#september fic

[osunism]

Crystalline

Eyes meet, you know where this goes Her keys in, they take off their clothes They're soaking, caught in a dream Her skin shines, like crystalline —The Midnight, "Crystalline"

🪧 Summary: On the night Yuji Itadori consumes Sukuna’s Finger, Satoru finds a familiar face at the epicenter of a shocking discovery. Takes place three months after If. 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️ Be Advised: Explicit sexual situations, recreational drug use, descriptions of violence, blood mention. ❤️‍🔥 Pairing: Satoru x Sundari [🧿👹]

🔏 This is a commissioned fic by the lovely @septembersums. With her permission, I finally get to post this fic so folks can understand how Satoru and his goddess met. September was kind enough to see my vision and bring it to life in her gorgeous writing style as part of my growing Parallax 'verse. She's an absolute joy to work with and talk to and I highly recommend commissioning a fic writer to bring your vision to life! September's AO3 <- Support her work too!

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Fic Masterlist 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 HCs & Meta ⛩️

       Satoru is getting bored. 

         As much as he loves shopping, and he does love shopping, even Satoru has a limit when it comes to how long he can wander between food stalls browsing the options. Although boredom might not be the best word for it. Restlessness, maybe. 

         He’s been idling away the hours while he waits for Megumi to call with news that he’s secured another of Sukuna’s fingers. It’s a difficult job for a first year, considering how cursed spirits tend to flock to the cursed fingers, but Satoru is fairly confident Megumi can handle it.

         If not, Satoru will just teleport there as soon as he senses danger. Simple, easy. In theory, it shouldn’t go wrong. That idea does little to quieten down the sense of unease settling into Satoru. There’s something in the air tonight, something that tastes like intuition, something that feels off.

         Satoru attempts to shake the unnatural anxiety by purchasing some more kikufuku. Sweets usually help when he gets a bad feeling like this, which is a decidedly rare occurrence. Even with his impulsive spending, the feeling persists, and it gets stronger. He considers teleporting himself straight to Sendai to see what’s causing it but ultimately decides against it. He’ll know if something happens. 

         A shiver runs down his spine while he’s standing in front of a food truck that sells crepes, and he knows that his intuition was right. In an instant, he’s standing at the peak of a skyscraper, looking over the city. The wind whips at his loose-fitting clothes and his hair, as he pulls his blindfold down to get a good look at the situation at hand. 

         What he sees makes no sense whatsoever. It raises the fine hair at the back of his neck, makes the skin of his arms prickle with goosebumps. 

         Gaze cast towards Sendai, he sees something there— a ripple of cursed energy that looks like Sukuna, but much smaller and less destructive than one would expect of a freshly incarnated Sukuna. It’s a threat, whatever it is, and there’s no question about that, but it’s nothing compared to the other surge of cursed energy in the distance. 

Sendai is a blip on his radar in comparison to the potential nuclear explosion of cursed energy he sees building in Tokyo.

         A massive, ever-swelling fog of cursed energy covers an entire block, settling over the street like a storm cloud. The longer he looks at it, the bigger it grows. 

         It makes little sense, considering that he knows something significant just happened to one of the cursed fingers in Sendai, but it looks like Sukuna himself just appeared in Tokyo. A fully formed Sukuna with all of his power, decidedly unlike the tiny hints of it he catches when he’s near the fingers. 

         This is the real fucking thing— full-fledged, entirely unregulated, a ticking time bomb of a person who will detonate and kill hundreds of people if they aren’t contained and controlled quickly. 

         “How the fuck is Sukuna in two places at once?” Satoru hisses to himself. Not even Satoru could manage something like that. 

         Two threats, two people that he needs to keep away from the higher-ups and whoever else might be looking for an incarnated Sukuna. One, however, is a much bigger problem than the other. 

         A hypnotic bassline thrums in Sundari's ears, a familiar feeling that she normally loves. Right now, though, it’s too much. Something within her is changing, shifting, pulsating— growing. It feels like she’ll be torn apart by the surge of strength within herself, as she stumbles away from the dancefloor filled with gyrating bodies and into the bathroom. 

         Her breaths are labored, pulse racing, as she nearly doubles over against the wall. She’s drunk, sure, and she’s taken a few party drugs just to keep the night going, but she doesn’t feel right. Something’s fucking wrong, but she doesn’t feel bad. No, she feels good. She feels strong, a lot more so than usual. 

         The bathroom is empty right now, which is a shocker at a rave like this, but she’s thankful for it. Nobody needs to see her like this— panting, as the power within her claws and grips at her insides. It just grows, and grows, and grows. With a rough rasp, she stumbles over to the sink to look at herself in the mirror. 

         It might be the drugs talking, but something about her face doesn’t look right. She blinks a few times at the shifting, moving image reflected back at her.

         The scars underneath her eyes aren’t scars anymore. They’re eyeballs. Four of them. She squints at herself, leaning closer to get a better look.

         She should not have four fucking eyes right now. 

         Sundari has tried a lot of shit, but nothing that’s ever warped her perception like this. The extra eyes blink in tandem with her own, and she can somehow see through them. It’s disorienting, the shift in perspective, but her vision is only getting better as she acclimates to it. 

         “The fuck?” She mumbles, gripping onto the sink for balance.

         The porcelain shatters under her grip, and water floods into the bathroom. She’s always been strong— a good fighter, a damn good fighter. She even makes money off of it on the side, but she shouldn’t be that strong. She needs to get the hell out of here before she breaks something else, or worse. She can’t imagine what would happen if she bumped into someone right now with her newfound superhuman strength.

         She leaves the bathroom in a rush, stumbling at first as she ascends the dark stairwell that leads out of the underground rave and back into the streets of Tokyo. With every step, she miraculously seems to be sobering up. The metal door leading outside warps when she shoves it open. Fuck.

The cool night air feels better than it did inside. She inhales deeply, sighing audibly as she leans against the brick wall behind her.

         “Huh. You’re not Sukuna,” a familiar voice drawls from her left.

         She whips her head around to see who’s talking to her when she’s having the worst trip of her life, only to see a face she knows all too well. The wickedly pretty boy she hunted in the club a few months ago, not someone she expected to see tonight. He’s leaning against the wall next to her with his arms crossed, eyeing her warily. 

         “Nah— Sundari, but I thought you knew that,” she snaps back, a little annoyed to see him again right now of all times. “What are you doing here?” 

         “I do know that, but I didn’t expect to see you here either,” he argues, arms still crossed. “I should’ve known those seals on your back were for something big, but I didn’t think it was this big. Sukuna’s daughter, huh?”

         “The fuck are you talking about?” She asks, temper flaring.

         Maybe it’s the newfound strength she’s gaining, but this cryptic, confusing conversation is wearing on at her nerves. Something fucking big is happening to her— the last thing she needs right now is a weird conversation with a guy she fucked a few months ago. 

         “Come with me to my place, and I’ll explain it all,” he offers casually. “It’s a lot safer there than it is here for you. Lots of people are going to want to get their hands on you with all the power you’re gaining right now, and I promise you— I’m the one you want to end up with.”

         “You don’t know anything about me. Why would I go anywhere with you?” She snaps, pushing off of the wall with a little too much strength behind it. 

         The brick crumbles, leaving a sizable crater.

         Satoru looks between the crater and her eyes, as if that proves his point. 

         “You really want to deal with this without any information about what’s happening? What happens when you shove past a stranger on the street and break half of their bones? Or use your technique by accident and kill off a whole city block?”

         She hisses out a couple curses, weighing her options. Her decision is only really made when a fractal of a memory slams into her subconscious, and she relives it like a dream she’s forgotten. 

         The Godslayer, they called her. A monstrosity falling apart underneath her four hands, as she rips it to shreds. Worship, and her mother’s avoidance. 

         “Fuck,” she hisses. What the fuck was that?

         As far as options go, it’s looking slim right now. She could either trust this guy, or she could do exactly what he said when this keeps happening, and she can’t control her own strength. She doesn’t want to hurt people— not innocent people— not if she can help it.

         “What’s it gonna be, Sundari?” He pressures her.

         “Fine, fuck, let’s go,” she says. 

         He reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it begrudgingly. 

         Missing pieces of Sundari’s life start to come together within the next few days. Satoru explains some things to her, like Sukuna, and how she must be his daughter or something similar to have inherited this power from him. Nadja always kept her father a secret from her, a piece of the past that she never wanted to unearth.

         The memories come back in waves, usually when she sleeps. Little bits and pieces that don’t make sense when separated but start to form a clearer picture when she puts them together. She’s a lot older than she thought she was, given that she was worshiped at some point a very, very long time ago. For a number of years that she can’t begin to quantify, Sundari’s power has been sealed away, locked inside of her and restricted, as she’d lived her life like a normal person.

         Satoru explains that Sukuna was recently incarnated somewhere else, and the seal was broken, which explains why she was suddenly able to break sinks, walls, and doors with her bare hands. The four eyes are hard to get used to, but at least the extra arms haven’t shown up yet.

         Now, she’s here in Satoru’s house, being fiercely guarded day and night like some sort of prisoner. Apparently, she’s in grave danger right now, as if shit wasn’t weird enough without that added layer of stress. Satoru’s the strongest sorcerer, which he told her very arrogantly, and his entire job is killing curses like her father, and possibly like her.

         It’s been tense. Sundari isn’t naive enough to think that she’s entirely safe with Satoru, seeing as he wants to kill her dad because he’s too powerful. Where does that leave Sundari at the end of this? She hates being guarded and coddled like a child, like she’s something that needs to be contained and controlled, rather than a person.

         She’s fucking stressed, and she can’t sleep without these dreams of her long-forgotten past haunting her. She doesn’t necessarily blame Satoru for needing to kill Sukuna— he’s chaos incarnate, he’ll kill thousands of people if he isn’t stopped.

         Somewhere deep inside of herself, Sundari is afraid. She’s afraid that Sukuna’s innate violence is lurking beneath her skin, waiting to come out when she doesn’t expect it. Afraid that if she’s left to her own devices, if she gets angry or upset, she’ll become like him. Her memories and Satoru’s stories do enough to remind her of what her father has done, of what she’s capable of if she doesn’t control herself.

         But she can control herself. She’s not a loose cannon waiting to be muzzled. Satoru might not see it yet, but she can.

         She doesn’t dare mention her feelings to Satoru. Not yet at least. He’s been nice to her while she’s staying here, he didn’t even make a fuss about it when she accidentally broke a door of its hinges trying to open it, but how much can she trust him? Not enough to reveal her deepest, darkest fears, that’s for fucking sure. 

         It takes Sundari a week to gain full control of her own strength. Like an astronaut that’s just come back from Mars, it takes her a while to settle into herself and feel comfortable with her own body’s limitations again. She knows not to push too hard on doors or rip the handles off of the sink.

         Muscle memory from the distant past is kicking in to help her contain her technique. At first, her cursed energy was a serious problem that was only contained by the seals Satoru has around his house. Now, she’s maintaining it herself so well that even Satoru was shocked to see it.

         The issue now is the weird tension between the two of them. Satoru’s helpful, but she can see the hunger in his eyes when he takes off the blindfold. She feels it within herself, too, now that she can focus on it without worrying so much about her own strength. Something unfinished and unspoken, leftover from the last time they were together. It was a good night, he was a good fuck, and that was supposed to be the end of it.

         Now, they’re living together, and despite the domesticity of that, she still can’t trust him. So, like any reasonable person, she comes up with an idea of how their get over the uncanny tension, or at least make it bearable.

         “Do you have any weed around here?” She asks, as they’re sitting on the couch together, silently watching some movie she’s not paying attention to.

         Satoru turns his head slowly to look at her, intrigue written on his features. God, he’s pretty. A little too fucking pretty— it makes sense that he’s as powerful as her, given that he looks like that.

“I could get some,” he answers nonchalantly.

         Sundari smiles, and maybe they’ll work out their differences after all. Even now, she struggles to be wary of him, he’s so smooth with his words. He matches her wit with ease and returns it just the same. They’re too similar— a little arrogant, both of them, but she doesn’t see it as a bad thing. She sees it as a challenge.

         Satoru does come back with some weed a few minutes later, and she struggles to watch him roll a joint— he’s good at everything, apparently, but not that.

         “God, you’re bad at that. Let me do it,” she says, frowning as she takes the half-rolled, uneven thing out of his hands.

         “I was getting there,” he pouts, rolling his eyes.

         “You really weren’t,” she teases, which draws a smirk out of him. He likes it when she talks back, she’s realized.

         Satoru watches with a catlike grin, as she fixes it for him. Her eyes lock with his as she runs her tongue over the smooth paper, before flattening it down to make a perfectly cylindrical joint. His eyes flicker between her lips and her own when she presses it between her lips and leans toward him, waiting for a light.

         He lights it, and she feels a thousand times better as soon as she inhales. Something to calm the nerves a little bit, it helps a lot, and he has money and connections enough to get some good shit.

         Maybe it’s a little too good, actually. They’re both on the moon talking about nothing, passing it between each other and laughing at each other’s jokes. He’s funny, she thinks, as she’s looking at him. The nerve of him to be hot and funny. He’s trying to explain his technique to her, but she’s lost before he gets half of it out.

         “Bet I could take you,” she says, relaxing with her head in her palm, as she sits a little closer to him than she realizes.

         “In a fight?” He asks, teasing and a little flirtatious.

         She grins. “Yeah, in a fight.”

         “Bet you couldn’t,” he argues.

         She’s not one to lose fights, and she tells him about it. The Yakuza pays her good money to fight in underground rings, and they wouldn’t hedge their bets on her if she lost. Satoru counters it by telling her that he’s never lost a fight— maybe for a second or two, but he always comes out on top.

         “Really? Last time I saw you, you didn’t end up on top at all,” she teases him, remembering the way she made him beg to fuck her.

         “That was an ambush,” he says. “You just caught me off guard. Won’t happen again, trust me.”

         “Yeah? We’ll see about that, Satoru. I’m disappointed you didn’t actually knock my IUD loose if you’re that strong.”

         “We can always try again.” 

         Satoru is a fucking flirt, a huge one, and she’s starting to like it. Maybe it’s a little Stockholm Syndrome, because they’ve been living together for weeks now, but she’s starting to actually like him. Before, they could’ve fucked again and went their separate ways, and that would be all there is to it.

         But now…

         Now, she doesn’t know. It’s just so easy to fall into a routine with him, to forget the situation and enjoy hanging out with him, despite the looming threat that he might try to kill her someday if she ever loses control.

        There’s chemistry between the two of them, chemistry that’s growing and changing with every day that they spend together. She’s never been one to fall in love or get attached for long, always too ready to move onto the next thing to get caught up in feelings.

         But all of these little moments between them during their time together are adding up, piling on top of each other, until whatever it is between them feels like more. His hand on the small of her back when he passes by her, a gentle touch here and there when she starts to spiral, even a hug one time.

         He says “Morning, beautiful” when she’s just rolled out of bed, curls sticking up in every direction and a sour look on her face. Always with a sarcastic drawl and a shit-eating grin on his face.

         She usually just rolls her eyes about it, but maybe she likes it a little. And he’s funny— the fucking nerve of him to look like that and be funny. She’s never met a man that can make her laugh like he does.

         The way he looks at her now— it’s more than fleeting affection. His gaze is lovestruck. She never thought the icy blue color of his eyes could look so warm. She misses him when he’s gone, and he always gives her the biggest grin when he comes back. Mutual attraction has blossomed and thickened. It’s been weeks of this now, and they’re unlikely friends. 

         They give each other shit when neither of them can seem to say something nice, but when she looks at him, her insides feel tight, like she can’t breathe. She can tell he feels it, too, by the way that he always wants to be close to her. He’ll make any excuse to sit next to her, to put his arm around the back of the couch when they’re smoking together, which has become a little bit of a ritual now. It makes it easier to forget their circumstances and just talk, which they somehow end up doing for hours.

         He always says how much he likes her curls, how much he likes the look on her face when she gets a wicked idea, her smart mouth and her attitude. He likes the way she dances, likes the way her body moves when she’s drunk, and the music is loud.

         She sees the way he looks at her, sees the way he takes care of her when she’s struggling with the memories that won’t leave her alone. They’re coming back thicker now, heavier than they were before. She feels haunted by it all, haunted by the life that she’s lived in complete ignorance to what she really is.

         More than anything, she’s haunted by her father. Sukuna, the worst human-turned-curse that has ever existed, at least in Japan. Why did her mother fall for him? For a fucking monster? And where does that leave Sundari?

         She knows herself; she knows that she can be destructive, she can be cruel. There’s an ache inside of her that longs for violence, an itch that she used to scratch with cage-fights and beating the living fuck out of men who abused sex workers, in her past life. She knows now that even if her causes were righteous and good, she enjoyed it.

         The blood, the violence, the chance to unleash the demon within herself that she knows is there. It’s just beneath her skin.

         In a moment of self-collapse, she tells Satoru the truth.

         “I never wanted to be his daughter,” she says, curled in on herself in her vulnerability, knees pressed to her chest. “I do my fucking best to not be destructive like he is, but everyone— your higher-ups, whoever the fuck else, they’ll only ever see me for these.”

         She gestures to the thick bands of black ink around her wrists.

         “I’ll never be free from people who want to control me for it. I can’t even fucking hide them like he can,” she mutters, frustrated and angry. “And even if I like you, I can’t stay here forever, so what do we do when this is over?”

         “You could work with me,” Satoru offers quietly from where he sits beside her.

         He doesn’t invade her space; he knows that she wouldn’t want him to right now. Instead, he sits with her, and he listens. Patiently, quietly— he doesn’t talk over her, he doesn’t give her solutions unless she asks for them. He’s kind to her, gentle with her when he can tell that she needs it.

         She has no fucking clue what to do with that.

         “And everyone we work with will only ever see me as a monster,” she answers, shaking her head.

         “Maybe, but you don’t have to prove them right,” he says. “You’re nothing like him, Sundari. I’ve talked to him, I’ve seen him. You’re less destructive than you think you are, and you make an effort to be good, to do the right thing. That’s what matters, that’s what makes the two of you so different. He wants violence, you want to control yourself and do the right thing.”

         “Does it matter? Will anyone other than you ever believe me?”

         She looks at the tattoos and despises them, wishes she could scrub them from her skin. This isn’t what she’s ever wanted to be. It wasn’t ever her choice, but the world will treat her like it was.

         “They will if you prove them wrong,” he says.

         A moment of silence lapses between the two of them, as they sit together in the living room, quiet and ruminating. Sundari’s frustration feels like fire in her veins. Even now, she’s struggling to contain everything within her. Her body isn’t big enough to fit all of this power inside it without an outlet.

         “What if we tested it out?” She asks, looking up at him, an idea on the tip of her tongue. “Just a little fight between the two of us— let me see if I can control it without breaking everything and losing control.”

         Satoru’s lips curve up into a hint of a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

         She realizes that she’s falling for him in that moment, that all of this forced cohabitation has become something more to her, something that tastes like love on her tongue, even when she can’t bring herself to say it.

         Instead, she says, “Okay. Just don’t cry about it too much when I win.”

         “Ha, I could say the same to you,” he answers, and she knows his words taste like love, too. 

