#ficlet bingo

[film-in-my-soul]

Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 3420 | Rating: E | CW: Language, Sexual Content, Male Titty Fucking | POV: Eddie | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two, Matching Each Other's Freak

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both the Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I say go back and start there if you'd like to read both.

Eddie wears it like a badge of honor. He wishes it was scrawled across his forehead instead of his arm. Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker! is a damn good soulmark, if he doesn't say so himself.

Feisty. He likes that. 

He hasn't met him, or her, yet. He's not picky, never has been. 

Eddie rolls up his sleeves, and the mark is dark black, prominent. Like the freshest, newest tattoo. And he knows tattoos. He's got some good ones, and some bad ones, but this right here is his favorite and he didn't even get to choose it. It just showed up one day, a promise of who was to come.

They have nice handwriting, whoever they are. He's always thought so. He brushes it with his thumb. He just wonders when he's finally going to get to meet them. 

It wasn't in high school, not during any of the three senior years he had. He kind of thought that was why he kept sticking around, like he was just waiting for them to round a corner.

They never did.

Now, he's a senior in college on schedule to graduate in one go, thank you very much, and still nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Oh well. It'll happen, or it won't. 

"You about done primping your hair or what?" Jeff yells from down the hall, and Eddie laughs. Jeff wanted to go to the big frat party on campus tonight and Eddie definitely wasn't opposed. He can probably off-load some weed, make a little extra cash, so sure, why not? 

Eddie settles onto the couch where he usually does his business. Right out in the open. He's the one to be feared, not the other way around. Gareth is next to him, yapping about some movie that they watched in his film class last night. Eddie's slightly interested. Playing chess against death for your soul? That does sound like something he'd like.

His arm itches. He looks down to scratch at it, right over his soulmark. This couch had better not have fucking bed bugs.

"Oh shit, Goodie's fighting with some frat boy," Gareth announces, sitting up to lean closer to the action, and Eddie looks up.

And Goodie most certainly is doing just that. 

Goodie just shoved a guy, and Eddie has about two seconds to open his arms to catch the cussing heap of a man as he slides across the coffee table, knocking Eddie's lunch box of inventory, and every goddamn drink, onto the ground. Not cool. 

What the fuck is Goodie doing? Yeah, he got the first cheap shot off, but this guy isn't small, and Goodie's definitely gonna get them all into a brawl if this dude has friends. Still, Eddie can't help but laugh, and he yells at Goodie, "You're a fucking dickhead!"  

He shifts the guy over onto Gareth, who makes an oomph sound like he's a delicate flower, as Eddie hops up to try and get this straightened out before it progresses into an actual problem.

Eddie slides his arm around Goodie's neck, and tucks him into his side in a headlock. Goodie lets him, laughing.

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie demands, looking back at the pretty, if very confused guy still sitting on Gareth who has his hands up in the air, like he's being accused of a crime.

"I'm sorry," Goodie laughs, hand finding Eddie's side, and Eddie damn well knows he's positioning himself to get out this headlock if he needs to, "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

Eddie turns back to look at the guy. If he really was picking on Goodie, there's gonna be a problem here, "He was bullying you?"

"I was not!" the guy yells. 

"He stepped on my foot!" Goodie clarifies, and Eddie laughs. Stepping on a foot is not bullying. It's an accident.

"He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?" Eddie asks, making sure he's got this right.

Goodie huffs, "Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

It was a nice gift, but still, Goodie's gonna get them in real trouble one of these days if his temper can't be, well, tempered.

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" a girl shows up shouting, hopping mad. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!"

She's rambling, hands waving in the air.

How do you know Gareth? Eddie thinks. He's never seen either of these two people in his life.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think?" the guy says, but he doesn't sound sure about that. Eddie's sure. He's fine. He's definitely fine. In more ways than one. Goodie's not gonna do shit. None of them are. "I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" he adds, and Eddie's also sure about that. Gareth's not into men. 

This was just a misunderstanding. A comedy of errors.

Eddie's life, in a nutshell. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's his loss. Eddie would definitely take one for the team.

But he can't resist. 

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie teases, still not releasing Goodie from his grasp. He deserves a little more torture. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," the girl says, like she's absolutely disgusted by this idea. Has she not seen that guy? 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says. And oh, that'll do it. Mystery solved. If neither of them want to sleep with this guy, Eddie will volunteer.

"Don't be so disgusted," the guy with the good hair and bitchy face complains. "I'm a catch."

That he most certainly is. Eddie caught him, if only briefly, and if he can reel him back in, he'll definitely be doing that.

"Do you still have a dick?" the girl asks, snippy.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly, and they're bantering. Eddie likes them. Likes this show he's unexpectedly been invited to watch.

"What she said," Gareth pipes up.

And Eddie definitely likes that this handsome devil has a dick. Eddie would like to be introduced to it, up close and personal, post-haste. 

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting Goodie stand up. Goodie shrugs, trying to get re-situated, and Eddie pats him on the back.

Jeff comes back, having missed the whole altercation, "What's going on?"

Then it turns out the girl, Robin apparently, knows all of his friends. And that is just an unfair and unjust world. 

Gareth seems determined to get Jeff caught up on all the action he missed, "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin says, like she hadn't even noticed him.

Gareth keeps talking, but what else is new, he's always talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Wait, what?

Eddie turns his head, eyes darting between Gareth and the very pretty man that looks like a deer caught in headlights, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff cuts in, beating Eddie to the punch. Well, he might not have asked it like that, but the guy laughs.

"Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Steve. His soulmate's name is Steve.

That's officially his favorite name ever, now.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains, and while Jeff will take Goodie's side, he's not gonna come in hot at Eddie, even if Goodie is angling for it.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie banters back, circling Goodie, like he's sizing him up. Pushing at his chest, and Goodie laughs, batting his hands away.

"Let me see," Steve says quietly.

Eddie stops in his tracks. He knows exactly what Steve wants to see. Eddie walks over to him, and offers up his forearm:

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

The words, Steve's words, have finally been said. They're right here on Eddie's skin in Steve's messy cursive scrawl. 

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and Eddie feels a jolt go up his spine, as he goes half-hard in his jeans, immediately.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers, he's never reacted to anyone like that.

"Uh, yeah," Steve says, and Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

They've got to leave here before he does something embarrassing in front of all his friends and a house party full of strangers.

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's even done asking. 

Back in Eddie's room, Eddie keeps running his hands over every inch of skin he can. All those moles and freckles. He's gorgeous.

This was the man made just for him?

He's never been that lucky a day in his life.

"You said it, and I missed it. Can you say it again?" Eddie asks, hand tangled in Steve's hair, pulling his mouth closer, so he can brush his lips against Steve's.

"Say what?" Steve asks, eyes glazed over. Nobody told Eddie meeting your soulmate would be such horny business. They've been touching, and rubbing all over each other for what has to be hours at this point.

"The words, your words," Eddie says, and Steve has to take Eddie's arm into his hand, looking like he's double-checking what he even said.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve pops off, laughing as he says it, and Eddie giggles with delight, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"You're a fucking dickhead," Eddie says back with affection, and Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's back and pulls him tight. 

Eddie can't believe he finally met him, and he's this gorgeous. Way out of Eddie's league, but Steve seems just as happy to be here as Eddie is, which, hot fucking damn.

He just wants to touch him everywhere, wants to see every inch of his body, wants to worship him now that he's finally here. 

Stripped down and bare, Eddie's checked him over, and Steve only has the one mark. No other tattoos. Just Eddie's own words, and miles of tan, freckled skin. And the moles. Oh, the moles. Not to mention the thick thatch of chest hair that lights a fire inside Eddie. Eddie rubs his fingers through it, and has the unexpected thought that he wants to come in it, wants to titty fuck him, even if that wouldn't exactly be an easy endeavor. Not to mention, well, maybe not something to suggest on the first date. He doesn't have to let his entire freak flag fly. 

He moves on, but will tuck that pretty mental image somewhere safe in the back of his brain, as he slides his hand down to thumb at Steve's nipple. Steve's hips come up off the bed, and Eddie knows they are going to have so much goddamn fun tonight.

Not just tonight.

Forever.

And isn't that a heady thought?

His fingers go right back to that chest hair, and his hand wanders, getting a handful of his chest, squeezing, and Steve chuckles. 

"Boobie man?" Steve asks, and it's playful, not judgmental at all.

"Fuck," Eddie says, and he wouldn't have especially said that he's a boob man. He likes them just fine, but there's something about Steve's chest hair. Manly, dark and thick in the middle, spreading up and out, that is really pressing buttons he didn't even know he had.

