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osamusriceballs · 9 months

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Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."

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greenglowinspooks · 5 months

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(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 2)

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Tw: canon-typical violence (Batman), emetophobia at one point

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

Danny sat in the back of one of the transport trucks currently on the way to Arkham, his hands in his lap.

So far, everything was going to plan.

About a quarter of the team had gotten themselves admitted into Arkham in the days leading up to the raid, carefully sneaking in supplies and weapons for both themselves and the rogues they were going to free.

Half of the team was on trucks, ready to storm the building with their fancy new tech. A couple others were keeping an eye out for the Bats, and the last one was holed up in a recently condemned building, ecto-modified sniper rifle in hand, ready to fire.

Danny’s hands were cold.

He hadn’t always run cold, from what he remembered. Even after he died—hell, even after he started developing his ice powers—he had always been warm.

Now, though, his body was freezing.

Maybe it was because of the ecto siphoning he and Derringer had done the day before.

He couldn’t make the ecto guns work without fueling them, after all, and the only ectoplasm he had access to was the stuff inside his body. So, he had Derringer hook him up to a GiW machine and filter the ecto out of his blood.

The process was excruciating.

Not only did he get light-headed from the loss of fluids, the machine also chilled his blood considerably during the filtering process, and when it was pumped back into his body, it was freezing. Derringer had to cover him with heating pads and thick blankets to get him to stop shaking.

Still, that had been a little over eighteen hours ago, so that probably wasn’t it.

Maybe it was just another side affect of his time with the GiW.

Overuse of his ghostly wail, he had realized earlier, was the reason that he had lost his voice permanently. Maybe he had accidentally used his ice too many times the same way, and now his body was irrevocably changed. Maybe warmth was just another tiny privilege he had taken for granted, that had now been lost forever.

Danny stared down at his hands.

Maybe his body had just given up entirely on keeping him warm, on pretending to be human.

“Kid, you alright? We’re almost there.”

Derringer’s voice snapped Danny out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Danny signed, “just tired. And cold.”

“We’ve got to get you a jacket, kid,” Derringer said, “it’s not even winter and I already have to worry about you freezing to death.”

“I died a long time ago, it’s fine.”

“No,” one of the other men in the truck drawled, “it means you’ve got to be extra careful. You’ve got a second chance at living, so you better not screw it up.”

“What did he say?”

“Danny thinks that because he’s died before, he doesn’t need to worry about freezing to death.”

The truck went quiet for a few moments. Most of the guys in there didn’t know he had died before. He didn’t exactly like to advertise the fact.

“I have a cousin who had a heart attack, and it only made his heart worse,” one of the guys near the front of the truck offered.

“See, kid?” Derringer said, “I’m right. As soon as this is over, you’re getting a jacket.”

Danny crossed his arms, slumping over in his seat with a huff.

A few moments later, a loud clang echoed through the truck. Danny jolted, almost falling out of his seat.

The door opened, the driver looking at them with boredom written all over his face.

“Alright, up and at em. It’s go time,” he mumbled, smacking the door loudly for emphasis. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can leave.”

They all stood, hopping out of the truck and making their way to the fence line.

Danny moved his hand to the bandolier on his chest, fingers brushing against the small ecto-bombs he had attached to it.

There were five of them, their bodies made of tempered glass and black steel, and they glowed a sickly green in the night. They were designed mainly for combat; he had a few larger ones meant to blow a hole in a wall in his backpack, which was securely zipped shut.

His hand then drifted to the holster on his left side, and the ecto-gun nestled securely within it.

Most of his parents’ inventions were far too big and bulky to be practical in any real combat setting, so he had downsized them considerably. The weapon he had was modeled after a standard glock pistol, matte black paint covering the GiW white of the gun’s body.

The gun should be able to fire around fifty shots a minute without overheating, which was more than enough for Danny. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to fire a single round tonight. However, for whatever reason, the words should and hopefully didn’t inspire much confidence in him.

Danny followed the group as they snuck up to the facility, Derringer by his side.

Originally, neither of them were going to go on the raid, but someone on the patient list had caught Danny’s eye, so he decided he would investigate in person. Derringer was just along for the ride because Mr. Cobblepot wasn’t willing to lose an asset as valuable as Danny.

Danny would make it up to the bodyguard later, he decided.

Entering Arkham was, all things considered, pretty easy. Mr. Cobblepot had connections to a few of the orderlies, and it was all too easy to convince them to “forget” a few steps in setting up the security system for the night.

However, since nothing can ever just be simple, they ran into an unexpected patrol of nightshift guards just a few minutes after all splitting up to find the rogues.