         It’s a friendly fight, Satoru reminds himself, as Sundari lunges for him again. She’s fast— faster than he imagined she would be, and she’s good. Resilient, too. She doesn’t wear down easily— her cursed energy is still thrumming through the air after half an hour of hand-to-hand combat.

         Her fighting style is unique, foreign to Satoru. She wasn’t trained in Japan, that much is clear, based on the way that she moves. The hand signs that she uses when she activates her technique against his are ones he’s never seen before.

         It wears him down to keep up with her unfamiliar movements. If he were anyone else, he’d have lost this fight half an hour ago due to the way she continues to periodically drain his cursed energy.

         But Satoru isn’t just anybody. His reserves are infinite, and he can tell that she’s realizing that, based on the scowl she’s sporting.

         “C’mon, Sundari— stop holding back,” he taunts her, after barely dodging one of her well-timed punches. She’s strong.

And she looks fucking good with a thin sheen of sweat on her skin, whipping around to dodge when he teleports behind her and aims a blow to the middle of her back. She almost blocks it, but he’s quicker than even her eyes can track. It lands, a punch straight to the chest, which sends her flying backwards into a tree.

         That should be the end of it, he thinks, when she gets back up with a wild, feral smile on her face. A little bit of blood trickles down from her lip, and for some god-forsaken reason, his pants feel a little tighter. She lunges for him again, and again. It’s a miss, but she manages to put him on the defensive again. He lifts up into the air to avoid a kick, and she drags him back down, which he counters with an elbow.

         “Stop fucking running if you think I’m holding back,” she taunts him in turn, before he sends her flying off out of view for a split second.

         He thinks that surely another hit like that will make her surrender. God, they’ve been at it all morning. His pulse is racing— he’s never fought anyone as strong as she is. It’s a fucking rush. The blood in his body doesn’t know if it should focus on his brain or his dick. Sundari fights like a warrior, like a goddess.

         She emerges from the tree line with two extra arms extending from her shoulder blades. She rolls them out, unphased at the changes to her body. There’s an extra mouth on her exposed stomach with sharp teeth, grinning at him with the same expression as the one on her face.

         His blood is definitely headed to his dick. That is a goddess. A vengeful, wild goddess. Her curls have come undone, fanning out around her beautifully, while she practically glows with cursed energy. Satoru has wanted her for weeks now, he’s wanted her since he first saw her again, but right now? Satoru needs her.

         He needs to see his goddess sprawled out beneath him, hot and sweaty and snapping at him with her sharp teeth, crying out for more as he fucks her. He wants to feel all four of her arms on him, pulling him in closer, he wants the extra mouth to lick him while his tongue is down her throat.

         She’s on him before he can blink, and this time— he doesn’t hold back.

         The blows shared between them are so rapid, neither has time to think. The sounds of skin meeting skin with dull thuds and their heavy, panting breaths are the only noises to be heard. He can barely regenerate his cursed energy at the same speed that she withers it away, and he realizes distantly that he might have never felt as alive before.

         One failed movement, and he’s on top of her. His own goddess is hissing out curses underneath him, struggling against his strength as he pins her down to the dewy, wet grass beneath them.

         “Yield,” he demands, voice low and breathless.

         “Fuck you,” she spits back, locking her legs around his waist to try and flip him. He doesn’t budge, not this time. There’s only one thing on his mind.

         “Yield, Sundari,” he says again, this time with a coaxing warmth.

         All four of her eyes are wide, pupils dilated to the point that her garnet eyes look black. She still struggles against him, but she’s slowing down, realizing how close they are. Very close, at that. Satoru’s on top of her with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressed against her at every intimate junction with his fingers fastened around two of her wrists.

         Her other arms have receded back into her, given the position they’re in and the shift of the mood.

         “I said fuck you,” she repeats herself, quieter this time, as her eyes flit between his own and his lips. “I’m not yielding.”

         “You sure?” He murmurs, as his nose brushes hers. “You look like it. You look like you want to.”

That reignites some of her flame, but she pours it into a different approach this time. Always one to move first, she leans up to crash her lips into his. Satoru returns it with even more ferocity, tongue sweeping between her teeth as he presses her down into the grass, groaning against her lips.

         It’s frantic, feverish, the way that she’s tugging at his clothes, and he’s tugging at hers. His cock throbs against the confines of his briefs, as he’s yanking her athletic shorts down her legs and moving his attention to her neck. She nearly growls when he sinks his teeth into her skin, sucking a bruise into the side of her neck.

         She meant it when she said she wasn’t submitting to him, he realizes, as she flips them over with the practiced ease of a fighter, situating herself on top of him. Her hand slips underneath his shirt, desperate for touch and seeking more, more, more of it.

         “Ready to start begging again, Satoru? You did it so well last time,” She purrs, grinning wickedly, as she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone, eager to slip lower.

         “Ha, in your fucking dreams,” he says, before slamming her onto her back.

         She gasps, but he knows she can take it. He’s been fighting with her for an hour and tossed her into more than a few tree trunks, she can handle it. If the wide-eyed look on her face is any indication, she likes it. One hand around her throat, he slips the other down her body and between her thighs to feel her wetness. And god, she’s soaking.

         Circling her clit with his fingertips, he smiles down at her and knows that he looks just as feral as she does. She writhes underneath him, back arching.

         “You got me once, baby. I’ll give you that,” he admits breathlessly, slipping two fingers inside to draw out a strangled moan. “But this time, you’re gonna fucking beg for it. You’re going to tell me how bad you want me to fuck you, and I’ll think about it if you ask nice enough.”

         “You—You’re a fucking dick,” she says, but it’s hard to talk when she’s moaning. “Not begging, not doing it.”

         “Yeah?”

         He knows how she likes it; he remembers her body well. Her pussy sucks in his fingers greedily, as he wraps a hand around her throat and squeezes.

         “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs reverently, honestly. “You’re such a brat too, but you’re gonna take it so good for me, aren’t you? Telling me what a fucking dick I am, while you’re this wet for me?”

         “Fuck you,” she says, but it’s a whine more than anything.

         She’s getting close, he can tell. The adrenaline still pumping through her veins makes it easier to get close without him having to work for it. He’ll edge her time and time again until she’s a mess, slick and wet and crying for him. He traces the tattoos along her chest with his fingertips when he finally releases her throat, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers. Her walls constrict around his fingers, but he retreats before she can cum.

         One, two, three times. He brings her to the edge until she’s all but snapping at him, hissing out curses and whines.

         “Say please, Sundari,” he murmurs, low and taunting. “Say please, and I’ll make you cum. I’ll make you cum so hard— I know you want it, you’re so wet for me.”

         “Fuck— Fuck,” she mewls, rocking her hips against his fingers, as if he’ll let her cum. “Please— Please? Please, Satoru,” she finally relents.

         “Good fucking girl,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her, as he finally lets her stumble over the edge. “So fucking good for me,” he coos against her lips, as she spasms beneath him, whining and humping his fingers through her orgasm.

         The shockwaves of it barely have time to end before he’s slipping his cock into her warmth, hissing out a breath at the way she sucks him in. So wet, and so tight. He can’t help himself, can’t wait a second for her to adjust to his length, he sets a brutal pace in fucking her.

         “So fucking good,” he growls against her lips, biting her lower one until he can taste her blood. “That’s it— fucking take it, take all of it.”

         He maneuvers her over onto all fours, pressing a hand down to the apex of her spine to force her into a severe arch, as she moans incoherently beneath him. The sound of his hips flush against her ass makes him bite his lip, muscles tensing and flexing involuntarily as he tries to hold back from finishing inside her. She’s about to cum, he can tell, but not without permission.

         “Beg for it, tell me how much you fucking want it,” he demands, moving to cover her body with his own, murmuring in her ear. “Know you want it; know you want me to fill up your pussy— don’t you?”

         “Yes— yes— please,” she whines, and Satoru’s ego swells to new heights upon seeing this goddess falling apart underneath him.

         “That’s it, just like that— don’t stop— tell me how much you fucking need it,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, tugging her earlobe between his teeth.

         And she does— she begs beautifully, knees buckling as she trembles through another orgasm. Satoru chases her down to the ground, slamming himself into her over and over again until his entire body seizes up with pleasure. He bites down hard on her shoulder when he comes, filling her up with every drop of his cum.

         The two of them stay like that for a while to catch their breath, still half-clothed and panting against each other in the crater they just fucked into the earth.

         “Still a dick,” she reminds him, which draws a chuckle out of him.

         “You yielded, didn’t you?” He says arrogantly, kissing the nape of her neck as he pulls off of her.

         “You’re hearing things,” she says, sitting up to readjust her top. “I never surrendered to you, and I never will. At least, not in a fight.” She winks at him, and he smiles back at her.

         Fuck, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with her.

         Later that night after a shower and some food, Sundari sleeps in Satoru’s bed for the first time. It feels natural, after all they’ve done. They fucked again after that— inside, this time, rather than outside in the wet grass. Neither of them broached the topic of feelings, but they both know it’s there. Something intangible but real settling between the two of them.

         After such a long day, she falls asleep almost immediately, only to be plagued by dreams again.

         This one, however, is different from the rest.

         She’s standing in her hometown, far from Japan and Satoru and everything else. Back in her old life, where she was The Godslayer, dressed in the trappings of a demigoddess worshiped by her people. This isn’t uncommon in her dreams, but she has an unexpected visitor in this one.

         A monk, it seems. His hair is black and long, silky as he moves toward her with a deceptively serene smile on his face. Stitches sit on his forehead, which draws her attention and makes her wary.

         “Sundari,” he says. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Gojo Satoru has made it exceedingly difficult to reach you in the past few months.”

         Immediately, she’s suspicious. Whoever this monk is, she doesn’t like the energy he emanates. She doesn’t like the look on his face— so calm, so unbothered, he must be hiding something.

         “And what do you want?” She asks, straight to the point.

         He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want something from her. Satoru warned her that the higher-ups of the jujutsu society might not be the only people that are looking for her. This monk strikes familiarity somewhere within her, as if she’s seen him before but can’t remember it for some reason.

         “Still as blunt as ever, I see,” he says, sitting next to her. “I have a proposition for you.”

         “Of course you do.”

         “Sukuna has returned, as has your power,” he says. “Do you know why you were sealed?”

         She grits her teeth, unwilling to answer. He knows something that she doesn’t, but she’s not naive enough to be tempted by whatever he’s offering until she knows what he wants in exchange for it.

         “I’ll take that as a no,” he says in her silence. “There are so many mysteries surrounding you, most of which are unknown even to you. Your father, who he is and how you came to be. The seals on your back, an entire life lived that you can only remember bits and pieces of.”

         She thinks of her mother in that moment. Nadja would know, she’s certain. The monk has piqued her curiosity— of course she wants to know who she was before her memories disappeared, and of course she wants to know about her father, even if she’d never admit it aloud.

         If she had to ask anyone, it would be her mom.

         Seemingly reading her mind, the monk laughs. “Nadja thinks of you as a child, even after all these years. She’d never tell you anything.”

         “And I’m guessing you can,” she says, annoyed at this long-winded speech.

         “Correct,” he agrees. “I can reveal it all to you, shed light on every shadow in your life. I’ve watched you closely since you were born, Sundari. I even helped to put those seals on your back after you slaughtered that town.”

         Sundari’s eyes grow wide, horrified at the implication.

         “What do you want?” She demands again.

         “I want your cooperation in the coming days,” he offers nonchalantly. “Sukuna will regain his full power sooner rather than later, and he’ll fight alongside me in an… event that I’m planning. You could meet him for yourself, let him tell you about his relationship with Nadja, and I could fill in all of those blank spots that you can’t stop obsessing over.” 

         “So, you want to have control over me when you do something big and fucked up in the future,” she says with an eyeroll. “Got it.”

         She seemingly cannot stop running into people that want to control her or collar her. Even Satoru isn’t immune to that. As much as she likes to live in the fantasy of their relationship, she knows that his goal at the end of this is to contain her. In that way, he’s not so different to the monk.

         “I want to work with you,” he corrects her. “In exchange, you’ll know everything, including your father. I know you’re not interested now, you think you have other options, so I’ll give you time. When you realize that I’m the only source for uncovering the mysteries your mother keeps from you, I’ll find you. Until then, Sundari.”

         He presses a hand to her shoulder, a way of saying goodbye, and she wakes with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in the bed.

         Satoru is awake in an instant, eyeing her warily in the darkness. 

         “Nightmare?” He asks groggily. 

         For a moment, she considers keeping it to herself, just in case. Deep inside, she knows that even if Satoru likes her— even if he loves her— his ultimate goal is not so different to the monk. He wants to control her; he wants her freedom. She’s given it to him by agreeing to stay here willingly for so long, why should she offer up more of herself to someone who will use her like a pawn? 

         They all do. That’s all she is to them. Whether it’s the monk, or Satoru, or the higher-ups, or her mother— they want to own her, to contain her. They want her collared and docile, so that she doesn’t self-destruct and take the world down with her, like Sukuna. 

         “What do you want out of this?” She asks, defensive and guarded. 

         Satoru sits up, shaking his head at her. “What do you mean?” 

         “What do you want from this? From me? What’s your goal?” 

         “To protect you,” he says. “I’ve told you that from the beginning—” 

         “No— you know I don’t need protecting. What is it? Is it just control?” 

         No one has ever protected Sundari, nor have they ever needed to. She’s been on her own, and she’s been fine that way. If anything, she’s always been the protector, the savior, the one who helps when things go to shit, and someone needs muscle to deal with it. 

         “Control?” He asks, huffing out a laugh. “Is that what you think this is?” 

         “What should I think? Why else would you keep me here?” 

         He scoffs. “I don’t know what you saw in that dream, but the past month you’ve been here, the only thing I’ve done is protect you. The higher-ups want you dead, god knows who else wants you dead— I keep them away from you,” he says, unwavering. “I just want to keep you safe, to make sure that no one wants to use you for their own gain.” 

         “So that you can use me instead, right? At the end of this? I’m powerful, so you need to contain me, collar me, make sure I don’t fuck you over—” 

         “Sundari,” he says sharply, cutting her off. “Do you think I could control you, even if I wanted to? If you wanted to leave here right now and go be a force of fucking nature, do you think I could stop you?” 

         She stares at him, unsure of her answer. Could he? 

         “You’re not a pawn to me, you are not something I need to keep under my thumb,” he continues. “You’re an equal to me,” he admits softly. “In every way, I see you as an equal, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to keep you away from people who won’t see you that way.” 

         “Why?” She murmurs, uncharacteristically soft and fragile. 

         “I love you,” he says. “I— I don’t know if it’s too soon, or— fuck, I don’t know, but I do. I love you, love the way you laugh, love your bad attitude, love the way you fuss and fight with me. I want to be with you— I don’t want to take your freedom, I want to work alongside you, just– I want to be near you,” he murmurs. 

         “You love me?” She mumbles, leaning closer. 

         “I love you,” he repeats, placing a hand on her cheek. His eyes scan along her face for any reaction. “That’s all there is. I don’t care what you are, or what other people think you are, I just want to keep you safe.” 

         Maybe she can believe him, if only for right now. The monk’s offer is still on the table, still a temptation that she’ll have to grapple with, but this is real. She’s never been looked after before like this, she’s never had anyone feel the need to protect her, to keep her safe. She’s always been strong— when has there ever been the need for it?

         But Satoru is strong, too, and she understands the way he feels. She wants to protect him, too, whatever the cost may be. If anything happened to him, she’d lose her fucking mind, she’d destroy everything in her path. 

         “Okay— Okay. I’ll work with you,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to his. A little grin creeps up on her face. “Under the condition that I want strong opponents— I want to fight people that are worth it.” 

         “Done,” he says, smiling back at her. “Are you okay?” 

         “Yeah,” she breathes. “I— I love you. It might be too soon, but–” 

         He kisses her before she can say another word, and for the time-being, they’re happy. 

Writing © 2024 @septembersums and posted with permission. Sundari Hikmat © 2024 @osunism. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging original posts is okay]. This includes my masterlist and fic format as well as feeding my writing to an AI garbage machine. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title and footer banners by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe can’t always be mean to his delicate flower, can he?

18+ mdni!

c/w: fluff with a little bit of angst in the beginning, older!rafe feeding sensitive!reader pasta & being v suggestive, slight subspace, smut: oral (f receiving), overstimulation & use of daddy

wc: 2k

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sock-covered feet pad along the hardwood floors when she finally hears the lock of the front door turning. Rafe’s home later than usual— a fact she’s entirely too aware of since she’s been impatiently waiting for him to return ever since he left her this morning without so much as a goodbye.  

Usually, she’d stir awake to him smearing kisses all over her face and mumbling sweetened words about how much he’s going to miss her during his meetings— sometimes even wake her up with his cock prodding at her entrance before fucking her all sleepy and sloppy until she’s a sobbing mess.  

However, she assumes he was still mad at her because she forgot to let him know she was going out for drinks after her lecture before her battery had died. Therefore, she hadn’t received his several calls or the texts filled with concern and only a few hours later, did she remember that she’d never actually sent the message regarding her whereabouts. 

When he came to pick her up after she’d borrowed her friend’s phone in order to reach him, he was clearly displeased; merely muttering out a “ask you to do one thing and you can’t even do that. You know how fuckin’ worried I was?” and crudely telling her to go sleep in the guest room because “daddy doesn’t feel like dealing with your shit tonight”, which had resulted in wet droplets surfacing to her waterline while she kept apologizing over and over again, but to no avail.  

In the morning, she’d woken up to a tear-stained pillowcase and a headache. And when she tiptoed over to the bathroom, she realized that the entire house was desolate; he hadn’t even left a note.  

Therefore, she’s not exactly sure how to approach him, hesitant in her movements before she sees him in front of her in all his glory.  

“Hi,” her voice is quiet, but her forlorn face lights up nonetheless.

Rafe is in the process of mindlessly kicking off his shoes when he looks up; a tired smile tugging at his lips when she practically tumbles into his arms in a greeting. 

“Missed you,” she mumbles against his crisp button up when he rests his big hands on her hips in an attempt to steady her.  

“Missed you too,” he murmurs into her hair. “Got you something,” he reluctantly pulls away in order to present her with a bouquet of pink lilies; her favorites. 

“What’s this for?” her moony eyes stare up at him in bewilderment. 

“Drove past a flower shop…guess they made me think of you,” he admits, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek; confusing her to no end. 

“But I thought—” she utters out, hesitant to take the flowers she feels unworthy of.  

“That I was mad at you?”  

She nods, looking up at him with guilt swimming in her eyes. 

He lets out a sigh. 

“Listen, I was, uh, maybe a little too harsh on you last night, okay? I know how forgetful you can be. Was just worried when you weren’t home and didn’t answer your phone until hours later. Thought something happened, you know?” he explains with a calmness that placates her racing mind as she accepts his gift.  

“I know, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, promise. Texted you today the second I was home, right?”  

“You did,” he confirms as he peels off his suit jacket before sniffing the air. “Smells good, what’re you making?”  

“Oh, I made you dinner,” she says bashfully, almost as if waiting for his approval. 

“You did? All by yourself?” his brows climb his forehead in surprise.  

She nods, a soft smile on her lips before he’s ushering her towards the kitchen and plucking a glass vase from the top shelf for her.