"I'm a pervert, the things I want to do to you will send you running for the hills," Eddie says, and Steve lets out the best sounding laugh in the world.

"Doubtful. Do 'em," Steve says, "I'm no blushing virgin. I've been around the block. I've been around several blocks, and had fun on every corner."

"Fuck me," Eddie says, rubbing his hard cock against Steve's thigh, "how come our blocks never crossed until now? My map was faulty."

Steve giggles, and it's adorable.

"You're gorgeous, and your chest hair is making me think all kinds of thoughts," Eddie admits, leaning back so he can see Steve's face.

By giving Steve space, Steve takes both hands, and presses his pecs together. There's just enough softness, just enough give, that Eddie is sure he could actually do it.

He could slide his dick between them, and feel all that hair hugging the underside of his cock.

Eddie starts fisting his own cock, watching. Wanting.

Their first sexual encounter cannot be him fucking Steve's chest. He's weird, and proud of it, but maybe not that weird.

Instead he slides down the bed, and admires Steve's impressive cock as it lays against his belly, hard and leaking. Steve flexes, making it bounce, and Eddie laughs, delighted. Can he already love him? Because he thinks he already loves him.

Eddie slides his fingers between Steve's cock and his belly, guiding it upwards, rubbing the head against his bottom lip, tongue sneaking out to taste, and then he sinks down, taking him fully into his mouth. He's a mouthful, more than, but Eddie's no quitter. Eddie moans, and Steve echoes him, as Eddie uses his free hand to grip Steve's hip.

He wants to blow him, wants to roll him over and eat him out until he cries and begs for Eddie's cock. He wants it all, wants everything, and thinks he just might get it.

Eddie's never had sex like this before. And he's had some damn good sex. This just feels like a whole different level of attraction, of connection.

Soulmates. 

He thought he knew, but he really didn't.

Steve's in his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, working him over like a goddamn pro. Arms wrapped around Eddie's neck, mouths locked together, sharing breath, unwilling to let one another go. 

He was right. He is feisty. Just not in the way Eddie had always expected. 

Eddie's getting close, and he snakes a hand between them, fisting Steve's cock, hoping he'll be able to to take him over the edge right along with him. 

"Eddie," Steve breathes against his mouth, a warning, and Eddie nods up and down, encouraging him.

"Do it, god, do it. Come," Eddie demands, and Steve does. Warmth hitting Eddie's hand, his belly, as Steve tightens down on Eddie's cock, pulsing with his orgasm.

Eddie pushes up into him, still chasing his own, when Steve unceremoniously slides up and off him. He's bewildered, stunned for the heartbeat it takes Steve to flop onto his back, hands pressing the sides of his chest together, an offer.

Eddie strips off the condom, slides his thighs along Steve's ribs, and leans forward, bracing himself against the headboard. Slick cock pressing into Steve's skin, the slight roughness of the chest hair a new sensation, and he thrusts. He can't see Steve's face, not from this angle, but the idea alone is enough to get him across the finish line, and he slides back, a downstroke, coming with a long, hard groan. Fuck. That was something. Too quick, but so fucking filthy that he couldn't hang on a second longer.

He pants, and scoots back down to Steve's waist. Admiring his handiwork. Come is stuck in Steve's chest hair, and some shot upwards, hitting the underside of Steve's chin, pooling in the hollow of his neck.

"Fuck, we are meant to fucking be," Eddie says, rubbing his thumb through the mess, darkening his chest hair even further, matting it together.

Steve laughs, "I'm gonna need a shower, but goddamn, you were worth the wait. I've been waiting for somebody to match my freak."

Eddie laughs, delighted and wowed by this man under him. His fucking soulmate. He moans, and buries his face in Steve's neck as they cling to each other, spreading the mess further. They're both gonna need showers, and that's totally fine with Eddie. Worth it.

And this was just the first time. First times have no business ever being that good, and Eddie presses his mouth to Steve's sweaty neck, offering him open-mouthed kisses.

Offering Steve himself, his love, his whole future if Steve is willing to take it.

All of his freak, and more.

Morning comes too soon, and Steve slides out of bed to get dressed. Eddie watches as Steve pushes down his sleeves, and then changes his mind, pushing them back up towards his elbows. 

"It's supposed to be sunny and seventy, definitely up," Eddie chimes in, hands tucked behind his head, just enjoying the free show.

Steve smiles, "Yeah. Just, habit. I've hidden my mark for so long it's gonna take some time to break the habit."

"You hid it? Why?"

"Well, you're a fucking dickhead didn't seem wildly romantic. I had no idea it wouldn't be directed at me," Steve says, and oh, Eddie never thought of that.

Eddie gets out of bed, and wraps his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight, "I'd never. But I get it. I thought mine was towards me, too. But I was wearing it like a badge of honor. Fucking Goodie," Eddie teases.

Steve grins, "He finally introduced us. I can't be too mad at him."

And Eddie isn't mad either, he owes Goodie several beers. A new pair of shoes if he's still salty that his toe got stepped on. Whatever he wants, within reason.

"Do you really have to go to class?" Eddie asks.

"At least my first one. Six more weeks to go."

"Yeah, yeah. Same boat. You anywhere near the union for lunch?" Eddie asks, hopeful.

"Yes. Meet you there at twelve-twenty?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. That works. Eddie doesn't want to take his hands off of him, doesn't want to let him out of his sight, like he might disappear, even if that's irrational. They've exchanged numbers. Apparently all of Eddie's friends know Steve's best friend. Steve's not going anywhere. 

"Here," Eddie says, walking over and rummaging through his closet, pulling out a black t-shirt, "wear this. Nowhere to hide."

He hands over the shirt, and watches as Steve tugs off his Henley, tossing it onto Eddie's bed, and then slips the new shirt over his head. Corroded Coffin emblazoned across his chest, and Eddie grins. He's got a soulmate.

He's got Steve. 

"Look at you," Eddie says.

Steve looks down at his chest, "Oh, my friend Chrissy talks about this band."

"You know Chrissy?" Eddie asks, because Jesus H. Christ, of course Steve does. The universe was working overtime to get them connected, but for some reason they were just stumbling around the same campus like fools, not making it happen, for four years.

"You know Chrissy?" Steve repeats. "I've been meaning to introduce her to Robin, I think they'd hit it off. We should all do something. Goodie can push me down again, or whatever it is that you all do for fun."

Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, "He's not usually that aggressive. He must have been possessed by our profane soulmarks."

Steve smiles at him, and it makes his heart flip in his chest. How did he get this lucky? Steve Harrington is perfect. He couldn't have picked better if given the choice. He's really something else.

"The universe thought we needed a shove, literally."

Eddie grins. Definitely worked. Job well done.

"Full transparency? That's our band," Eddie says, a smile tugging at his lips as he touches the logo on Steve's chest, "and we have a slot at The Cave on Friday."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve says, leaning forward to kiss him one more time. Eddie kisses him back before Steve really has to leave, the door closing softly behind him.

Steve may have had to go, but Eddie'll see him later, and they'll pick this right back up where they left off.

Eddie picks Steve's discarded Henley up off the bed. Maybe he'll wear this today. He doesn't need to wear his mark like a badge of honor anymore. He won the whole goddamn lottery, because Eddie's finally met his match, his soulmate, and Steve is more than he could have ever hoped for. He can't wait to see what the future brings for them. 

He pictures an entire life shared between Mr. You're A Fucking Dickhead and Mr. Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker.

And Eddie laughs, absolutely delighted by the prospect. 

He can't wait.

Read Steve's POV here.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[lbibliophile-sw]

A new type of General

Also on AO3 [215w] @corrieweek - day 5: fix-it @clonefandomevents - CG bingo: Senator AU

After the War, the Vode have many decisions to make, redefining themselves as both individuals and a group. One of the more important of these is choosing a Senator; their hard-won voice in the Republic they were made to serve.

In the end the choice seems obvious.

Most vode assume Commander Fox will take that role. The commanders were trained to lead, and Fox was trained to lead from Coruscant. It only makes sense that he would continue in that duty.

Those who know Fox better, his batchmates and most of the Guard, expected Fox to choose anything but that. Surely he’s spent more than enough time dealing with difficult Senators for any lifetime? But then again, Fox was never one to let go easily.

Only the other Corrie Commanders truly understand. That the War might be over, but their war is just beginning. And Fox has not spent the last three years gathering ammunition only to walk away now.

There is a certain smile that the Senate will come to recognise. One that says ‘we might have been voiceless, but we weren’t blind. Now that we have a voice, what if I shared what we saw?’ It’s not blackmail, not quite. It doesn’t need to be. 