Danny and Derringer were able to take them down pretty quickly, but not before they sounded the alarms. And, according to a few guys on the comms, they weren’t the only ones to run into guards where they shouldn’t be.

“They must have changed their patrols,” Derringer huffed, spinning the pistol in his hands, “c’mon, let’s go see about freeing our good friend Victor Fries.”

Danny nodded, scampering after the man as he sprinted through the halls.

The inmates, who had woken up from the loud alarm’s continuous blaring, shouted at them from their cells. Danny’s pulse was loud in his ears, drowning everything out.

Distantly, he wondered if those guards were going to die. Maybe they were dead already.

He supposed that it didn’t really change much if they were.

Soon, they were at the cell. It was custom-built to hold Mr. Freeze, constantly kept at subzero temperatures to avoid killing him.

Derringer hefted his bag off of his back, pulling out the suit and freeze gun that Mr. Cobblepot had procured. As he did so, Danny took a few of the larger ecto-bombs and placed them on the joints of the door.

They carefully moved away, putting some distance between themselves and the door, and Danny detonated it.

The explosion was loud. It shook the entire building, the shockwave knocking Danny to the floor.

Danny brought his hand up to his safety goggles, yanking a small piece of metal shrapnel out of them and dropping it on the floor. He was dimly aware of more pieces sticking out of his kevlar suit. Derringer was similarly peppered with metal, luckily uninjured as well.

They had come from the body and mechanism of the bomb, he realized. He’d have to fix that later.

Mr. Freeze emerged from the cell a few moments later, a scowl on his face. Derringer quickly shoved the suit and freeze gun into his hands and he retreated back into the cell for a few moments, getting dressed.

“I could have died from that, you know,” he hissed. “Killed by some amateurs with shoddy explosives.”

“The Penguin sent us,” Derringer said, ignoring the man’s clear annoyance, “our getaway car is outside. If you’d come with us…”

Mr. Freeze nodded sternly.

“Hurry up, then.”

Derringer and Danny hurried out, Mr. Freeze right behind them. Then, at a certain hallway, Danny paused.

He had to check.

“Kid,” Derringer barked, “we have to go.”

Danny shook his head.

“You go,” he signed, hands trembling, “I have to check.”

“Oh, what’s the problem now?” Mr. Freeze asked, his frown more pronounced by the minute.

“Danny…” Derringer sighed, “Danny thinks his sister might be in here. He hasn’t seen her in years. It’s the whole reason he was a part of the Arkham raid, actually.”

Mr. Freeze paused for a moment.

“Well, lead the way, then,” he said, clearly regretting his words as soon as he said them. Danny just nodded, scurrying forward, the other two men close behind him.

They came to the right cell quickly. Danny looked in through the glass, and he felt a piece of himself shatter.

That was Jazz, his sister, sitting in a padded wall wearing a straightjacket and a muzzle.

She didn’t bother looking up at them as they arrived, not stirring even when Danny slammed his hands on the door to get her attention.

Shakily, he attached an ecto-bomb to the door, hoping with all his might that she wouldn’t get hurt.

The door blew open, and Danny rushed in.

Jazz’s head swiveled to look up at him, her eyes narrowed.

He slipped the goggles up and his bandanna down, exposing his face as he came to kneel beside her.

Slowly, her expression shifted to shock.

“Jazz,” he creaked, his broken vocal chords cracking painfully as he spoke, “it’s me.”

She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Danny?”

He nodded, pulling her into a hug, careful not to let the shrapnel dig into her skin.

“I thought you were…”

“Very heartwarming,” Mr. Freeze snapped, “but now isn’t the time. We’ve got to go, now.”

Jazz nodded, leaping to her feet. Danny stood as well, slipping his mask and bandanna back on, and grabbing onto one of her arms for support.

They left the cell, Danny doing a double-take as he saw the frozen-over pathway that they had just come from. He looked to Mr. Freeze, tilting his head questioningly.

“There were guards,” he said flatly. “Now hurry up, we need to get out of here.”

Derringer grabbed the two of them, dragging them along as he sprinted through the hallways. They had to take a bit of a detour, coming out of the main entrance instead of the side one they had entered.

Unfortunately, there was an active gunfight going down.

Danny was roughly pulled behind a desk, just barely dodging a few rounds.

His hands shook as he pulled a small ecto-bomb from his bandolier, priming it and throwing it at a small grouping of night guards. They cried out as the pure ectoplasm collided with them, covering their bodies in burns.

The smell, while familiar to Danny, was still horrific.