Usually, he’s the one cooking for them since she’s not greatest in the kitchen, always so tired after studying the whole day, she’d probably forget the stove on and cause some sort of a fire due to her absentminded nature. Therefore, he prefers to prepare his girl a nurturing meal whenever he doesn’t have to work late.  

“How was uni today?” he asks as she sets the now flower-filled vase on their dining table. 

“A lot. Was kinda stressed the whole day cause I have so much homework and reading to do, don’t know how I’m supposed to have time for all of it. And then have this group project and the deadline for this essay approaching and…I don’t think my brain works anymore,” she sighs out when she peers down at the steaming bowl of spaghetti Bolognese he places on the counter.  

“Good thing you don’t need to worry that head of yours over anything with me. Let daddy do the thinking for you, yeah?” Rafe’s voice is as smooth as honey, causing her to blink up at him— something cottony dusting over her mind in response to his sugary cadence.  

Strong arms lift her up and place her on the marble countertop before he settles right between her thighs, like a puzzle piece she’s been missing the entire day; tall frame hovering over her even as she’s practically perched on a pedestal.  

Then, he’s picking up the plate in the most casual manner and contently shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth before groaning in satisfaction.  

“Shit, this is amazing,” he praises around the mouthful.  

She mumbles out a flustered thank you, her thoughts all over the place since she thought he’d still be mad, but then suddenly he’s not. In fact, he’s seemingly in a great mood.  

“Did you eat yet?” 

“No, was, um…waiting for you. Didn’t wanna eat alone,” her volume is nearly inaudible.

He stops chewing.  

“Waiting for me, huh?” he rasps out before he’s lifting the fork closer to her mouth.  

She looks up at him, puzzled.  

“Open,” he orders and she has no choice but to obey— let him feed her because truthfully, whenever she’s around him she gets a little dumb; can’t really focus on anything except his low drawl and gemstone eyes.  

“Good, right?” 

She hums her agreement around the bite, barely registering that some of the tomato sauce stains her chin in the process.  

“Always so messy, huh?” he tuts disapprovingly, even if he’s the one holding the fork.  

However, before her mushy brain has the time to even comprehend what he’s doing, he’s laving the flat of his tongue under her mouth; cleaning it up for her.  

“There we go,” he murmurs as he rubs a thumb over the spot for good measure.  

She swallows.  

“Want some water?” he asks and she nods, all of a sudden unable to utter out words.

Then, he’s tipping a glass of ice-cold water to her lips, carefully watching her gulp down the liquid before he decides she’s had enough— withdrawing the cup in order to drink some of it himself.   

He continues feeding her every other bite and making casual conversation, all the while she feels herself softly slipping into a very specific headspace. And before she realizes, he’s placing the empty dish in the sink with a slight clatter; their bellies full and happy.   

She doesn’t think she wants to eat by herself ever again. 

Then, her foggy mind registers him in front of her again as he pulls her closer— warm palms slipping under her top and his thumbs idly smoothing over her tummy while she quietly stares at him with hearts for eyes.

“You put this tiny thing on just for me, hm?” he questions as his eyes drop down to her cleavage; the pale pink lace doing a very poor job of concealing what’s underneath since she’s forgone a bra (and pants), as she usually does whenever she’s merely loitering around their home. 

“Look so pretty in this,” his dreamy voice rumbles as he swipes a thumb over a covered nipple, causing her to let out a faint gasp at the sudden contact. 

“Ray…” she hums out while he keeps rubbing over the squishy part of her body he knows gets her buzzing.

“Hm? You feelin’ floaty already?” he asks with a gentle cadence. And she’s not sure how he always seems to know just the right words to say in order to turn her into clay.  

“Yeah, missed you so much,” her hazy eyes flicker over his face while he simply gazes at her, before he’s smearing his mouth on hers.  

There’s something hungry, primal in the way he groans against her lips— causing a whimper to escape her throat in response. 

Then, all of a sudden, he’s lifting her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing more than a single paperclip; making her squeak out a sound of surprise when he jokingly smacks her ass while walking out of the room before throwing her on the bed.  

“Let daddy say hi to his favorite girl, yeah?” he coaxes her before he’s prying her thighs apart and nuzzling his face into her cunt through the material of her panties; nose bumping against her clit, making her shift closer to him.

“Missed my pussy so much, you know? Wanted to fuck you nice ’n slow last night but you never came home.”  

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she can’t help but whimper out when his warm tongue licks over the already dampening fabric of her underwear.  

“Yeah? You gon’ make it up to me? Let me eat you ’till I forgive you?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want,” she blabbers, a whine leaving her vocal cords when he plucks the soaked through material to the side and blows on her sensitive cunt.  

“Shit, you’re so wet already,” he says in awe, letting spit drip down his tongue and onto her folds anyway. Then, he’s wrapping his lips around her clit, making her cry out because she can already feel her orgasm lingering underneath the surface. 

“Need to come, can I? Please m’gonna— ” she says, almost in a trance; already so wound up. And the way he’s practically torturing her achy button with his mouth isn’t really helping. 

After he’s hummed his agreement, she’s not able to hold it in any longer— his tongue poking at her opening when the knot in her belly unfolds. She’s shaking, thighs yearning to close, if not for his strong arms holding them open as he groans around her, seemingly lost in a daze with her taste and smell practically suffocating him.

Since he knows how insatiable she tends to be, he refuses to pull away from between her thighs. And two more orgasms later, she’s a whimpering muddle; desperately trying to drag her hips away from his unrelenting hold. However, he’s entirely too strong and she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Ray, s’too much, need a break—” she complains, eyes beginning to turn watery in response to the overwhelming pressure.

However, despite her protests, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he begins to mess with her entirely too sensitive clit with his fingers now— pressing and pulling and making her whine as tears trickle down her cheeks and she tries to fruitlessly wiggle away from him once more.   

“Nah, you’re good. You forgot daddy does the thinking for you now, hm? And he wants you to give him a few more, think you can do that?” he mumbles against her sticky folds, stuffing the tip of his tongue into her weepy hole as an effort to persuade her.

“I don’t know if I can—” 

“Shh, jus’ wanna make you feel nice, you don’t want me to?” he feigns hurt when he lifts up his head, beginning to mouth over the soft skin of her inner thighs to pacify her; his slight stubble tickling her in the process and making her twitch.

“No, I do, I do…”  

“Then quit whinin’ and let me take care of you, hm? Show you how much I love you,” he coaxes her to give in. And when he puts it like that, she thinks it does sound rather romantic…

[hidden-for-reg]

September 9: carry | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 190

“Jamie, pleeeease.”

“Reg…”

“I’ll break up with you if you don’t.”

“Reg!”

“James, I might die.”

James’ laugh almost bubbled over and spilled out, but he held it in stoically. Regulus would kill him for laughing at him right now.

Regulus gave James a death stare so intense others might have cried from. Not James though. James merely smiled and finally relented.

“Okay, yes, I’ll carry you for a bit,” James told his boyfriend, who had been dragging his feet through the amusement park for the last hour. 

“Finally,” Regulus groaned, hopping up on James’ back and swinging his legs to circle James’ waist.

James caught him and squeezed his thighs lightly. He loved carrying him around like this. And he knew Regulus liked to be carried. So it worked out pretty well for them.

“So which ride did you want to go on next, love?” James asked.

“The one with the snakes,” his boyfriend answered sweetly, angry tone completely evaporated now that he’d gotten his wish.

“That one’s on the other side of the park…” James said slowly.

“I know.”

God, James loved that man. Truly. Bless his soul.

[elixirfromthestars]

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance. 

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come. 

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him. 

There was no denying he most certainly had been. 

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors. 

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.  

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself. 

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it. 

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you. 

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight. 

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you. 

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways. 

Not that you would object if it did. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much. 

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky. 

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time. 

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account. 

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night. 

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you. 

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions. 

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help. 

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you. 

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for. 

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to. 

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad. 

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him. 

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse. 

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend. 

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is. 

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you. 

Bucky does not look pleased. 

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?” 

“Like in the way only I should be.” 

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down. 

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go. 

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never. 

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation. 

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to.  He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it. 

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine. 

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it. 

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two. 

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.  

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came. 

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch. 

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from. 

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor. 

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today. 

 “That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial. 

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial. 

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace. 

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club. 

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body. 

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood. 

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room. 

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more. 

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky. 

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of. 

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else. 

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him. 

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends. 

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache. 

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out. 

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you. 

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you. There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you stare at him, Bucky’s heart racing at the sight of it.

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of. 

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control. 

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness. 

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?” 

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor. 

The throbbing between your legs agrees. 

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you. 

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway. 

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded. 

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two. 

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch. 

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension. 

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.  

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall. 

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute. 

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding. 

“Are they hurting you?” 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake. 

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?” 

“Much.” 

“Good.” 

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh. 

You honestly forget how to breathe. 

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him. 

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other. 

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh. 

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck. 

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties. 

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip. 

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness. 

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left. 

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it. 

 “Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more. 

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy. 

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you. 

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble. 

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours? 

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you. 

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact. 

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams. 

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support. 

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more. 

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves. 

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done. 

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.  

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.” 

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release. 

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom. 

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth. 

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.  

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features. 

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—” 

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders. 

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged. 

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it. 

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet. 

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him? 

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent. 

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant. 

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them. 

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again. 

You were in the same boat. 

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in. 

[steveseddie]

full circle

steddie | rating: t | wc: 3,8k | cw: mention of throwing up | tags: pre-season 4, different first meetings, eddie is afraid of heights, steve is a sweetheart, holding hands, first kiss

for week one of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “facing your fears” 

read on ao3 here

Jeff and Gareth stumble out of the Ferris Wheel and Eddie snorts out a laugh.  

Jeff is struggling to keep them both upright as Gareth leans all of his weight on him, his face alarmingly green. Jeff manages to get them to the picnic table where Eddie is sitting without Gareth barfing but when he plops down next to Eddie he scoots away, putting some distance between them just in case. 

“Shouldn’t’ve gone on the Ferris Wheel after swallowing three fucking corn dogs, Gare,” Eddie sniggers, taking a drag of the cig he’d been smoking while his two friends were spinning fifty feet from the ground. 

“Don’t-” Gareth mumbles, cutting himself off with a gagging sound that makes Eddie sit on top of the table just to put more space between them. “Don’t mention corn dogs. Or food,” he finishes meekly, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands.  

Jeff gives him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s your fault, man,” he tells Eddie, who gasps, affronted by the accusation. “If you didn’t fuck off to go take a piss then Gareth wouldn’t’ve had to go on it with me.” 

Eddie shrugs, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Whatcha want me to say, Jeff? When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

(The truth is Eddie didn’t have to go. 

He lied about it and then wandered around the fairgrounds aimlessly until he was certain Jeff and Gareth had gone on the Ferris Wheel.

Because Eddie is terrified of heights, a fact no one but his uncle is aware of given how cool and unmetal it is.)

“Ugh, I gotta go,” Gareth grumbles, stumbling over to some bushes before throwing up all over them. 

Eddie recoils with a grimace. “Dude!”  

Gareth pulls himself together. He wipes his mouth and glares at him over his shoulder. “Shut up, Ed, you wouldn’t be doing any better if it was you who went up-” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. “Wait, how come I’ve never seen you go on the Ferris Wheel?” 

Oh crap. 

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie shrugs, lying as convincingly as he can. “Many times.”

Jeff studies him curiously. “No, no, Gare, is right. We’ve been coming here for three years and you’ve never been on it with us!”

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie insists. “Just you know with other people.” 

They both snort. “Oh yeah?” Jeff asks. “Who?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, you don’t have any other friends,” Gareth adds. 

“I do!” Eddie protests, waving his hands like it will make names appear out of thin air. “I have Freak!”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “What’s his real name?” 

“Uh-” Eddie shrugs. “Freak?” 

Gareth shakes his head. The color is back on his face but Eddie wishes he’d go back to hurling his guts out. “If I didn’t know any better, Eddie, I’d say you’re afraid to go on it.” 

“Pfffft,” Eddie slaps his knee with a laugh. “I am not.”

“Prove it then,” Gareth says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” 

“Go on the Ferris Wheel now.”

“Uh, can I finish my cig first?” Eddie asks, trying to stall.

But his friends won’t let him. “No,” they say at the same time. 

Well, shit.

“Ugh, fiiiiiine,” Eddie says, throwing his arms up in a tantrum before snuffing the cig against the table.

He stands up and, flanked by his two friends, starts walking towards the Ferris Wheel. As he does, he considers the pros and cons of fleeing- he’s gotten very good at running from people and neither Gareth nor Jeff are as quick as some of the jocks he’s had to outrun before.

But Eddie realizes he might not need to run away when they reach the line just as the guy manning the ride opens the last car to let the last two people in.

“Won’t you look at that!” Eddie whirls around, clapping his hands together. “It’s full! Oh well, there’s always next year!” 

He throws his arms around Jeff and Gareth and starts dragging them away. Only for them to stop in their tracks when there’s a voice behind them. 

“We have one spot left!” The guy announces. “One spot left! Who wants to ride?” 

Gareth whirls around. “He does!” He says, pointing at Eddie who curses inwardly. “He’ll do it. Right, Eddie?” 

Through gritted teeth, Eddie mutters ‘if you insist’ because what other fucking choice does he have?

He makes his way to the front of the line like a man stepping into the gallows, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides pausing again just as he’s about to get on. 

Because sitting on the Ferris Wheel car is no other than Steve fucking Harrington.

He wants to do this even less now knowing that Harrington will be sitting next to him as he tries not to shit his pants. The last thing he wants is the King of Hawkins High to go around sharing that with everyone.

“Dude, are you getting in or not?” The guy asks when Eddie just stands there, an annoyed tilt to his voice. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder to find Gareth and Jeff giving him two thumbs up, matching smirks on their faces. He flips them off, ignoring the scandalized gasp from a mother waiting in line with her son. 

Then he glances back at the car- at Harrington, who is staring at him with an impatient bitchy look. The King probably isn’t happy about sharing a Ferris Wheel car with the Freak.

Yeah, well, the feeling is fucking mutual. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going in,” Eddie says anyway, sliding into his seat. He does his best to ignore Harrington as the guy lowers the safety bar on their laps- as well as the dread that has settled on his belly. 

It only grows as they start moving. 

“Enjoy your ride,” the guy tells them with fake cheerfulness. 

Eddie fights the urge to flip him off too. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing the safety bar with a death grip as their car starts to rise. They keep rocking back and forth and Eddie’s stomach falls out of his ass every time. “Fuck me.” 

Next to him, Harrington lets out a snort. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson.”

Eddie snaps his head towards him- Harrington is leaning back against his seat with a smirk, seemingly not caring at all about the fact that they’re about to be thirty feet from the ground. Asshole.

“Hardy-har-har, Harrington,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, trying not to let his voice waver.

As far as comebacks go, it’s a lame one and Harrington must notice. “Geez, man. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” 

Harrington glances down at Eddie’s hands on the safety bar with a pointed look. “Really? Because you look like you’re trying to snap that bar in half.”

Eddie glances down and sees that he’s white-knuckling the safety bar. He loosens his hold a little. “I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Mind your own business, Your Majesty.” 

“Christ, Munson, what’s your problem?” Harrington huffs out a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “And don’t call me that. You don’t hear me calling you Freak.”

To Eddie, they’re not the same. He thought someone like Harrington would enjoy being reminded about his popular status in high school- even if Eddie’s tone is mocking. But it seems the whole King thing struck a nerve.

“My problem is-” Eddie starts, meaning to tell Harrington that it’s him even if Eddie hasn’t had a problem with him in particular since he graduated but then their car jerks and his words trail off into a whimper. 

“This fucking deathtrap, shit. Okay, I’m not fine,” he admits, eyes screwed shut as they reach the top. “I'm like terrified of heights, okay? Which is fucking lame and super unmetal of me so go ahead, laugh it up.”

He waits to hear it- Harrington’s laugh but there’s only silence. 

Eddie peeks at him through one eye.

“I’m not gonna do that,” Harrington says, his eyebrows knitted in a way that’s frankly kinda cute. 

Cute? Jesus Christ, Eddie, not the time.

“Why not?” He asks. “It’s what you jocks do.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been a jock for a while, man.”

Eddie guesses that’s true. Even before he graduated, Harrington had stopped being a jock under Eddie’s definition of the word. He still played basketball, but he didn’t pick on Eddie or the other nerds and now he’s not laughing at him for being afraid of heights even though if the roles were reversed Eddie would probably get a few laughs in himself. 

Maybe he should cut Harrington some slack.

“Why are you riding the Ferris Wheel anyway?” He asks after a short silence. “If you don’t like heights?” 

Another mind your own business rests at the tip of Eddie’s tongue but he did just say he’d cut him some slack. Besides, Eddie is slowly realizing that talking to Harrington is helping keep him distracted from where they are right now. 

“Well, my friends think I’m scared-”

“You are,” Harrington interjects with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Eddie accepts with an eye roll even if he feels his mouth tick up. “But they don’t need to know that, I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“With your friends?”

“With my friends, the school.” Eddie clicks his tongue. “ Society.”

Harrington snorts out a startled sort of chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Well, I won���t tell society,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

He bumps their shoulders together and it makes the car tip forward. Eddie bites down on a very embarrassing scream. Harrington grimaces. “Shit, sorry.” 

“Why are you- why are you riding the Ferris Wheel?” Eddie asks. “You can’t possibly enjoy this, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Harrington shrugs. “I like the view, especially at sunset.”

“Ah,” Eddie smiles teasingly. “I bet you bring all the pretty girls up here, hold their hand if they get scared.” 

Harrington raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I hold your hand, Munson?” 

Is he? Eddie looks down at Steve’s hands. They’re nice hands and Eddie has to admit that the thought of holding one of them right now doesn’t exactly make him want to jump off this car. 

It makes his heat build in his cheeks actually. “Fuck off, no, I’m-” 

“Because I would,” Harrington interjects, “if you wanted me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I- uh. You- no, you wouldn’t.” 

Harrington tilts his head, watching Eddie with a mixture of amusement and something else. If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d say Harrington finds it endearing- how nervous Eddie is. What the hot fuck?

Harrington holds out his hand, palm up, in the space between them. 

Eddie can only stare at it like it’s going to bite him or like Harrington is going to jerk it back and laugh at him for falling for the joke. He does neither. He wiggles his fingers and Eddie, who might be oxygen-deprived from the height, lets go of the bar with one hand, wipes it on his jeans, and grabs Harrington’s. 

He links their fingers together loosely and gives Eddie a little half-smirk, half-smile that he bets left a girl or two giggling back in the day. Right now it makes Eddie’s heart stutter in a wildly different way than being this far from the ground does. 

The ground, which is currently far, far away. Shit. The reminder makes him grip Harrington’s hand tighter and it’s really nice- warm and soft instead of cold and hard like the safety bar. Eddie looks down at their joined hands, and focuses on that- on how big Steve’s hand is and how many freckles are dusted over the back of it, how he doesn’t seem to mind that Eddie’s rings are probably digging painfully into his skin with how hard he’s holding on to him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits with a shaky laugh. “Um, thanks, man, for not laughing and like, not being a dick about this.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be less of a dick these days.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?” 

Harrington’s nose scrunches up. “I’m alone at the Ferris Wheel, Eddie, so what do you think?” 

