𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖞

the jangle of keys in the lock of your apartment's front door followed by quiet groans of aches and age. you've gotten used to hearing them every few months, awaiting the familiar face to greet you. and just as you predicted, there he was in all his fatigue and tousled hair overgrown. he looked worse. worse than he's ever looked. eyebags, hunched shoulders, and bloodshot eyes. if you squint, you could probably see the tremor in his fingers. he draped his leather jacket by the door, boots following soon after as he kicked it neatly on the floor.

you thought about saying something but nothing needs to be said when you've already known each other for so long. so naturally, your arms extended to receive him at his worst as he slumped into you. his stubble pricked at your skin and his hair tickled your lips, which made you blow it all out lightly. your fingers rested comfortably around him, giving him all the warmth and comfort that you could muster because as much as he was a hook up appointment for convenience, he was a friend. nothing more, nothing less.

Leon felt comfortable here in your apartment. This was more home than the pentsuite he lived in by himself. with their empty walls save for that one frame of him and his friends and almost daughter. but the more he worked, the more blood he gathered in his hands, Leon feels himself breaking away from everything and curling in on himself.

putting up a gruff jaded front when in reality all he felt within him was a gnawing growing void that threatened to devour him whole. a void that seemed to make him flippant in the face of death. pushing escapes to the very last minute, jumping headfirst to take a bullet for strangers who's names he'd forget after.

he'd admittedly been in a shitty headspace as of late. the end of a bottle meeting him quicker and quicker when he's alone. but when he's with you. the one person untainted by the world he faces every other day. the one who greeted him with a warm embrace each time he came back with bloodied hands both literally and figuratively. hell, you've even bandaged them for him a few times when the wounds stretch and tear.

all you both had to exchange was a casual fuck. his fingers gripping the soft of your hips, the feel of him thrusting into you with his head curved to rub against the spongy spot jusy shy of your cervix. sharing sweaty kisses to swallow up each other's sounds of shared human needs and pleasure in the most familiar way. you'd learn that his body relaxes each time your fingers trace down his spine, when your fingers trace the marred edges of a bullet wound he had gotten a lifetime ago. and he'd learn that you liked your face cupped when he kissed you, that you always smiled when he held your waist as he aligns himself with your slick folds because his hands were warm and fit perfectly, and that your eyes would always tear up when you were close. exchanging a casual fuck for moments of fleeting memorised intimacy and affection.

"do you ever see yourself behind a white picket fence? you know...with a wife, a kid, a cat...the whole poster family package."

you find yourself asking him as both your legs tangle in the slowly cooling suds of the tub. he looked deep in thought, eyes looking to the side as he mulled it over. he looked so handsome with his slight stubble dotted with soft bubbles and the fronts of his hair sticking together all wet.

"i guess i haven't really thought about it."

he says, his voice low and soft. the tone he uses whenever he's around you. your pruned fingers lazily trace the bruises on the skin of his thighs beneath the water and he took your hand in his to hold.

"besides your work stuff, why not? i mean you can pull of the model suburban dad look."

he snorts at your words, meeting your gaze with mirth in his own.

"that so? well...what kind of cat do you want?"

you furrowed your brows.

"what's with the sudden switch?"

he looked serious as he waited for your response, shifting to sit up slightly which pressed his legs against yours even more.

"the missus by my side has to approve of the pet."

for a moment, the image of the two of you standing side by side behind a white picket fence with a fat fluffy cat in your arms flashed in your mind. maybe a white picket fence suburban home and being tied down wasn't so bad. maybe.

"i'm good with any."

you reply, knowing that he'd see it coming. that he would have probably said the same thing had you been the one to ask. maybe deep down the both of you knew that it wasn't the house, or the cat, or the stability that made the whole thing a home. maybe it was just being next to each other.

the bath finished and it was time for Leon to head out again. like he usually did. it was routine. he'd cup your cheeks and kiss you on the crown of your head.

"i'll see you soon. don't keep waiting up for me, yeah?"

he'll say with a soft smile tugging on his lips. you'd nod and promise not to do it even though you both knew you still would despite his protests. who else was going to tend to his wounds and stroke his hair as he tries not to crumble in your embrace? that's what friends are for. because you were first and foremost friends and second with benefits. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

when you see him off at the door, with him turning to wave at you like he always does. you find yoruself thinking, huh, maybe...maybe in another life the two of you would've been something more. but in this one, you were content with anything as long as it was next to him.

 “Yeah, I think it even went out of the park!” The other younger boy exclaimed and Steve laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wanna hit like you one day!”

 “Yeah, how do we learn to hit like you?”

 Steve laughed again at the rapid fire questions, uncrossing his arms to lift his baseball cap off his head and run his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. “It’s all about the effort you put into the game. It’s all pointless if you don’t take the time to practice, right?” he replied, glancing away when out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a figure making its way down the stairs, heading in their direction.

 A very familiar figure. 

 “Yeah! I practice all the time!” One of the younger boys responded, a wide grin on his face. “Sometimes, my mom brings her video camera to record me at batting practice. I love going to the cages!”

 Steve was trying his best to keep his attention focused on the two children in front of him, he really was, but how could he possibly focus on anything else when his wife was coming his way looking like that? His muscles ached with fatigue and his stomach growled, and all he really wanted was to get some food in his system, clean himself up, and maybe even make a little love to his wife before getting a good night’s sleep. The closer she got, the harder he found it to maintain his patience. 

 The young boys in front of him continued to babble on about the practice they do outside of games as Steve’s wife approached in one of his jerseys— which was a few sizes too big for her— tucked into denim shorts, a Phillies baseball cap fit snug to her head. Steve’s grin widened as she approached and he gave her upper arm a squeeze before turning back to the children. 

 “I really hate to have to go but I’m sure your parents would hate me if I kept you boys up too late anyways,” Steve chuckled, raising a hand to the crown of his head to give the boys a little salute as he helped his wife climb over the wall and step onto the field. “Keep practicing!” He called over his shoulder as he threw his arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her arm a squeeze. “And respect your parents!”

 Her face pulled into a smile and her chest heaved with a laugh as she glanced up at him, scrunching her face when he met her gaze. “Look at you being so good with kids,” she giggled, lacing her fingers together with the ones dangling from her shoulders. “Almost like we’re back in Hawkins.”

 Steve rolled his eyes at this comment, pulling her in closer so that he could press a kiss against her temple as he led them towards the dugout where only a few of his fellow teammates remained. “At least these kids don’t drive me up the fuckin’ wall,” he snorted. “You know Henderson called the other day just to make fun of the way I run bases?”

 She tried to suppress her laugh as he pulled away from her to gather his equipment and he turned to cock an eyebrow at her as he snatched his helmet, tossing his batting gloves and fielding glove inside it when she let a giggle slip through the cracks of her lips. “What?” He watched as she crossed an arm over her chest and propped her opposite elbow against it, hiding her smile behind her knuckles. She shook her head, “nothing, nothing.”

 Steve pressed his lips together in a pout and stood back up, a hand on his hip. “You think the way I run bases is funny too, don’t you?” He used his helmet to gesture over to where she stood, scoffing in disbelief when she broke into laughter, trying her best to hide it behind her hand. “I can’t believe you.”

 One of his teammates strolled up, reaching past Steve to grab his bat, using his other hand to clasp his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better buddy, we all think you run bases funny,” he spoke with a grin and she erupted in laughter again as Steve used his glove to smack him against his shoulder. 

 “Oh, fuck off Kev,” he grumbled as he plopped down on the bench, prying his cleats off his feet. She giggled as she shuffled between his legs, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s okay, babe. On the bright side, your ass still looks ridiculously good in those pants,” she tittered and he rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her face away as he slipped on his slides. 

 “Whatever. You can talk to me once you’ve stopped taking Henderson’s side,” Steve rolled his eyes as he gathered the rest of his things and she followed him down the steps leading into the locker room, her hands in her back pockets. She gazed down at her feet, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating what she said next. 

 “You know… kinda miss that kid,” she said softly and Steve furrowed a brow, peeking at her from over his shoulder. “Are we talking about the same Henderson right now?” He asked and she chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s just… you know, it’s been awhile since we’ve seen him. And everybody. And… Hawkins…”

 “We went back for Christmas, remember?” She pressed her lips together and felt her face fell, wrapping her arms around herself, shrugging. “Yeah, I know but I mean… it was just an overnight trip and that was months ago…” She trailed off, stopping in her tracks when Steve’s name permeated the corridor and she turned to face the source of the voice. 

 “Coach,” Steve acknowledged the Head Coach of the Phillies, taking the older man’s hand when he outstretched it for him to shake. “The man of the hour!” Coach exclaimed before glancing behind Steve where she stood, nodding his head in acknowledgment. “Always good to see you, Mrs. Harrington,” he greeted and she nodded back, a shy smile on her face as she weakly waved. “You wouldn’t mind if I stole your husband for a quick minute, would you?”

 Steve blinked back at her, a slight furrow still in his brow but she waved him off anyway. “As long as you promise to bring him back,” her laugh came out as more of a breath, but the coach chuckled anyway, leading Steve away towards his office. She stood alone in the empty hallway leading to the Phillies locker room, arms wrapped around herself, her heart pounding and mind racing. 

 She wasn’t sure what she was hoping would come out of confessing to Steve how homesick she felt. It wasn’t his fault they hardly ever had the time to visit— Major League Baseball was his career, traveling and moving one place to another was just part of it. 

 But still, she couldn’t resist the yearn she felt for something more… stable. For a place she could call home, for a place she could stay. Hawkins was home to her— it always, always was. Even after all the strange things she and Steve had experienced in the small town in Indiana, she still felt connected to the place, still had threads tying her down in its roots. It was where she grew up, where she had friends, where she had family. 

 But she wasn’t sure how Steve would feel about that. 

 “Harrington leave you all alone?”

 She turned to the source of the voice and there stood Matt, one of Steve’s teammates, big and burly as ever with his arms crossed and his baseball bag hanging from one of his shoulders. She forced a smile, “Coach needed to see him in his office. Maybe he’s in trouble.”

 Matt rolled his eyes at this, “yeah right, like Star Boy is gonna get in trouble,” he scoffed. “You know, rumor has it Boston’s interested in him.”