They took a few shots off at the night guards, trying to take them down. Their group was efficient, but with the rate they were going at, it wasn’t going to be enough. Only adding to that, the gun Mr. Cobblepot had prepared for Mr. Freeze had broken after just a few uses, leaving them unable to create an ice wall.

Then, Danny heard the sound of a gun’s safety being turned off behind them, and his vision went white.

He grabbed onto Jazz and Derringer, making them intangible right as the night guard opened fire.

Waves of nausea hit him all at once and he doubled over, his vision swimming. Danny was only dimly aware of Jazz taking the guard down with a high kick right to the head, and Derringer pulling him into a protective hold.

Ignoring everything, he pulled the last of the large bombs from his bag, throwing it into the air, pulling everyone behind the desk.

The entire room went white.

Danny’s ears rung as he scrambled out from behind the reception desk, dragging Jazz with him.

Luckily, none of the hired hands on his team had gotten injured, but the guards…

Danny looked away, trying to ignore the taste of bile in his mouth.

It was fine. He was fine. Everything would be okay.

The next few minutes were a blur. He knew that he had puked only a few seconds after they had left the building, and that Derringer had picked him up afterwards, carrying him to the truck with Mr. Freeze and Jazz in tow.

Danny’s entire body was wracked with tremors, an unbearable phantom pain passing through the still-healing surgical wounds in his head and torso like lightning. He dry-heaved, shivering uncontrollably.

They drove off soon after. Luckily, no one had been left behind. Someone, probably Derringer, helped Danny rinse out his mouth and got him a bottle of water to drink, wrapping him in his jacket.

As soon as the truck doors were opened within one of Mr. Cobblepot’s safehouses, Danny became aware of the sound of wailing.

Hopping out of the truck, most of his mind still far away, he saw a man being rolled out of the room on a stretcher. He was one of the people who had been on the other truck, Danny realized.

Beside him was a teenager, probably only a few years younger than Danny, who was screaming and crying uncontrollably. They wailed at Mr. Cobblepot, who only stood there with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Oh shit,” Derringer breathed. Danny pulled on his sleeve, tilting his head at him questioningly.

“The guy on the stretcher, that’s his sibling.”

Danny just stared, a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Jazz, her arms now freed from the straightjacket, pulled him away from the scene. Danny let her.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Danny’s just cold because he has an iron deficiency. lmao #girl this is what happens when you don’t eat for two years. you get deficiencies. now stop angsting and eat your veggies #also my descriptions of the ecto filter come from donating blood plasma + platelets #Danny is Going Through It™️#btw I’m finishing this chapter at 3:03 am #just in case you thought I didn’t care about you all #btw the guy who’s injured’s sibling is a surprise tool that will help us later #also I was totally gonna kill Derringer at first. btw #but y’all avoided that with the poll. also it would have been a bit cheap imo

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buck2eddie · 7 months

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quote from “but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down)” // written by @captain-hen

#ok this took like 3 hours BUT TOTALLY WORTH IT #yes i am obsessed with this fic if you could not tell #absolutely incredible i recommend EVERYONE read it #had yo make something and decided to go for buck's /oh/ moment cause it was truly my favorite #neethu i hope you like this <3 please accept my humble gift as appreciation #for you writing this incredible fic and sharing it with us all <3 #ok mwah im going to eat now im so hungry ajsgsgsk #buddie #buddie fic #buddieedit #911 #911 abc #911edit #m*edits

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babygirlgiles · 14 days

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Why does no one else see my vision for post-war Effie Trinket. Like that woman does NOT become a civil servant, she does not join the ranks of government service. She is 100% New Panem’s first influencer. She was already having her It Girl moment as the escort of District Twelve’s victors beforehand and now there’s public perception that she was this Hunger Games insider playing the long con to dismantle the system from within and paid this great sacrifice for it by being tortured by Snow’s cadre for her efforts. Which is not true at all because she had No Clue what was going on but Plutarch needs new programming to fill all the hours that used to be taken up by Hunger Games related media so he decides to capitalize on Effie having Her Moment. And with people being allowed to travel between districts for the first time in over a generation and newfound freedom of information, there would a nationwide fascination how other people live. Effie ends up with her own lifestyle/travel series where she visits different regions of Panem and even exotic far away places such as “England”. She’s posting beach selfies on Panemstigram to promote her upcoming episode on lobster fishing off District Thirteen’s revitalized coastline.

She even gets her own daytime talk show at one point. She tries (and fails) for years to get Peeta on the show as a guest. Katniss has never watched a single episode.