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, so what am I? Chopped liver?”

“No!” Harrington counters quickly. “Just not who I thought I’d end up riding the Ferris Wheel with.”

“Oh how you wound me, Steve,” Eddie says with an exaggerated pout. 

“Shut up, you’re the one who’s wounding me,” he says playfully, using his free hand to gesture at where his other one is still trapped by Eddie’s. “Think you’re cutting off circulation to my hand.” 

Eddie loosens his hold a little, his cheeks pinking up again. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, giving it a squeeze. “Robin and I went to see this gross movie once called The Thing and I’m pretty sure I almost lost all my fingers from how hard she was gripping my hand.” 

Eddie blinks. “Robin Buckley? From band?” He asks and Steve nods. “I didn’t know you two were friends or is it- are you two like-” 

Jesus, why do you even care, Munson? Talk about minding your own business. 

“Oh no,” Steve replies even if Eddie didn’t finish the question. “I love Robin, but she’s just my friend. My best friend. It’s tectonic.” 

Eddie tilts his head. “Do- do you mean platonic?” 

“Yeah, that,” Steve says, snapping his fingers and shooting a single finger gun in his direction. “She’s actually down there somewhere with- um, with someone else.” 

“Oh, Steve,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’re third-wheeling your band nerd best friend? How the mighty have fallen truly.” 

Steve groans, throwing his head back but not before Eddie sees how his mouth twitches. “It gets worse, dude. I’m also here babysitting a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who are also nerds. Except for Max, she’s cool, she doesn’t play that- dorks and dweebs game the others are obsessed with.”

“Hold on, I’m sorry, do you mean Dungeons and Dragons?” Eddie sputters, trying to wrap his head around everything he’s learning about Steve- horror movie enjoyer, nerd-sympathizer, a babysitter who sort of knows what Dungeons and Dragons is.

Steve purses his lips. “I think I like my name better.”

“Sure, buddy,” Eddie says with a snort. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you that I run an after-school club for that game so by hanging out with me your cool-o-meter just took an even bigger nose dive.”

“Well, goddamn it, Munson,” Steve says jokingly. 

“Bet you wish you got stuck with a pretty girl instead of me, huh, big boy?”

Steve falters at the name that truth be told slipped out of Eddie’s mouth without him realizing. A slight pink tinge shades his cheeks.

It’s nothing compared to the deep shade of red Eddie’s cheeks turn when Steve says, “Actually being stuck with a pretty boy is fine by me.”

A nearly hysterical laugh rushes from Eddie’s lips before he can help it. “A pretty- uh. What?” His heart is doing summersaults in his chest and Eddie tries hard to get it to calm down. Steve could be fucking with him. Fuck, is he? “Are you- Steve. Harrington. Are you fucking with me? ‘Cause you might’ve graduated and you might not be a jock anymore but I know you know what your teammates called me, man, you know I’m- and you fucking with me like that is not cool-”

“Woah, Eddie, hey. I’m not,” Steve assures him, pretty brown eyes wide like a startled deer. “It’s true, okay? You are pretty.”

Oh. 

An ugly strangled noise escapes Eddie. “Oh. Okay. Uh.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shifts nervously in the seat. “Fuck, just forget I said that, I didn’t want to make things weird, okay? Just- yeah, forget it.”

“Who says I want to?” 

Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle. Cute, Eddie thinks again. Oh, maybe it was the time after all. “Um, your face, man? You look like I splashed you with water and then threw a toaster at you or something.” 

“That’s- that’s actually a good way to describe how I feel, yeah,” Eddie agrees. Steve cringes slightly. “Not in a bad way! I’m just surprised! I didn’t know you-” liked boys? liked freaks? liked me?

Whatever he means, Steve gets it. “Yeah, I do,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s fine if you don’t or whatever-”

Eddie opens his mouth to assure him he does in fact like boys and freaks and Steve who might be a freak himself if this Ferris Wheel ride has taught Eddie anything-

Before he can though the Ferris Wheel screeches to a halt, their car rocking in place at the top. 

“Why- why are we stopping? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “It’s the last spin, they’re probably gonna stop each cart at the top for a few minutes.”

Eddie whines pathetically. “What? Why?”

“So people can watch the sunset? Make out?” Steve blushes. “Or something.”

The wind picks up and makes the car rock back and forth and Eddie groans. “Fucking great!”

“Hey, what do you need?” Steve asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. It’s almost enough to distract him from being stuck at the top. Almost. 

“To be back on solid ground? Or a distraction. Please distract me, Stevie,” Eddie says, feeling panic bubbling up inside him. He doesn’t even notice when the nickname slips out. 

Steve’s eyes flick over his face looking for something. He either finds it or gives up. Either way, he takes a deep breath. “Please don’t punch me for this.” 

“Punch you for-”

The last word dies in Eddie’s throat because Steve leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

For a beat, neither of them does anything. Then Steve’s free hand cups Eddie’s cheek and he moves his lips. Eddie makes a soft, needy noise in the back of his throat, his eyelids fluttering shut, and then he’s kissing Steve back. 

It’s a slow and lazy kiss but it’s enough to make Eddie forget where he is or that he’s supposed to be panicking. He even lets go of the safety bar just so he can get his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

They don’t break apart until the Ferris Wheel starts moving again, their car making its way down so they can finally get off this stupid thing. 

(Though it might be starting to grow on Eddie. Just a little.)

When they stop again so that the people in the next car can have their go at the top, Eddie’s stomach merely swoops and it might have more to do with the way Steve licks his pink, wet lips than with anything else. 

“Well, that’s one way to distract someone,” Eddie says, his voice coming out a little breathless. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve snorts, hanging a hand from his neck. “Thanks for not punching me.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, baby,” Eddie says and watches delightedly how a flush creeps up Steve’s cheeks at the pet name. “I’d never punch you, your face is too pretty for that.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Steve’s lips. “So I could kiss you again?”

“I could be persuaded to do that again, yeah.” Eddie tilts his head, eyes darting a little anxiously over Steve’s face. “First I gotta know if this is like a ‘what happens in the Ferris Wheel stays in the Ferris Wheel’ kind of thing, you know?”

“Nah,” Steve says with a smile that edges on soft. “I was actually gonna drag you with me to the Hoop Shot game after this. Impress you a little.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks, grinning widely. “Gonna impress me with your jock moves?”

“Mhm. By winning you a stuffed animal too.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, I told you, I have a reputation to uphold-”

“With society, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll get you something metal like a bat! Or a dragon.”

“Hm,” Eddie taps his finger against his chin. “Get me both and it’s a deal!”

Steve’s eyes twinkle. “Does that mean I get two kisses?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pitching his voice low and deep. Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “You can have way more than that.” 

They’re almost at the bottom now which is probably why Steve doesn’t lean in for another kiss right then and there when it’s clear that he wants to. This close to the ground, people could see and the last thing they want is an angry mob waiting for them at the bottom. 

They’re happy to just hold hands for what’s left of the ride. Despite Eddie not being scared anymore, neither of them considers letting go, not until the guy from before yanks the safety bar off their laps, stares curiously at their clasped hands for a second before his expression turns bored again, and waves them out of the car. 

Eddie climbs out and jogs down the steps, past the people waiting in line. His eyes dart over the people hanging around the Ferris Wheel, looking for Gareth and Jeff but his friends must’ve gotten bored and wandered off at some point because they’re nowhere to be seen. Whatever, he was gonna ditch them to hang out with Steve anyway. 

But Steve gets the wrong idea when he sees Eddie scanning the crowd. He scruffs his Nike against the ground and hangs a hand from his neck. “It’s okay if you wanna find your friends-”

“Fuck, no,” Eddie says quickly. “They’re big boys, they can get home on their own. Or not and it serves them right for forcing me to go on that deathtrap!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve says with a playful grin. 

“Fine, I guess it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “What about you? You don’t have to find your baby nerds and make sure they’re okay?”

“Nope, those shitheads can take care of themselves,” Steve says. “I have more important things to do.”

“Like me?” Eddie asks with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. It makes Steve tip his head back with a laugh. Eddie’s eyes zero in on the moles in the column on his neck, thoughts drifting to wanting to kiss every single one of them. 

“Maybe later,” he tells Eddie with a wink. His stomach swoops and this time it has nothing to do with gravity and heights. “C’mon, man, let’s get you that bat.”

Eddie holds his finger up, wagging it in front of Steve’s face. “And the dragon!” Eddie says, getting all up in Steve’s space as he starts walking in the direction of the Hoop Shot game. “Don’t forget the dragon!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Munson.”

(Steve gets him the bat. And the dragon. And cotton candy. And later follows Eddie home after dropping off his herd of fourteen-year-olds. Eddie lets him have two kisses and more just like he promised.)

(And he rides more than just the Ferris Wheel that day.)

[paracosmicessence]

guys i think maria wrote the very first sonadow fic ever

[sosa2imagines]

An Alley of Passion

Warning- Smut, Steve Rogers is a warning, sex in an alley, little bit of tearing of clothes, dominance.

Disclaimer- This is my submission for @mercurial-chuckles writing challenge, "Smutty September Fest" I hope everyone who reads likes it.

The plan was simple, enter the sophisticated nightclub, head to the back room, and collect the data.

But things rarely ever went according to plan. As soon as you and Steve entered the main floor of the club, the two of you were spotted by some goons.

You wore the expensive black halter dress, courtesy of Tony’s money. It was tight against your body, fitting perfectly against every dip and curve.

Steve, your partner on this mission, looked absolutely stunning in a tight black shirt and black pants. It hugged his body in all the right places and made his blue eyes stand out even more.

Despite the odds being against the two of you, you and Steve managed to fight off the goons and retrieved the data you came here for. However, just as you breathed a sigh of relief, more goons arrived, this time armed with deadly weapons, leaving you both cornered.

Steve grabs your hand and runs towards the exit. With the goons high on chase, Steve takes a turn towards an alley assuming it's empty.

However the two of you found yourselves in a surprising situation as you looked around. Instead of the empty, dark alley you'd expected, it was filled with couples. Some were engaged in deep conversation, others were whispering sweet nothings, and yet others were passionately making out.

Steve and you knew that the best way to avoid suspicion would be to blend in.

Steve leaned over and whispered against your ear, “Do you trust me?” You could hear the edge in his voice, the hint of urgency in his words. You nodded, looking into his eyes and hoping he had a plan to get you both out of this sticky situation.

In a swift and unexpected move, Steve pushed you against the wall. His body was so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He then turned, placing his back facing the goons, effectively shielding you with his body, his hand slipping around your waist.

Steve's grip on your waist was firm, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. The steady rise and fall of his chest provided a sense of stability amidst the chaos.

Despite the dire situation, the sensation of being held so closely by him was electrifying, both comforting and thrilling at the same time as your heart pounded in your chest.

Time seemed to stretch out impossibly thin as the two of you stood there in silence. You could hear the goons continue their search nearby, their footsteps echoing through the alley, each sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making your heart rate quicken.

All the while, Steve stood close, his body acting as both a shield and a safety net, providing a sense of security in the midst of chaos.

As the silence continued, you swallowed, attempting to moisten your suddenly dry throat. The close intimacy of your shared space, with your body firmly against Steve's, added a new layer of intensity to the danger that surrounded you.

Every part of your being felt more alive than ever before, and as he shifted and tightened his grip on you, you felt a flutter deep within your stomach, a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Steve could feel the tension radiating from your body as you leaned slightly into him. He drew in a steady breath, attempting to calm himself. His own heart was beating erratically, and the realization of this took him by surprise.

It wasn't just the adrenaline from the situation that heightened his awareness, the proximity of your body to his had added a new layer of complexity. The protectiveness he was feeling towards you was no longer just professional; it had become deeply personal.

With the goons closing in, checking the couples around them, Steve knew he had to act fast. In a split second, his instincts kicked in, and he acted on impulse, pulling you closer and kissing you.

The action was abrupt, unexpected, but undeniably necessary to sell their cover. He could feel the soft surprise of your lips against his, the taste of your gasp, and the heat that suddenly emanated from your body.

The moment his lips met yours, a rush of heat and electricity surged through your body. Despite the shock of his impulsiveness, you found yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the kiss. The world around you faded as the warmth of his mouth against your own washed over you, making your head swim for a brief moment.

As Steve's lips pressed against yours, his body trapping you against the cold, rough wall, the action held a multitude of meanings. On one hand, it was a desperate measure to keep their cover, to blend in with the other couples in the alleyway. But on a more primal, subconscious level, it was also a release of the built-up tension he hadn't even been aware he'd been carrying until that very instant.

The battle between Steve's mind and body was palpable. His body responded in a way that he hadn't anticipated, his mind striving to catch up and make sense of the situation.

The kiss deepened, and he pressed you closer against the wall. While on some level, he knew it was a necessary part of the act to maintain the ruse, the way your body fitted against his, the taste and feel of you, felt intensely real, igniting a sense of awareness that he couldn't deny.

The goons finally moved on, leaving the narrow alley once again secluded. Steve slowly broke the kiss, his breath ragged and his voice a low rumble against your ear as he spoke. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The words were tinged with a hint of frustration and pent-up desire, suggesting that he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his taut muscles as he slowly backed up, allowing some space between the two of you. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of protectiveness and frustration, his eyes burning into yours.

You mustered the courage to speak up, meeting his gaze with a hint of daring. “I don't regret it…” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of surprise flickered across Steve's face, replaced quickly with a look of desire that sent your heart racing. “Good.” he murmured in response. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you once again, claiming your lips in another heated kiss.

The kiss was hungry, filled with a raw need that caught you off guard. Steve's hands came up to cup your face, angling it to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth. You responded willingly, your bodies pressing closely together, both seeking and taking what the other offered.

The world faded away, the only point of focus being the heady sensation of Steve's mouth on yours. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, craving the contact. The kiss was primal, filled with an untamed passion that left you both momentarily breathless.

Steve's voice was a low, commanding growl, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “I. need. you. Now!” he emphasized, his words filled with an possessive intensity that sent heat pooling in your stomach. The need in his voice was undeniable, a demand that was impossible to resist.

You turned around, with your back pressed against his chest. Steve's hands roamed you body, as they slowly guided up your chest.

His palms perfectly cupped your breasts, feeling their weight, he kneaded them. An obscene moan escaped his lips.

Steve's hands were everywhere as he turns you around, rough and impatient, he began to tear the fabric of your dress, creating a perfect slit down the center. The sound of the material giving way was loud in the silence of the alley.

Steve's gaze roamed over the torn dress, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips. “Much better,” he declared, his voice roughened with desire. “I'll buy you a new one.”

You could only shake your head in response, your mind too wrapped up in the haze of desire to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.

In one swift motion, Steve's hands moved to your hips, lifting you up and bringing you against his body, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The action left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, heightening the sensation of his hard muscles pressed against your curves.

Steve's mouth claimed yours again, his kiss deep and urgent, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance of lust and need. His body moved against yours, the friction between your bodies igniting a fire within you. Your hips rocked slightly against his, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Steve's hands moved from your hips to your thighs, his fingers gripping the delicate material of your flimsy underwear. Your breath hitched in your throat as he began to tear the fabric in a one swift, possessive motion.

The thought of how much your torn panties had cost flickered through your mind, but as soon as Steve's teeth found your neck, at the sensitive spot that sent waves of pleasure through your body, any concern about the ruined garment vanished.

Your sharp intake of breath was both involuntary and a clear indication that you were entirely focused on the sensations Steve was stirring within you.

His teeth nipped at the skin softly before his tongue soothed the sting, his lips trailing down to your collarbone and sucking gently. You arched into his touch, silently begging for more, your body responding fiercely to his kisses and bites.

Steve's command, delivered in a low, urgent tone broke the silence between you. “Undo my pants, doll, set me free!” he ordered, his voice filled with a raw desire that sent shivers down your spine. Your hands trembled slightly as your fingers worked to undo his pants, your obedience a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the restraint he was exercising to keep himself in check. Finally, his pants fell open, giving you access to what you both craved. You could feel the heat of his hardness against your core.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body reacting instinctively to the contact. Steve's hips moved against yours, his hard length pressing against your sensitive pussy, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His mouth claimed yours again, his kiss now more desperate, urgent, mirroring the fire that was burning between the two of you.

Steve dipped his fingers inside you, to see if you are ready for him, before putting them in his mouth, making a show of sucking them making an obscene sound that made you crave him more.

“Steve please…” You moan, gently rolling your hips against him, the anticipation almost driving you over the edge. He pauses as his eyes move over you, drinking in the sight of you, his breathing is heavy. “You're so beautiful...” he says, sliding a hand up your thigh to your hip.

Steve kisses you deeply as he pushes into you, your pussy takes all of him in. His thick length stretches your walls.

“Yes...” escaped your lips, the word a mix of pleasure and relief.

His breath catches in his throat, at the feel of you wrapped around him. His hips soon found a suitable pace, as he starts to move against you slowly. “So tight and perfect...”

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, only the primal need to claim you entirely. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, a reminder of the pent up tension between the two of you.

Your bodies moved together in desperate harmony, desperate need driving each movement. The sound of skin against skin, the harsh pants and moans filling the air, created an intimate symphony that was a reflection of the intense connection.

Steve speeds up, making your breath hitch. He presses deeper and your nails slightly dig into his shoulders. “Steve...” you moan his name, as he hits deep in your cunt, making all your thoughts scatter.

“Look at me, doll,” Steve's command was punctuated with a powerful thrust, the words spoken between grunts and pants. He wanted your eyes on him, needed to see your reaction as he claimed you, his gaze burning into yours.

Each movement was a testament to his dominant presence, his desire to take control and possess you entirely. With each breath, the air grew hotter between the two of you, the connection both physical and emotional.

His grip on your hips tightened, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness. In this moment, you were entirely his, your body responding to his every touch, your desire matching his own. The world outside faded away.

He watched intently, his gaze fixated on every flicker of pleasure that flitted across your face, his name becoming a mantra on your lips, a silent testament to the power he held over you.

He increased his pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. He was losing himself in the feel of you, the way your body responded to his touch, the sounds of pleasure that escaped your lips.

His mouth found yours, his lips hungry and demanding. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a frenzy of passion.

As he hit a spot deep inside you that made you cry out in pleasure. He smiled against your lips, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

He continued to move, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. He was lost in the sensations, consumed by the feel of you and the sound of your moans in his ears.

His movements were growing more erratic as his own desire threatened to overtake him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, but he forced himself to hold back, wanting to make you come first.

“Just let go, doll…” he whispers in your ear, his hips moving faster, his lips against yours. The words push you over the edge and you cry out his name, against his lips, as waves of pleasure wash over you.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, Steve followed suit as he spent himself inside you. Filling you up to the brim. Catching his breath, he buried his face in your neck.

Steve gently set you down, his hands supporting your shaking legs until you were steady on your feet. Despite the intensity of the moment, his touch was tender, a stark contrast to the fierce need that had consumed him moments before.

As you stood there, trying to get your bearings, Steve smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Can you walk, doll?” He asked, his tone light but filled with a smug satisfaction.

“I...I think you were a little too rough...” you retorted, a playful pout on your lips as you tested your legs, finding them shaky and unreliable.