 She blinked. “Boston?” Steve had never mentioned this to her before, of course she knew his contract with the Phillies was about to expire, but surely he would’ve told her if he’d gotten any other calls? Was he keeping this from her?

 Matt lifted his baseball cap to scratch at his scalp, his brow furrowed, lips turned in confusion. “You didn’t know?” He asked, and she shook her head. “No… No, I didn’t.”

 As if her mind wasn’t already racing before, it was practically a typhoon now. Surely this was all a misunderstanding? Perhaps he was in the Head Coach’s office right now working out a new deal to renew his contract, maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. Because Steve would’ve told her about something like this, right?

 “Anyway, surely you have nothing to worry about,” Matt tittered as he sauntered past. “No matter where he ends up, he’ll be making a shit ton of more money than I’ll ever make in a lifetime, so what the hell do I care where he goes?”

 She blinked as Matt said his goodbyes and disappeared into the locker room, once again leaving her alone to her thoughts. It wasn’t long after that Steve finally reemerged from the Coach’s office, laughing at whatever had been said moments before. The sound of the door closing echoed through the hallway and Steve turned back to face her where she stood, gesturing with his head to the locker room. 

 “I’m gonna go get changed, be back in a minute,” he said, turning around before she had the chance to even open her mouth, disappearing inside the locker room. And the whole time she stood in that empty hallway alone, all she could think of was Boston and how much further away from home— Hawkins— it was. 

 She told him when he got drafted in the major leagues that she’d follow him anywhere he went— and she still stood by that. But was it so wrong for her to long for home, to miss her family, her friends? Was it so wrong to just wish for a week, even a weekend to go back and visit her loved ones? 

 And why was she so nervous to ask Steve about it?

 Steve had never been too fond of Hawkins. Perhaps, years of dealing with alternate reality monsters and scary Russian men will do that for you. But she knew Steve loathed Hawkins for another reason— his parents. His parents that were never there, his parents that never cared to show up to a high school basketball game, baseball games, even his own graduation. His parents that never even bothered to be there, who always had something better to do than be at home with their son. 

 Hawkins was where he grew up, Hawkins was a constant reminder of how unwanted he used to be. So of course he’d gotten out of there the first chance he got, of course he’d brush her off every time she wanted to go back, of course their time to visit was reduced down to a simple overnight stay over Christmas. 

 Hawkins would never be home to Steve Harrington, and sometimes she feared he failed to acknowledge that it was quite the opposite for her. 

 “Ready to go?” His voice broke her thoughts and she blinked up at him, now wearing sweats and a plain white tee, his hair messy and unkempt atop his head. He spun the keys to his old BMW around his pinky finger, pinching his lip between his teeth as he approached, using his free arm to sling around her shoulders. “Everything okay?” He asked, giving her a fleeting squeeze and pressing a kiss to her hair. 

 She wanted nothing more than to question him, ask him what the quick little meeting with his coach was about, ask him what she was hearing about being traded to the Red Sox, whether or not he’d been hiding it from her, and if he was considering taking them up on whatever they offered him. But not here— it could wait for the car. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” she nodded, letting him lead her towards the exit. The night air in Philadelphia had a bit of a chill and she shivered when Steve opened the door leading to the players’ parking lot, the old BMW he’s had since high school waiting for them beneath the lamppost light. She clutched the strap of her purse as they made their way towards the car, worrying her lip between her teeth.

 Steve glanced up at her over the top of his car as she circled around to the passenger’s side, swinging open the door and slipping inside. He watched as she buckled in her seat belt while he turned the keys in the ignition, her fingers dropping in her lap as she stared out the window. 

 “You sure everything’s okay?” He asked again, reaching over to brush his fingers against her knuckles. She turned to face him, face void of expression as their eyes surged into one another. Something was wrong, Steve could feel it. 

 “What was all that about?” She questioned. “You know, with your coach and all that.” Steve pulled his fingers away and leaned back into his seat, searching the steering wheel as he tried to string together what to say next. She watched as he scratched at his chin, outstretching his palm, “he wanted to discuss my contract,” he replied. “Since it’s expiring soon.”

 She nodded, pressing her lips together in an attempt to still her beating heart. Steve rolled his tongue against his cheek, unsure of what to say next, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate any further, she drew in a shaky breath, gazing out the windshield. “I heard from Matt that Boston is interested in you.”

 Steve blinked, his lips pressed in a firm, thin line as he grew silent, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and turning the keys in the ignition with the other. The car roared to life and Steve said nothing as he turned to gaze out the back windshield to pull out of his parking space. Silence was thick in the air as he drove out of the parking lot, a lump forming in her throat and the tension was hot, a heavy weight on either of their chests. 

 “Why are you not talking to me?” She finally asked, glancing over to where he sat, jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping it. “Why didn’t you tell me about Boston?” She questioned, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Steve ran a hand through his hair, “the call only came in a few days ago.”

 Her stomach flipped at the admission and she turned, brow furrowed in disbelief. “You got the call a few days ago and didn’t think to tell me about it?” It was hard to hide her agitation now. “What happened to… to talking to each other, Steve? Don’t you think I would’ve liked to have known about something like this?”

 Steve tapped the pad of his thumb against the top of the steering wheel, propping his other arm against the window, cupping his chin in his palm. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he replied. “I know how much you hate traveling and I didn’t know how to bring it up and—“

 “Steve, I… don’t hate traveling,” she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “I told you early on that I have no issue following you anywhere you go, and I still stand by that. What I have an issue with is you, number one: not telling me any of this crap and number two: brushing me off when I tell you that I want to go home. Why can’t we go somewhere for me for once? You have off days, but we spend them doing what you want, never what I want.” Her words were pouring out of her but at this point, she couldn’t make them stop. 

 Months upon months of her frustrations that had been pushed to the side to rest were now forcing their way to the frontlines, and she realized now that she wanted to be heard. She didn’t want to be pushed to the sidelines anymore, she didn’t want to keep everything to herself anymore, she just wanted to be seen. She wanted everything she’d spent energy burying to be recognized, she wanted Steve to acknowledge her. 

 “Can we… not do this tonight?” Steve said at last, wiping his brow in vexation and gripping the steering wheel with a two hand feel. “I’m tired, you’re tired, so can we please just chill out and talk about this in the morning?” She gnawed at the flesh of the inside of his cheek, “no, Steve,” she spoke firmly, her tone as stern as it could get to let him know that she wouldn’t be cowering away this time. “I’m not tired. Don’t tell me to chill out whenever you don’t feel like listening. I’m not going to let you push me to the side this time,” she said just as the car rolled to a halt in front of a stoplight. 

 “I’m not pushing you to the side!” His voice has raised this time, but still, she had no intention of backing down. “Honestly, you’re sounding so selfish right now,” he muttered, shaking his head and gazing out the window to his side, keen on looking anywhere but at her.

 She blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m being the selfish one?” She scoffed, pointing a finger to her chest. “You won’t even listen to me. You won’t even talk to me.” Steve didn’t reply as the light turned green, making it clear he didn’t want to argue any further, only adding more coal to her fire.

 She dropped her head, feeling the bitter sting of tears in her eyes that she desperately tried to lock away, sinking her teeth further into the plush of her lip to help keep them from falling. Feeling unheard was probably the worst feeling she’d ever felt in the world, it felt as if she were drowning, meters below the ocean, her screams falling onto deaf ears. All she could see for miles was darkness and she was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of black. 

 Steve was usually her lifeline but now, he was further and further away, and she was sinking deeper and deeper…

 “So what is it then?” She said at last, turning her head to glimpse over to where he sat, her voice cutting through her throat like a knife. “We’re just gonna move to Boston— which is even further away from Hawkins, by the way— and everything will just be okay? We’re just gonna forget about our friends and family and throw away everything I want to do just so I can be King Steve’s good, obedient little wife?” She hissed, and Steve turned to face her now as he pulled into the parking lot of their luxury apartment building, eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

 “We spend all your off days doing whatever the hell you want, why can’t we take a weekend or something to go back home and see everyone?” She pressed further. “I miss them. I miss Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin, Max, El, Robin— Robin’s your fucking best friend and you’ve only seen her once in the past year. You can’t even stay on the phone with her for more than ten minutes now.”

 “Because I’m fucking busy trying to give us a future!” Steve practically roared, his voice like a crack of thunder, even making her tremble where she sat. She recoiled and pressed her lips together, blinking. “I’ve been working almost every single fucking day to provide for us, to provide for you. You tell me you understand that this is my career, that traveling and press conferences and practices and brand deals and all that other shit is just a part of it. But then you sit here and bitch at me for it, complaining that I’m not listening, that I’m being selfish when all I fucking do everyday is work so you can be comfortable!” 

 Her vision glossed over with the haze of tears again and she blinked, sniffing. “You’re missing the point, Steve. I never asked for you to give up your career. I never asked for you to take time off for me. I asked you to hear me. I asked that we use the time that you’re off to go back home,” she replied softly, her tone void of the firmness she held before. Steve didn’t dare look at her, eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead through the windshield, hands still tight around the steering wheel. 

 “Then what the hell’s stopping you from just leaving?” He asked, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, and she blinked, sure that tears were falling now. “So that’s your answer?” She grimaced at her own voice, watery and threatening to break. “You’re just going to push me away? Tell me to leave?”

 Steve closed his eyes, his chest heaving with a sigh as he leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the headrest. A moment of silence dangled between the two, neither seeming to know how to break it. One hand dropped to his lap and the other rose to his forehead, the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her wet and sticky cheeks, pressing her lips together as she shook her head, gazing at the parking lot outside the window. The city was alive and noisy at this time of night, its light polluting the night sky and ceiling away the stars. 

 This wasn’t what she had grown up to know. Even still, the city was still foreign to her. She missed the quiet of a small town, missed looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars twinkling down at her. She just missed home. 

 But what was Hawkins without Steve in it too?

 “I don’t…” Steve began, blinking up at the ceiling of his car. “…I don’t know what to do.”

 She glanced over at him, her arms crossed over her stomach, her fingernails scratching lines into her skin. She looked at Steve now and saw someone she hadn’t seen in awhile, not since they lived in Hawkins. 

 Steve looked lost. 

 “I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore,” he breathed a laugh at himself, flattening his palm against his eyes and shaking his head again. “I just feel like I’m letting you down no matter what I do.”