Senator Fox takes to take to the battlefield.

[fohatic]

(manip by me, original poster by art chantry)

welp there's a (short!) fic now 😏

for the "kink: condoms are fun!" square of my @cap-ironman stony bingo round 2 card, 1.5k, rated E:

Like so many 21st-century notions that most modern folks took for granted, getting Steve Rogers onboard with the idea of condoms for gay sex was yet another concept that required some getting used to. As ever, Tony was more than willing to help him adjust to it -- was particularly eager, in fact, to demonstrate it for him. 

So he took Steve’s hesitant objections in stride. Though he conceded that STDs weren't actually an issue between them, Tony still felt obligated to get Steve up-to-date on one of the primary functions of using protection. He didn’t blame the poor guy for assuming that “VD” was only something that men contracted from women, given how the sex-ed propaganda of Steve’s time pointedly ignored the existence of homosexuals at every turn (yes, Tony had become quite the WWII-era culture buff ever since he and Steve got together). “Rubbers,” ergo, were only used to prevent pregnancy and war effort-undermining cooties from ‘loose women,’ as far as Steve was concerned.

He hadn’t yet learned about the AIDS epidemic. He hadn’t learned anything at all, really, about homosexuality, aside from what little he’d gleaned from his limited exposure to different cultures and social norms during his stint as a soldier. Just getting him to come out of his internalized-homophobic shell even a little bit after Tony had finally figured out that the tension between them stemmed from a sex thing rather than the other kind of dick-versus-asshole thing was a huge challenge all on its own; one which Tony had only persevered through because he was already way too far-gone on the guy by then to consider giving up. 

But now— after way too much dithering and denial and a gradually-dawning acceptance of the earth-shattering truth of the matter— they were finally fucking each other. Enthusiastically, and often. Tony’s patience had won out big time, and his rewards just kept on coming. And coming. And coming.

Turns out, Steve has a refractory period that’s basically non-existent. One of the many benefits of being serum-enhanced. Truly, Tony has no complaints on that score, considering his own notoriously rabid sex drive. Match made in heaven, in all honesty. It would seem that Steve is intent on making up for lost time, and Tony is only too happy to oblige him at every opportunity—

—which is where the condom thing comes in. Tony doesn’t mind that they’re fucking like rabbits now. It’s great! Amazing! Best thing that’s ever happened to him, really! But honestly— it can get kinda messy, given how Steve seems determined to fuck on every conceivable surface he can think of -- and often during moments that might not be entirely convenient, such as in the immediate aftermath of a mission; be that during touchdown at SHIELD headquarters when he and Tony are still suited up, or even on the freshly-vacated Quinjet on a number of occasions... -- occasions which their teammates definitely weren’t as oblivious to as Steve had been quick to assume in his lust-clouded fever (Tony had seen Nat’s knowing look after Steve had asserted his captain’s voice to tell him, “Stark: hang back a moment. There’s something I need to discuss with you in private.”) He was so disastrously conspicuous sometimes, but Tony wasn't bothered by it. He just found it ridiculously charming. 

So Tony’s started carrying condoms around with him at all times now, knowing that Steve’s delightfully unhinged libido could strike at any moment. It's his privilege to always be ready for him. 

The first time Tony fished one of these out of his pocket and pressed it against Steve’s big, warm chest during a heated make-out session in the locker room, Steve frowned down at the little packet with the most adorably confused expression Tony had ever seen on a full-grown human. 

“...A rubber?”

“Uh huh,” Tony had breathed out, eagerly rolling his hips against the massive thigh still shoved between his legs. 

“What for?”

It was actually really funny, just how nonplussed his face looked in that moment. Tony bit back his reaction to laugh, though, knowing how sensitive Steve could be when he thought Tony was laughing at him. 

“For sex,” Tony grinned, deliberately pressing his hard-on against the larger man and feeling a little giddy with how much he wanted exactly that, pronto. “What else?”

“We’re both fellas, though,” Steve needlessly pointed out, getting that deep furrow between his brows as a particularly splotchy flush spread over his face -- Tony knew by now that these together were more of an indication of embarrassment than arousal. Uh oh. 

It was sometimes a bit of a tightrope walk, maintaining a modern homosexual relationship with a man as complicated as Steve Rogers. Tony was still learning how to navigate his changeable moods and specific triggers, but it was a task he was surprised to find himself more than willing to put up with. It was actually kind of thrilling, the way he was always keeping Tony on his toes.

So that first, clumsy attempt in the locker room hadn’t convinced Steve that condoms were a convenient means of mitigating the messier aspects of assfucking, which in retrospect was Tony’s bad: Steve wasn’t wrong when he'd pointed out that the showers were right there.

Then later that week, when Tony tried again by attempting to argue that condoms were actually “fun,” Steve had gotten a bit petulant when he'd mistakenly jumped to the very erroneous conclusion that Tony didn’t actually like getting pumped full of an unholy amount of hot supersoldier jizz on the regular. On the contrary, it was something he often enjoyed with a zeal that bordered on some kind of perversion… Only, there was a time and place for indulging in what basically amounted to a serious cum-inflation kink, which—in his modest opinion—was best enjoyed in the comfort of an actual bedroom. 

Later, ensconced in the privacy of said bedroom, he explained this to Steve. In so much detail. He made sure to be very clear about what he liked and when/where he liked it, ensuring that there would be no doubt as to how sincerely he meant it by encouraging Steve to properly fill him up right there on his oversized bed. Then—just because Steve seemed to really appreciate these sorts of practical demonstrations—Tony made it very clear what occurred afterwards, illustrating this by strutting naked around the bedroom and letting Steve’s jizz drip down between his legs while he continued to elaborate on the pros and cons of letting Steve put him in such a state while out in public. He definitely had Steve’s rapt attention, this time.

Still, he didn’t fully sell his argument until the following weekend, when they’d been out together at that gala all night in their well-tailored formalwear, making eyes at each other in between all the endless schmoozing and sipping from champagne flutes and munching on canapes. 

Steve found a little secluded balcony that wasn’t in use, because of course he did. Say what you will about him being a late bloomer; there was no denying that the guy had quite the aptitude for arranging semi-covert assignations at a moment’s notice. 

He wasn’t wearing his utility belt, though, which meant that he didn’t have his handy dandy lube tube that he’d taken to carrying around these days. So when Tony caught him trying to spit on his fingers after getting a hand down Tony's pants and squeezing Tony’s ass in a signal he’d come to recognize as Steve’s signature “I wanna fuck you right now” move, he intercepted him just in time to demonstrate the magic of 21st-century lubricated condoms.

Getting to bend Tony over the railing like that and have at him at the drop of his $3000 pants with no prep required—then coming profusely into Tony’s grateful ass without spilling a single drop of superspunk on either of their very nice garments—was something of an eye-opening experience for Steve Rogers. 

He could admit, afterwards— as they righted their clothing and kissed like they’d been waiting all night to get their mouths on each other in order to finally breathe properly— that Tony might’ve actually had a point about the “rubbers.” 

“They’re fun, aren’t they?” Tony smirked as he smoothed his hands down the fine weave of Steve’s black dinner jacket, continually enamored with the way that all that broadness narrowed down to such a grabbable little waist. “...Anytime, anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, looking at Tony with a fondness that couldn’t possibly have just been about the whole condom thing. Sometimes when Steve looked at him like that, it felt like his insides were melting; like Steve could reduce him to literal goo with just a look. Quite the superpower, that one. 

Steve’s eyes did that funny thing where they grew impossibly warmer as he reached to fix Tony’s hair with gentle fingers, telling him, “I think I’m coming around to the idea.”

♡

[cable-knit-sweater]

When you’re close up, give me the shivers

a moodboard by cable-knit-sweater

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.4k

Tags: au - model/photographer, au - modern, photographer Steve Rogers, model Bucky Barnes, age difference, slutty Bucky, flustered Steve

Written for: @stuckybingo | card: R4005 | Square: N5 - AU: Model/Photographer

A.N: This was gonna be a different fic. Then it was going to be a short blurb. Then it turned into a ficlet. I blame @late-to-the-party-81 😂💖

Summary:

Steve’s been a professional photographer for over a decade. His work has been featured in countless magazines, on billboards, in fashion articles and photography books. He’s shot some of the most beautiful, most interesting, most powerful people in the world. He’s won numerous awards, is sought after by so many for his work. It means his schedule is fully booked, like, always. It also means he earns enough money to afford a gorgeous loft apartment that can easily double as a studio when he wants to.