As you took a few tentative steps, you found your legs still weak and unstable. Before you could even react, Steve scooped you up in his arms with an ease that made your heart skip a beat.

“I know you can walk,” he said, his tone amused but affectionate. “But I'm not done with you yet, doll, and I want you to save your energy.”

You couldn't help but gasp as you saw the look in Steve's eyes. The intensity in his gaze, the fire that burned within him told you that this night had only just begun. A mix of anticipation and trepidation filled your heart, knowing that the night would be long and passionate.

Also dedicated to @rogerbarnesss @buckysdoll85 @caplanbuckybarnes

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Oh, He Wants

Week #2 Prompt: Backseat/Clothes On/Bruise | Word Count: 4608 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Unprotected Sex, Bodily Fluids | Tags: Clothes On, Until They're Off, First Time, Virgin Eddie, Horny Boys in Love, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, Barebacking

Note: It's backseat sex. Suspension of disbelief is often required for this trope. Like the Tardis, it's simply bigger on the inside than it appears, haha.

The windows are steamed up, condensation rolling down the glass, as Steve lays on top of Eddie, grinding down against him, over and over again. Steve kind of thought that was just a thing from movies, not something that actually happens in real life. But they've been at this for at least an hour, both breathing heavily, slowly heating up the car, literally fogging up the windows. 

He feels his face flushing, and his chest is heaving as he keeps rutting against Eddie underneath him. Fingers digging into his arms, his shoulders, his neck. Probably hard enough to bruise. Just clinging to him anywhere he can reach.

It's slow, and steady, and the feeling of Eddie's cock pressed against his, even through all the layers of underwear and jeans, is really working for him. Steve's never been much of a backseat makeout kind of guy. He always had other places for that: Skull Rock. Under the bleachers. The last row of The Hawk. Not to mention there's never been a bedroom window he hasn't been willing to crawl through to fool around with a girl right in her own bed, her parents none the wiser.

But with Eddie? He'll get into the cramped backseat and love it. All day, all night, because he gets it now. He understands, wholly. The thrill of feeling like they are sneaking around, of getting by with something, even if they have other places to be together in private other than an abandoned dirt road.

They could hole up in Steve's big, empty house. Or at Wayne's place when he's gone at work all night. And they have. Make-out sessions that leave them both gasping for breath, needing, wanting.

Jeans, underwear sticky from coming in them as they pushed each other over the edge.

But this is different. Illicit and thrilling. He could take Eddie to a bed, he has every opportunity. Instead, they're here. Pulled off along a dead end dirt road.

And it's good. The shared breaths, the confined space, all of it.

It's a heady mix of lust, and love. Steve's fallen fast, and hard. Just like he always does. He'll never learn, and he knows he's probably headed for another heartbreak after Eddie's wrung out everything he wants from him, leaving the rest. 

Tonight they've kissed so much, so hard, Steve's sure his lips are bruised at this point. But he can't get enough of Eddie. He'll never get enough. He almost lost him before he'd even found him, and he's not gonna waste another minute more.

For as long as this lasts, he's all in. He's gathered up the pieces of his broken heart before, and he could do it again. Would do it again, for Eddie. 

It's worth it. Eddie's worth it. Love, too. He's probably hopeless. Robin would definitely say so, but he wants it so fucking bad. To be loved. To be someone's first pick, to go in the first round, to build a dynasty together. 

Okay, maybe the sports metaphors are a bit much, especially for Eddie, who wouldn't appreciate them. But Steve feels like he's been drafted to the future he wants, if he can only hold onto it, long term. 

Eddie is everything he's been looking for. He loves him. He's sure of it, even if that's never been spoken between them. 

Steve pulls back to suck in a quick breath, all panting and soft eyes, "Hi." 

Eddie smiles, lips swollen and red, "Hi." 

And Steve dives back in. Pressing his lips to Eddie's neck, his tongue sneaking out to taste salty skin. All he wants is this. To lay here and kiss, and grind, and just be close to each other. Nothing else to worry about other than this minute, and the one that follows after.

It might last a month, a year, or a lifetime. Tonight though, he's drunk on the feeling of Eddie under his body, the way they can't seem to get enough of each other. Hands roaming, bodies crushed together.

Steve hasn't felt like this in a long fucking time, if ever. This attracted to someone. Just being with them because you can. 

Because you want to. 

And Steve? He wants to be with Eddie in all the ways.

"Here. Let me readjust," Eddie says, and Steve lifts up his hips, as Eddie sticks his hand down in his jeans, under the waistband without unbuttoning them, into his boxers. It's fucking hot, for some reason.

To see his whole hand disappear, knowing what he's doing. Steve wants that to be his hand. To close around the hard, silky warmth. To feel the weight against his palm. To see if holding another man's cock in his hand actually feels any different. He bets that it does.

Eddie makes the adjustment he needs to make, then pulls his hand back out, and Steve re-lowers himself again to reestablish contact.

Goddamn, now Steve can feel even more of his length. Hard and ready, under him. 

He wants to put his mouth on him. Use every ounce of knowledge he has from girls sucking his cock, and apply them to doing the same to Eddie. Take all the best tricks and move forward, and leave all the worst ones behind in the past. 

He rolls his hips, and Eddie moans, in response, and it makes Steve smile.

"Like that?" he asks, keeping up the same soft, slow roll of his hips.

"Fuck yeah, I like it," Eddie answers, breath catching in his throat, his hands finding Steve's hips, not forcing him to move any faster, nor any harder, just holding him, desperate to feel the motion they're making together.

To hear the sound of the rough denim scratching together in the quiet of the car. Steve had turned the key to accessory mode to keep the radio on, but that went off long ago, now. And he's glad. He just wants to hear the sound of Eddie's breathing, and the rustling noises of their bodies moving together.

They haven't shed a bit of clothing, but they don't need to. This is so good on its own. 

He likes the cramped space, the feeling of being cocooned with him, like they are the only people on earth that matter at this exact moment in time. 

Then, Eddie is twisting under him, and seems to be all knees and elbows. But he squirms, and Steve leans back to see where this is going. He's unsure, but vows to just stay out of his way, and let it play out. He'll follow Eddie's lead, no matter where he's headed.

Surprising Steve, Eddie rolls onto his belly, bumping and jostling Steve the whole time. And Steve watches, trying to let him get situated, just enthralled as Eddie's hands are clearly moving beneath him. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Then he's pushing his jeans down onto his thighs. Plaid boxers still covering his ass. 

Steve grips his hips, unsure. 

Steve's not even sure what Eddie needs. Or what he needs. He's never had sex with a man before. He's willing, and he wants, oh, he wants, but he can't ask for what he's never had. He doesn't have the words. 

He's not sure Eddie does either. 

But he's pretty sure they can't fuck in a car. He doesn't know much, but he thinks he knows that. 

He's satisfied with this, he'd be satisfied with anything, when it comes to Eddie.

Steve unbuttons his own jeans, pushing them down, and then presses his underwear-clad dick right against Eddie's ass. And presses down, testing, trying it out. He makes small thrusts against him, finding a rhythm and it must be right, because Eddie moans beneath him. 

"Goddamn," Steve breathes out. 

Steve's pretty sure Eddie wants this, maybe more, by the way he's providing the counterpoint. Pushing back, helping keep the rhythm. 

He's never been with a guy before Eddie, but he's been with plenty of girls, and knows horny when he sees it. And Steve wants to fuck him. Wants to slide into him, feel their bodies connected and Eddie all around him. 

Hell, he wants to rub off on him, just like this. Anything. Everything. 

He just wants to make Eddie feel good. He wants them both to feel good. 

"Is it good?" Steve breathes out. 

And Eddie nods. Hair moving. Shaking up and down. 

Steve takes a hand from one of Eddie's hips, and brushes the loose hair from his neck, and then bends down, kissing his slick skin. 

Then, he wants to at least see more. 

So, he pulls down Eddie's boxers, revealing the shock of white skin. He's so pale. Even here in the dark. Maybe even more now that he survived the bats. Like all that lost blood never quite returned to his circulatory system. 

There are jagged scars on his hips, and Steve is familiar with those himself. But they are somehow opposites. Steve's sides still look webbed with streaks of white on tanned skin. Like they were able to heal, but not disappear. Only fading with time. In contrast, Eddie's are dark against his pale skin, still reddened.

They're different, but the same. A matched set, both having survived the same terrible version of hell together.

They made it. Just not unscathed. 

And that's okay. 

Then he grips both of Eddie's ass cheeks, and spreads them apart. It's dark in the car. Nearly too dark to see, everything hidden in shadow, but what he can make out by the moonlight is enticing.

He digs his fingers into Eddie's ass, kneading a little, and then lines up. Cock bumping against Eddie's asshole through the remaining layer of Steve's underwear, and it sends Eddie scrabbling at the leather seats, with no way to find purchase. 

It feels good for Steve, and it clearly does for Eddie, too.

"Fuck me," Eddie whines, begging. 

Steve can't fuck him. Can't just slide inside. No matter how much he wants to. Eddie's not slick and open and ready like a girl, even if he's just as willing. 

But Steve brushes his thumb against his opening, then pulls his thumb back, licks it, getting it wet and sloppy with spit, and does it again. Pressing against his hole, but not trying to push inside. 

Eddie arches off the seat, moaning. 

Steve wants to eat him out. Eating pussy always got him going. Got his dick hard, and ready. He's absolutely certain eating Eddie's ass would do the same. 

He doesn't know how they could possibly make room for that in here, though. 

They'll have to do other stuff. 

Steve presses himself upwards. As close to upright as he can get in the backseat of his car, his head and neck crammed against the roof, the soft lining tickling the back of his neck, as he unbuttons his jeans and wrangles them off his body, struggling with the lack of room.

But getting them off. Tossed out of the way.

And he knows shouldn't, but he does. He pushes his underwear down under his dick, and slides the head of his cock right against Eddie's hole. Pressing against him. Steve's leaking, because he's been leaking all fucking night, making a wet spot in his underwear, but now that helps slick the way.

Not enough to fuck, but enough to glide against him, definitely.

"This okay?" Steve asks. 

"Yes, yes," Eddie answers, "fuck yes."

So, Steve takes his cock in hand, and rubs the head right against Eddie. And Eddie whines, and pushes back. 

Another bead of precum slides out, right against Eddie's warm skin. 

Maybe they could rut here until he finishes between his cheeks. Come splattering his hole. Fuck. The thought. 

But there's more he wants to do first. 

"Flip," Steve says, and with some sloppy, slightly dangerous maneuvering, Eddie does. Again on his back, looking up at Steve. 

Steve pulls his own underwear back up, but forces Eddie's jeans and boxers down even further, until he can slip them off one of Eddie's legs, leaving them dangling off the other. 

Then he heaves Eddie's legs over his shoulders, bumping them on the roof of the car, making Eddie fold himself nearly in half to make the angle in this limited amount of space work. 

Eddie's cock is hard, wet and dripping at the tip, laying back against his belly, begging for attention. But Steve bypasses it. Instead, nudging behind Eddie's balls, and swiping his tongue against his hole. 

Eddie keens, letting out a wild noise that makes Steve's cock throb in his underwear. Getting even wetter.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Eddie whispers, mainly to himself, Steve thinks. 

He looks fucking hot all contorted like this, spine bowed, hands in Steve's hair. Pulling. Tugging. Clawing. 

And Steve keeps licking him, before pressing the tip of his tongue inside, making Eddie gasp. He wonders if he could eat him out enough to loosen him up to fuck.

He'd definitely be willing to try. It's musky and earthy, and not at all bad, even if he feels a little naughty doing this. Especially tasting the salty traces of himself there. As if he's staked his claim. As if the taboo-ness of it makes it even hotter. 

Steve pulls back, and spits on his fingers. This isn't ideal. They can't go from zero-to-fucking, but that seems like exactly what they'd both like to happen tonight. 

But he presses the tip of one inside alongside his tongue.

"I've never," Eddie groans, "uh, never even, oh fuck, gotten head. And Steve Harrington is eating my ass. What is happening?" 

Steve stills at that. Well, leave it to him to skip a few bases. 

He scoots forward, pressing his chest against the back of Eddie's thighs.

"Can I? Can I do that?" Steve asks, searching his eyes.

And Eddie nods, emphatically, "Fuck. Yes. Please. Anything. You can do anything." 

He sounds shocked and borderline hysterical, but in a good way. A really, really good way. 

Steve feels like maybe Eddie's gonna be his undoing. And isn't that a hell of a drug to have rushing through your veins?

Steve wants to slide into the floorboard, but his driver's seat is too far back. 

He can fix that. He lowers Eddie's legs, and leans over the seat, reaching the lever, scooting it up as far as it'll go. 

Then he wedges himself down on the floorboard, and cups Eddie's bare hips. Sliding the still dangling clothes off Eddie's leg, and tosses them up front with his own, out of the way. Eddie's still got his shirt on, but so does Steve, and that's okay. Kinda hot, even.

He takes in the sight of Eddie laying there, cock hard, the base surrounded by wild, dark hair. Even his cock looks like it belongs on Eddie, somehow. 

He's gorgeous. 

"You're gorgeous," Steve tells him, meeting his eyes. 

"Stop," Eddie whines, looking embarrassed. He shouldn't be. He is gorgeous. How nobody else ever did this for him, how they never wanted to see him looking like this, is actually insane. Crazy. 

Steve presses both thumbs onto the dips of his hips, "If you actually want me to stop, say so. If not, I'm gonna eat you alive."

Eddie's dick jerks and bounces at that promise, and Steve grins, "That's what I thought." 

He wraps his hand around Eddie's girth, sliding, giving a slow stroke, before pushing his hand down towards the base of his dick to keep his pubes out of the way, and out of his mouth. Then he lowers his head, sliding the head of Eddie's cock between his lips. Eddie's never gotten head, and Steve's never given it, but they're in this thing together now.

And Steve couldn't be happier about it.

He glides his mouth up and down, not going too far, definitely not brave enough to take him very deep. Eddie doesn't seem to mind, with all the noises he's making. So, Steve keeps it up. Finds a rhythm, using his mouth, his hand, and it doesn't take long. 

Steve feels Eddie's dick harden further, knows that tell-tale sign.

"I'm gonna," Eddie says, and Steve nods, squeezing his hip with his free hand.

And Eddie does. Comes in his mouth, and Steve doesn't know what to do with it. He holds it there for a few seconds, and then lifts his shirttail, and spits in it.

Maybe not the first choice, but it worked, and Steve pulls his now wet shirt over his head, tossing it away with their jeans.

Eddie claws at him, pulling him towards his face, and Steve kisses him. Over and over. Hoping he's tasting himself on Steve's tongue.

Eddie tilts his head, pulling back, and Steve lets him go.

"I. I need," Eddie says, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"What do you need?" Steve asks, hand brushing the hair off his forehead, to get a better look at him. He'll give him anything.

"I need you to eat me out some more," Eddie says, head twisted to the side, not looking at Steve. As if he's embarrassed to ask for this.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, surprised, but happy.

And Eddie nods.

Steve maneuvers his body backwards towards the other door, and then gets Eddie's legs up over his shoulders again, and goes all in. Licking, pressing in with his tongue. Eddie's whole body is loose from his orgasm, and sliding the tip of his tongue inside is a little easier, now. So, he licks, and presses his tongue flat against the furled skin, loving the sounds Eddie makes. Breathy moans, heady whines.

"Steve, Steve," Eddie says, "Can you? Can you fuck me?"

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's sweat-slick skin, "Are you sure? We don't have to do this now. We can wait. Do it right."

"Do it now," Eddie begs, "do it, do it." 

Okay, Steve will do it now. If he can. If he has anything to make that happen. He digs around in his bag on the other side of the floorboard, and comes up with a strip of three condoms. But nothing to use as lube.

The condoms are lubricated, and he opens all three, sliding one on his dick, and then getting all the lube off the others as best as he can. With that, and the foreplay, he thinks it just might be enough. 

It's not a lot of lube to work with, but he's finally knuckle deep, and Eddie's making good noises. Which he finds encouraging. 

"Have you ever?" Steve asks, twisting his finger, and then adding a second. Eddie groans, and presses back against his hand. And well, he's not acting like this is the first time something's been in his ass.

"Only to myself," Eddie says, and Steve puts that on the list of things to try alone, now. To see what it feels like. Steve wishes Eddie were slicker, but this is what they've got to work with. 

He'll have to see if it's enough, now.

"If it hurts, let me know. We'll stop." 

"I like a little pain," Eddie admits. 

"Well, if it's bad pain and not the good kind, speak up," Steve tells him. He definitely doesn't want to hurt him. What a shitty first time that would be.

Eddie nods, and Steve starts pressing the head of his cock against Eddie with steady, solid pressure. Not rushing, but not pussy footing around, either. He's not scared of sex. It's one thing that he feels confident about, and he can't see why that'd change today. 

But it's not slick enough. Eddie doesn't give under him. Not at all. Fuck. 

He pulls back. 

"What? No," Eddie says, reaching for him. 

"This is gonna hurt like this, there's gotta be something in here we can use," Steve says. 

Because there has to be something. Anything. 

And he hits the jackpot. A bottle of aloe vera in the console. Left over from summer, he's sure. When the girls wanted to get oiled up to tan faster, and Robin just burned. Badly. 

He squirts some on his fingers, and presses one inside Eddie. The sound Eddie makes is something he'll take to the grave. It was that good. 

Once he has him slicked up and even more open, he's gone a little soft from the concentration, and when he tries to get filled out and the condom back on right, it tears. Fuck. And he used all the others he had trying to get some lube off of them.

He crawls on top of Eddie, putting the bottle down by his head, "Please tell me you have a condom in your wallet. 

"I don't," Eddie admits. 

And Steve punches out a breath, cupping Eddie's cheek, "That's okay. Next time."

He presses his mouth to Eddie's, tongue sliding back in. Eddie wraps one arm around his back, and tilts up his hips. 

Then he takes his other, working it between them, guiding the tip of Steve's cock right against him. 

And Steve moves his hips to rub against him. 

"Oh," Eddie breathes out, "Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck. Goddamn." 

Steve grins, "That's what I like to hear." 

And Eddie laughs. Steve likes to hear that even more. 

"Fuck me," Eddie says. 

"I don't have-" 

"And I don't care right now. I've never been with anyone, so this is your call." 

Steve's good. Eddie knows it, too. Robin made them all get tested at some event in Chicago, where she was stretching her little lesbian wings, both of them just along for the ride. 

They shouldn't. But they could.

"Steve." 

And Steve nods. 

He inches in, head of his cock popping past that tight ring of muscle, then letting Eddie adjust. Even as it feels like a fucking vice grip on his dick. He wonders what it feels like to be on the receiving end. He hopes he gets to be on the other side of this, and soon.

"I can't wait until I get to do this," Steve says, because he can't. He wants it. He wants it all. 

"I'm almost ready, I think," Eddie answers, and Steve screws up his face, thinking. Finally realizing. 

"Not that," Steve says, hands running down Eddie's thighs, loving the feel of the hair there, tickling his palm. He's so fucking bisexual that he isn't sure how he ignored it until Eddie. Like, it seems absurd, now. 

"Not that, take all the time you need," Steve says, reaching his hand down, touching where they are connected. "This. I can't wait until you fuck me. If you want to. Do you want to?" 