#Effie trinket #the hunger games #hunger games #thg #you know I went into my drafts for something totally unrelated about my backpacking trip and found this instead #listen I love the hayffie quiet life in 12 fics as much as everyone else but guys. guys.#Effie in an ENORMOUS parka going ice fishing in the upper peninsula #trying SO hard to remain professional and enthusiastic about the ‘quaint’ local customs #when she’s obviously freezing and doesn’t want to be there #Effie watching someone milk a cow with barely concealed horror #Effie in a corn field. Effie in a swamp.#American foodways are so vast and diverse irl and would be in Panem too #it’s like Anthony bourdain parts unknown but it’s with Effie trinket #the comedic potential is off the charts.#and also she could learn so much about the world and have her worldview broadened etc etc #but also influencer Effie. do you see it. do you.

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teecupangel · 6 months

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Why not just Desmond being an angel.

And it freaks everybody out and everybody thinks he's holy or something and he's just like "all right okay why not"

It had happened by accident.

It had to be an accident, right?

Altaïr had been thrown out of the room and the Templars had unsheathed their weapons. Malik had been focused on protecting his brother, shouting at him to run as he tried to keep all of the Templars busy.

Robert de Sablé didn’t even look back when he walked away after ordering their death.

Malik didn’t know what happened.

He saw Kadar freeze when he neared the scaffolding that would lead to the treasure and Malik swore his eyes glowed gold for the briefest of moments.

Before one of the Templars charged at him.

Kadar snapped out of it and tried to block, his stance unstable enough that he slipped backwards.

Into the scaffolding…

Taking the Templar with him.

The Templar’s sword struck one of the wooden pillars keeping the scaffolding stable and…

Malik didn’t have any explanation for it.

It shouldn’t have happened.

The scaffolding started to crumble, making Kadar and the Templar run away from it as fast as they could.

And then…

The wall next to the scaffolding began to break apart, golden light coming from the cracks before the entire thing fell down.

Together with the treasure and the ark where it had been resting.

The ark broke in half, splitting in the middle to reveal an egg shaped thing made of stone that was around the height of perhaps Malik when he was sitting on the floor.

The treasure fell on top of it, shattering like it was made of glass.

Where the shards fell on the stone, the stone changed and spread.

Until…

What had been stone had changed to seemingly three pairs of wings with white feathers that seemed to shine gold all curled together.

The wings twitched…

Before slowly opening, stretching to its full size.

Revealing a young man seemingly sleeping, the three pairs of wings attached to his back. His head was resting on his propped up knees.

No one could speak.

No one could move.

Until…

“Altaïr?” Kadar whispered hesitantly and Malik could see why he would call out that fool’s name.

The man looked too much like Altaïr for it to be a coincidence.

Almost as if hearing the name, the man…

No.

The divine being in front of them opened his eyes.

Instead of Altaïr’s golden eyes, his eyes were light brown with specks of gold in them.

And Malik wondered how he could see them from where he was standing, a few meters away from the winged being.

The divine being looked around and blinked.

His eyes met Malik and his lips parted.

“It’s an angel!”

Before he could speak, the Templars all knelt and began to pray.

The Templar who had attacked Kadar took off his helmet and…

It was a woman.

A woman who was praying fervently at the divine being who…

… looked at Malik with wide confused eyes.

Unorganized Notes… I mean… sorta notes?:

Desmond is surprised for a few seconds then he goes “Be not afraid” and tried to sound super impressive “Ye are in the presence of…………… the will of God.” and he’s just bullshiting his way to uuhhh. He has no plans.

He glanced at Malik and Kadar and oh yeah, alright.

“Ye shall not harm these… men of justice for they are… under my protection…?”

At that point, Desmond knows he is ffuuuccckkeedd. Malik is obviously onto him. Kadar is super confused and just keeps staring at his face. Then…

Maria, of all people, agree and even goes as pledge her sword to him which is super weird and Desmond’s just “???”

In the end, Desmond accidentally takes the Templars about to kill Malik and Kadar with him as he leaves the temple with Malik and Kadar. It’s a very awkward journey and Desmond has no idea what else to do other than…

Oh wait… there were other Templars stationed nearby and they all saw him leave with his ‘entourage’.

Before he could try to say anything, Maria speaks for him, calling the messenger of God and that he had been sleeping in the Ark of the Covenant which sounded like a super big deal (and he can’t even whisper to Malik to ask what the hell she was talking about because the Farm was never religious and the only time Desmond even heard of the Ark of the Covenant was from Indiana Jones) and…

… why does it feel like Maria was converting people into becoming his personal army???

Oh god… Was this…

Was he going to take his own army to Masyaf???