 She furrowed her brows together and turned in her seat until her back was against the door, her left leg bent and leaning against the back of her seat. “Steve, you’re not… you’re not letting me down,” she replied in a soft murmur. “But it hurts me when you don’t listen to me. I never try to push you too hard or stop you from doing what you love to do,” her lips curved into a small smile. “And it makes me so happy to watch you play baseball. Because you just look so… peaceful. You look happy. Even if you do look funny running the bases.”

 Steve snorted at this, turning his head to the side to face her. “For awhile there, you weren’t happy,” she could feel her voice begin to crack, more tears glossing her vision, her voice thick with emotion. “I know you weren’t happy back in Hawkins,” she continued. “Just like you know I used to not be happy back then either.”

 Steve sniffed, his eyes dropping to her fingers where they rested in her lap, and he watched as she leaned closer towards him, her fingers finding his. He shuddered when their skin met, already melting into her touch, squeezing her fingers tighter when they laced together with his. His molars sunk down into the flesh of the inside of his cheek, trying to maintain his own composure. 

 “But Hawkins is home to me,” she murmured. “Hawkins is where our story began. It’s where we both grew up, it’s where we found each other. And I’ll always be grateful to Hawkins for that.”

 Steve let his fleeting gaze linger on their hands for a moment before her other hand pushed against his chin, leading his eyes back home, back to her. “Even with everything we went through there, we made so many memories,” she chuckled. “Like the first time you took me on a date and you pulled up to my house and my dad…”

 Steve’s lips curved into a smile and parted in a laugh, “he grilled me.” She laughed along, nodding. “I still remember how nervous you were to even hold hands with me, like my dad was waiting around the corner or something.”

 “He can be really intimidating.”

 “No shit,” she chuckled, leaning the side of her head into the passenger seat’s headrest. “And I remember our first kiss…” 

 Steve let the pad of his thumb soothe over the smooth skin on the back of her hand as he recalled the memory, the image of her standing in front of him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he fell in love with, wearing that ridiculously pretty baby blue dress he still secretly wished she would wear more often. He could remember how nervous he was, how he felt like his heart was going to either burst out of his chest or he was going to shit it out. He remembered wondering how a girl so perfect could ever want to be with him, how insecure he felt about himself, whether or not he was a shitty boyfriend. 

 All of it melted away when she fluttered her eyes closed and began to lean in and he, too, began to fall in closer…

 “Yeah,” Steve sighed his reply, and she smiled warmly. “So you see now why I want to go back so bad?” She asked. “Hawkins was where our story started. Hawkins will always be home to me.”

 Steve drew in a deep breath and nodded, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “But I still don’t know what to do about Boston.”

 She glanced down to their joined hands, her free hand soothing up and down his arm. When she looked back up, Steve’s face was contorted in thought, eyebrows knit together, eyes unfocused and lips pressed together. She gave his hand a squeeze, “do you want to go to Boston?”

 He blinked and peered over at her where she sat, waiting for a reply. Her face was void of all frustration from before, expression warm, inviting. How could he have ever taken her for granted?

 Steve gave a short nod, “I think so.” 

 Her lips grew into a grin, “then we’re going to Boston.”

 Steve’s face softened but a wrinkle in his brow still remained. “And you’re… okay with that?” He asked, and she nodded. “As long as we can do things I want too. I just want to dedicate some off time to going back home. I want to see everybody. I miss all our friends. I miss my dad.”

 Steve nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, “okay.”

 She nodded back and pushed herself from her sitting position, leaning over the console until their faces were close, their lips a whisper away from one another. “Okay,” she whispered against his lips and Steve gazed up at her, his deep, brown irises melting into hers. His gaze fleeted down to her lips as he reached a hand around to cup the back of her head, pulling her mouth down onto his. 

 His lips were soft and she melted into them as if they were a pillow. Steve kissed her with an urgent, tender need, like his tongue was telling her a million sorrys he couldn’t relay in words. She moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her hip with the hand not tangled in her hair and she climbed her way over the console and onto his lap, her hands on either of his cheeks, the firestorm on her skin erupting into a volcano, hot magma pouring over her and pooling onto him. 

 His kisses trailed down her chin to the underside of her jaw, her fingers inching their way to his hair, giving the roots a tug when he sucked a mark there. Her lips fell apart in a gasp at the feeling of his teeth ghosting over her flesh, teasing a bite on the sensitive part of her neck. “Steve,” she mewled as his hands felt up her waist, to her stomach, and around to the buttons of her jersey. 

 “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips when his kisses found their way back to her mouth, his fingers working at the buttons of her jersey. “I’m an asshole,” he mumbled as he pushed her now fully opened shirt down her arms, his mouth hot when they found her one of her erect nipples and she threw her head back, squeezing the roots of his tendrils tighter. 

 “Mm mm,” she shook her head as he swirled his tongue around her peaked bud, staring up at her through a hooded gaze as he sucked. “You’re… not!” She arched her back and moaned when he released her breast with a pop, trailing kisses between the valley of her tits to ravage the other. “Not an… asshole.”

 His smile was a crescent against her skin as he worked at the other and she pressed her lips together in a whimper, feeling heat pool between her legs, her core clenching when she ground her hips down into his erection. “Stevie,” she panted when he released her breast, kissing her collarbone until he could make out dark marks in her skin. “Hmm?” He hummed against her flesh, glancing up at her. 

 She ground her hips down into him once again, causing him to groan and buck his own up into her. She gasped at this, feeling tears sting her eyes before streaming down her cheeks. “I just… I just wanna feel you,” she managed to breathe out, her teeth pinching her bottom lip hard enough that she nearly drew blood. “Just want you inside me.”

 Steve probably could’ve come from just her voice alone. His cock was aching and throbbing in his sweats and he tapped the underside of her thighs to tell her to sit up. She mewled as she rose off his lap, allowing them both to strip themselves from their pants and underwear. 

 Their eyes surged into one another as Steve’s middle and pointer finger traced a line down her center, his palm flush with her clit, her lids fluttering closed and a cry erupting from her throat and permeating the small space of his car. “You’re dripping for me, baby,” Steve purred, using his other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, the pad of his thumb soothing over her closed eyelids. “You always get so wet for me,” he praised, drawing her face closer to his to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. “You’re always such a good girl for me. Always make me so proud.”

 “Stevie,” she mewled, voice dripping with need from his words. His fingers still worked back and forth over her slit, the tips teasing her clit and every so often, her entrance. “Yeah baby?” He cooed, nuzzling the bridge of his nose against the underside of her jaw. She whimpered again, “just need you inside. Please.”

 Neither of them could care any less that anyone could easily be watching them right now, all they cared about was each other. All Steve wanted to do right now was take care of his girl, to make sure she felt wanted, needed, heard. 

 So he wasted no time in grabbing a hold of the base of his cock, hissing between his teeth at the sight of her cunt just dripping, aching to be filled. He gazed back up at her and reached for her face, cupping her cheek with one hand and kneading the flesh of her hip with the other. “Look at me,” he whispered, waiting until her eyelids fluttered back open and he could stare into his gorgeous irises of hers. “You ready?” He asked with a little nod, and when she nodded back almost immediately, he guided her down into his lap with the hand on her hip, his lips falling agape, a deep, guttural groan bellowing from his throat. 

 She cried as he slowly pushed himself all the way in until she was fully seated in his lap, crystals of tears resting on her eyelashes. Even after all these years, she couldn’t believe how big he was, how every inch seemed to fill her up in the most perfect way, leaving no part of her untouched. 

 And Steve couldn’t believe how tight she still was. She always squeezed him in just the right way, her pussy always seeming eager to milk him, and he always seemed to be near spent even when they had just started. 

 “Ready to move?” He murmured close to her ear and she nodded, lifting her hips gently before setting her pace, either of his hands now on her waist, guiding her up and down his cock. The windows had since fogged up, the lights outside nothing more than white and orange dots, like watercolors. She managed to peel her eyes open enough to peer down at him, her lips finding his, their moans muffled against each other. 

 “I love you,” Steve purred against her mouth, his breath hot and making liquid of her insides. She felt her heart skip a beat when he said this, as if it were the first time she’d ever heard him say it. It was like this with everything with Steve. He made every touch, every kiss, every ‘I love you,’ every everything feel like the first time. 

 And that’s what she loved most about him. 

 “I…” she gasped at a particular deep thrust, rivers of tears streaming down her cheeks. “…oh God! I love you too!”

 Her palms ventured down the chest of his t-shirt until they reached the hem, tugging at it to signal that she wanted it off. Steve wasted no time in reaching down to pull it up and over his head, her hips still rocking back and forth on his cock as he discarded it somewhere behind him, his hands cupping either of her elbows and drawing her mouth back onto his. 

 She was so dangerously close to the edge, Steve was so dangerously close to the edge. It was enough to make her cry out, to wrap her arms around Steve’s head and hug him close to her chest. “Gonna… fuck! Gonna come baby?” Steve groaned as he thrusted up into her, meeting her hips in rhythm with her rocking. She nodded, unable to speak as a spark trailed down her stomach until it erupted in flame at her center, white light flashing behind her eyelids as she exploded, a blissful heat ripping through her. 

 Steve’s hands cradled the small of her back as she struggled to catch her breath, letting him pound her through her orgasm until he too let himself go, spurts of his seed spilling somewhere deep inside her, painting her cervix like it was his canvas. 

 He held her tighter as she trembled, panting and chasing air back into her lungs, aftershocks rumbling through her as he slowed his hips before pulling out altogether, making sure his hands were there to catch her before she fell. 

 His palm cracked the back of her head to his chest, their pants slowly dwindling down to soft breaths, their skin melting into each other until they became one. His thumb soothed over her shoulder blade, his other arm wrapped around her waist, ensuring neither he nor she were going anywhere. 

 “I’ve got you,” he whispered close to her ear, his breath hot as it rolled over her skin. “And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll hear you out from now on. You shouldn’t feel like you’re being silenced around me.”

 He could feel her smile against the curve of his shoulder, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his skin. His lips curled into their own smile. “Thank you,” she murmured against his flesh. “Can we just stay here like this for a minute?”