Steve’s mostly unfazed by the supposed glamor of his job or the world he inhabits. He can see how some of the models he’s photographed represent some sort of beauty ideal, even if he doesn’t necessarily always agree. He’s not actually always a fan of the circles he works in — because of the beauty ideals, but also because there’s some sort of toxicity in it sometimes, one he tries to avoid. It’s made him somewhat of a recluse, at times, which in turn has caused people to speculate a lot about him — and his personal life.

For some reason, there’s this assumption that he probably has hooked up with some of his models. Sure, he’s found some of his models attractive, but he’s never pursued anything. He’s aware of how he himself looks and he’s had models make a pass at him, or ask him to go out on a date after they finished shooting, but he’s always declined. Steve doesn’t mix business with pleasure. He’s seen how that goes. It’s a rule he put in place for himself long ago and it’s worked out fine.

He’s going to have to break that rule.

When the model he was supposed to shoot doesn’t show up…he’s annoyed, to put it mildly. It’s happened before. Most models are - even if they’re demanding sometimes - conscientious of his time. He doesn’t want to sound like an asshole, but standing him up like this is rude, and his time is valuable.

He calls the agency — and they apologize, telling him the model will be there in 15 minutes, almost half an hour after they should have started. Steve sighs. He can make it work, but they’ll lose some of the light. He’s frustrated for sure, but all he can do is wait.

When the model does show up… At first Steve is grateful for being patient for once, because the model is gorgeous. Then he curses everything in existence including himself because the model is gorgeous, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to keep it together.

It’s not even the soft looking - albeit slightly messy - curly brown hair, or the gorgeous grey-blue of his eyes, or the dimple in his chin. It’s red bitten lips, the look in his half-lidded eyes that makes him look like pure sex, a jawline that could cut glass. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a black t-shirt, impossibly tight black jeans. Steve forgets to breathe for a moment, looking at the guy a little dumbly.

Those red lips curl into a slightly wicked smirk, like the guy knows exactly what kind of effect he has on people. On Steve.

“Sorry I’m late,” the guy says, looking up at Steve from below his eyelashes, with big blue eyes that have Steve entranced. “My cat locked me out of my apartment.”

It’s the dumbest reason, the dumbest lie, Steve has ever heard. No one in their right mind would believe that. “Th-that’s okay, no worries at all!” he stammers out. “It happens?”

What the fuck. Who is he?

The guy giggles a little. It’s a great sound. Steve wants to roll around in it. 

“I’m Bucky,” he says, “it’s an honor to get to work with you.” 

“I-uhm, I’m- me too, I mean, I’m Steve.” 

Steve needs to get himself together. Not in the least because Bucky bites his lower lip to stop from laughing, undoubtedly about how much of an idiot Steve is. It’s the worst thing he’s ever seen. He wants to pull that lip from between Bucky’s teeth. With his own. 

But Steve’s a professional.

So much of a professional he’s completely forgotten what the assignment for this shoot is by the time Bucky has gotten ready. 

This isn’t showing off clothes, or a formal portrait. Bucky is an actor – Steve will need to look up his work after this – and this shoot is for some sort of magazine article. They want Bucky to capitalize on the image he’s made for himself through some of the TV shows he’s been in and…

Steve remembers laughing when he’d first seen the note. “Ideally, a sorta messy twink look,” it actually says. That’s…that’s the idea they’re supposed to be going for here. He’s definitely not laughing anymore. He also definitely needs to watch more TV.  

It doesn’t start off too smoothly. At first, Steve is too tense to actually focus on Bucky enough for the photos to come out well. Then later, when Bucky “has an idea” – which apparently involves taking off everything but his jeans – it doesn’t go so smoothly because Steve’s heart goes into overdrive and his skin feels completely on fire.

He doesn’t usually get this flustered. But everything about Bucky just seems to make him lose a little bit of higher brain function.

The way the dog tags he’s wearing nestle between sparse chest hair covering toned pecs.

The way his hair gets even messier the more he runs long, elegant fingers through it.

The way he continues to bite his lips until they look positively indecent.

The way he touches Steve’s arms, telling him to relax, making Steve shiver instead.

The way he looks at Steve with a gaze so heated that it feels like it burns into Steve’s skin.

The way he says “where do you want me, Steve?” in a voice laced with so much innuendo…

Steve is only so strong. He’s barely hanging on. 

They do a couple of shots near the window, while there’s still enough light. The camera loves Bucky and it should be easy, but it really isn’t, given all the distractions.

They do a couple of shots with Bucky laying on Steve’s bed – Bucky’s idea, again. It almost makes Steve’s heart give out, makes his fingers itch to touch. He wants to scream. He’s a professional.

Bucky keeps making it worse with the looks he gives the camera - he gives Steve. He’s being a tease, Steve’s pretty sure of that by now, but he decides to stick to his rule. He’s never broken it before. He’s not gonna break it now, as much as he almost aches to give in. 

It’s not until they do some shots in the bathroom, that Steve’s resolve crumbles. Bucky has put on his tank top again. With the water pouring down on him, the fabric clings to his body. But it’s the way he looks up from underneath his wet lashes, with his mouth half open and his lips so red, looking like, like…

Bucky knows exactly what he looks like and he knows Steve knows it too. 

Then Bucky says, a smirk on his face, eyes knowing: “You wanna join me? Maybe a cold shower would be nice?” 

And Steve gives in. He cannot take it anymore. Bucky has completely broken him down.

He puts down his camera as calmly as possible – when he’s feeling so far from fucking calm – then breathes in, gives Bucky one more look, then takes a couple of quick steps towards him, crowding Bucky against the shower wall and pushing up against him. He barely spares a moment to look into Bucky’s eyes, to see if this is what he wants – whether he wasn’t just trying to rile Steve up without wanting to follow through on anything – before claiming his mouth with his own. 

Bucky kisses back eagerly, pressing up against Steve even more. Steve can’t bring himself to care about completely ruining his clothes. He finally gets to take Bucky’s lower lip between his teeth. He pulls on it a little in admonishment, growling: “Wanted to do that all fucking day.”

“Thought I was gonna have to spell it out for you,” Bucky chuckles a little breathily, “F-u-c-k m-“ 

Steve cuts him off by claiming his mouth again in a heated kiss, hands traveling down to unbutton Bucky’s jeans. 

Bucky ends up on his knees in the shower. His lips end up an even more indecent shade of red. 

And Steve ends up breaking his rule. Maybe some other things in his apartment too, in their rush to get to Steve’s bedroom later on. Who knows.

So what. Sometimes, rules are meant to be broken.

Faced with Bucky Barnes, Steve really never had any other choice.

[jovenshires]

happy first day of spommy week!! come play spommy fic bingo with me :3

[soldieronbarnes]

Kinktober #1 -- Humiliation, hair pulling

Joining kinktober super late, but if you have any prompts, just drop them in my ask box!!

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan says, and his voice is so full of derision that Anakin squirms, gasping, tears welling up in his eyes. His Master so rarely resorts to contempt, hates having to do so, he knows, and he knows he deserves the scorn, he does, after defying his Master so openly, so carelessly, in front of a Galactic senator no less.

Usually, his Master is so, so gentle and understanding, unless Anakin pushes him too far, and he did – he pushed him too far, knowingly, and he wonders if Obi-Wan knows that it’s a punishment as well a a reward, the way his Padawan braid if wrapped tightly in Obi-Wan’s fist like it’s a leash, the way red blooms around the shape of his Master’s hand on his bottom and makes everything more sensitive, the way the pace of his cock against Anakin’s prostate is just this side of too much too fast, pushing the air out of his lungs and making his spine bend and melt into the movement. 

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan repeats disdainfully. “You think you can defy me? You think you are ready to be a Knight?” 

He tugs harshly at the braid, and Anakin whines. “Master – Master, I’m –”

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan snarls. “You’re so needy, so desperate for a good fuck. You can’t go three days without panting for it like a dog. You go any longer without anyone fucking your brains out and you turn stupid, unable to formulate any clearly thought out plan, as you demonstrated today. And you want to be a Knight?”

Anakin keens. He needs Obi-Wan to fuck him harder, to evaporate any coherent thought. “Master, Master, please –”

Cruelly, Obi-Wan slows his thrusts until they are shallow, the movement barely noticeable. “A Knight is self-sufficient. A Knight is selfless, serving the people of the Republic. A Knight doesn’t want or need anything.” 

He leans down, plastering himself to Anakin, chest to chest, and whispers in his ear. Anakin grasps the opportunity to wrap his legs around him and kiss him, panting against his lips when Obi-Wan pulls back. 