"Fuck, Steve," Eddie says, "of course I want to. But if you keep making me think about that, I'm gonna come again before we even get started." 

Steve might just have the same problem. He's never been inside anyone without a condom before, and he's never done anal at all. He's overwhelmed, overstimulated, in the best way. 

Steve chuckles, stroking Eddie's skin, laying a kiss on the inside of his knee, then resting his cheek there, eyes still gazing towards Eddie's face, "Okay. I'll quit." 

"Thank you," Eddie teases, rocking back just a little, clenching down on Steve. 

Testing. Trying it out. And even if it's hard to stay still, so hard Steve swears he's about to break a sweat from it, he lets Eddie go at his own pace until he's sliding up and down on Steve's cock.

It's over fast. Before it really starts, honestly. They just barely get a rhythm going, Eddie fisting his own dick, then groaning as he clenches down on Steve as he comes. That's all it takes, Steve has to make a decision, "In or out?"

"Are you crazy? In," Eddie demands, tightening his legs around Steve, punctuating his answer. Steve thrusts a handful more times, uneven and hurling towards the point of no return, before following him over the edge. 

Coming inside Eddie. 

Goddamn.

After he catches his breath, he slips out, watching, and slides back into the floorboard, knees against rough carpet, and immediately presses his tongue to Eddie's cock-loosened hole. 

"Oh, fuck. I died. I died, the bats got me, and this all in my poor, oxygen deprived head," Eddie rambles, and Steve pulls back to laugh. That's when he sees that Eddie has the back of his hand on his forehead, like he's in fear of fainting. 

He's ridiculous.

"I'm hypoxic."

So ridiculous. 

"Not likely." 

And Steve puts his tongue back on Eddie, in him, tasting himself. And the bitter aloe. But mainly himself. He's fucking his tongue in and out, just eating him the fuck out some more. If Eddie wants this, Steve's happy to be face-deep forever. 

In fact, this is gonna be his new thing. He's decided. 

He gets lost in the feeling. He only takes breaks to bury his nose in Eddie's pubes, inhaling the musky smell of him. He feels like a pervert, but doesn't fucking care. Eddie's a self-proclaimed freak, and by god, Steve's gonna be a freak right along with him.

"Steve. Steve," Eddie says, and Steve finally pulls back. Eyes heavy, and hooded.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie says, pulling on him, tugging until he slides up his body, mouths sliding together, slick.

Getting lost in just being together. Basking in the afterglow, the heady smell of sex surrounding them in the car.

Bodies grinding. And Eddie is hard again, but so is Steve. How long was he down there? And when can he go back?

Eddie starts wiggling, and rolls over, again. Like he can't stay still. But it's worth it. Now, his ass is right there. Pretty, used hole looking right back at Steve. 

He's gonna put his tongue in it again. 

"Again," Eddie says, and Steve doesn't need to be told twice. He moves to scoot down, but Eddie whines, "Your dick. Not your tongue, even if that's gonna be the star of every wet dream I have from now until my inevitable demise." 

"Okay, okay," Steve says, smiling at his weird, but endearing, rambling as he slicks himself back up, squirting more aloe on Eddie, watching as he jumps, "Sorry. Cold, I know."

Then he slides right back inside. No resistance now, all slick give, and soft moans. Hole gripping him, sucking him in, as if it wants him there as much as he wants to be there.

Fucking him for real this time. The edge off, so he's able to actually set a rhythm. And in the moonlit car, he watches his cock slide in and out of Eddie. 

Then he slides all the way out, and rubs the head of his cock against the warm, welcoming opening, the place he's meant to be, just teasing Eddie as he gets to watch. The sight of Eddie stretching, opening, as the head of his cock finally slips back inside, is so fucking hot. 

"I wish you could see this," Steve says, then adds, "because, fuck, I love…this," Steve says, catching himself, pivoting his words, and Eddie laughs, which makes him clench around Steve.

"I love you, too," Eddie says, not letting him get by with it, and Steve presses in all the way, stopping. Chest heaving, tears burning his eyes. 

"You do?" Steve asks, desperate for that to be true. 

"Don't be obtuse," Eddie says, and Steve's not exactly sure what that means, but he gets the message. Loud and clear. And then Eddie doubles down, and it's music to Steve's ears, hearing him say, "Of course I love you." 

Steve pulls almost all the way out, and slams back in. A punctuation, as he says, "I love you. I love you, too." 

And he fucking does. 

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

[steddie-island]

Life finds a way

Written for week 5 of @softsteddieseptember | Prompt: Adoption Rating: G | WC: 1,113 | Tags: Established Steddie, mention of Al being in jail, anxiety about becoming parents ao3 | Divider credit

The plastic seat dug into the backs of Steve's thighs. They'd been sitting in the waiting room for over an hour now. At least Eddie had stopped pacing, had settled for bouncing his leg up and down and fidgeting with the cap of his water bottle.

"Hey." Steve reached over to catch Eddie's hand. He threaded their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. "We'll be okay. We can do this."

"Yeah." Eddie didn't sound so sure. He brought his other hand to his mouth to start chewing on his cuticles. It was the same position he'd sat in the night before, only Steve wasn't across from him this time.

Steve rested his chin on Eddie's shoulder and switched which hand he had laced with Eddie's, so he could wrap his other arm around his partner's back. "We'll be okay."

"We've done this before."

"Not like this," Eddie murmured. "Not with— not with someone so small. What if— what if I fuck up? What if I don't know what I'm doing and I fuck up in a way that— that can't be fixed? That I can't take back? What then?"

Eddie's hair was bigger, wilder than it normally was, showing just how many times he'd dragged his hands through it, or had his face hidden in his palms. There was a half empty pack of cigarettes on the table that Steve knew for a fact had only been opened a couple of hours earlier.

"We might fuck up, but it won't be on purpose. Everyone fucks up sometimes." Steve kissed Eddie's knuckles. "I'm not saying it won't be hard, but we can do it. And they're your siblings."

That earned a sound that halfway between a scoff and a whine. "I know. I know. What the fuck— he's old, he's not supposed to be out there just— making more kids he can't take care of."

It'd been a week since the call from the state. A week since they'd found out Al was in jail again, leaving behind two kids that no one else wanted to take responsibility for.

Steve wasn't sure he'd ever seen Eddie this torn up before.

"There are a lot of people out there doing that." Steve caught Eddie's other hand and held them to his own chest. "We don't have to do this. If you really think we can't do it, if you don't want to—"

"I want to," Eddie said quickly, his eyes going wide. "We've talked about having kids before, I just… didn't think this would be how it happened."

"I know. I didn't, either. I didn't think it would be like this, or be so soon…"

"Yeah. Yeah, fuck." Eddie pushed his fingers through his hair again. "I'm scared, Stevie."

Steve cupped Eddie's face between his palms. "It'll be hard. I'm not saying it won't be. We might fuck up. We will fuck up, there's no way for us not to." He smiled a little. "But those kids will be so loved. They'll never have to wonder for even a second whether we love them."

Moisture welled up in Eddie's eyes. He cleared his throat, blinked the tears back, nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we have that going for us," he said. "And… you want this? With me? You want to do this?"

Steve pulled him in, kissed him gently before resting their foreheads together. "I've never wanted anything more in my life," he admitted. "If you're in, I'm in."

Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve's back, pulling him closer until Steve was sitting in his lap. He brushed their lips together before meeting those eyes he would never get tired of getting lost in. "I'm in."

"Mr. Munson?"

Eddie jerked up out of his seat, nearly dropping his water bottle in the process. "Here— I mean, that's— me."

Steve stood up, too, as the caseworker they'd already met with to fill out paperwork came through the door. There was a bundle in one arm, and her other was holding the hand of a little kid with dark curls and darker eyes.

Steve had always thought that Eddie got his looks from his mom, but those eyes were Eddie's. "Oh…"

There was a soft intake of air. Eddie took a cautious step forward, then squatted down so he was even with the kid in front of him. "Hey, sweetheart. What's your name?"

The kid shot a shy look up to the caseworker, then back to Eddie. "Andrew," he said, but it came out more like Andwew.

"Hi, Andrew. I'm Eddie." He smiled and held his hand out, and Steve melted as the little boy in front of them took Eddie's hand. "You'll be coming to stay with us for a little while."

Andrew bit his lips and looked up at the caseworker. There was so much Eddie in that nervous little glance. "Sissy, too?" he asked.

Eddie gave him a nod. "Yeah. Both of you."

The caseworker smiled and smoothed a hand over Andrew's curls. "They're very nice," she said. "They'll take good care of you."

Andrew looked past Eddie to Steve for the first time. "Who him?" he asked.

Steve squatted beside Eddie and held his hand out, too, just like Eddie had done. "I'm Steve. I'll be taking care of you, too." He gestured to the shirt Andrew was wearing. "Do you like dinosaurs?"

"Yeah." He ran a pudgy little hand over the print of his shirt. "They go—" He held his hands up like claws and made a dinosaur roaring sound.

Oh, yeah. This kid was a mini Eddie, and Steve was in love.

"They do! They're so cool, aren't they?" Eddie looked at Steve, his eyes swimming, his smile wide. "How about we take you and your sister home, we can make some dinosaur nuggets and watch a movie?"

Andrew perked up at the offer, and he didn't look back to the caseworker this time. "Can we?"

"Yeah!" Eddie straightened up and offered Andrew his hand. "We definitely can, if you want to!"

"Okay!"

Steve stood and held his arms out for the baby wrapped in a soft yellow blanket. He could make out her dark hair, not as curly as her big brothers' hair but the same dark shade of brown. That was definitely Eddie's mouth, too. "Hi, sweetheart. You're coming home with us," he murmured.

"Call if you need anything," the caseworker said with a squeeze to Steve's elbow and a smile at Eddie. "I'll check in in a few days."

"Thank you," Eddie said. He bent to pick Andrew up, then rested a hand at the small of Steve's back to guide him to the door. "C'mon. Let's go home."

[mysterycitrus]

[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

[thefreakandthehair]

He spots Eddie before he realizes Steve is there leaning in the doorway, so he takes a moment to drink it in.

It’s still shocking, now and then, to see Eddie without all of his armor— without his leather jacket, and battle vest. It’s a little startling, even now, but it’s also… well, it’s nice. He looks soft, warm around the edges, as he stands at the kitchen sink with nothing but the orange glow of the light over the stove illuminating the little details.

Steve sees the tiniest hint of flesh through a threadbare spot in the heel of his right sock. His shorts are bunched up and sitting a bit crooked on his hips. He washes dishes like he’s mad at them for having the audacity to be dirtied in the first place. The shirt Steve gave him weeks ago is a little loose in the shoulders and wet down the front, no doubt from a rogue spoon in the sink.

And Steve fucking loves him.

He’s known for a while now, probably before they even got together, but it’s always come to him in the big moments. Like when Eddie showed up at a big game that no one else besides Robin bothered to attend, or when he has his tongue down his throat, or like tonight, when he’d been riding the high of oxytocin-induced euphoria.

It’s never been the right moment to let himself fully feel the weight of it all, but there’s nothing special about this moment that might trick Steve into falling in love.

It’s only special because he’s already in love.

Steve clears his throat and walks across the linoleum floor to join him at the sink, his socked feet echoing alongside his pulse. Blood rushes to his ears, drowning out the sounds of everything but quiet mutterings as Eddie tries to scrub the dried cheese of an old aluminum pot.

↳read the rest of chapter four of slipped between these ribs of mine [explicit] on ao3! written for @steddiesmuttyseptember!

some people asked to be tagged and I can't for the life of me remember so just tagging some peeps who expressed interest (lemme know if you don't wanna be, of course!): @sageclipse @pearynice @steddieasitgoes @stervrucht @runninriot

@lunaticmarunatic @lihhelsing @steddie-island @kas-eddie-munson @sidekick-hero

@spectrum-spectre @hbyrde36 @queenie-ofthe-void @absurdityaddiction

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @steddieas-shegoes @vecnuthy @hotluncheddie @griefabyss69

@imaginary-maggie-waggie @fkinkindagauche @pluckedstrings @blossomingblueberries

[katabay]

sam winchester, laptoppin it up :)

I feel like it's either extremely obvious that I've watched all 15 seasons of spn (11 of them as they were airing on tv) or somehow Not Obvious, despite the fact that I semi regularly reference it in one way or another.

god. anyway. sam. I will never recover from the poetic tragedy of sam. praying while being marked down as lucifer's vessel. the constant focus on wanting to be clean, the way free will versus pre-determination is in a constant state of narrative friction just by his character existing. the scope of horror in being damned and doomed before you were even born, by your own mother. wow. character of all time.

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[runninriot]

(Un)Used

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

week 2 prompts: backseat, bruise, soft and slow | rated: E | wc: 2.770 | tags: self-worth issues, eddie is a mess, steve takes care of him, blow job, hand job, anal sex, emotional hurt/comfort, implied strangers to lovers | also on ao3

Eddie's not used to this. Or only part of it.

Because the feeling is oddly familiar and yet, everything about it is different.

It's the harshness that resonates in his body like a well-known song; rough fingers digging deep into tender flesh, nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in burning skin. It's the pressure of a grip so tight it's sure to leave bruises, Eddie recognises like an old friend.

But there’s more. Things he doesn’t know how to name, how to take.

Eddie shivers in violent ecstasy, his movements out of control, nerve endings set ablaze with every touch and every whisper. Every last bit of sanity lost to a sensation that's so new, so wrong, so good, so contrary to everything his body has become accustomed to.

What he knows is the ache, the unnatural twist of his limbs when he's being held down in the backseat of someone's car, fucked mercilessly on the side of the road or at the far end of an empty parking lot in the dark of the night.

What he's used to, is offering his body to nameless faces and hands that take more than he should let them. More than he should be willing to give.

What Eddie thought is the way it always is - the same experience each time, the same self-hatred that holds his soul captive, the same nasty aftertaste of unkind words and bitter relief - suddenly seems to break and crumble under the lightness, the care, the dignity offered to him like a gift he doesn't deserve.

   "So beautiful," the voice above him whispers, sounds like it shares a secret with him about him. Like there’s something in him that’s worth flaunting, spread out on a bed covered in soft sheets, bathed in comforting light, put on display for his admirer to look at. For him to be seen.

It's scary.

And not for the first time tonight, Eddie tries to hide, to cover his eyes with his arm, to turn around and bury his face in the pillow below.

But Steve doesn't let him.

Steve, whose fingers are everywhere, tracing blemished skin that covers the body that houses a broken soul. Unearthing buried fears and insecurities, laying them all out on the surface, marking his findings with kisses like he’s putting his name on each one of them. Not to claim ownership but to make something new, take what’s damaged and give it new purpose, new life.

   “Can’t believe how lucky I am,” the voice whispers sweetly, tickles the sensitive skin on his neck.

   “Steve, please!”

It’s all Eddie can answer, all he can offer, all he can think. Just this one name on repeat, like a prayer, over and over, because there is nothing else left on his mind.

   “I know, baby, I know.”

Steve’s words are supposed to be soothing, the low vibration of his voice should be comforting but how is Eddie supposed to stay calm when Steve’s tongue is circling and licking his cock, teasing his slit, massaging his balls, leaving a trace of trickling spit on its way? Lips moving up and down and around, taking him in and out but never enough, never to finish what he started what feels like hours ago.

Eddie is on edge, has been since the moment Steve carried him here, laid him down on his bed, undressed him in slow motion, one piece at a time until he was left naked from his neck to his toes – no belt buckle left to press into bent thighs, no shirt crumpling up around his chest, just his pure, bare skin, pale and inked. Left with nothing to hide behind, to obscure the vision.

He’s never felt so vulnerable in his life, can’t remember anyone ever looking at him like Steve does. Intense and focused, like he’s trying to memorise every part of him. Smiling, like he enjoys the view, like he likes what he sees.

Steve’s mouth is back on his – when did he stop sucking his cock? Eddie can still feel him down there, the lingering touch of his lips but he can taste himself now on the other man’s tongue when it licks deep inside.

   “Can I fuck you, baby?” Steve asks when they part and Eddie blinks slowly at him.

Why is he asking? Wasn’t this the plan all along? Isn’t it common knowledge that Eddie is easy, always free to be used.

   “Please,” Eddie sighs, or maybe he moans, or maybe he doesn’t say anything at all because Steve is still looking at him with questioning eyes.

   “Fuck me, Steve,” he tries again, more demanding this time, needs to speed this up because-

Because the sooner Steve comes, the sooner Eddie can go home to lick his wounds, allow himself to fall to pieces, maybe cry in the shower, then smoke himself numb. And tomorrow, he can pick up the pieces of a heart torn to shreds.

It’s the same every time and yet, this time, it’s worse.

Because Steve isn’t nameless, Steve isn’t anyone, Steve isn’t anything like those other guys, the ones on the hunt for nothing but a hole to sink in.

Steve kisses him, touches him greedy but gentle – and that makes him so much more dangerous.

Eddie knows selfishness, knows how to make himself small, how to bend into the perfect shape to be used.

What he doesn’t know, is kindness and light-hearted giggles and praise.

This adoration in Steve’s eyes hurts because it creates an illusion of how things could be if someone would care. If someone would want Eddie for more than just a quick, hard fuck.

It’s an illusion he can’t allow himself to let take root in his mind, or worse, in his heart. Can’t allow it to shine light on the darkness inside, make warmth where he’s cold, make soft where he’s turned to stone.

Eddie isn’t destined to be loved. Never has been, never will be.

So with a bit of relief but also a lot of regret, Eddie feels like his breathing finally slows when Steve moves to kneel between his thighs, one hand still connected to his skin while he leans over to grab a condom and lube.

This is the part Eddie knows.

Without thinking, without asking Steve how he wants him, Eddie lifts himself up on trembling arms, moves to turn around. On his hands and knees Eddie finally recognises his own body and it feels like a spell had been lifted from his foggy mind.

With his head bowed down and his back arched, arms bent at the elbows and his legs spread wide, Eddie waits.

And waits.

And-

startles but somehow instantly relaxes when he feels Steve’s warm palms on his shoulders, gliding down his back in slow strokes, resting on his hips where he grips him tight.

Eddie doesn’t know what happens, suddenly finds himself flat on his back again, Steve looming over him, looking down with a mix of confusion and worry that makes Eddie squirm nervously.

   “Nu-uh, baby. Want you to be comfortable. I want to see you. Can’t kiss you when you’re hiding your pretty face.”

Steve words slice through him like a blade, make something hot run through his veins – pain and desire, a mix of vile things and sunshine – knocking all the air out of Eddie’s lungs with a moan so desperate, so needy.

   “Steve, oh God, please just-“

    Take me. Fuck me. Use me.

The words get stuck in his throat when he sucks in a shocked breath.

   “Fuck!” Eddie cries out, lost in the feeling of Steve’s lube slicked thumb rubbing over his rim in circles.

   “Relax, baby. Gonna take it easy, wanna make you feel so good.”

Before Eddie can protest, Steve’s mouth is back on his cock, lips closed around the head while he flicks his tongue around in the same, agonising motion that drove Eddie insane before.

It’s too much to take in, too many sensations at once, with Steve sinking deeper on Eddie’s hardness, inch per throbbing inch, while the tip of his thumb prods at his entrance, slow and soft and so very careful. The contrast of Steve’s greedy mouth swallowing him down and the gentleness of his finger pushing slowly inside, causes a short circuit in Eddie’s brain.