 He hummed into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Mhm,” he hummed, resting his cheek against their head and letting his eyelids flutter closed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

a/n; i have literally been wanting to write an mlb player steve au for the longest time and i just never have gotten around to it 😭 i'm not sure if any of you know this, but i used to play softball, started playing when i was 8 years old all the way up until my senior year of high school, so softball/baseball has pretty much always been a big part of my life and LAWD can you just imagine steve as a major leaguer 😍 anyways, its been awhile since i've posted anything steve related and i'm so sorry for that! but i hope you all enjoy this one! it turned out to be a lot longer than i initially expected it to lol (ps, i definitely wouldn’t mind writing more for major leaguer steve in the future 👀)

TAGLIST

 “You taste so good,” Clark mumbles against her cunt and she whimpers, shuddering as the low drone of his voice ripples through her body.

 “Don’t stop,” she moans, trying and failing to thrust her hips against the strong grip of his hands. She growls, a series of pathetic whines tumbling past her lips soon after. She can feel the crescent shape of Clark’s grin against her clit as he chuckles. She can feel the crease of his dimples against her thighs. 

 “You’re so impatient,” he says before finally diving back in, nose brushing her clit as he circles his tongue around her entrance. Her vision swims as her fingers practically curl into talons, clawing at the sheets around her, back rising from the mattress. There’s an ache in her toes from being held curled for so long but she can’t help it as she kicks her heels against Clark’s shoulder blades, trying to blink the haze away from her eyes. 

 “Fuck Clark, how are you so good at this?” She asks breathlessly, tossing her head back when he gathers her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, toying with her. Her pants are short and clipped, her chest hardly able to keep her breath’s rhythm. Every stroke of his tongue is agonizing, reducing her mind down to a murky puddle of slime. 

 “A master can’t reveal his own secrets,” Clark replies, to which she rolls her eyes, still rocking her hips as much as his grip will allow her.

 “You’re nothing if not corny, Clark Kent,” she remarks, gasping at a particularly firm swipe of his tongue against her clit. He chuckles against her and again, it pulses through her, her body buzzing in its wake. 

 If Clark makes a remark back, she doesn’t hear it. She’s too far gone to care, too drunk on her own pleasure to argue. It’s almost enough to make her forget about Bruce Wayne, who still watches from the window across from hers, too far gone himself to muster the decency to look away. She raises her head again, just enough to be able to see him.

 She can still make out a tiny gleam of moonlight reflected in his binoculars. Just below it, a small sliver of skin from his hand peeks out, also illuminated by the pale moon. She wonders if he even realizes she’s looking at him, and if he does, whether he’s too dazed to care. She wonders whether his other hand is where she likes to think it is— beneath his pants, locked around his cock, slowly pumping up and down the shaft, imagining it was her he was wrapped around instead.  

 She wonders whether or not he’s jealous of Clark, whether he wishes he was between her legs instead. She wonders if he’s jealous that it’s Clark eating her out, Clark touching her, Clark’s teeth marks in her skin. She thinks he must be seething— he and Clark have never gotten along after all. 

 She wonders what Bruce would do, should he be in her bedroom instead. No more stalking through binoculars, no more dark clothing, no more hiding in shadows. Would he be dominant– confident in the way he touches her, rough when he fucks her, eager to bring either of them to the edge? Would he be more submissive– allowing her to take the reins, eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she rides him, pleading with her to allow him to come?

 Part of her wishes he was here, angry that Clark Kent of all people was the one fucking her, tearing him off of her, taking her and having his way with her. Part of her wishes Clark would fight back, shoving Bruce away, fucking her and washing every ounce of Bruce Wayne away of her. 

 This fantasy mixed with the feral way Clark’s devouring her is enough to spark a fiery trail from the pit of her stomach all the way down to her core, searing her insides in the process. She tosses her head back into the pillows and reaches for Clark’s hair, practically yanking him down further into her cunt, canting her hips into his face. 

 “Fuck, right there Clark!” She yowls, fighting against his arms snaked around her thighs with every ounce of strength she can muster. “I’m so close, I’m so close, don’t fucking stop.”

 Clark hums against her clit, knowing all too well how greatly it affects her. She lifts her head again and through the bleary sheen of her gaze, finds Bruce in his window, knowing he’s looking, knowing he knows she knows he’s looking. 

 ‘Bruce!’ She mouths, knitting her brows together, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Bruce, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming…’

 “I’m coming, I’m coming!” She cries, her head lolling back into the pillows again, no longer able to support it. Clark laps at her cunt with the greed of a starved animal, moaning both her name and incoherent noises as he does. The aftershocks of her orgasm wash through her like a rippling tide, the waves slowly calming, coaxing her back into reality. 

 Clark curses as he presses one last kiss to her clit before trailing his mouth up to her belly, all the way up to the valley between her breasts. “You’re so beautiful baby,” Clark whispers once he’s reached her mouth, mindlessly suckling on her lip as he works his pants and underwear down just enough to let his cock spring free. 

 When Clark moves his head to bury her face in her collar, she snakes her fingers up the hair on the back of his neck, blinking over at Bruce’s window across from hers. As the head of Clark’s cock bullies its way into her, Bruce’s curtains draw closed, and they do not move for the rest of the night. 

 Clark left hurriedly after fixing her breakfast in the morning despite how many times she’s insisted that he doesn’t owe her anything. 

 “I’m not your girlfriend,” she’d reminded him. 

 Clark had simply rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, snatching a piece of bacon off of her plate and shoving it into his mouth. 

 “And I’m not a booty call,” he’d said through his mouthful, promising to see her again tonight as he made his way to the door.

 She’d rolled her eyes after him as he left, but the kiss he’d left on her head still made her heart flutter in her chest. Still made her skin crawl with warmth. Still made her wish that her remark wasn’t true. 

 It was annoying. 

 She practically slams an apple into the clear fruit bag, narrowing her eyes as she searches for her next one. She’d been going crazy all day since he left, unable to think straight, unable to focus on a task long enough to get anything done. So she’d finally left for the grocery store midway through the day, hoping the walk would be able to clear her mind of all things Clark.

 An attempt that would of course, come to no avail.

 For three months her arrangement with Clark has been going on. For three months, what she and Clark had was just sex, no strings, no serious, long-term attachments. It was her idea in the first place. Years and years of being let down by men had stolen every ounce of faith in romance she’d ever had. 

 Love was supposed to be something dead to her, a concept long buried, dead and cold in the ground. And yet, it lingered like an annoying little maggot, eating away at her resolve, reanimating the corpse of her once abstinent romance. It was to the point where she couldn’t so much as think about Clark Kent without feeling like she’s a stupid girl in a stupid rom-com who gets tongue-tied at the mere mention of him. 

 She clasps her hand around another apple, eyeing it scrutinizingly before finally throwing it into the fruit bag along with the others. Tongue swiping over her teeth, she reaches for a tie, spinning the top of the bag around until it seems tight enough. As she secures the tie around the bag, she catches a glimpse of dark clothing from the top of her vision, the hair on the back of her neck standing erect. 

 As if her feelings couldn’t get anymore complicated, there was Bruce Wayne, standing on the opposite side of the fruit stand as still and wide-eyed as a deer caught in headlights. 

 Bruce Wayne— the polar opposite of Clark Kent. Where Clark Kent was all sunshine and daisies and puppies and kittens, Bruce Wayne was an enigma— dark, silent, and utterly strange. 

 Where Clark was everything good and real and right, Bruce was bad, immoral, wrong. He watches her as she has sex with other men for Christ’s sake. He no doubt followed her here to the supermarket now. She should feel horrified, mortified, every other appropriate synonym. 

 She knows she should. And strangely, she doesn’t. 

 She feels… aroused. And flattered… sort of? 

 It’s a tug-of-war of what she knows is right and wrong. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way, knows she shouldn’t even be giving someone like him–a stalker– the light of day. Not when she has access to someone like Clark at her disposal anyway. Not when she knows she could lose Clark for even associating with Bruce Wayne— they’re so-called “sworn enemies” after all. 

 Somewhere deep down, Bruce must know this too. Perhaps it’s the shame of knowing he’s been caught, the confirmation that she knows he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking. He blinks, seemingly finally coming to. He stumbles a bit as he takes a couple steps backwards, hands sliding out of the pockets of his jacket, beginning to reach for his hood. Before he can turn away though, she finds herself calling out his name before she even realizes it. 

 “Bruce, wait,” she calls, dropping her bag of apples into her basket, her feet feeling like they aren’t her own as they bring her closer to him. Bruce freezes in his tracks as she approaches, strong jaw locking in place, lips pressed in a firm, thin line. 

 They stand there for a moment in silence, simply blinking at one another, uncertain what direction this interaction will go. They really haven’t spoken much to each other outside of ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s outside on the sidewalk in front of their buildings. They’ve been in many of the same places at the same time in the past but that’s always been about the extent of it. He’d always stuck to the shadows at the bars or the parties they’d found themselves at when they were in college. She’d always been Clark’s friend, and Bruce absolutely loathed the mere idea of that man. 

 Even so, she’d never understood why he and Clark despised each other so much. Sure, they were complete and total opposites from one another, but she never thought that was enough to warrant a full on hatred for each other. 

 In the back of her mind, she’s reminded of that little fantasy that managed to trickle itself into her brain through the thick fog of her pleasure just the night before. Clark and Bruce both shoving and shouting at one another, trying to tear the other off of her, fucking her every chance they got to try and wash the other away from her. She remembers feeling Clark’s tongue digging her orgasm out of her pussy as she mouthed Bruce’s name where she knew he could see. She remembers the little glimpse of that jealousy she knows Bruce felt last night when Clark fucked and kissed her with the sliding closed of his curtains. 

 Bruce blinks, rolling his lips together, finally showing signs of life. “I’m… I’m sor—“

 “Do you wanna come over?”

 She knows Bruce is watching as she shrugs off her coat. She can feel his eyes watching, searing holes into her skin as she folds it over her sofa. She turns to face him again where he stands awkwardly by her front door, fists balled at either of his flanks. Their gazes meet for the briefest of moments before his drops to the floor, strands of dark umber hair falling over his eyes, casting his face in shadow. 

 It’s the first time she’s managed to get a closer look at him since college. It’s strange how a man can change while simultaneously not changing at all. He’s just as quiet as he’s always been. He’s just as tall and as handsome as he’s always been. But he seems more reserved than he used to be. More mysterious. Sadder. 

 Bruce Wayne has always been sort of an outcast. He’s handsome and rich, yes, but he never quite got along with anyone else in college. She used to always wonder sometimes why he’d even bother going to parties. She even wondered if maybe he was being forced to attend them. If maybe they were attempts at making him friends. 