#yeah that’s right #i’m back to my maria would totally worship desmond as her god bs #for some reason i’m imagining the battle in masyaf at the start of ac1 to be #assassins versus templars versus desmond’s ‘army’#which is really more or less zealots who believe his word is god’s word #he is not having a good time #oh god #altaïr is going to be seen as the ‘son of an angel’#asjdjfhjakdsfjkfbasjkdf #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #kadar al sayf #maria thorpe #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 1 year

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fae!steve who, practically the moment he learns what he can do, sets up a trap curse for his parents. if they ever kick him out and disown him, then the second he exits their threshold he'll take all their luck with him. he'd feel bad about cursing his parents, but the point of a trap curse is that it doesn't activate unless the targets of the curse do something to meet its requirements. if his parents were just good people, good parents, then nothing bad will ever happen to them.

but they really can't seem to help themselves. steve guesses he saw this coming.

he tells eddie about it, when eddie comes to pick him and his one allowed box of clothes and shit from the harrington house. eddie'd offered to curse them, 'might as well make good on my whole evil satanist reputation', but steve told him he already had it covered. told him about the trap. he's never seen eddie look so proud and so sad at the same time.

and sure enough, all good luck leaves the harrington household when steve does. a random irs check reveals harrington sr's years of tax fraud, and his business goes bankrupt trying to pay the fines. someone leaks pictures of one of mrs harringtons senior aides on a drug filled bender in the city, ruining both her campaigns squeaky clean image and her chances at reelection in the fall. several of mr harringtons former secretaries sue for sexual harassment, while seemingly every other woman he's ever come in contact with simultaneously sues for child support.

and steve just watches. he's happy now, living with eddie in a small apartment with their cat and the various small woodland creatures eddie keeps trying to sneak in (so far steve's had to kick out three raccoons, a possum, a skunk, two bats, and a coyote. they've all been very understanding when he's explained the situation to them but eddie still acts like a kicked puppy every time he does it). eddie keeps a little shoebox under their bed with newspaper clippings of every terrible thing to befall the mighty harringtons, says it's in case steve ever wants the reminder that he got one over on them in the end. a reminder that steve's happy and they're not.

steve doesn't need it. he feels it, every time the curse does something to them, something clicking in his chest like one of those alarm clocks with the flaps that flip over from one minute to the next. he wonders if it'll ever feel like too much. if he'll ever think they've been punished enough. they've had a rough couple years, it's sort of only a matter of time before something happens that's unlucky enough to injure or kill them.

steve thinks if he was human, maybe he'd care. maybe he'd look at that shoebox with the guilt eddie seems to be half-expecting every time he brings it out. but he's not, so he doesn't. he set the trap, but his 'parents' are the ones who sprung it.

they really should have known better than to cross a changeling.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fae!steve au #witch!eddie munson #stranger things #i'll be honest this is just a lil one bc i actually meant for it to go on the end of that one where he finds out his parents knew #and i just. totally forgot. this is why we do outlines kids #my fics #not even really a fic it's more like. several paragraphs that i forgot to add to a fic #someone was like ooh does eddie curse them?? on the other post and i thought like no?? steve does?? i wrote it right the-#oh my god i forgot to write that part #comedy gold #we love having a functional brain

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts.

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest.

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to.

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege.

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family.

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth.

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is.

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #macks ficlets #so i wrote this instead of working on any of the fics i actually should be working on rn lol #i listened to voulez vous by abba and my brain went pirates and well. here we are.#funny story also bc a good chunk of the first half of this actually came from something i was going to write for a totally different fandom #but never ended up writing so it just sat collecting dust until today!#10 bucks if you can guess the fandom (and no it is not ofmd or any other actual genuine pirate fandom lol)

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wynnyfryd · 1 year

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“Who’s a good girl? Who’s a goo’ girllll,” Eddie drawls in a ridiculous baby voice, and Steve glances over to see him hoisting their 5-month-old puppy up over his head, her back pressed to the roof of the car while he rubs his nose all over her soft furry belly.

Steve snorts, turns his eyes back to the road. “You’re gonna break your neck, baby; she’s getting way too big for that.”

“Slander!” Eddie gasps, depositing her back into his lap and clapping his hands over her floppy ears. “Don’t listen to him, Cocoa Butter, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Her name is Coco.”

“Coca-Cola,” Eddie says seriously to the panting puppy in his lap, “your father’s had a lot of head trauma. But we love him anyway, even when he gets your name wrong, don’t we?”

Coco clambers over the console and gives Steve’s elbow an enthusiastic lick.

#someone asked what happened to the puppy in yoga steve 4 and like #obviously steve got suckered into going back to adopt her #eddie’s got bambi eyes and steve’s a total pushover #yoga steve 5 #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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phantomrose96 · 18 days

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is a Riteru read of ABoT the intended one?