All he can do is whine and whimper, helplessly stammering useless pleas through parted lips. Steve’s name is the only thing keeping him tied to the here and now as Eddie slowly loses himself to the feeling, lets himself go, allows himself to be given wave after wave of coiling pleasure when Steve’s two fingers deep.

Suddenly, something rips through Eddie like his insides are made of exploding fireworks, when Steve hits that bundle of nerves no one had ever bothered to find before.

   “Steve, oh god, I-“

The warning dies on his tongue when he comes with a cry, filling Steve’s mouth with his release, coming hard and hot down his throat.

Steve swallows roughly, like he’s trying to keep it all in. It’s too much, Eddie can feel it, his lips slick with cum and saliva, dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin where he hovers above Eddie’s middle.

He doesn’t stop, though. Keeps going. Keeps thrusting his fingers while sucking on Eddie’s softening cock and Eddie wants to cry, needs him to stop, wants to beg him to keep going forever.

It’s a sensation unlike any he’s ever experienced before.

This, Eddie thinks, is what it must feel like to come from actual pleasure and not just from giving into his body’s natural impulse, what it feels like to drift, to fly, to be high on adrenaline and serotonin and whatever fucking hormones make him feel like he’s on top of the world.

Finally, Steve releases his spent cock, slick fingers slowing their movement before they pull out completely, leaving Eddie’s stretched hole empty and clenching around nothing.

And he wants to complain, wants to tell him to ‘come back, come here, need you inside, need you, please!’ but it’s hard to breathe, let alone think, so instead he whines and blindly searches for Steve’s hand to hold.

   “I got you, baby. I’m right here.”

Eddie feels like jelly, like molten wax in Steve’s hands when he grabs him by his legs and bends his knees and pulls him up and-

   “Tell me if it’s too much and I stop.”

-pushes the head of his cock into the waiting heat of Eddie’s body, slowly, so fucking slowly and careful.

For a moment, Eddie isn’t sure if it’s really happening or if it is maybe just wishful thinking. But as his mind slowly drifts back to earth and his surroundings come back into focus, as he begins to feel his own body again, he realises he isn’t just making this up.

He can feel the way his muscle stretches around Steve’s cock, pushing in and pulling back out, deeper inside with every forward movement of his hips.

It’s heavenly torture, the way Steve takes his time, lets Eddie adjust to the feeling, gives just a bit at a time. And it drives Eddie wild, makes him feral with want for ‘more, more, deeper, please!’

But Steve doesn’t waver, keeps up with the tormenting pace until finally, with one more thrust, he’s buried balls deep.

   “Fuck, baby! Ah, feels so good. So tight around me.”

If Eddie wasn’t busy moaning like a bitch in heat, he’d laugh at those words. Feels like crying at the notion of him being anything other than used-up and sloppy, a worn-out object, frayed at the edges, torn apart by too many before.

   “So tight, so perfect. And all just for me.”

He says it like he means it and something inside Eddie shifts. Warmth spreads from his chest in every other part of his body, through flesh and bone, settles in every cell, something that makes him feel new, different, other. He feels like drowning, like with every thrust, Steve pushes him deeper into a sea of light.

Submerged in sunshine, surrounded by white noise, Eddie lets himself fall.

He’s so lost, he doesn’t even notice the way his own cock is straining hard against his belly, leaking at the tip, making a mess where it throbs with every snap of Steve’s hips. The rhythm is soothing, harder now than it was before but steady, pushing deep, filling him with a pleasure that feels like something else, something holy, something he doesn’t know how he ever existed without.

Eddie floats, sinks, dies.

And comes back alive when his second orgasm hits even harder than the first, hits him the moment Steve cries out his name like he’s calling for God.

Out of breath and visibly exhausted, Steve can barely keep himself up on his trembling arms, but he still leans down to capture Eddie’s mouth in a feverish kiss.

   “So perfect,” Steve whispers again and this time, he agrees.

   “Thank you”, Eddie answers before he closes his eyes.

-----

Eddie doesn’t know how much time has passed. It felt like he only blinked, maybe rested his heavy lids for a minute or two. Or maybe five.

But when he opens his eyes again, he finds himself cleaned up and covered by a soft blanket, curled up next to Steve, head resting on the other man’s chest.

When he lifts his head to look up, Steve is already looking back at him, a beautiful smile on his lips.

   “There you are. How do you feel?”

The question should be easy enough to answer, but somehow Eddie struggles to find the right words.

Because how can he explain to a man he only met tonight, that he’s never felt better. That he can’t remember a single time his body hadn’t felt like he’d been run over by a bus after being fucked.

That no one ever managed or let alone tried to make Eddie come twice.

That here, in Steve’s arms, Eddie feels safe.

None of these answers seem right, feel too heavy, too loaded with memories. Years of putting up with undeserving strangers suddenly come crashing down on him and Eddie only realises he’s crying when Steve wipes at a tear with his thumb.

   “Hey, what’s wrong? Did I-“

Eddie shakes his head immediately, doesn’t want Steve to think even for one second that he’s done something wrong. If anything, Steve showed Eddie how much better his life could’ve been if he hadn’t resigned so early in life. If he hadn’t given himself up, treating his own body like trash – why would anyone treat him better than he treats himself?

Except, Steve did. Showed him what gentle touch feels like. What it’s like to be kissed while being taken apart. How wonderful it can be not to rush, to draw out every part of this wondrous game, how beautiful this act can be, how soft, how uplifting and rewarding.

   “Happy,” is all Eddie can say, breath hitching when he tries to swallow another sob trying to break free.

   “So those are happy tears?” Steve asks, and Eddie can hear the concern in his voice.

He nods, stops, shakes his head again, stops, huffs out a frustrated laugh.

   “I’m happy. You made me happy. But I’m sad because-“

Because what? Because he can’t have this forever? Can’t stay here to rest in Steve’s arms all night? Can’t come back for more?

   “You don’t have to tell me right now. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow? Only if you want.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, his heart skips a beat.

   “T-tomorrow?” he repeats unbelieving.

   “Mhm,” Steve hums, while he pulls Eddie closer, “tomorrow. Because everything is better after a good night’s sleep, and a hot shower, and a proper breakfast.”

   “You- you want me to stay for breakfast?”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes as if Eddie just said something stupid.

   “Right now, I just want to hold you, if that’s okay?”

And before Eddie can answer, Steve turns off the light and covers the room in comfortable darkness. He kisses the top of his head, sighing contently as he sinks deeper into the mattress, taking Eddie with him, holding him tight in his warm embrace.

   “Promise you’ll stay the night?”

Eddie smiles, bites down a laugh when his mind offers ‘I’ll stay forever, if you let me’.

   “Promise,” he says instead, closes his eyes and lets the rhythm of Steve’s heart slowly lull him to sleep.

He’s not used to this part, to being held like something worth keeping.

But he hopes, believes, that one day he will be.

[hidden-for-reg]

September 17: want | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 257

When Regulus stepped into the Gryffindor party, the only thing he could feel was want.

He came to this party for one reason and one reason only: James.

It took Regulus all of two seconds to locate the boy. He felt a tug in his stomach, an invisible force tugging him to the messy-haired boy dancing in the middle of the crowd, arms thrown above his head carelessly.

Under normal circumstances, this place would’ve been Regulus’ worst nightmare. But how it could be when James was so close? 

In a few long strides, Regulus closed the gap between him and James.

He fisted his shirt collar in his hands and glared into his brown eyes.

James, the absolute sop that he was, had stopped dancing and gave Regulus his full attention. James inched slowly closer to him.

Regulus felt a hand wrap around his waist and pull him forward. 

Regulus couldn’t help his eyes from dipping to linger on James’ mouth.

It didn’t go unnoticed, however. This much became obvious when James whispered into Regulus’ ear, “My dorm’s empty right now.” James nipped the corner of Regulus’ ear softly.

Regulus didn’t know what else to do but nod fervently to the boy, whose collar was still clutched in his hands. He let go hastily and tried to keep his hands to himself while following James up the stairs.

But they’d only made it three steps before they started grasping at each other. 

Regulus hadn’t even known they’d entered the dorm until he fell backwards onto the bed.

[steveseddie]

for protection

steddie | rating: t | wc: 5,2k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, scary movies, accidental hand holding, turned into non-accidental hand holding, soft boys, getting together, fruity four friendship

for week four of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “protection”

click here to read on ao3

Steve never liked horror movies. 

He didn’t like them before the Upside Down and he definitely doesn’t like them now when he spends most of his time worrying and waiting for the next supernatural shoe to drop. There’s no reason why he would want to spend two hours peeking through his fingers at a screen and anticipating the next jumpscare on top of that.

Occasionally, he will let Robin or one of the kids— or lately, Eddie too— convince him to watch one. They might have gone through the same horrors as Steve, but somehow they’re not bothered by these movies at all. At least when Robin is around she’ll let Steve hold her hand, which has gotten him through worse things than movies about aliens or monsters or psychopathic killers. 

That is the only reason Steve agreed to go to the movies tonight.

“Who are you kidding, dingus?” Robin snorts when Steve tells her as much. She’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Beemer as Steve drives them both to The Hawk to meet Eddie and Nancy. “You agreed to come because you can’t say no to Eddie and his big Bambi eyes!” 

Steve sputters indignantly. “What? Yes, I can!”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Steve, I told you I wanted to watch this movie weeks ago and you kept brushing me off. You only said yes when Eddie pouted and complained that no one wanted to watch it with him!” 

Steve waves her off. “I would’ve said yes to you eventually.” 

“But you didn’t,” Robin says, poking Steve’s side and making him yelp. “You said yes to your boy—”

“He’s not my boy,” Steve huffs, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck at the words. 

Robin ignores him and keeps teasing him. “You said yes to him because you love him—” she says, dragging the word love and making obnoxious kissing noises. 

“Christ, what are you? Five?” Steve protests, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for the red light to turn green. Robin keeps making those kissing noises, making Steve groan. “Ugh, shut up. Or I’ll shove you out of the car and you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” 

Robin huffs. “If you do that you’ll have to explain to Nancy that you abandoned me in the middle of nowhere,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him. If she keeps up acting like a child they’re not going to let her in to see this movie. 

“We’re like, four blocks away,” Steve says, pointing ahead where the sign for The Hawk comes into view. “That’s hardly the middle of nowhere.” 

But they both know he won’t do it anyway— not even a horror movie sounds scarier than having to tell Nancy he left Robin to walk the streets of Hawkins alone at night. 

So he finds them a parking spot instead, a few blocks away from The Hawk so by the time they walk up to the entrance it’s exactly 7 pm. They agreed to meet up at that time, meaning Nancy is already there—and probably has been for a while—and Eddie is nowhere to be seen. 

As soon as she sees Nancy, Robin leaves Steve’s side and runs up to her, wrapping her arms around Nancy’s shoulders to hug her. Nancy stumbles back a few steps, taken by surprise but then she smiles and wraps her arms around Robin’s waist, returning the hug. 

As Steve approaches, he hears Robin rambling with her arms still around her. “Hey, Nancy! I hope you haven’t been waiting for long, I told Steve we were gonna be late but he still took forever to fix his hair. And I was like ‘dingus we’re going to be in a dark room for the better part of two hours, no need to fuss about it so much!’ but you know Steve. Duh, you dated him, of course you do. I think he just wanted to look good for—” she pauses, pulling back to look around them and make sure they’re alone, “—for Eddie, which is silly, y’know? Have you seen Eddie’s hair? He does not care about hair care routines and stuff!”

“I should’ve made you walk,” Steve mutters, feeling his blush tinting his cheeks pink again. Nancy stifles a chuckle behind her hand and Steve waves at her. “Hey, Nance.”

“Hi, Steve. Your hair looks good,” she says with a tiny smirk that makes Robin cackle loudly and makes Steve roll his eyes. She turns back to Robin, “And I haven’t been waiting long, I just got here.” 

Robin throws some finger guns at her. “Cool,” she says, “Should we get the tickets?” 

“We still have to wait for Eddie,” Steve interjects, looking around for any sign of Eddie’s van or Eddie himself. 

“You can wait for your boy,” Robin says with a smirk, “and Nance and I will get the tickets!” 

Steve lets out a long-suffering groan. “For the last time, Robin, he’s not my boy.”

Once again, she ignores him and holds her palm up at him. “Money, please.”

Steve sighs, pulling his wallet from his jeans and handing her a few bills, enough for four tickets. 

“Thanks!” She says, whirling around and hooking her arm with Nancy’s, dragging her towards the ticket booth and leaving Steve to wait for Eddie alone.  

He entertains himself by kicking a plastic bottle back and forth. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he does so he doesn’t notice Eddie approaching— not until he jumps on Steve’s back, wrapping an arm around his neck in a chokehold.

“Got ya, Harrington!” Eddie yells in Steve’s ear as Steve stumbles with the added weight but manages to find his balance before they both end up on the ground.

“Christ,” Steve mutters, trying to wiggle out of Eddie’s hold while he laughs like a maniac. “Eddie, get off, man!” 

“As His Majesty commands,” Eddie giggles, jumping off Steve’s back and sweeping down in a dramatic bow when Steve turns around to face him. 

Steve’s hands land on his hips. “You couldn’t just say hello like a normal person?” 

“That, my dear Stevie, would require that I was normal, and as the Hawkins population so graciously accused me of, I am—” he pauses for dramatic effect, “—a freak.”

Steve lets out a snort. “You’re late, that’s what you are,” he says and Eddie gives a dismissive wave. “The girls went inside to get the tickets.”

Eddie gasps, his eyes sparkling under the streetlights. “And you waited for me, sweetheart?” He asks, placing both of his hands over his heart. Steve’s cheeks pink up at the pet name. “You shouldn’t have!” 

“Noted,” Steve smirks. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, jerking his head towards the entrance. “C’mon, they’re waiting.”

Eddie falls into step beside Steve as he starts walking to where Robin and Nancy are whispering and giggling about something.

Robin notices them first. “Eddie!” 

“Lady Buckley,” Eddie greets her with a little royal twist of the hand, then repeats the motion in Nancy’s direction. “Lady Wheeler.” 

“Hey, Eddie,” Nancy says, playing along with a curt nod. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Late as usual,” Robin says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. 

“Time is nothing but a social construct, Birdie.”

“Tell that to the movie starting in fifteen minutes,” Steve says, checking his watch. “We should head in. C’mon, Eds, I’ll buy you popcorn.” 

Eddie gives him a lopsided grin. “You sure know your way into a man’s heart, Harrington.” 

“Do I get popcorn too?” Robin asks with a knowing smile. 

Steve flicks her on the forehead. “Dude, I already paid for your ticket.”

“You also paid for Eddie’s!” She argues, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly. “Why does he get popcorn and I don’t?”

Steve glances at Eddie and finds him staring back at him with wide eyes, a strand of hair tugged in front of his face. Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say— other than tell Robin to shut up. 

But before he can, Nancy, bless her soul, jumps in. “Hey, Robin,” she says, putting her hands on Robin’s shoulders so she can steer her away. “I’ll get you popcorn, okay?”

Robin lets Nancy guide her away, narrowing her eyes at Steve over her shoulder one last time.

Steve lets out a puff of air. 

He feels Eddie bump his shoulder. “Hey, I- I can get my popcorn, man. And I can pay for my ticket too,” he says a little awkwardly. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble with Buckley.”

“No way, Eds,” Steve is quick to say, bumping his shoulder right back. “It’s on me.”

Eddie offers him a shy little smile. “Well, I’ll get the next one then.”

Steve nods, stomach fluttering at the thought of doing this again with Eddie— maybe just the two of them next time. “Sure, as long as you don’t drag me here for another crappy horror movie.” 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “This isn’t a crappy horror movie! It’s supposed to be the best one of the year, I guarantee you’ll be scared.” 

Yeah, that’s precisely what Steve is worried about. He tries not to grimace at that. 

As long as you sit next to Robin, you’ll be fine, he thinks to himself. 

To Eddie, he says, “Whatever you say, Eds.”

They join the girls at the concession stand where Steve and Nancy get large popcorn bowls to share with Eddie and Robin, sodas for each of them, and Steve also asks for some gummy worms because he knows Eddie will put too much butter on their popcorn, get sick of it halfway through and will want to eat something sweet. 

As soon as the kid slides the bag of gummy worms over the counter, Steve puts it in his pocket. He doesn’t want Robin to see them and call him out on that too.  

He hands the popcorn to Eddie who, as expected, soaks it with butter, earning horrified looks from everyone around them, including Steve. Though Steve’s expression might also be overly affectionate. 

“Hey, don’t forget the napkins for your gross buttery fingers,” Steve tells him when Eddie deems their popcorn soggy enough and waits for him to grab a handful of napkins before they follow Nancy and Robin. 

“Why do you care if I have buttery fingers, hm?” Eddie asks, getting all up in Steve’s space. A few popcorn kernels fall on the carpet from Eddie moving so much. “Planning to hold my hand in there or something?” 

And Steve isn’t— he’s planning to hold Robin’s, but the thought of holding Eddie’s hand instead makes his heart stutter in his chest, pink tinting his cheeks.

“You wish, Munson,” he says, picking up the pace to catch up with the girls and walk into the dark movie theater, hoping it will help hide his blush from Eddie. 

“Oh, but I do, Stevie, every night,” Eddie says, following him with a shit-eating grin. 

It’s relatively empty inside and the four of them head straight to the back rows where Steve ends up sitting between Eddie and Robin, with Nancy on her other side. 

While they wait for the movie to start, Eddie leans over to whisper in Steve’s ear what critics are saying about the movie, what he’s most excited to see, what the scariest parts are supposed to be. Someone else might find it annoying— to have Eddie loudly chewing popcorn right next to their ear and talking about the movie they’re about to see— but Steve loves hearing Eddie talk, and maybe knowing what’s going to happen in the movie will help ease his nerves a bit.

Eddie doesn’t stop talking until the opening credits start to appear, settling back on his seat with a happy little squeal. 

Cute, Steve thinks as an idea occurs to him. Maybe if he focuses on Eddie instead of the screen it won’t be so bad. 

And so for the first thirty minutes of the movie, Steve keeps his attention on Eddie with the occasional glance at the screen to not be too obvious— even if Eddie is unlikely to notice since his eyes won’t leave the screen, barely blinking as he shoves handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. Halfway through, just like Steve predicted, Eddie shoves the popcorn towards him, buttery lips scrunched up. He downs his soda as he tries to wash away the taste of salt and butter before using the napkins to wipe his fingers. 

He glances away from the screen for the first time since the movie started when Steve nudges him with his elbow and holds out the gummy worms. 

Eddie’s eyes widen and then he gives Steve a slightly awed look. “Thanks, Stevie,” he whispers, grabbing the bag. 

Steve just winks at him, and when Eddie faces forward again, Steve thinks he can see a pink flush high on his cheeks thanks to the glow coming from the screen. 

Pleased, Steve finishes the popcorn and his soda, setting everything on the floor to pick up later and sitting back to stare at Eddie a bit more, paying little to no attention to the screen. 

That’s when bad things start to happen in the movie. 