 She wonders if this is the same case for him having even bought an apartment in the first place. It’s no secret that Bruce comes from old money. The Waynes have their own manor in upper Gotham for Christ’s sake. It makes no sense why he’d buy an apartment in one of the shittiest blocks in Metropolis. Perhaps it was an effort at independence, to live a life outside of Gotham and the shadow of the Wayne family name. 

 Though, a thought creeps like a spider into her mind. What if it was all for her? It was a selfish and self-centered thought for sure, but one not entirely implausible. How coincidental could it be for Bruce Wayne, her stalker, to manage to secure an apartment whose bedroom window is directly across from hers?

 A pulse sparks between her legs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice calls her out for having no shame but she’s too curious and turned on to really even care. 

 She steps forward, again and again until she’s before Bruce. He manages his breathing well, though his anxiety is evident in the way his gaze darts between her and the floor. She tilts her head for a better angle of his face, blinking up at him curiously. 

 “I know you watch me at night, Bruce,” she says. Her words hit like a thrown glass shattering beside his head. His flinch is small, but doesn’t go unnoticed. “When you think I’m not looking. When I’m laying down. When I’m changing. When you think I’m too caught up in my own pleasure to notice you in the window.”

 For the first time, his jaw trembles, though he doesn’t appear frightened. Not even when she draws nearer, her face closing in on his. He even musters the courage to meet her gaze, his uncertainty from before slowly melting as he realizes she isn’t angry, isn’t even disgusted. 

 “Doesn’t it kill you, watching me with someone like Clark?” She continues, blinking down at his lips as his breath rolls like hot smoke over her face. “Watching someone you hate go down on me, finger me, fuck me?”

 His breath stutters. A small smile tugs at her lips. 

 “Doesn’t it make you feel angry to see me sucking someone like Clark Kent off when I could be sucking your cock instead?” She continues. She can hardly believe her own words. She can hardly believe how incredibly aroused she feels right now. Bruce’s desire emanates from him through every heavy, unsteady breath, the narrowing of his gaze, the tightening of his jaw. 

 She can’t resist the temptation to reach for his face, to trace her thumb along the sharp lines of his jaw. It trembles when she does and she realizes just how touch-starved he must be. 

 “Doesn’t it make you just want to lose your mind?” She asks, slowly drawing her hips into his. His cock is practically bursting from his pants already. It must be agonizing. “Doesn’t it make you just want to lose control? Have your way with me? Take me until I—“

 Whatever she was planning on saying next is completely stolen from her. Bruce’s mouth is on hers in an instant, pouncing like a predator on its prey. Where Clark’s kisses are tender, firm but always lined with an edge of intimacy, Bruce’s are feral, ravenous, greedy. For at least three months, he’s had to watch from the darkness of his bedroom as she’s been taken by Clark again and again and again. For at least three months, he’s only had his imagination of what she feels and tastes like to work with. 

 Now that he’s here, inside her apartment, kissing her with the greed of a starved wolf, he’s uncontrollable. 

 His hands cup either of her cheeks as he swirls his tongue inside her mouth, every bit as dominating as part of her she expected him to be. Her knees buckle under the weight of his kiss and one of his arms drops to circle around her waist to keep her upright. Even through his thick layers of dark clothing he feels firm– different from Clark and not as big as Clark, but still firm, strong. 

 Her hands rise to the zipper of his jacket, tugging it down in one swift motion, knocking his hat off his head with another. His fingers tear at her clothes, uncaring what happens to them or where they end up, only that he is here and she is here and he has her right where he’s always imagined having her. 

 Her nipples swell against her bra as her ripped shirt slides off her shoulders. His lips never once leaving hers, he backs her into the sofa, pushing her down onto the cushions, breaking their kiss only to trail his mouth down her throat to suck marks into her skin. Her back arches and her chest meets his mouth when his kisses reach her breasts, his hands snaking behind her back to unclasp her bra.

 “How long have you been thinking about this Bruce?” She asks breathlessly, her skin erupting in gooseflesh as he pulls away enough to rip her bra from her arms. “How long have you dreamed of this?”

 He shakes his head against her, taking a handful of her breast, swirling his tongue around the nipple of the other. “Too long,” he admits, his voice low and raspy, as if this was the first time he’d spoken in a while. 

 “Yeah?” She gasps, her fingers carding through his hair, drawing him in closer to her breast. “Do you know what I’ve been dreaming about?’

 Bruce blinks up at her, tongue circling around her nipple. Strands of dark hair fall over his eyes and she brushes them back, whimpering as she cants her hips up, seeking friction.

 “Been dreaming about you touching yourself, thinking of all the things you’d do to me,” she continues, gasping when his teeth pinch her nipple, flattening his tongue over to soothe the ache. “And you’d get frustrated because your hand doesn’t feel nearly as good as my pussy.”

 A deep, guttural noise emits from Bruce and his teeth etch their mark into the side of her breast. She yelps, instinctively bucking her hips into him, his pinning them back down. He lifts his face from her chest, pretty lips glistening with spit. She stares back at him in wonder, anticipating his next move. Bruce is a man of few words– again, the complete and total opposite from Clark. Oddly enough, his silence speaks volumes. By his gaze alone she’s trembling, aching at the apex of her thighs. 

 Slowly, he lifts himself away from her, their gazes never breaking. She wonders what exactly it is he’s thinking. She wonders if she’s everything he’d hoped she’d be. If watching her from afar for so long had been worth it. If she was everything he’d dreamed of and more. 

 His hands reach for the hem of his black shirt and she watches, blinking like a curious bird as he lifts it over his torso, up and over his head. Her mouth falls agape in awe and for the first time in what feels like truly a long time, she’s rendered speechless. Wonderstruck. 

 Simply saying Bruce Wayne is beautiful would be like saying Clark Kent is simply strong. Bruce is a work of art. Memory mars his skin and stories are scattered across his chest in angry, red pieces of ribbed flesh like stars in constellations. She wants to reach out and feel him, read his story like braille across his flesh. It’s devastating– seeing him like this only makes her want him more, only makes her already confusing feelings for Clark that much more annoying. 

 Because as much as she really likes Clark, she really likes seeing Bruce like this.

 When Bruce does finally speak, his voice low and rumbling, rolling like thunder through her, she’s afraid she’s on the cusp of collapse. 

 “Remember when you looked at me last night?” He asks, leaning forward, his fingers curling around the hem of her pants. Her skin burns where his knuckles touch. She waits, panting in anticipation. “How you taunted me, calling my name while he was making you come?”

 Slowly, he pulls her pants and underwear down her thighs, legs erupting in gooseflesh as the air blows over her skin. 

 “You wanna know what I was thinking then?” He continues, her bottoms pooling at her ankles. She nods, lips pressed together, a small, pathetic whimper bubbling in her throat. He rips her clothes away from her ankles, tossing them back onto the floor somewhere behind him, dipping his head low between her legs. “I was thinking about how much of a slut you are. Just how I imagined you’d be.”

 His breath is hot, like the fumes of a fire rolling over her skin, fanning over her sopping core. It sends shivers snaking down her spine, makes her instinctively buck her hips up, hoping for some sort of friction. He flattens a palm just above her clit, pushing her back down. It’s painful, being touched so close yet so far from where she wants to be. 

 “Bruce,” she whines and he scoffs, eyeing the glistening cunt before him. 

 “Every bit as pretty as I dreamed you’d be,” he murmurs, a comment seemingly more for himself than for her to hear. 

 It’s excruciating watching Bruce between her legs, staring at her pussy as if he were a caged animal eyeing its first meal in days. She could practically feel his gaze devouring her, soaking in every detail of her cunt he can as if he feared the moment wasn’t going to last. 

 And it seems he was right to think so. 

 “Just do something already,” she whines, canting her hips into his palm, clit managing to brush his chin. Bruce’s gaze is piercing when it finds hers just over her mound but it seems he, too, has had enough of waiting. The world around them is a blur and they are the only beings in motion. Bruce is the nexus of her universe, the only thing she sees clearly as his mouth drops to her clit, pressing a soft, devastatingly tender kiss to the bud…

 “…you know you left the door unlocked, right? You really shouldn’t do that, anyone could just walk in on you, and what if you’re—“

 Clark’s voice slices through the moment and she blinks, suddenly aware of the world around her. She and Bruce both lift their heads over the back of the couch to see Clark standing at the door, suit coat draped over his arm, briefcase dangling from his hand.

 “—naked… or something…”

 Suddenly, all she can hear is the incessant drone of her heart pounding in her chest. Her mouth opens and closes, warmth seeping into her cheeks. Fuck, she thinks. How’s she going to explain this one?

 Her living room is pregnant with silence. Clark’s eyes blink between her and Bruce, dark brows knit together, dark creases forming on his forehead. Out her periphery she can see Bruce, just as mortified as she is but also vexed— it’s evident in the way his jaw tenses. 

 He finally had her right where he wanted her and of course, Clark Kent of all people had to barge in and ruin things, as he tended to do. At least, this is what she imagines must be going through Bruce’s head. 

 Clark blinks and a disbelieving scoff rips from his chest, dropping his suitcase by the door, staggering his hips. “I’m sorry, I think I’m just trying to understand,” he says, voice laced with a web of different emotions: anger, confusion, annoyance, bitterness. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

 Bruce rises to his feet and she glances up at him in time to watch his gaze sharpen into the blade of a knife, cutting into Clark. 

 “Could ask you the same thing,” Bruce clips.

 She turns back to Clark, adjusting her position on the couch so that she sits more upright. 

 “Clark, look, I didn’t mean for you to walk in on us like this,” she begins, unsure how to even begin approaching this. Her heart is producing about a million beats a second. Vexation pulses at her temples and lust pulses at her core. She’s caught in another game of tug-of-war, one that’s on the brink of tearing her apart. 

 “As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t belong to you,” Bruce says. Her eyes cut back up at him. “Not everything is handed to you on a silver platter, Kent.”

 Clark’s chest swells with a mix of rage and hatred. He steps forward, pointing a finger in Bruce’s face, jaw tense, dimples creasing with every pronounced syllable. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Wayne,” he says. “No pun intended.”

 She should be mortified. And in a way, she is. Genuinely, she had no idea Clark would come barging into her apartment like this. 