“A Knight is separated from his Master, because he can be trusted to act on his own. Do you think you can be trusted to be on your own, away from me for months and months? You can’t,” he says. “Look at how much you need direction, how much you need a cock in you. You get stupid when someone doesn’t fuck you right for a few days. What are you going to do when you are apart from me, hm? Are you going to doom entire civilisations because you are horny and stupid? Are you going to just fuck anyone to keep you in check? Are you going to be happy hanging off the first thick cock you find?”

“I wouldn’t,” he cries, hot tears running down his cheeks. “I wouldn’t, Master!”

“Yes, you would. You’re so hungry for it. You’d let anyone fuck you, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t”, Anakin protests.

“My pretty little liar,” Obi-Wan croons. “You think you can think straight without getting fucked? How will you complete missions on your own, then? Tell me.”

“I’d make a replica of your cock and fuck myself with it,” Anakin gasps, because there’s no line in the sand he hasn’t relished in stepping over. It’s the perfect solution, too; he’d get to go on his own missions without missing anything. 

To his surprise, Obi-Wan just laughs. “You think all you need is the shape of my cock, and that will save you?” he asks. He pulls out, wrestles Anakin on his belly before he can protest, and lets the head of his cock kiss Anakin’s hole. “Go on, then. If you think you don’t need me, just my cock – prove it. Get yourself off.”

And Anakin – well, he tries. The instructions are simple enough, and the position he’s in allows for a decent range of movement. He starts slow and sinuous, and ends up with a quick and brutal pace, and it should be enough – enough to entice Obi-Wan to move, to touch him in any way, enough to get off – but it isn’t, and soon enough he’s sobbing with need. He can’t rock back onto Obi-Wan’s cock at a satisfying angle, not quickly enough, not when he’s trying to strip his cock with his hand, and he’s so, so, close, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not enough. 

“Let me ride you,” he begs. 

His Master snorts. “You think that’ll help you?” he asks, but he lies down on his back, pulling Anakin on top of him, surprisingly indulgent. “There you go. Try your best.”

The taunting challenge in his voice makes Anakin set a quick, rough pace, because he can do this, he can  – except Obi-Wan refuses to touch him, crosses his hands behind his back and allows Anakin to use him, but won’t even put his hands on him; won’t touch his cock, won’t grip his hips in those wonderful broad hands of his that can span so much of Anakin’s waist, won’t tease his nipples of pull his hair like he usually does and it’s – it’s torture, is what it is. Anakin rides him until his thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, until tears are rolling down his face and the gasping breaths he takes turn into shaking sobs. 

He’s so, so close, still, but he cannot fall over the edge, no matter what he does.

“Master,” he begs, “Master, please, I want to come –”

“And why,” Obi-Wan asks, “do you think you always deserve to get what you want?”

A desperate whine escapes him. “Please, I promise I’ll be better, I’ll be good –”

“Will you? Will you be good so you can be a Knight? So you can be trusted, away from me?”

“No,” Anakin gasps. “I’ll be good for you, I will, but please don’t send me away, I need you, I need you –”

And finally, finally, that’s the right answer. Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s hands are on his hips, the grip tight and bruising, holding Anakin still as his hips piston up into the scorching heat of his hole, the pace fast and relentless and unforgiving and finally, finally enough. Anakin comes with a silent scream, spine bowed and fingernails raking visible trails down the fair skin of Obi-Wan’s chest. He thinks he blacks out for a second, and when he comes to, he’s half collapsed on his Master’s chest, his cock still moving in and out of him at a brutal pace, making him shudder with the aftershocks of pleasure. 

“Give it to me,” he whines, speech slurred with how good it feels. “Master, come inside me, mark me, please, give it to me, show everyone I’m yours!”

Obi-Wan curses under his breath, and before Anakin can even parse his words, he’s dumped unceremoniously onto his back, and he could cry at the sudden emptiness. 

“I’ll mark you, for everyone to see,” Obi-Wan promises, his voice dark and heated, kneeling over Anakin and stripping his cock quickly, wildly, and Anakin keens when he realizes what’s about to happen. 

“Yes, yes Master, please –” He barely has time to open his mouth before the first thick, hot stripes of come coat his face and tongue, his neck and chest and –

“Look at this,” Obi-Wan says, tugging at his Padawan braid. That, too, is covered in white strands of his Master’s come. Anakin whimpers when he sees it, and despite himself, he feels his cock twitch with interest. “Do you know what that means?”

“I’m yours,” Anakin whispers, his voice hoarse. “It means I’m yours.”

Finally, finally, Obi-Wan softens. “Good boy,” he praises, and leans down to kiss him, and everything else fades away. 

[metalbvcky]

Lazy Evenings, a Bloom!Verse moodboard + drabble

"Is that my sweater?" "No," Bucky says with a smile so wide, it hurts his cheeks. He tips his champagne glass at the thin leather around Steve's waist. "Is that my belt?" Steve leans against the archway and smirks, arms crossed. "I don't know. You tell me." Bucky props his feet on the table in response to his boyfriend's teasing. The sun warms his skin. Lazy evenings like today are nice. Steve crosses the short distance between them, brows softened, blue eyes shining with love. Their lips slot together in a gentle kiss. "It looks good on you." Bucky smiles.

Bucky Barnes Bingo | U4 - [image of Bucky/Sebastian's profile] @buckybarnesbingo Stucky Bingo | G4 - Sharing Clothes @stuckybingo BBE Build a Bucky Bingo | December Prompt - Social Media @buckybarnesevents

[tllgrrl]

It’s All Greek To Me by @tllgrrl aka nefertiri jones

Relationships: Bucky Barnes / Sarah Wilson | Rated: SFW | 500 words

* * * * * * * * * *

Sarah was standing on the deck of the Paul and Darlene looking out over the water, the sun just about set.

It had been a long, busy day.

The crew had cleaned up hours ago, going home, leaving everything ready for the next day’s work.

It was quiet save for the night sounds of the Delta and the docks.

Bucky walked up behind her, but not so quietly because before she felt his arms around her waist, and his chest against her back, she heard:

”Sarah…”

The same way he said it the first day they met, right here on the dock, when he’d introduced himself, she replied “I’m Sarah”, and he repeated her name like he was actually saying:

It’s always been you. Always.

He nuzzles her neck and she hums her appreciation, then he takes one of her hands, spins her around to face him, she puts her arms over his shoulders, he pulls her closer, and he lightly kisses her mouth.

His hands gently caress her, roam up and down her back, gently press her into him, and he deepens the kiss.

He hears her softly moan from the back of her throat, feels her body relax as she shifts her weight and her back ever so slightly arches.

He feels her heartbeat.

She feels his heartbeat as his hands make a trail down her back, stop at the small of her back, and his left hand slides onto her ass.

He softly moans from the back of his throat, gently but firmly pressing her hips against his.

His hands revel at the feel of flesh and muscle under denim.

She feels the warm fingers of his right hand slide under the waistband of her jeans.

She feels his chest as he deeply inhales.

His fingers run over her smooth skin, and the fabric of lacy panties.

He sighs, and semi-consciously he murmurs into her ear, “Écheis ómorfous gloutoús…”, and he goes in for another kiss.

“Mmmmm…wait. James…did you just…was that Greek? You just said something about my ass…in Greek?” Sarah said, giggling.

Still lost in the kiss, Bucky murmured, “Just one of the languages running around in my brain. Languages somehow never got completely wiped—“

He pulls his head back, chuckles, and with a big smile, he asks her:

“Xereis na milas ellinika? You…do you speak Greek??”

“No! But you said something about “gloutoús”, and I’ve heard that word before.

Remind me some day to tell you about that time we were chartered by a group of tourist from Greece.”

“I will. Come’ere, you…”

And with that, he recaptures her mouth and they once again become lost in breathlessly exploring the taste and feel of each others’ kisses.

They come up for air, hold each other, foreheads touching, and just before he suggests they turn in for the night, below decks, to the waiting makeshift bed…

“Sarah?”

“James?”

“Tell me about that time there was a group of tourists from Greece...”

* * * * * * * * * *

4th Annual Fleurdelouve Month 2024 - SarahBucky Bingo

Row 1, Square 2 - “Dusk”. The story is from 2022, but I decided to revisit the story and do a moodboard for the prompt.

[heartsandmuses]

weekly lineup

for @stonyauniverse january week 3 // "nice try, canon"

for @warmandfluffybingocards // square: "free space"

marvel cinematic universe. tony stark/steve rogers. rated g. 1k.

canon-divergent au where steve and tony are still alive to lead the next generation of avengers.

— — —

Tony’s favorite thing about spending Sunday mornings in the Compound was watching Steve post the weekly team lineup.