It can be if you want it to be buddy. Go enjoy the world!

More genuine answer: I'm an aro-ace writer with a long long streak of gen-fic. Shipping doesn't interest me. I don't hate it; it just doesn't click for me at all. I joke that the only way romance ends up in the story is if it's a plot-necessity (Tetsuo and Jun are there because 'married man suspected of having an affair' is what pulls Reigen into the entire Mogami-possession plot. The Kageyama parents are married because they're, well, the parents. Teru and Mei's relationship is a joke until it's plot-relevant.)

So to me, I'm not writing Ritsu and Teru's relationship as a ship. But also? This is all pretend. It's all transformative. This is for fun. I absolutely know that if I were a ship-writer, Riteru would be the obvious choice. I know they're one angry-kiss away from being someone's enemies to lovers fic. So if you look at Ritsu and Teru in ABoT and say "they're holding hands, to me", go right ahead, go hog-wild, come play Barbies with me.

#my aromantic-agenda is to write fic that spotlights the power importance and intricacies of all kinds of platonic love #and ive done that in SPADES in ABoT #a Riteru read doesn't ruin any of that #so it's whatever you want #in my pocket. i like an aroace Ritsu and pan Teru read #but the aforementioned 'this is for fun pretend. go wild' trumps that totally #we're only alive a short time. go have some Riteru if you want #oh also my OTHER joke is that 'all romance drama in ABoT is actually just bait-and-switch nefarious spirit possession'#Tetsuo is having an affair? Nope! Spirit possession #Teru is cheating on Mei with Ichi? Nope! Saving Ichi from possession #Ichi is interested in Ritsu? Nope! Looking for dirt on spirit possession #my other other joke is that our name-combinations aren't ships. theyre possession dynamics #Tetsugami. not to be mistaken for Tetsuo x Mogami. is the spirit dynamic of Mogami possessing Tetsuo #We got Reigami #We got Slipzato #We got Gimrits #Slipakane Sliphisao #Sorry fresh out of romance but we DO have a 13 year old losing his soul to the corruption of being a spirit-powered-mecha-suit if you want

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

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baby you can bite me (18+)

This is one part self indulgence, one part gift for the delightful @strangersatellites Thanks for both putting up with me and enabling me <3 Ao3 Link | 2.3k

Listen, Eddie knows he's weird. He knows it, he accepts it, fuck, it's a huge part of his image. He's weird and he's not afraid to make it everyone else's problem.

It's just- He just feels like there's a difference between being weird, and being fixated on Steve Harrington's teeth. And not in a passing 'oh he has nice teeth', oh no, that would be far too normal for someone like Eddie. No, it's been three years since Eddie noticed Steve's teeth, and he's thought about those perfect, pearly whites far too many times to be considered anything even close to normal.

And like, of course Steve has perfect teeth. Eddie isn't sure if Steve just has good genes or if there was a year of braces that he arrived in Hawkins too late to witness - though Eddie’s money is on the good genes because Steve is fucking gorgeous, but either way.

The bottom line is that Steve has a mouthful of perfect, polished teeth that Eddie wants to lick the backs of. He wants to look at them up close and in person, needs to get his fingers in Steve's mouth and map out each and every one until he has them memorized.

So when Steve finally asks him out a few months after the whole Vecna ordeal, finally kisses him at the end of their first real date, Eddie does his absolute goddamn best to be normal about it. Steve has said over and over how he likes that Eddie is odd, how he likes his little quirks that other people usually tend to find annoying. It makes Eddie feel safe, makes him feel comfortable to just be himself around Steve, and it slowly chips away at his need to come off as normal.

That kind acceptance is probably the reason why Eddie only makes it a month before he caves into his fixation. One month of deep kisses where he bullies his tongue into Steve’s pretty mouth, where finally gets to lick and taste while still being as casual about it as he can possibly be.

He makes it a month before, on a night where they’re just hanging out at Steve’s place, he asks a soft “Hey. Can I do… something weird?”

They’re spread out across the couch and Steve tips his head up, looking at where Eddie is currently laid on top of him, nestled comfortably in the vee of Steve’s legs.

“How weird? Like, normal Eddie weird?”

“Uh, I guess?”

“Then sure.”

And Steve gives him that soft little smile that’s just for them, the one that oozes endearment whenever Eddie does something odd or silly, and he knows that Steve won’t judge him. The reassurance doesn’t stop Eddie from being hesitant as he reaches up, as he settles his hands on Steve’s jaw. He pushes Steve's upper lip up with one thumb before finally, finally sliding the other over those pretty, shiny teeth.