 But more than anything: she’s more turned-on than she’s ever been. The fantasy that crossed her mind the night before was literally unfolding before her very eyes. Bruce and Clark, both fighting over her while she’s sitting there, completely in the nude, ready and eager to be touched. The back and forth of their voices is only fuel to the fire ignited between her legs and she feels like a volcano on the cusp of eruption. 

 “Get out of here!” Bruce shouts and Clark scoffs in disbelief again, a curse murmured beneath his breath. A hand rises to his face and he digs his fingers into his closed eyelid, mumbling “I can’t believe this” as he moves to reach for his briefcase again. 

 “Clark!” She shouts, breaking her silence. She climbs off the couch and lands on her hands and knees on the floor. Shivers roll down her spine as the cool ground meets her palms and kneecaps but it doesn’t break her determination. She crawls— crawls— her way towards Clark’s feet, circling her arms around his legs, resting her chin on his thighs. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

 Another silence stretches across the room. Clark blinks down at her, the crease in his brow slowly unraveling, making room for his shock. Her eyes are round and pleading and she can see his lips tremble when she kisses his leg through his pants, murmuring feeble little pleas into his thighs. 

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says, digging her nails into the fabric of his pants, planting her chin against his belt. She kisses the zipper of his pants, eyes pleading. “Please don’t go.”

 “I…” Clark begins, trailing off. Behind her, she can hear Bruce scoff and what sounds like him collecting his shirt from wherever he’d discarded it. His boots are loud and heavy thumps against the floor as he makes his way for the door, but before he can brush past, she reaches out, managing to grab his hand and yank him back. 

 “Please don’t go,” she says, directed at Bruce this time. She turns her head, blinking up at him, eyes big and pleading with him instead. His lips fall slightly open, his chest— still bare— inflating with his breath. She sinks her teeth into her lip, rolling it around. “I want you to stay.”

 She glances away from Bruce to look up at Clark again. 

 “Both of you.”

 Silence ensues again, pregnant with tension. She blinks between the two men as they both turn to share a look. For a moment, they are both unified through confusion. 

 Her hand still locked around Bruce’s, she trails her other up from Clark’s belt to his tie, wrapping her fingers around the bottom and yanking with all the strength she can muster. Clark exhales in surprise as she tugs him down to her, her lips crashing into his, desperation tied together with need laced in her kiss. It takes him a moment to come to, and just as he begins to reciprocate her kiss, she pulls away, dropping his tie to clasp both her hands around Bruce’s wrist, yanking him down to the floor with her. 

 His lips practically fall onto hers and this time, he anticipates her kiss, tongue swirling into her mouth, seeking out control. Her chest flutters when she feels Clark kneel beside her, one of his big, warm palms steadying himself on her thigh. Breaking away from Bruce, a thread of saliva bridges their mouths together. She turns to Clark, leaning in to kiss him fast, the bridge between her and Bruce unbreaking. 

 She moans into Clark’s mouth, cupping his cheek with one hand, palming at Bruce’s pants with the other. She hears Bruce’s sharp inhale beside her and her lips curve against Clark’s, slowly moving back towards Bruce, breaking from Clark’s mouth to immediately slam onto Bruce’s. 

 “Shit,” she hears Clark murmur as one of his large palms kneads her breast. She mewls into Bruce’s mouth when she feels the pads of his fingers brush against her clit, sliding between her folds, jolts of electricity flashing through her body. 

 She gasps as she pulls away from Bruce’s kiss, resting her forehead against his as he trails back up to her clit to rub circles around it, the tops of his fingers teasing her entrance. 

 “Fuck,” she hisses, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Just fuck me already.”

 Bruce’s head nuzzles against hers and slowly, her eyes flutter open. 

 “Yeah?” He whispers, as if for confirmation. 

 She nods, humming, sharply inhaling when Clark’s mouth sucks on the delicate skin just under her jaw, near her ear. “I know your dick’s just aching to be inside me already.”

 “God,” Clark whispers beside her ear and she turns, rocking her hips in tune to Bruce’s fingers, reaching up to knock Clark’s glasses off his nose. He gathers her lips with his, their tongues rolling over one another. Clark’s face splits in a grin that she reciprocates, pecking either of his lips. Fluttering his eyelids up at him, she nuzzles her nose against his. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

 She chuckles, kissing the side of his mouth again. “And why’s that?”

 Clark rolls his eyes, butting his forehead against hers, leaving a sloppy trail of kisses along the side of her nose. “Cause you’ve no idea the things you do to me…”

 She laughs but before she can lean in for another kiss, her face is being turned, Bruce stealing the kiss meant for Clark. 

 “Hey!” Clark protests, shoving Bruce back by the shoulder. “If this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to learn to share, buddy.”

 “You’re still touching her,” Bruce replies simply, nodding towards Clark’s hand caressing the inside of her thigh. “Besides, you’ve had all the time in the world with her, buddy.”

 Clark’s brow furrows and his lips roll in a scowl. Mouth still on Bruce’s, she reaches for Clark’s tie, tugging him down to her neck in the space just below her ear. Once he’s over the initial shock of being yanked forward, he (rather begrudgingly) complies with her silent request, swirling his tongue over her skin. Shivers roll through her as Clark’s warm breath fans over the saliva already cooling on her skin. 

 She paws at either of their pants, feeling Clark’s hum buzz against her throat. She breaks away from Bruce’s kiss, squeezing down hard on his cock, pleading with her eyes. He moves almost immediately, undoing the buttons and zipper of his pants, leaning forward for another kiss as he slides them down his thighs. 

 Clark murmurs her name into her neck and she hums in reply, unable to tear her gaze from Bruce as his cock finally springs free from his underwear, the head angry and leaking already. They pull away enough to allow him to kick out of his pants entirely and she moans— moans— when they come together again. 

 Bruce is working a finger up and down between her folds, toying with her, taunting her. She whines into his mouth, another plea to just take her already. He hums in reply, the pad of his forefinger pressing down onto her clit, quakes rolling through her body. 

 “Goddammit Bruce,” she whines as she pulls away from their kiss. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

 In what feels like an instant, Bruce’s fingers are gripping either side of her jaw, holding her face in place, locking his gaze onto hers. A gasp escapes from her lips and prompts Clark to pull back from her neck, lips pink and shiny with saliva. 

 “Impatient, aren’t we?” Bruce’s voice is low, dangerously low. Heat rolls through her body like a tsunami, crashing down into her core. “You know how long I’ve waited for this?” He leans in closer, their noses touching, his face so close, it eclipses all the light in her vision. “You don’t get to rush this.”

 She whimpers again and she can practically feel her mind melt, becoming nothing more than a useless pile of mush. It’s something she’s never felt before, something she’s only ever dreamt of feeling before. 

 She loves Clark, really she does, and she loves the way he fucks her. But it’s never like this, never too rough, never too much. And she likes it— being treated as if she’s something delicate, something to be cared for, nurtured. 

 But a part of her always wondered what it would be like to be at someone’s mercy, forced to comply with somebody else’s rules, into submission. 

 “Jesus Christ, Bruce, not so rough.” She can hear Clark’s voice somewhere off in the distance, but his words don’t quite register in her brain— not with Bruce’s gaze piercing through her, dissecting every measly ounce of her being, nor with his fingers lingering on her clit, and certainly not when he’s currently getting himself into position between her legs, his cock ready at her eager entrance. 

 “She can handle it,” Bruce replies, his thumb pressing down onto her lips, tightening his grip around her face. “Can’t you?”

 She nods, breathing uneven as his head brushes against her sex, heavy against her clit. Using the grip he has on her face, Bruce turns her head towards Clark. Only then does she take her eyes away from Bruce to instead fix them on Clark. 

 “Tell him how much you love being a fuck toy.” Bruce’s voice drips with honey-like seduction, and it falls down straight to her clit. She opens her mouth, words forming but dying on the tip of her tongue when Bruce lets go of her face and bullies his way into her cunt, slowly sheathing himself inside of her. 

 “Fuck!” She yelps, screwing her eyelids shut, head beginning to snap backwards, en route to smack the floor had it not been for Clark’s palm rushing to shield it. 

 Inch by agonizing inch, Bruce fills her up all the way to the fucking brim. It feels like his cock goes on forever, and she half expects it to keep going even when she feels him hit against her cervix. 

 A soft curse tumbles from what could only be Clark’s mouth and she slowly flutters her eyes back open, blinking away the blurriness from her vision. His face materializes above her, his eyes not fixed on her but rather her pussy, greedily taking in the sight of her absolutely devouring Bruce’s cock. 

 Bruce reaches for her jaw again, fingers tight against her cheeks as he locks her head in place again. “Go on, tell him.”

 Clark blinks back at her, his cheeks flush and breath unsteady. This is new for Clark— this she knows all too well to be true. Clark’s never had to share a thing with anyone else in his life, nothing sacred, anyway. And this thing— whatever you could call it— between them always felt sacred to him, as if there were a thread of some sort tethering them together, bounding her to him. 

 The idea that something, someone, so sacred to him could be taken by somebody else should anger him to no end. He should want to fight for sole control, to be the only one to ever have her like this. 

 And yet… seeing her like this, so clearly turned on and incredibly beautiful while being used, even if by someone else— even Bruce Wayne of all people— is so… hot to him. 

 “I.. I love it,” she pants, her syllables pronounced with each thrust of Bruce’s hips. “I love being a.. fuck! I love being a fuck toy!”

 Bruce fucks her like an animal, he fucks her with primal-like instinct, as if he’d been caged all this time— and in a sense, he has. When he fucks her, he holds her as if he wants to conquer every square inch of her body— his hands dance between her jaw, her tits, her hips, her wrists. Perspiration beads and drips from his forehead and onto her skin with the effort. 

 It’s mesmerizing to watch. Watching Bruce fuck was like watching a master working on his craft, like watching an artist painting his work of art. Perhaps this tension has been building up within him for so long, it’s practically instinct now— postponing his hips, bullying his dick as deep as it can go inside of her, pawing at her body, digging her orgasm out of her. 

 She’s a babbling, whining, crying mess. Clark’s still cupping the back of her head in his palm, so incredibly mesmerized by her, he can hardly even move. He wipes strands of hair away from her face and tucks them behind her ear, tracing his fingertip down the curve of her cheek to the line of her jaw. Droplets of tears have collected on her eyelashes, so when she flutters them up at him, he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe them away. 