Shoulders tense and heart hammering in his chest, Steve does his best to not glance at the screen but even then there’s no way to block out the screams or the other disturbing noises. When he looks at Eddie, he actually seems excited about the horrific, gruesome scenes taking place. On Steve’s other side, Robin and Nancy seem mostly unbothered, though Robin’s nose keeps scrunching up at times. They’re all handling it better than Steve is— fingers digging into his legs, eyes screwed shut, breathing in and out as he tries to calm down. 

Steve makes the mistake of opening his eyes and accidentally glancing at the screen just as some awful monster jumps at them, almost giving Steve a heart attack. His hand leaves his lap to grab Robin’s hand, needing physical comfort. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that, while the hand he just wrapped his fingers around is thin and bony like Robin’s, it’s also bigger and uncharacteristically cold. Steve glances down at it with a frown and realizes that the reason why it’s so cold is the multiple rings adorning the fingers— fingers that don’t belong to Robin. 

Because Steve reached out with the wrong hand and grabbed Eddie’s instead. 

Fuck.

He glances away from their hands and finds Eddie already looking at him. Steve knows he must look like a startled deer, but instead of the teasing expression he expects to see on Eddie’s face, his eyebrows are knitted in concern. 

“You okay, Steve?” Eddie asks softly, leaning into Steve’s space even though the noises coming from the speakers are enough to drown out their voices. 

“Not really, but um, I didn’t mean to do that, sorry, I thought I reached for Robin,” Steve nervously stammers out. He manages to get his scrambled brain cells working and lets go of Eddie’s fingers— but before Steve can fully retrieve his hand, Eddie flips his hand over, trapping Steve’s there.

Steve blinks at him.

“Does it help? Holding someone’s hand?” Eddie asks and Steve nods dumbly. “Okay, then.” 

And so Eddie slides his fingers through the spaces between Steve’s fingers, intertwining their hands.

Steve looks down at them, blinking repeatedly, expecting them to disappear. “Eds, you don’t have to—”

“Shhh, I’m happy to,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand.  Steve’s breath catching in his throat. “Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ll protect you,” he adds with a wink. 

Steve knows Eddie is trying to lighten up the mood but he doesn’t laugh it off because the truth is that he does feel safer like this, more relaxed. He gives Eddie a small smile. “Okay.” 

“I guess it’s a good thing you made me grab those napkins, huh?” Eddie says, and this time, Steve does laugh, though he muffles it behind his other hand so hopefully the girls can’t hear it. He doesn’t need them glancing over and noticing their hands— Steve is already blushing enough as it is. 

After that, Eddie turns his attention back to the screen but Steve keeps his eyes on their hands for a while, taking advantage of the glow coming from the screen to study each of Eddie’s rings, his chipped nail polish, the tattoo on the side of his wrist, the scar from a demobat bite in the back of his hand. 

When he glances back at the screen, the worst of the movie seems to be over and he’s able to push through the remaining and significantly less scary scenes by squeezing Eddie’s hand and feeling Eddie squeeze right back. 

At one point, Robin glances at him, probably to check on him and her eyes end up on their held hands, a loud gasp slipping past her lips. 

Steve whips his head at her and meets her bulging eyes. She mouths her words at him— “Oh my God!”

“I know!” Steve mouths right back.

Because this might’ve started with Eddie being a good friend and comforting Steve, but as the movie droned on, it started to feel less like that— it started to feel like more. The way Eddie started rubbing his thumb over Steve’s hand, the way he blushed when Steve started to play with one of his rings, the way they both kept glancing at the other and smiling almost shyly. Steve’s heart hasn’t stopped jackhammering against his ribcage at the thought of all of this meaning something. 

But they can’t address any of that right now and Robin seems to realize that, so after giving Steve a dorky thumbs up, she turns her attention back to the movie. 

Steve does the same. On the screen, those who survived are being rescued and Steve can breathe a little easier. Before he knows it, the end credits start rolling up and Steve finally fully relaxes. 

He expects Eddie to let go of his hand right away but to Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t. Without letting go, Eddie leans over Steve to ask the girls what they thought about the movie. 

“I probably could’ve lived without seeing that many guts,” Robin says, her nose scrunching up. 

At the same time as Nancy says, “Oh, it was good!” 

Steve stares at her, dumbfounded, but Nancy has always been the bravest out of all of them. 

“Hell yeah, Wheeler!” Eddie whoops, reaching over with the hand not currently holding Steve’s to give her a high five. 

Nancy returns it with an amused chuckle. If she notices Eddie’s other hand intertwined with Steve’s, she doesn’t show it. “What about you, Steve? What did you think?” 

“I think I’m never letting the kids rent this fucking movie,” he says with a scoff.

Eddie throws his head back with a laugh, loud and full-bellied. It’s a good thing that the movie is over because the sound reverberates around the rapidly emptying room.

Next to Steve, Robin snorts. “You know Dustin is just gonna convince Eddie to rent it for him, right?” 

“Lies and slander!” Eddie protests. “I would never corrupt the youth like that!” He says, pulling his hand and Steve’s towards his chest, clutching it as he plays the to offended part. Well, if Nancy didn’t notice they were holding hands before she sure did now. 

“You would,” Robin says with a shake of her head, “You have.”

“I resent that, Buckley.”

“She’s right, Eds. Max told me you let her try beer last week,” Steve says, voice shaking slightly from Eddie keeping their hands on his chest, letting Steve feel his heartbeat. 

It stutters at Steve’s words and his eyes go wide. “That little snitch! Okay, it was one sip and she was blackmailing me!” 

Nancy raises her eyebrow. “With what?”

Eddie’s cheeks go pink and he averts his gaze, his eyes darting to Steve for a second before focusing on the rips in his jeans, tugging at them. “Um, nothing. All I’m saying is those little shits are menaces. They’ll find a way to watch the movie, y’know?”

“Well, god-fucking-speed to them,” Steve grumbles, “I’m never watching that shit again.”

Eddie leans close. “Not even if I agree to hold your hand, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low and accompanied by a squeeze of his hand. 

Steve flushes— from Eddie’s voice in his ear, his hand still on his, the thought of holding it like this again. He opens his mouth and closes it, he wants to say no but he’s afraid the word will come out will be an embarrassingly eager yes. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything because Nancy speaks up. “You guys ready to go?” 

They all nod and set about picking up their trash, which means Eddie finally has to let go of Steve’s hand. He tries not to look too disappointed by that but probably fails. As they start making their way out of the room, Eddie and Nancy fall into step together, engaging in conversation about their opinions on the movie, which in Eddie’s case includes a dramatic reenactment of his favorite parts.  

Steve and Robin are a few steps behind and Steve watches Eddie as he gestures wildly and makes weird noises and even falls to the ground at one point, pretending to die like one of the characters in the movie. Nancy laughs and helps him up and Steve feels a wave of affection for Eddie so strong he nearly doubles over with it. 

“Ugh,” Robin groans next to him. “Tone down the heart-eyes, dingus, it’s gross and I literally just saw someone’s insides explode.” 

“Fuck off, Robs,” Steve says, shoving her lightly, his cheeks dusted pink. She stumbles before crowding against Steve again, a bounce in her step. 

“Nope, you still have to tell me how you two ended up holding hands.”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck, wishing he could say he pulled it off by being smooth or something. God, he used to have game. “Uh, the movie was a lot and I accidentally reached for his hand instead of yours.”

Robin throws her head back with a loud cackle. “Oh Steve,” she says, holding onto Steve’s shoulder as she laughs. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Hey!”

At Steve’s protest, Robin shrugs. “What? I called you pretty!”

Eddie comes bouncing over. “Ohhh, are we calling Steve pretty? Can I join?” He asks, throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulders. Robin meets Steve’s eyes and waggles her eyebrows. If Steve wasn’t trapped against Eddie’s side he would pinch her arm. 

“No, she’s just being annoying,” Steve says and Robin sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t right, pretty boy,” Eddie says, dropping his head to Steve’s shoulder and looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. Steve goes warm all over. He ducks his head, unable to keep a dopey smile from stretching over his lips. 

Robin clears her throat— she and Nancy are trying not to smirk as they look between the two of them. 

Steve squirms. “Um, you ready to go, Robs?” 

“Actually,” Robin says, exchanging a look with Nancy. “Nance is giving me a ride home.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What? Why?” He asks. “Is it because I threatened to push you out of the car and make you walk?” Next to him, Eddie lets out an amused snort. 

Robin waves him off. “No, it’s because um- she left a book! At my house last week! And she needs it back tonight, right Nance?”

Nancy’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Oh, yes, it’s a very important book.”

Steve narrows their eyes at them. He’s not buying any of it. “Right.”

“Yeah! So I’ll see you tomorrow at work,” she tells Steve then to Eddie she says, “And I’ll see you, well, probably tomorrow at work too when you inevitably show up to annoy me and Steve.”

Eddie grins, wiping a fake tear. “Oh Buckley, you know me so well.”

“Yeah, yeah, sometimes I wish I knew you less,” she says but the corners of her mouth are turned upwards. 

Eddie lets go of Steve so he can give Robin a quick hug. Then she throws her arms around Steve’s shoulders. “Call me when you get home and tell me everything,” she whispers in his ear and Steve frowns. 

He already told her about the hand holding and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t know what she thinks will happen between Eddie and him when they say goodbye right here in the middle of the street, but he nods anyway.

They each get a hug from Nancy too and then she leads Robin away towards her car.  “Bye, boys! Miss you already!” Robin says, waving enthusiastically at them. 

Steve wiggles his fingers at her and Eddie gives her a two-fingered salute, both of them chuckling in amusement. 

“Um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steve says when it’s just the two of them and a few other moviegoers trickling out of the cinema. He can see Eddie’s van parked just across the street while his own car is a few blocks away. 

“Nope, Stevie, I’m walking you to your car,” Eddie says with a wink. “For protection, of course.”

“You know I keep a nailbat in my trunk, right?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. He’s over the movie by now, not worried about some creature jumping him on his way to his car— not more than usual at least.

Eddie shrugs. “My protection then.”

“If you insist,” Steve says with a chuckle.

They start walking towards Steve’s car, the street getting darker and quieter the further away they get from The Hawk. Their shoulders keep bumping together, the back of their fingers brushing with how close they’re walking. Every time it happens, Steve wants to grab Eddie’s hand and hold it again. 

“Hey, um, sorry I dragged you to this movie,” Eddie says after a short silence. 

Steve glances at him and finds Eddie looking at him shyly. “You didn’t drag me,” he says, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “I said yes.”

“But why? If you hate horror movies so much.” 

“I like hanging out with you,” he says and Eddie’s eyes widen almost imperceptively. “And I had fun just— not during the movie. Though holding your hand wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie chuckles, ducking his head. “Mediocre hand holding is what I’m best at,” he jokes. “And I’m glad you said yes, you know I love my Stevie time, but maybe next time you can pick the movie.” 

“You mean next time we come here with Robin and Nancy?”

Eddie bites his lip, side-eyeing Steve. “Sure, yeah, or y’know just the two of us, if that’s a thing you’d want to do.”

His voice is small and he’s anxiously playing with his fingers and with a start, Steve realizes that Eddie is nervous. Cute, Steve thinks.

He tilts his head. “Like a date?” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then Eddie is grabbing some hair and tugging it in front of his face, but Steve still sees the way his cheeks turn red. He mumbles, “Um, yeah?”

Butterflies explode in Steve’s stomach then and he feels a dopey smile stretching over his lips. Eddie’s eyes go wide, looking hopeful at Steve’s expression. He spits the hair from his mouth, revealing a small smile tugging at his lips. “How about next Friday?” Steve asks.

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Really?” When Steve nods, Eddie lets out a cute little yelp at the confirmation. “Friday it is,” he says. His eyes get a little twinkle in them. “Do I need to pretend to be scared so you’ll hold my hand?” 

“Nope,” he says, and after looking around and making sure they’re alone in the street, Steve finally reaches over and grabs Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers like Eddie did in the movies. 

Eddie’s mouth makes a little “o” shape as he blinks down at them, color rising in his cheeks. 

Steve tugs on his hand to get him walking again, pressed together to hide their hands between them even if it’s dark and there’s no one around.

Sooner than either of them would’ve liked, they reach the Beemer. “Here we are,” Steve says, leaning back against the car, their hands dangling in the space between them. “And we didn’t even need my nailbat.” 

“You know that’s not the only reason why I walked you to your car, right?” 

Steve’s eyebrows go up as he feigns shock. “You mean you didn’t actually expect us to get attacked by slimy monsters with razor-like teeth?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, stepping closer until he’s pressed against Steve’s body, pushing him against the car. “Not that I’d be surprised in this fucked up town but no, um, I was also hoping I’d get to do this.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask what he means by this but Eddie shuts him up by hesitantly grabbing Steve’s neck and leaning in, softly pressing his lips to Steve’s mouth, who gasps in surprise before the sound melts into a happy sigh. He lets go of Eddie’s hand so he can wrap his arms around Eddie, bringing him closer, tilting his head for a better angle so their lips move together more easily and he can taste butter and salt and the slightest hint of sugar. They keep the kiss short, knowing that despite the lack of street lights around them and the late hour, they’re still in public. 

When Eddie pulls back, his cheeks are bright pink and his eyes are sparkling, his smile giddy and so beautiful. Steve already wants to kiss him again. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve, don’t look at me like that,” Eddie groans, and Steve’s eyes snap up from Eddie’s lips, where they darted to without Steve realizing it.

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like you want to—” His hand slides through the air as he gestures aggressively, “—eat me or something. I’m trying to be a gentleman here and not drag you into the backseat of your car.”

Steve smirks. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Steeeeeve,” Eddie whines.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, holding his hands up with a laugh. He doesn’t trust himself not to jump Eddie right now if he stays here any longer anyway. “Goodnight, Eds.” 

Eddie’s face softens. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

When neither of them move— Steve to get in the car and Eddie to go back to his van— Steve shoves him and sends Eddie’s clumsy ass stumbling back. “Go! Before monsters actually jump from the shadows and murder us.” 

“You’d protect me though, wouldn’t you, Stevie?” Eddie teases, batting his eyelashes at him. 

“Always,” Steve says, then makes shooing motions at him. “Now go.”

“Yes, your Majesty, I’m going,” Eddie says as he starts walking— backwards so he can look at Steve some more.  

Steve blows a kiss at him, making Eddie trip over nothing and stumble, but he catches himself and he catches Steve’s kiss in his hand— and then makes out with his hand, making Steve scrunch up his nose and chuckle fondly at the same time. 

He waits until Eddie turns around to get in his car, catching sight of his dopey smile on the rearview mirror as he adjusts it. But he can’t help it— he held hands with Eddie, he’s going on a date with him, he kissed him. 

Turns out Steve does have a reason to call Robin when he gets home after all. 

[adverbally]

It’s Gonna Take You Over

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt “soft and slow” | wc: 874 | rated: E | cw: none | tags: dom Steve, sub Eddie, cockwarming, riding, hickeys, teasing, orgasm control, begging | title from “New Sensation” by INXS

———

Eddie thinks there are probably very few situations where he would object to having Steve Harrington in his lap. (Even fewer if their dicks are out, and even fewer than that if he’s actually inside Steve in some capacity.) But if there’s one thing Eddie has learned over the past year, it’s that some events simply cannot be planned for.

Take, for instance, his current predicament, which involves Steve sitting on Eddie’s cock for several minutes and not. moving.

“Baby, please,” he whimpers as Steve begins to suck another— fourth? fifth? Eddie can’t keep track— hickey into the thin skin beneath Eddie’s ear. The upholstered headboard propping him upright also cushions the blow when Eddie throws his head back with a dull thud.

“Shhh,” Steve hushes him, pulling back to look at Eddie. “Nice and slow, remember?” He holds Eddie’s face between his palms with an affection that almost seems out of place compared to the devious glint in Steve’s eye. “Just like you asked for.”

Eddie’s breath leaves him in a strangled groan when Steve clenches around him. His hands squeeze reflexively at Steve’s waist as his hips try to thrust deeper into the tight heat surrounding him, despite Steve’s weight holding him down. Through it all, Steve keeps Eddie’s face cradled in his hands, watching his brow crease and his mouth drop open.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie moans.

Steve sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Come on, you’ve been so good for me. Just a little longer.”

“Don’t know if I— Jesus Christ!” He wasn’t expecting one of Steve’s hands to slide just enough to press hard into one of the love bites littering Eddie’s neck. It hurts enough that it circles back around to feeling good, making him shudder from head to toe. He wonders if Steve can feel his cock throbbing insistently inside him.

Steve puts on his best innocent face, looking at Eddie through his lashes. “Too much?”

“Please, you’re killing me,” Eddie gasps dramatically, “actually, literally killing me.” He wants Steve so badly that he can hardly form a thought, let alone force it out of his mouth as coherent speech.

“Okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Steve dips his head to kiss Eddie, to reassure him that he’ll be taken care of. He sets a slow rhythm with his tongue, licking the words right out of Eddie’s mouth before he can beg for more.

It’s good, like kissing Steve always is, hot and wet and overwhelming. Eddie gets so lost in the sensation that it catches him off guard when Steve’s hips start to move at the same pace.

This isn’t how Steve usually rides him. Instead of rising and falling, he‘s keeping Eddie’s dick buried to the hilt and grinding back and forth on him. Eddie can tell from his hitching breaths that each deliberate roll of Steve’s hips drags the head of Eddie’s cock across his prostate just right. He can’t see Steve’s face as long as he’s kissing him, but Eddie can imagine how he would look if he pulled away— eyes wide, almost shocked by how good it feels.

“Steve, oh my God,” Eddie mumbles into his mouth.

He’s already getting close. After so long being tormented by Steve‘s stillness, even the minimal friction of each soft movement is enough to drive Eddie toward his peak. Each time Steve rocks in that same slow cadence, lips moving languidly against Eddie’s, it’s almost like a wave building, ebbing and flowing with a predictability that only heightens Eddie’s pleasure every time it crashes into him.

“C’mon,” Steve encourages him, never changing his speed, “want you to come for me.”

”Yeah,” he agrees mindlessly. “Yeah, please, you too.” Steve can’t be far behind, not with how he’s grabbing for the headboard on either side of Eddie, his cock leaking all over their bellies as he runs up against Eddie, inside and out. It makes Eddie’s fingers itch to touch, so he does.

Steve tenses up as soon as Eddie takes his cock in his hand, writhing into Eddie’s touch like he can’t decide where to go. His hips stutter into stillness, pressed as close to Eddie as he can get, and he comes in spurts between them.

Eddie is close behind. He doesn’t know whether it’s the sight or the sound or the way Steve‘s hole flutters around him, but he doesn’t have the capacity to analyze the cause; he comes so hard it feels like someone just flipped the ‘off’ switch on his brain.

“Fuck, Ed,” Steve pants, pressing their foreheads together while they try to catch their breath.

“You’re an evil mastermind,” Eddie babbles. He’s a boneless heap, kept upright only by the pressure of Steve leaning against him and the headboard at his back. He can’t even keep his eyes open. “Thank god you choose to use your powers for good, we’d be doomed otherwise.”

“Shh.” Steve silences him with a kiss. His hands are back on Eddie’s face like he can’t stop touching him. Even with his eyes shut, Eddie’s sure that Steve is staring at him, cataloging every wrinkle and freckle and stray hair.

He feels the love without looking, and he sends it back with a smile.