“Alright, no pushing and shoving, this’ll be up here all week. You can take a look at it whenever you need to, okay?” Steve reminded everybody, though his gaze drifted pointedly toward the kids—the newer recruits—who were practically bouncing in their seats out of pure excitement. Slowly, Steve grabbed a Mjlonir-shaped magnet and stuck the roster in its usual spot on the fridge, backing a few steps away before he said, “Okay, it’s up! Go ahead, everyone. And remember — if your name’s at the top, you’re on-call this week, if you’re at the bottom, you’re on the reserve team, and if you’re not up there at all, you’ve got the week off.”

The words were like a starting shot, and despite Steve’s warning to take things slow, Peter, Kamala, and Kate all made a mad dash towards the list. Honestly, Tony was surprised none of them had knocked over any of the kitchen stools in their haste, though it seemed like Peter nearly tripped over himself on the way, his spidey-senses catching him just in time.

Steve looked over at Tony as if to say, can you believe this? even though he’d witnessed this exact scene play out countless times before. Tony just smiled behind his mug of coffee and offered a fond shake of his head to reply, I know.

It was a good system they had going on. Now that the rotating lineup of Avengers was growing every day, only about half the team needed to be on-call anymore, barring an actual end-of-the-universe level threat. And with so many newer, younger team members coming in, it only made sense to pair each of them up with a more experienced, more seasoned pro to learn the ropes. They trained together, they went on missions together, they learned from each other, and the next week, the newbies were partnered with someone else to repeat the process. It allowed them to hone different skills with different mentors, and see which personalities and powers meshed well together. 

It was certainly working out well so far, Tony had to admit. The newer Avengers were already starting to show a ton of improvement from all of the practice and mentorship, and the older ones benefited immensely from the occasional time off. Even if all the gods and super-soldiers around here weren’t slowed down by age, they still could use the rest — missions could be just as emotionally and mentally draining as they were physically, sometimes even more so.

In any case, it sure made things a lot easier than being on-call—and on edge—24/7. Besides, there was something to be said about having a general work-life balance, something that Tony wouldn’t have even dreamed of back in the early days. Now, he was finding that it wasn’t so bad, taking some time for himself. For the people he cared about.

He exchanged another glance with his co-captain.

“Come on, move over, I wanna see!” Kamala said, stuck peering over Peter and Kate’s shoulders, the shortest of the three of them.

“Aha! I got Natasha!” Kate said, finally moving out of Kamala’s way to give Nat a high-five.

“I’m with Thor!” Kamala announced, once she found her name on the roster. “Oh, this is gonna be so cool!”

"I've got Captain Rogers!" Peter glanced at Tony with a bright grin. “And— did you see, Mr. Stark? You're not up here this week!”

“I did see, Mr. Parker,” Tony replied with a laugh. “I made that list, y’know. Well, helped make it. If I had it entirely my way, Steve and I would both be getting the week off.”

His pointed look was met with a fond eye-roll, as Steve settled into the seat next to him. “We will, soon enough,” he promised, giving Tony a gentle pat on the arm in consolation. “Once we know that the trainees can handle themselves without us.”

“Hey, c’mon, give us some credit,” Kate scoffed. “We’ve been doing great so far!”

“She’s got a point there, Cap,” Natasha chimed in. “It won’t be the end of the world if you and Tony take a vacation. And if it is, we’ll call you back in.“

“Yeah, we’ve got things covered,” Kamala said confidently.

But before anyone else could offer up their two cents on the matter, the alarm went off overhead. Over the speakers, Maria Hill announced, “We’ve found a hidden HYDRA base operating out of the Catskills. All on-call team members and trainees report to the Quinjet immediately.”

Steve stood back up, just as the rest of the team turned their attention to him, waiting for orders. “Alright, Avengers, if you wanna prove something, now’s the time. Let’s give it our best out there,” he said, gaze softening as he looked over the newer recruits, then his husband. “And depending on how it goes, we can reconsider next week’s roster.”

Tony’s expression brightened, and he couldn’t help but lean in for a brief kiss, ignoring all of the feigned gagging from the rest of the team. When he pulled back, it was with a dazzling, determined smile. “Well, you heard him, everyone — suit up and head out! It’s time to kick some ass!”

Steve gave Tony a nudge. “You wanna do the honors?”

“Oh, no, you’ve got it, sweetheart. It’s your week, anyway.”

The anticipation in the room was nearly palpable as Steve cleared his throat. “Avengers, assemble!” he called, and everybody moved at once, rushing to get ready.

As always, the kids were the first ones out the door. 

[film-in-my-soul]

Oh for Bingo can I get Outsider POV IceMav? 🥰

.⋆｡°✩ Carole eavesdrops but only because she loves her friend. ✩°｡⋆.

Pete thinks he's slick. He thinks that his late-night phone calls and dashes out to the mailbox when he's off deployment are sneaky and well concealed, but Carole Bradshaw didn't spend years hiding boyfriends from her daddy not to recognize the same tactics when they were waving right in front of her face.

At first, she ignores it, giggles behind her hand when Pete's not looking, ruffling Bradley's hair when he mimics her. There's no harm, she figures, in letting Pete keep his sweetheart to himself. He's never been shy before when it comes to love, but maybe, she thinks, he's growing up a bit, learning to slow it down when it matters. All Carole cares about is that he's happy, and by the way he can't quite keep the color out of his cheeks or the stars out of his eyes when she spots the edge of a letter or hears the soft whispers of a hushed phone conversation, he is.

The more she hears, though, the more she really looks, the more she realizes that maybe it's not because Pete's trying to be quiet about this thing he's got going on. It might just be because he has to.

As much as it's Pete's home when he's stateside, Carole doesn't try to tiptoe around her house; privacy is never a guarantee. Still, when she's up getting water or just needs to go outside and breathe in the chilly night air to chase away some stray tears sleeping in her half-filled bed leaves her with, she can't help stumbling on Pete tucked around the corner of the kitchen, phone cord stretched around to give his hiding place away.

He doesn't always see her, and she doesn't let on that she's there. In these moments, they're just two boats passing in the night. It doesn't mean that she can't hear, though, and try as she might not to listen, well... she doesn't get much gossip at the Post Office.

Pete's voice is even, a little tired given the hour, but more lovesick than stricken, so what little guilt might have clung to Carole if this had been one of the bad times when Pete needed whoever was on the other end isn't there.

"They're keeping you out there for another week?" He sounds positively anguished, and Carole sees the edge of Pete's foot kick out all discontent. There's no doubt it's his mystery girl. Pete doesn't even get that childish when Bradley steals the last strip of bacon. It makes Carole stifle a snort as she tries her best to open the back door without setting off its telltale creak.

She wonders if maybe Pete's girl is on a carrier somewhere, a secretary or something like that...

"But you're still gonna make it for Christmas, right?" He sounds hopeful, and then he lets out a chuckle so light and fond that it twists up Carole's heart in the best way.

"Look, I know you don't celebrate, but I still want you here." A pause. "Carole won't mind. I'll come up with somethin' to tell her."

Carole's brow furrows, and for a moment, she wants to speak up because Pete has to know that she wouldn't tell him he couldn't bring someone around for the holidays, especially if it's-

"Ice," Pete says with a sigh, and Carole feels her entire brain turn a bit on its axis, realization slipping into place between her wide-eyed slow blink as he continues, voice still soft, "It's not gonna be like that. And you know," his tone brightens. Carole feels that twist again, deeper somehow, "I've always been pretty good at thinking on my feet." Pete tappers off with a laugh, one Carole's heard more and more as the months have drifted by. Now she knows why, now she understands, and even though the tears had dried up when she'd walked down the hall, they're threatening to fall again for a hundred different reasons.

She leaves Pete to his call, then manages to slip out the backdoor without a hint of old wood croaking for attention and looks up to the sky.

Slowly, a smile pulls the corner of her mouth up as the stars blink down on her. The more she lets the understanding stew in her thoughts, the more she finds nothing changes. A part of her, somewhere deep, for a moment in the stillness of her brain making the connections between Pete's secrecy and the reasons why, had been worried something might. Because hoping you act or feel some way in the face of the unknown and knowing is different, and she's glad to know she's not any way she doesn't want to be when it comes down to it. When it's important.

And in the morning, if she passes Pete the last strip of bacon and asks him if he might be wanting to bring someone around for the holidays since it had just been them the last time he was on the ground, well, she's just thrilled when he says, cheeks going hot and eyes sliding away, that maybe he just might.

Ficlet Bingo!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

You're a Fucking Dickhead

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 1894 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both of my Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I suggest starting here if you want to read both.