 “You’re so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You’re doing so well.”

 Her body quacks with a sob and Clark can feel it on his lips so he pulls away to shush her, wiping more tears away from her cheeks with his thumb. 

 “I know, I know, it feels so good, doesn’t it?” Clark’s voice is so soft and laced with a silky edge, such a stark difference from Bruce’s. Her brain can hardly wrap around it— being fucked like a white whilst simultaneously being pampered as if she were a porcelain doll. Her vision glosses and blurs, feeling white hot bliss pool in her belly. 

 “You take cock so well,” Clark whispers close to her ear and her core throbs, his voice pushing her even closer to that edge Bruce has been working her towards. She can feel one of Clark’s hands trail down her body, from her chest, to her belly, almost down to the apex of her thighs. As his fingers inch closer to her core, as Bruce drills his cock harder, faster into her, she can feel Clark’s lips against the shell of her ear. “You’re so beautiful. My beautiful, little gi—“

 A loud smack interrupts Clark, prompting his hand to pull away from her body, and somewhere in the far off distance from her hazy mind, she can hear “ow!”

 “If this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to learn to share, buddy,” she hears Bruce repeat Clark’s previous line. Had she been in a clearer, more coherent state, she might’ve laughed. "And right now, this pussy's mine."

a/n; this has been in the works for... quite awhile 🥴 i haven't been able to stop thinking about these two so i hope anyone else who hasn't been able to stop thinking about a superbat threesome enjoys LMAO (to be posted on ao3 soon!)

🦇 if you enjoyed, please leave a reply or even reblog to let me know! hearing your feedback makes my day! 🐿️

TAGLIST

@sunnyteume

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@strangerfromketterdam

 Steve lifts his hips to adjust his position and she drops his hand to fall beside him, lying on her side to face him. He mirrors her movements, sliding himself a little further down the mattress, folding an arm beneath his head as he flips onto his side. She’s blinking at him as he’s making himself comfortable, swiping her tongue back and forth over her teeth. 

 He hates seeing her like this: so comfortable, so naked, so beautiful beside him. He hates aching for her like this, burning for her like this, longing for her like this. He hates how his lips buzz in the wake of her kisses, how his chest grows warm at the mere sight of her, how the smallest and simplest of her touches is enough to break him, burn him, mar him. He hates how his body reacts to her, how his heart bounces in his chest at just the idea of her, how his cock twitches and stands painfully erect just reminiscing about her, how his legs feel unlike his own when she’s around and how his knees buckle when she draws near.

 Most of all, Steve hates how much it hurts that she won’t let him get any closer, that she won’t let him in despite how hard he’s tried to simply know her. He hates that she’s a book he can’t read, a door he can’t get open, a lock with no key. And no matter what he does, whatever measure he’s gone to get over her, even winding back time to delete every trace of memory she’d ever left within him isn’t enough. 

 She’s a feeling he can’t shrug off, a phantom lurking in every corner of his life, cloaked in shadow. She’s a ghost that haunts him, constantly making him look over his shoulder, keeping him awake at night. She’s an ocean and he’s simply caught in her tide. She’s a thorn in his side, a spirit he can’t exorcise, a bug he can’t shake off. She’s the bane of his existence and yet still, she’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

 And he hates it.

 Steve blinks at her and she blinks back. Her expression is as unreadable as ever– soft, but not soft enough for him to discern it as anything but mild content; glistening, but not in a way that gives him the impression that it’s anything adjacent to love. It vexes him to no end.

 The silence filling the space between them is pregnant with so many things left unspoken, as it always is. It makes Steve’s mind spin and it’s driven him completely and utterly insane enough that he can’t take it anymore. 

 “I’m gonna ask you something,” he says.

 “Okay,” she replies, her voice soft, feeble with fatigue.

 Steve’s eyes flick from hers, to her lips, and back. His chest swells and his throats wells with a lump of saliva, almost completely blocking his airway. He hates her like this– comfortable, naked, beautiful– but he loves her like this, loves how kissable and painfully lovable she looks. He must’ve been unconsciously leaning forward and he stops himself before he can draw any closer, before he can kiss her without saying what he wanted– needed– to say.

 “Why don’t you think it’ll work between us?” He says it softly, his voice barely above a murmur. 

 “Steve—“

 “No,” his voice hardens around the edges, serious and stern. “I’m tired.. I’m tired of always beating around the bush. I just… I need to know.”

 His heart thrums in his chest and drums in his ears. He grows warmer, watching as her gaze drops away from his, staring but unstaring at his throat as it bobs when he swallows. He watches the way her lashes flutter when she blinks, how her shoulders inflate and deflate with every heavy breath. 

 “It’s not that simple,” she finally replies, quiet, insecure. 

 “Isn’t it?” 

 She blinks and meets his gaze, her brow drawn, lips pressed together. There’s something perturbed about her now, vexed, wary, even. It’s not something Steve’s never seen before, but still, some part of him hopes that this may be something, that they may finally get somewhere. 

 “No,” she says and she begins to turn, ready to end the conversation before it can even begin. “It isn’t.”

 He reaches for her arm, fingers clasping around her shoulder, keeping her in place.

 “Don’t turn away,” he says and his voice falters, that stupid ball of saliva rolling in his throat. She complies but her eyes look anywhere but at his and she shrugs his hand off her shoulder, pulling the covers tighter around herself. “Just.. just help me understand.”

 “Steve…” she sighs, rolling onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling. Steve simply watches her, rolling his lips together, his heart a ceaseless hammer striking his chest.

 It aches, watching the space between them grow deeper and deeper before his very eyes. It aches feeling so powerless, not knowing how to even begin tethering her back to him. And it aches realizing that they were never tied to begin with. Steve was– is, was, is?– and has always been, in some strange way, tethered to her. 

 He felt it for the first time the moment they met. An invisible force yanking him to her by the core, his thoughts echoing her name even in dreams, his every waking moment spent thinking about her, daydreaming about her, looking for her. And the first time he’d ever touched her, all he could think about was touching her again, kissing her again. His skin literally crawled without her near, itching for the moment they’d come together again. It was a feeling unlike anything else Steve had ever felt before— he hadn’t even felt this way with Nancy. 

 It’s why he refuses to believe that this thing, this unnamed, unspoken, but very real thing between them is one-sided. Something is holding her back and god, it feels like some sick form of torture, a maggot worming its way under his skin and eating at his insides. 

 Steve scoots himself closer— not too close that she’d shy away again, but close enough for him to close his hand around the one she’d left resting over her heart. Her jaw visibly tenses and her lids flutter closed  at the touch but she doesn’t draw away, allowing him this one grace. His thumb traces a line back and forth over her knuckles, rolling his lip between his teeth. 

 “Help me understand,” he repeats, voice still hardly above a murmur but clearer, surer. “You don’t know how much I want to. How much I want you. All of you, more of you.”

 Her eyelids crease and her face screws in a grimace. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it around, shaking her head. Steve’s heart sinks in his chest but he clings to her hand as if he’s desperate— and he is— for a lifeline, something to keep her from drifting away, something to keep him anchored to her.

 “I just…” she begins and ends again, lashes fluttering as her eyes open again. 

 Steve’s brows draw together and he closes his hand tighter around hers as if he could squeeze an ounce or two of confidence into her. As if he could make her feel just how desperate he is. Another thing that she and only she alone could make him do. 

 “Do you remember that time Dustin asked you for all that radio equipment for his birthday and we spent hours upon hours running around Hawkins trying to find everything? How it felt impossible to find all the exact twelve-hundred pieces he wanted? And we still weren’t able to find exactly what he was asking for so we just settled on another set of D&D dice?”

 It’s a question that feels completely taken out of left field and he hardly sees how it’s relevant to the conversation now— as far as he was concerned, it was a happy memory. He only vaguely recalls the memory itself, more so remembering how beautiful she sounded when she laughed at him while he argued with the front clerk at Radio Shack. How she squeezed his bicep and kissed him when they accepted their defeat. He still doesn’t quite understand but he nods anyway. 

 She bites the inside of her cheek, his hand rising and falling with her chest as she sighs. “I guess that’s just how I feel,” she says. “All the time.”

 To say Steve is confused, puzzled, perplexed would be a sure understatement. Steve blinks once, twice, thrice, trying to understand. He racks his brain and comes up empty, shaking his head. 

 “I don’t… I’m sorry, I don’t get it.”

 It’s humiliating— telling her how badly he wants her, how badly he wants to understand whatever is going on with her and still unable to understand. Still, he’d like to try, and the least he can do is show her that he wants to try. 

 “I’m never going to be able to give you exactly what you want, Steve,” she confesses. 

 Her words are an arrow, piercing through to the aching muscle in his chest, knocking him back upon impact. A memory crawls into his mind and they’re back in his car with the seats laid back, staring at one another. They’re laughing, sharing memories, talking about life and everything in between. He tells her about his dreams, what he wants in the future, how he wants her to be part of it. Marriage, family, children, dogs, cats, a nice house… 

 Realization crashes into him like a meteor into the earth. To think that he upset her, made her feel bad for simply not sharing the same dream as him crushed him, made him want to do everything he could to reverse it somehow. 

 He says her name carefully, his voice is softer and deeper, warm and tender. “That’s not… I mean, it’s not…” Steve’s brow dips and he swallows, willing himself to speak clearly. “I don’t want anything else if I can’t have you.”

 Her eyes screw closed again and his heart skips a beat, tripping out of panic. He draws closer again, reaching for her face with his free hand, cupping her cheek and soothing the pad of his thumb in the space just below her eye. Her jaw trembles and he hears her breath catch, her hand going rigid beneath his. His thumb traces a delicate line over her eyelids, willing them to open, their gazes to meet again.

 They say eyes are a window into the soul and Steve used to turn his nose up at the expression, shrugging it off as just another corny metaphor. He never expected to ever understand it, much less see the physical manifestation of the expression right before his very eyes. 

 Her brows are drawn upwards and her shoulders rise and fall to the irregular rhythm of her breath. Her eyes are round and glistening with the sheen of welling tears and they sift through his eyes as if they were searching for something. Something to show he was being sincere. Something to show he wasn’t. 

 When she came up short, when she couldn’t find anything to use against him, something to use to support her argument, she pulled away, snatching her hand away from his. 

