(Yes, pls join me in cackling that the smut fic ended up assigned to 69.)
So so so excited to announce that I'm participating in the 2026 Steddie bang, along with my incredibly talented artist and beta, @desolateyears!
Rating: Explicit
Content Warnings: Violence, possessiveness, power dynamics, BDSM, D/s dynamics, under-negotiated kink, depression/anxiety, mentions of past abuse (not between main characters), choking, spanking, spitting, comeplay, risky sex.
Tags: Alternate Universe - Prison, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Slow Burn, Dark Romance, Angst With A Happy Ending
Steve arrives at Pendleton Correctional with bruises he earned in holding, a uniform that hangs wrong on his shoulders, and a name nobody in the gallery came to defend. He keeps his head down. He learns the laws of the mess hall, the three corridors between Block C and the yard, the precise angle of not-quite-hiding. He does not expect to survive this, and he is not entirely sure that he wants to.
He does not expect Eddie Munson.
His cellmate takes up space like a thunderhead- unhurried, total, already settled into the room and the block and the yard long before Steve arrived and already decided about things Steve hasn't finished thinking yet. He smokes slowly. He watches everything. Within a week, Steve has learned the three distinct creaks of the lower bunk. The specific weight of being watched across a mess hall. The difference between the silence that precedes violence and the silence that comes before he feels owned. What it costs, in the dark, to touch himself without permission - and that it costs more to stop.
Munson doesn't ask for anything, because he doesn't need to. He simply identifies what Steve is with the calm, assessing patience of a man who has done this before and is not in a hurry, and waits for Steve to finish arguing with the confirmation.
Steve stops arguing around day four.
He was already on his knees before that.