Steve pushes his sleeves up, realizes, and pushes them right back down despite it being sweltering in this auditorium. As much as he prides himself on being confident in his own skin, on being exactly who he is, no apologies, this little three inch line of text scrawled on his arm is the bane of his whole existence. He hates it. 

Robin glances over at him, and gives him a raised eyebrow. Yeah, yeah. He had promised he would cut it out once they were at college, but fuck, old habits die hard. He's only a senior. Maybe he'll go to grad school and he can stop hiding his arm then. Plenty of time.

"I know," he hisses at her, and he's told himself over and over that someday he won't care. That someday he'll just let it all hang out. So what if his so called soulmate is out there somewhere waiting to meet him, only to say: You're a fucking dickhead!

Yeah, sign him up for that. Not.

No matter who it is, Steve isn't interested. He's going tell them to fuck right off. If he ever meets them. He hasn't yet, and he's not exactly frothing at the bit to do it soon.

He focuses back on the professor, and he's almost made it through undergrad. Six more weeks. He can do this.

"A frat party? Steve. No," Robin says, and Steve is just nodding.

"Steve, yes," he says, smiling wide. "We'll get some bathtub punch, maybe bum a joint. C'mon. Maybe we'll even get laid."

"Dingus, the odds of me getting laid at a frat party are negative seventy-five thousand."

"Then let me get laid. Rob, please. For me," and he gives her the eyes. They always work, and he spins around after she reluctantly nods her consent to his plan. 

"You've gotten laid plenty," she argues.

"That's patently untrue," he lies. "I'm in a dry spell."

"It's been four days."

"It gets mighty cold at night," he says, and she laughs and pushes him, but she'll go.

He might not have good soulmate prospects, but he does have the best best friend a guy could ask for, and his charm, which he's applied liberally all up and down the eastern seaboard.

So, yeah. Tonight is gonna be awesome, he just knows it.

Tonight is not awesome, Steve thinks, as he's shoved so hard he stumbles. The guy is bigger than him, but honestly just caught him off guard. Steve doesn't know what the fuck his problem is. It's a party. They're supposed to be having fun. But this? This is not fun.

All Steve did is walk by, and now he's fucking stumbling like he's drunk, which unfortunately he is not since he hasn't even had one drink yet, but his balance is already a distant memory. He catches his shin on the edge of a coffee table, and that really fucking smarts. Then, he's going down. There's no other possibility. No way to catch himself.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve shouts, sliding over the table on his knees, tipping over cups and bottles, knocking everything in his path off to the hardwood floor with a clatter, before finally coming to a stop with a thud on top of the person sitting on the couch. That's fucking embarrassing.

"You're a fucking dickhead!" The guy under him laughs while patting Steve's back, and it sounds amused, not angry. But those words. Those are his words. Steve freezes. But not for long, because he's unceremoniously being shifted and dumped into the lap of the guy on the right. 

Big blue eyes, and a mop of curls, looking down at him, asking, "What'd you say?"

"Huh?" Steve asks, trying to right himself.

Oh. The guy — his soulmate? — wasn't talking to him. He was talking to the guy who shoved him.

"What did you say when you literally fell in Eddie's lap?" he asks.

Eddie. His soulmate's name is Eddie. Steve has no fucking clue what he said, but he's guessing that whatever it is, it's scrawled somewhere on Eddie's body and his friend here knows that. 

Steve's ignoring ol' blue eyes, and trying to turn to get another glimpse of Eddie, to see what he's doing, to see if he's gonna fight for his honor or some shit.

He's not fighting, but he does have the guy in a headlock. But they're both laughing. What the fuck is happening right now?

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie is telling the dude who shoved him. Who looks far less scary with his head tucked under Eddie's armpit. He's all red-faced and curly-headed, squirming, but looking amused. 

"I'm sorry," the shover laughs out, and Steve is still trying to slide off the other guy's lap. "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

His supposed soulmate knows the asshole that knocked him clean off his feet for no good reason? Well, that's just great. Very promising. He knew he was in for a bad time with the words alone, and now he's been knocked clean off his feet, and not in a good way.

"He was bullying you?" Eddie asks, face looking serious.

"I was not!" Steve says. He's never even seen this guy before. He walked by him in the crowded room, and then was shoved.

"He stepped on my foot!" 

Eddie laughs, "He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" Robin screeches. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!" Robin is rambling, talking with her hands, flailing and fluttering with all her might. 

How do you know Gareth? Steve thinks. 

She's all worked up. Well, she can join the club.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think? I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" Steve says, but his voice trails upward, unsure. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's kinda rude.

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie says, still not releasing the guy who caused this whole situation. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," Robin says, way too fast. 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says, and Steve wants to wheel on him. Gareth better not have a problem with that, but Steve can only fight one battle at a time, and Robin offending him always takes precedence.

"Don't be so disgusted," Steve complains, and then turns to look back at Gareth, "Same for you. I'm a catch."

"Do you still have a dick?" Robin asks, her go-to response in this situation. He knows the script.

"What she said," Gareth adds.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly.

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting his friend go. 

Another guy walks up, looks between all of them, "What's going on?"

"Jeff?" Robin questions.

Robin knows Jeff? Who's Jeff?

"Hey, Robin," Jeff says

"How do you know Jeff and Gareth?" Steve asks, whoever the fuck they are, but he's being ignored.

 "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin interrupts.

Gareth keeps talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Eddie turns his head, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff asks, as if that's Steve's legal name.

Steve laughs, "Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Everybody laughs.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains. Which, honestly, the nerve. He started this whole fiasco. Steve was minding his own goddamn business.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie says, circling Goodie, clearly teasing him. 

Eddie. Gareth. Goodie. Jeff. Steve's putting these names to faces, because he's afraid it might all be important later. Maybe forever. 

These people are a circus and a rodeo all rolled into one. 

He feels sick to his stomach. In a good way? A bad way? He isn't sure. All this time, and he still somehow wasn't ready for it. This scenario wasn't even in his wildest of dreamed up scenarios. Yeah, he got pushed. But his proposed soulmate doesn't appear to be a total dickhead either. 

"Let me see," Steve says quietly, a demand more than a question, and Eddie stops what he was doing, stepping closer. His arm is right out there, uncovered, for all the world to see. And that's for sure his own handwriting.

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

Plain as day.

Steve reaches out and brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and suddenly he feels like he's riding lightning.

"Holy shit," Eddie says.

"Uh, yeah," Steve answers. 

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's finished asking. 

His body feels warm.

But Robin, "I'm with Robin. I need to-"

"Nope, dingus. Go. I'll ride with Jeff. Or Gareth. Or Goodie," she says. "I can take my pick. I know them all."

"How do you know Jeff, Gareth and Goodie?" Steve asks, because he feels like he's losing his mind.

Jeff waves. So the other two follow suit.

"Jeff and I have had like a thousand classes together," Robin says, and Jeff is nodding in agreement. "We studied together all last year. Do you not recall all the, 'I'm going to study at Jeff's' that I said, week after week?"

Steve shakes his head. He does not.

"You were in our house! All the time!" Eddie says, pointing at Robin. "I have seen you before! I knew you looked familiar!" 

"Yeah, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes, "Anyway. Gareth's in my film class. And Goodie's in the marching band."

Steve feels like he's going insane. He got pushed by a marching band geek? Then there's Eddie, his soulmate, and apparently Robin's just been running in Eddie's whole goddamn circle without his knowledge. What? How?

He can't. Not right now. He needs to process this later. Maybe with a flow chart pointing out all the invisible strings that have been forming, trying to connect them.

"You'll get her home safe?" Steve asks, because that's all that matters.

"They will," Eddie assures, and puts his palm in the middle of Steve's back. Steve can feel it even through his shirt.

Steve looks back at Robin, slightly helpless. 

She takes a step forward, "If you don't-"

"I do," he interrupts, "I do."

He really does.

"Gross, go then," she says, holding up her hands, and when Eddie takes a step forward to lead them out, he goes.

Steve sneaks looks at Eddie as they make their way through the crowded house. He's pretty. Not what he'd expected, not that he'd ever really had a good mental picture of what his soulmate might look like. He'd been too focused on the harsh words, that he hadn't tried to form them into a real person.

Eddie's real.

He's so fucking real.

They step out into the night, and Eddie stops on the sidewalk, meeting Steve's eyes, smiling wide, "Your place or mine?"

Read Eddie's POV next.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Hypothermia of the Soul

Also on AO3 [210w] @corrieweek - day 6: Force-sensitive clones @ailesswhumptober - day 9: hypothermia

It takes a few weeks for Fox to truly notice, but Coruscant is cold.

