortable about you knowing my apartment number,” I murmured, half asleep.
“I understand sweetheart,” Peter said as he pulled out onto the freeway. “You can sleep now- I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
“M’kay,” I muttered, setting my head onto the window and drifting off.
~xoXox~
I felt a hand pressing itself up against little girl, safe and warm in my tummy, and I knew that it was only Peter, promising us both that he would treat us right and pledging his protection to mommy and daughter.
PUNCH -PUNCH-PUNCH
“I will treat you right.” I twitched at his spoken promise, settling at his gentle touch. “I won’t let any harm befall you, sweetheart my sweetheart.”
I could only imagine little girl saying she’s my mommy- you can have her after I’m born! He only chuckled before removing his hand from me and returned it to the wheel to resume driving.
“Peter?”
I sat back up again and let out yet another giant yawn.
“Hey sweetheart- we’re about ten minutes away from your place,” he said, glancing at his GPS. “Do you want to go grab a quick bite to eat before I drop you off?”
“Not tonight, no,” I yawned once more. “I’m literally drooping here.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your door?” he asked me, turning onto a side street. “I’d personally feel better knowing you got in alright.” I shrugged my shoulders, directing my eyes out the window. “Can you give me your number instead?”
“Sure, give me your phone,” I muttered, taking his offered phone and typing in my number before sending myself a text from his phone.
“I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE AHHHHHH” screamed my phone as the message was received. I smiled, placing Peter’s phone in the cupholder and tapping something out on the screen of my phone.
BUZZ BUZZ buzz BUZZ buzz BUZZ buzz BUZZ buzz BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ buzz BUZZ buzz buzz BUZZ buzz buzz buzz BUZZ buzz buzz
Peter’s phone let out a series of vibrations, making me raise my eyebrow.
“Was that morse code?” I blinked.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, sweetheart…” he chuckled nervously. “Is anyone home at your place?”
“I live with my little sisters, Jackie and Sammi,” I explained tiredly. “And they should be there- if not, I’ll send my older brothers out to hunt them down.”
Peter chuckled as he pulled into an empty parking spot and got out. He circled the car and opened the passenger door for me to get out. I smiled tiredly at him as he effortlessly lifted me down and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“You ready?” he hummed, looking down at me, my guitar case in his hand. “Good, let’s go.”
“I have to be up at five o’clock in the morning for faire tomorrow!” I complained as they crossed the street. “Tomorrow is set up for faire over the next eight weekends.”
“Sounds like fun,” he commented, squeezing me to his side as the two of us crossed the street.
“We could always need more help, so if you’re serious, you can pop by and spend an hour or two getting tents set up or unloading the trailer,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around his hips and just hanging on him.
“Text me the info when you get inside, alright?” Peter leaned over and kissed the top of my head. I only hummed in response, burying my befreckled face into his side as we approached the lobby doors.
Peter gently rubbed my shoulder, pursing his lips as I took a step backwards to look up at him.
“I never thought I’d say this…” I worried at my lip. “But I’m glad I met you.” I hesitated for a long moment before continuing onwards with my ramblings. “I was hoping that I would never meet my soulmate. What if you turned out to be a no good, dirty assed jerk face?”
“Do I meet your expectations?” Peter wondered, combing his fingers through my red curls.
“I don’t know- I hope so,” I mumbled honestly, my face still pressed into his side. “It’s too early for me to tell.” I looked up into the lobby before turning to Peter, taking a step back so that I wouldn’t have to painfully crane my neck. “I’ll text you once I’m inside?”
“I’ll wait in my car until I get the text,” he smiled, watching as I stepped into the lobby and entered the courtyard through the other door.
I reached my apartment a few seconds later and sent him a quick text, crossing over into the kitchen, where I peeked out the window to where he had parked his car.
I made it to my apartment . My sisters are in bed and so will I in a moment. Good night! I’ll text you the info for tomorrow, if you’re still game about showing up and lending a hand!