He rubs over the front of them first before tracing along the edge, feeling how perfectly they line up. Presses the pad of his thumb into Steve's little canine, nowhere near as sharp as Eddie's is, but so fucking cute regardless. He switches from his thumb to his forefinger and traces along the bottom row, pushing Steve’s mouth open wider as he slides his finger along the edge, all the way to the far molar on one side before following the line back to the other side.

Eddie pauses when he feels something, though it’s not against his finger, oh no. Steve’s dick is rapidly growing against Eddie’s stomach, impossible to miss with how close they’re pressed together, and he can't resist smirking down at the gorgeous boy beneath him.

“Well now, it seems like I’m not the only one enjoying this," he mutters, pulling his finger out and tracing Steve’s lips with the spit-slick pad. His boyfriend’s face is a pretty pink that’s only getting darker with each second, and Eddie's smirk grows into a grin when he mutters a soft "I like your hands."

"Yeah? You like it when I stuff my fingers in your mouth, angel?"

Before Steve can respond, Eddie pushes back into his mouth with two fingers, slides them along his teeth again before dragging them back over his tongue, pressing down on the muscle and soaking up the little whimper he releases. Steve’s hips press up, grinding his dick against Eddie’s stomach, and the metalhead coos softly, borderline condescending. “Yeah, you do like that. So greedy for it, huh baby?”

He’s still surprised at how easy it is for them to slip into this dynamic, Eddie demanding and dominating, and Steve so subservient, so willing to let Eddie push him around a bit. They’ve only been together for a month, but the roles feel so natural, and Eddie's little metal heart had turned to goo when Steve explained it to him.

"I like that I can let go of everything that doesn't matter and just focus on you, and know that you'll take care of me too."

Steve whines high and needy, cutting through Eddie's thoughts, and the older pulls his fingers out before crashing their lips together, needing to taste and bite and lick into that perfect mouth. Eddie loves how Steve opens for him so willingly, adores the little noises he makes as Eddie shifts up so he can grind their hips together properly.

He keeps it slow and controlled, a clear juxtaposition against their frantic, biting kiss, but it seems to be doing the trick as he feels Steve's hands scrabbling at his back, grabbing for purchase. Eddie grinds down almost torturously slow, causing the kiss to break as Steve's head drops back with a low moan, and Eddie can’t resist diving down and licking a sloppy stripe up the line of his throat.

“Eddie, I want-”

“Mhm? Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want- fuck, I wanna suck you off, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to put something else in that pretty mouth of yours?”

Steve nods with a groan and Eddie sits up, says "Get on your knees for me then," and watches as Steve gladly complies, moving to kneel on the floor in front of him. He leans back against the couch as Steve immediately goes for his belt, gets it off and opens his pants as quickly as he can and fuck, Eddie loves how eager he is to please.

He shudders as Steve pulls his dick free from his jeans and strokes it a few times, smearing the precome that's already weeping from the head of it. The younger leans in to press his tongue to it, gives it a sucking kiss as he looks up at Eddie through his lashes.

Eddie holds his gaze as Steve sinks down onto the shaft, and though he's only done this a handful of times, he continues to impress Eddie with how easily he takes to it, how happy he is to have his mouth stuffed full of Eddie’s dick. Steve picked it up quicker than he expected, such an eager student one Eddie introduced him to a constant flow of praise, and now his boyfriend is a fucking natural at it.

He sucks on Eddie's dick like he's getting paid to do it, licks over the head on the upstroke and takes him all the way to the back of his throat, occasionally choking himself on it because he likes it, because he knows Eddie likes it. Eddie's mouth runs the entire time, a constant stream of "That's it, baby. Such a good boy, take it so fucking well," falling from his lips until he can feel his orgasm creeping up on him.

Eddie can't help himself as he pulls Steve off by his hair, as he shoves the thumb of his free hand into that gorgeous mouth and smears his precome all over his teeth and tongue. He watches Steve's eyes flutter shut as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

Fuck, his boy is so beautiful.

"Here's what's gonna happen now, Stevie."

The younger hums around his finger, his big eyes blinking open to look at Eddie because he's learned to do that, he knows to look at Eddie when he speaks and Jesus, it's such a thrill for Eddie to realize that.

"I'm going to fuck your gorgeous face now, okay? I'm gonna fuck your pretty mouth and I'm going to come in it, but I don't want you to swallow until I tell you. Got that, sweetheart?"

Steve hums in confirmation and Eddie shoves his thumb as deep as it can go before pulling it out again. He pushes that hand into Steve's hair and his grip is gentle as he feeds his dick back into that lovely mouth. Steve’s jaw goes slack and his tongue flattens against the underside as Eddie pulls him down, down, until Steve’s nose is pressing into his pubes.