It shouldn’t be. Between the climate-controlled atmosphere and his temperature regulating armour he should spend his whole deployment in a comfortably human-standard environment. Yet somehow, a chill has crept its way in to settle against his bones.

Nothing seems to touch it.

Exertion or external heat sources leave him flushed and sweating without doing anything to thaw the icy numbness inside.

Blankets are more variable. The thin mass-produced ones of the medbay and barracks offer bare protection even against more physical drafts. Wrapping himself in the bright patchwork quilts made from scavenged cloth and thread, however, is enough to offer at least the illusion of warmth.

Body heat seems to be the only effective cure. A warm line pressed against his side, even through armour, and he is sagging against the vod beside him. An arm around his shoulders and a face buried in a neck – theirs or his own – and everything else fades away.

The cold is only truly banished when Fox finds himself buried in the middle of a vod-pile, limbs tangled together, the whole mass shifting to the rhythm of calm breaths. He sinks into the sensation like a warm bath.

[hidey-writes]

sunday six

He bends forward to blow gently over the ink to dry it. Zhao Yunlan tilts with him, uncomfortably warm across Shen Wei’s shoulders, and Shen Wei merely bears the additional weight forward and back again. As Shen Wei sits back up, Zhao Yunlan lets go of him. A momentary respite of cool air and then Zhao Yunlan is stepping over Shen Wei’s crossed legs, climbing onto the couch beside Shen Wei, and plastering against his side, skin-to-skin wherever it’s possible. Mostly this means Zhao Yunlan’s face shoved into Shen Wei’s neck above the collar of his shirt, and Zhao Yunlan’s hands trying to undo Shen Wei’s belt to get at the skin under his shirt.  Shen Wei carefully caps his brush pen, transfers it to his other hand, and uses his free hand to shove Zhao Yunlan back across the couch.

the longest, slowest sentences from the fic i'm writing for guardian bingo prompt 2 -- i was seized somehow by the urge to write very languid and domestic summertime weilan, so i'm giving in to it. i've made it through a down draft (this is from that) and an up draft (thank god). i'm still figuring out how to stick the landing at the end, but it's pretty close!!

[camaro-and-smokes]

Wounded deer

My entry to @steveharringtonbingo card 1, square B1: Shoulder to cry on. Also entry for @billyhargrovebingo card 1, square B1: Busted lip.

Rating: Teens and up Warnings: No warnings Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Tags: Bruises, Angst, Harringrove, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Words: 1,262

Summary: Sometimes Billy came in with a black eye, or a busted lip - like today - and Steve didn’t ask why. Because when he came in like that he was like a wild animal, a wounded deer. Once you gain its trust to let you help it, you better not make any fast moves or it runs off and never comes back.

::::::::::

Steve opened the front door and his eyes grew large. “Wha-what's that?” Steve asked when Billy pushed past him through the door. “A new jacket,” Billy mumbled. “No...okay, yeah, it’s a nice jacket. But...” Steve pointed vaguely at Billy’s face. Billy grimaced. “‘is nothing, okay?” he snapped. “Let it go.” Steve’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms on his chest, his lips as a tight line. He wanted to know, he wanted to help, but... “Okay,” he sighed.

Steve knew that something was off at Billy’s home. But he also knew that what he and Billy had...he wasn’t sure what they had. Billy came over, mostly they just talked but lately they'd also started to make out.

Sometimes Billy came in with a black eye, or a busted lip - like today - and Steve didn’t ask why. Because when Billy came in like that he was like a wild animal, a wounded deer. Once you gain its trust to let you help it, you better not make any fast moves or it runs off and never comes back.

So, he walked to the bathroom and came back with the emergency kit and handed it to Billy. “Just...if you want to clean that up. I mean, you don’t have to. Not for me. But...for you.” Billy took the box and looked at it for a while. “Thanks,” he whispered, and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Steve stood in the foyer the whole time Billy was in the bathroom. When Billy came out, Steve saw that he had a butterfly bandaid pulling the sides of the cut together and bloody wipes in his hand. “Where can I put these?” he asked quietly. “Kitchen. Come,” Steve said and started towards the kitchen.

Once they got there, Steve opened the bin door for Billy and went to the fridge. “Want a beer?” “Sure.” But Steve didn’t offer it for Billy to drink. Billy held the cold bottle against the cut and closed his eyes. “I just want you to know that...if you ever feel like it, you can--you can, you know, talk to me about it,” Steve said. When Billy glared at him, he raised his hands in a placative gesture. “Only if you want to. You don’t have to.”

They stood like that in silence for a while: Billy holding the bottle against his face, glaring, and Steve his hands held up. “I’m here for you,” Steve finally said. “I’ve been here for you for a while. I hope you know that.”

Billy knew. He’d known for a long while. Ever since they started this...thing. He didn’t know what it was that they had. All he knew that being with Steve was easy. Well, ever since they had settled what happened at the Byers. He didn’t have to worry when he was with Steve. He felt safe with him.

But he also didn’t want to bare his insides to anyone. While he knew he could trust Steve, it was really hard to open himself up. He’d learned to live with keeping everything inside - because that was what real men did - and letting the walls down he’d so meticulously built and kept up...it horrified him. But even now, as he glared at Steve, he just wanted to cry. Because he didn’t want to keep Steve away. He wanted Steve to know.

And that thought was what broke the dam.

Billy looked away his chin quivering and his lashes fluttering as he desperately tried to keep the tears from falling, but failing. He wiped his face angrily, but the tears kept rolling on his cheeks like a waterfall, and he cried quietly there, in Steve’s kitchen, the salt of his tears stinging the still raw cut.

Steve bit his lip when he saw Billy broke into tears. He didn’t think, he just acted. Before he realized what he’d done, he was hugging Billy, his arms wrapped tightly around him, his chin on his shoulder. Just holding him.

And Billy hugged him right back. Big, ugly sobs fell out from his mouth. “I can’t...I--I...” he stuttered. “I just can’t... It never ends.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Steve whispered and hugged Billy tighter.

The words made Billy just cry even harder. He knew Steve meant what he said. Really meant.

No charade to make him think that maybe this time would be different. No empty promises of never to be hit again. No apologies that led him just to be disappointed by actions.

Steve felt his neck and shoulder get wet. But honestly, he didn’t mind. It was the very first time Billy really opened up - even though not by words - and while Steve still didn’t know what was actually going on, he sure as hell wouldn’t let tears and snot on his skin and shirt spoil the moment. They could be cleaned away.

But he wouldn’t let this wild and wounded animal get spooked and run away. Because at that moment Billy needed him. And it meant the world to Steve. More than he had ever thought it would.

They hugged until Billy’s sobs finally eased. Then Billy let go and pulled himself away. He turned and wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms and his nose to his sleeve.

Steve grabbed a stack of tissues from one of the cupboards and handed them to Billy.

Billy nodded as a thanks and blew his nose to one and taking another to wipe his whole face. “I’m sorry I messed tonight. I didn’t come here for this," he said between hiccups.

“Hey. You don’t have to ever be sorry for that. Not with me.” Steve was quiet for a while, pondering if he should say the words he was thinking out loud. “I don’t know what’s going on. I guess it has something to do with your dad?” He looked at Billy for a while saying nothing. Billy still wouldn’t look at Steve. “This isn’t the first time you come here with a bruise of some kind,” Steve continued. “But you don’t have to tell me. I see that you hurt, and all I wanna do is to... to be there for you." Billy just nodded, trying to ease his hiccups. “You want to drink that beer?” Billy shook his head. Steve took the bottle from the table and put it back into the fridge. “I got Advil. Want one?” After a while Billy nodded. Steve dug the box from a cupboard and handed it to Billy with a glass of water. Billy grimaced as he opened his mouth to eat the tablet he took from the box. He emptied the glass with just a few gulps, and handed it back to Steve. “Wanna watch a movie? Or something?” Steve asked. Billy nodded.

They went to the living room, and sat on the couch, both in the either end. Steve looked at Billy and placed his arm on the backrest. “Hey. Come here.” Billy finally looked at Steve. He had red eyes that pretty much matched the reddening around the bruise on his lip. After a while, he got up and snuggled onto Steve’s side. Steve smiled to himself and wrapped his arm around Billy’s shoulder, placing a kiss on his head.

Billy closed his eyes. A wave of utter relief ran through his whole body. This is where he wanted to stay for forever.

Safe and far away from the rabid wolf he knew would at some point finally eat him alive.

[jack-kellys]

well well well. the writing era continues. SEND A TROPE + CHARACTER!!!