 “No,” she shakes her head. 

 Steve starts to say her name, starts to reach for her again. She shakes her head again vigorously, as if she refused to accept what he says as truth. 

 “No Steve,” she says again. “I won’t let you settle for me like that. I won’t let you give up on having the future you want for me.”

 She begins to rip the covers away and Steve reaches forward to grab them, stopping her from leaving. 

 “Don’t you understand that I don’t want a future without you in it?” The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, before he can even really process the weight that they hold. 

 She stops, freezing in place. She’s already got one leg outside of the comforter, dangling over the side of the bed, in the process of slipping away entirely. Steve’s arm cages her in, the other holding onto her bicep as if it were, indeed, his lifeline. His grip is tight, unrelenting, tethering her back to him. 

 She turns to meet his gaze again and finds his eyes pooling with desperation, brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape with pleading. 

 “Steve…” she murmurs, her throat visibly bobbing as she tries to swallow down the lump in her throat. “…don’t make this difficult, please.”

 His mouth suddenly feels dry and it opens and closes, trying to gather both enough moisture and courage to ask her to stay. Beg her to stay. 

 “Please don’t go,” his voice is barely above a whisper, gentle and begging. He draws himself near, lets go of the comforter to cup her cheek again, closing the gap between them by pulling her forehead onto his. “Stay. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t…” 

 He cuts himself off by drawing her in, seating her lips with the mark of his kiss. 

 She should go, should pull away, push him away, slip out of bed and simultaneously slip out of Steve Harrington’s life. There are a million things she should be doing other than kissing him, pressing herself into him, staying. But she’s insatiable, a starved, deprived, rabid animal. 

 She’s greedy with her kiss, swallowing him up as if it’d be the last time she’d ever have his lips on hers— after all, it very well could be. She rests her hand on the side of his neck, fingernails worming into his hair, her tongue swirling around his. 

 Steve hates it. How she injects herself into his veins like a sickness, infecting him, tearing him apart, eating him alive. He hates that he loves it, loves how drunk she makes him feel, how she possesses him with the fervor of a vengeful spirit. How she etches herself deeper and deeper into his bones, past his ribcage, through to his heart. 

 He rolls himself on top of her, taking control, hoping he can convey just how much he wants her, just how much he loves her into his kiss. Pour it into her body from his, subliminally show her just how sincere he is. 

 She gasps as his lips pull away from hers, his kisses hard and ardent as they trail down her chin to her jaw to her neck. His palms knead their way up her hips to her breasts, his squeezes rough, not enough for discomfort, but enough to make her eyes roll into the back of her head, to make her back arch off the bed. 

 “I want you,” Steve murmurs into her skin as he trails down her throat to her collar, repeating it over and over again like a prayer. “I want you. I want you. I need you.”

 She whimpers when his thumbs rub over the peaks of her nipples and his tongue swirls around a patch of delicate skin on her breast, the precursor to his teeth clamping down and engraving her flesh with his mark. She mewls his name, over and over and over again, gyrating her hips into his, her core pulsing for him. Steve groans and lets go of her breast with a loud, wet smack, catching his breath as he bucks his hips back down into hers, his cock pressed between their bellies. 

“Fuck,” he drawls, thrusting his hips and pressing his body down further into hers, moaning at the pressure around his dick. “Don’t you see what you do to me?”

 Her fingers weave through his hair as he continues to thrust his cock in the tight space their bodies have created between them, dipping his head to kiss at that tender piece of skin just below her jaw again. Tears pool at the bottom of her eyes and when she squeezes her lids shut, bucking her hips up into him again, relishing the way he growls and curses, they spill down the side of her head. 

 “Steve,” she whimpers, the ache in her sex growing unbearable, the way his balls every so often drag against her clit with the thrusts of his hips sending her mind into a hazy spiral. “Just give it to me. Please.”

 It’s nothing he’s never heard before. Part of him knows that they’re in the same place they were before, that nothing has changed, nor has anything really been resolved. She still wouldn’t allow them to be anything more than this— friends who have sex, almost-lovers. He still wouldn’t really have her the way he wanted, still wouldn’t be able to show her off in public or hold her or kiss her. 

 For how, this had to be enough. It had to. Because he wouldn’t survive the alternative. He knew he wouldn’t. Having her in any way he could was better than not having her at all. It had to be enough. 

 So he obliges. He kisses down her body, keeping his eyes trained onto hers as he mouths through the valley between her breasts, past her belly button, down to the apex of her thighs. He reaches down his body to fist his cock, giving it a few tugs as he kisses her clit, humming around it just to see the way her mouth falls open and how her head tips back. 

 “Steve!” She gasps, her eyes round and pleading when they find him again. “Please.”

 She doesn’t need to say it. Sometimes he wishes she would, just to hear her beg for it, beg for him. Let it be the other way around for once. But the ache in his chest and in his belly is too heavy a burden for him to bear. So he pulls his mouth away from her clit, a trail of saliva threading them together. He watches as she watches him pump his cock, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, rolling over the angry, leaking head as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

 He pushes into the warmth of her cunt with ease and she wraps her legs around his hips like a vine, thorns piercing into him, preventing him from ever breaking free. Steve’s vision swims and his lips fall agape, head tossing back, eyes screwing shut. She moans and it’s like a siren song, silky and rich as it crawls into his ears and swirls his brain. Her legs tremble around him so he grabs onto her ankles, tugging up to his shoulders, simultaneously drawing her closer and himself deeper into her. 

 “Fuck!” She yelps, squeezing her eyes closed, clawing at the bedsheets. “You’re so big.”

 He turns his head to press his lips to her ankle, soothing his palms up and down the expanse of her calves. He’s already buried himself into her pussy all the way to the hilt, squished against that familiar spongy spot deep inside of her. It makes Steve’s mind reel, makes him want to lose control, to go rabid, feral. 

 He loves her, god, he loves her but that primal desire to give into that animalistic side of him, the one that wants to ravage her, fuck her like a beast is like a devil on his shoulder egging him on, testing the limits of his self-control. He loves her and he wants her to know just how much he does but seeing her like this– her legs on his shoulder, tits bouncing with each thrust of his hips, his name tumbling past her lips in the prettiest of sounds– drives him crazy, completely and utterly insane. 

 He snaps his hips hard, just to watch her back arch and her breasts bounce. He does it again, and then again, again, again, again. He leans forward, trailing his palms down her knees to her thighs, wrapping his arms around either side as he fucks into her with as much strength as he can muster, panting her name. 

 “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers, brow dipping in concentration as he pistons his hips harder, drilling into her cervix, determined to make a mark, a bruise in a place where only he can touch. “Just wanna have you all to myself. Wanna fuck you like this forever and ever.”

 Her lips press together in a moan, lashes wet with tears as she closes her eyes, brow furrowed in bliss. She says nothing in return but he doesn’t expect her to, just fucks into her harder, faster, impossibly deeper to elicit more of her sounds. He’s breathless an perspiration beads at his hairline, trailing down the sides of his face. His bed squeaks and the headboard slams against the wall with each thrust. He’s already close and judging by the way she’s tightening around him, strings of curses falling from her lips, legs shaking around his head, she is too. 

 “Please come,” he pleads, panting as he leans down as much as her legs will allow him to, brushing his lips against hers. “Need you to come. Need to feel you come all over my cock. Come, come, come, come, come, come.”

 She chokes out a sob, trying to gyrate her hips to the rhythm of his thrusts, trying to reach that high quicker. Steve feels himself reaching the end of that rope, his release a tight knot in his sack. Each snap of his hips drives his cock deeper into the delicious warmth of her cunt, inching him closer and closer to his own release. 

 “Steve, I’m coming, I’m coming!” She mewls, back arching and body trembling as her orgasm rolls like a wave through her body, quaking her bones. “Fuck, I’m coming!”

 “Fffffuck, just like that baby,” he drawls, tossing his head back, feeling her spill around him, preparing for his own orgasm. “You’re such a good girl, always such a good girl for me.”

 It’s not long before he’s pulling out, pumping his cock furiously until finally he’s coming too, long, hot ropes of white cum spilling all over her stomach. He falls on top of her, tired, fucked-out, and spent, his ear to her breast, listening to her heart thrum against her chest, slowly easing back into a steady rhythm. Her fingers are tangled in his hair and for a moment, Steve can pretend like this is love. Reciprocated, real love. For a moment, he has everything he’s ever wanted. He’s happy and so irrevocably in love. 

 And then she begins to stir.

 “I have to go Steve.”

 It’s nothing he’s never heard before. Still, It breaks off another piece of his heart. Just like always.

 It’s routine, muscle memory at this point. Sliding off of her, letting her break away from him, and prepare herself to leave him again. Like clockwork, silence falls between them, and like clockwork, he forces himself out of bed, dressing himself, offering to drive her home just for the chance to be around her for a little bit longer. She never refuses him and she doesn’t stray from routine, not even now. 

 Like clockwork, he follows her through the hallway, down the stairs, to the front door. He closes the door behind them, scrambling to get in front of her just so she doesn’t have to open her own car door. His hand rests on the top of the door and her hand falls beside his an for a moment, just a moment, his breath hitches in his throat and he hopes their fingers brush, even for a second. 

 She stops and he can hear her breath catch, sees the way her eyes widen before she turns, staring at something behind her. His brow dips and he follows her gaze, searching for whatever it is she was looking for.

 “What?” He asks and she turns, lips quivering, pupils dilated. “What is it?”

 This wasn’t routine, but somehow he knew she’d brush him off, tell him that she was fine. 

 “Nothing,” she replies before ducking into the car. 

 She closes the door before he can do it for her and for a moment, all he can do is stand there blinking, dumbfounded. And somehow, it feels like the spaces between them have grown impossibly deeper than before.

a/n; i'm playing around with different post layouts so don't mind me lol still not my best work but i've been really wanting to write for steve since he's finally back on our screens 🤭 this one kind of started as something else and then turned into something completely different so hopefully it's not too confusing or anything! i still hope you all are able to enjoy!!

✨ if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a reply or even reblogging to let me know! it means so much! 🫶

TAGLIST

@thesilentshape

@cancelledkaley

@strangerfromketterdam

@chaoticevilbakugo

@nishiology

@all-in-the-fandoms

@phosphostar

@sunnyteume