Eddie holds him there for a moment, just to feel him swallow around the head, just to watch him be good and wait for what he wants. He waits until Steve lets out a low whine, and only then does he pull Steve back a bit, creating a little bit of distance so he can snap his hips up and properly fuck into Steve’s mouth.

Sometimes he wonders what he did, where did he go so right to end up here, to have Steve fucking Harrington on his knees, gagging on Eddie's dick like he was fucking made for it. To have Steve's pretty hands clutching at his thighs to ground himself even as Eddie watches him start to float away, his eyes hazy as he lets Eddie just use him.

Steve is drooling, unable to swallow with his mouth full and Eddie knows his pants are going to be done for by the time they’re finished, but he can’t find it in him to care, not when his boyfriend is making those little punched out sounds like he’s actually getting fucked - and Jesus.

Just the thought shoves Eddie right to the edge and he says as much, says "Gonna fill up your pretty mouth, baby. Don't swallow yet, want you to hold it for me. You can do that, yeah good boy?" Steve hums in response, the sound muffled by the skin filling his mouth, and Eddie tries his best to be careful as his thrusts get sloppier, more uncoordinated as he chases his orgasm.

There’s the gentlest scrape of those beautiful teeth over his dick and Eddie is gone. He tightens a hand in Steve’s hair, pulling him back until the head is sitting just inside those perfect lips, and he uses his free hand to jerk himself until he's coming over Steve's pretty pink tongue, filling up his mouth just like he promised. Eddie pets through Steve’s hair as he takes a moment to catch his breath, and when he pulls his dick free from those plush lips, Steve seals his mouth shut, keeping Eddie’s seed safely inside.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy for me, sweetheart. Come up here and let me take care of you.”

He pulls Steve up onto his lap and quickly gets his pants and underwear out of the way so he can get his hands on his boyfriend. Steve’s dick is red and shiny and slick, already dripping precome without Eddie having to even touch him. He wraps his hand around it and doesn't waste any time, stripping him at a quick pace, and hears the younger whine as best he can with his mouth still full.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart. Show me the mess I made.”

Steve’s jaw drops and Eddie feels pure heat shoot through him as some of his come dribbles out over his chin. He practically growls as he swipes it up with two fingers before shoving them into Steve’s mouth, covering them in the filthy mix of spit and spend as he fucks Steve’s mouth with them. After a moment he adds another, stretching his lips a little wider, and Steve moans loud when Eddie’s rings knock up against his teeth.

His hips stutter as Eddie shoves his fingers deep, and he knows Steve is close, can hear it in the high whine he releases, can feel it in the trembling of his thighs. He presses deeper as he finger-fucks Steve’s face, matching the pace of his hand as he jerks off his boyfriend.

“That’s it, baby, come on. Wanna see you come with my fingers down your throat.”

That’s all the permission Steve needs. His teeth sink into Eddie's fingers as he drops over the edge, and Eddie hopes, prays, that it leaves a mark, that he'll get to carry around an impression of those pretty, pretty teeth for days. Eddie strokes him through it, milking Steve until he’s whimpering from overstimulation, only stopping when he feels two taps on his shoulder - too much, slow down.

Eddie swaps his hands, pulls the fingers from Steve's mouth before replacing them with the fingers on his other hand, adding Steve's own come to the filthy mix in his mouth.

“Swallow for me now, angel.”

And Steve does, he swallows as best he can around Eddie's fingers before he sucks on them, doing his best to clean them in his post-orgasm high. His tongue runs over them and between them, replacing seed with saliva, and the pleased noises he makes are almost enough to get Eddie going again.

He pulls his fingers out, grinning at Steve’s whine of protest, and wipes his hands on his shirt before pulling Steve’s pants and underwear back up, not bothering to clean him off just yet.

“Let’s go take a shower, sunshine. Get you all cleaned up, then we can take a nap, okay?”

Steve hums in agreement and Eddie smiles, knowing he’s going to be floating for a little while longer. He can’t resist leaning in to press one more - okay, three more kisses to Steve’s pretty mouth, before nudging him to stand up.

It’s not until later, once they’re clean and tucked into Steve’s bed, that his boyfriend pipes up again.

“So my teeth, huh?”

Eddie just groans and shoves his face into Steve’s shoulder, and the younger laughs.

#aka what happens when you combine my Totally Normal Feelings about keery's teeth and gin's thing about hands #here i go again giving my friends the gift of filth #this was supposed to be ~600-800 words #idk what happened #steddie fic #steddie smut #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #joey writes

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