#I love this fic so much I cant

[sukuiddo]

For @claroquequiza

2nd time upload hope for the best >:I

Afterdrop Chp 20 is a trip. Also this is barely a spoiler but uhm sorry if I spoil you..? This is my first comic-like work after ehhh 4 years? Wow it’s been that long???? IDK how the communicator looks like but considering it can take handprints I guess it’ll be rectangular (and I just wanted to make it look fancier than a blank screen hence Athena’s logo). Lastly, how to background??? Like I just scribbled and hoped for the best ;____; I think I’ve drawn more Hanzo for Afterdrop than I do for random fun.

[ollyrewind]

but you are family

[princeanxious]

Was rereading alot of @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors’s awesome fics the other day(specifically a number of lys dukeceit centric ones) and can i just like?? Scream abt la for a moment?? Lys content is so fricken good? And Lu puts out a p dang consistent stream of it?? And just. A good number of ly fics are ones i come back to often bc they’re just. So well written??

And like. I’m not able to be a patreon for la atm so i hoped this piece could make up for it a little bc i reread Tulip’s fics often bc the fics are really detailed and have well-built au worlds, and very well-written character takes, even in just one off fics lu is really friggen talented at setting up whole worlds and character’s natural places in said worlds at seemingly the drop of a hat?? like. Obvi I know realistically it isnt at the drop of a hat. And i guess thats why it feels like lu is so good at that?? Bc its obvious so much effort goes into these fics and aus and i feel like ya’ll should go check la and ly fics out bc of it? Ly content is just so good and refreshing to delve into, y’know??

👉👈 soooo.. ye? Have some dukeceit as a gift bc i def struggle when it comes to using words dkskjdsd

[ivvmell]

some sketchy arts based on fic 'and your people shall never be destroyed' by @whymylifewrites

[incorrect-league-of-villains]

Dabi: I'll be sappy whenever I want. I don't give a shit. I love you. Fuck off.

Hawks socially inept, struggling brain: wait

[thebuttsmcgee]

One thing I cherish, more noticeable these past eps, is that while it's established that Eda is Luz's guardian/mentor/caretaker, Luz never gets tired of hearing about Eda.

Like yea she lives with her and helps her with chores and whatnot, casual life stuff, but is always super excited to hear about her past or what she did for the day and feels so validated by her approval.

It just really sells in that, no matter what happens and even if there are times of doubt, Luz looks up to Eda in so many ways, and in turn, Eda feels more comfortable with sharing these things and being honest becuz of the impact Luz (and King 🤟😔) have been on her life.

[pastelhooman]

I love em so much

[harringtonschildren]

you're eddie's girlfriend

you’re eddie’s girlfriend

first of all you need to know what you sign up for

eddie is like an untrained pet

he’ll bite you 💀

but hes really sweet

he’ll protect you

will write songs for you <3

he’ll also dedicate songs for you

you two (along with steve) will adopt dustin and bring him along everywhere

you will ALWAYS be thirdwheeled, either by dustin or steve

will pluck wildflowers out of the pavement for you <3

will always try to kiss you at every moment

anyways just really sweet in general

[reineyday]

tagged by @kageillusionz 😊💖 thanks for tagging!!!

TEMPLATE

tagging @starsakura17 @heyheysey @cr0wprince @out-of-context-charlie @honeymeh @charlie-jay

[writing-good-vibes]

been an angel all year

ahh i was going to wait until christmas eve to post this, but i got to excited once i finished it !! with great pleasure, i gift this christmas fic to @pharmacykeys !! ahh i hope you enjoy and have a very happy holiday season 💖😊🎄 fem!reader x bo sinclair on christmas eve. and of course some domestic sinclairs content because i cant resist. this is a long one warning for smut.

You could have sworn that time moved differently in Ambrose. No sooner had the leaves started turning brown and drifting sadly from the trees, was the frost settling in every morning. And then, before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas and you’d done nothing to prepare.

It had taken you literally going into the next town over with Bo on a supply run for you to even realise the festive season had arrived. Strings of fair lights lined shopfronts and Christmas music was playing in every goddamn store you walked into.

“Wait,” you said, looking around somewhat bewildered, “Wait, what’s the date?”

Bo shrugs, “How should I know?” But he routes through the pocket of his work trousers and pulls out a quarter for the newspaper rack. He pulls out the paper and looks for the date, “December 21st.”

“The 21st?” you repeat, aghast. No way was it nearly Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas and you hadn’t even noticed? “We haven’t even decorated the house or bought – bought any food or,” you miss a beat in realisation, “We don’t have any presents!”

Bo was looking less than impressed as he tried to keep walking up the sidewalk, but you kept stopping in horror each time you realised something else you hadn’t done.

“Look, darlin’, we don’t really ‘do’ Christmas, or any of that crap,” he insists, grabbing your elbow to get you to keep walking. He had a to-do-list today and he didn’t want to be away from town any longer than he had to be.

“Aw, Bo, c’mon! We have to do something,” you complain, but follow him anyway, “I love Christmas! Please, can’t we do something?”

Bo grumbles, not wanting to have this argument right now. Christmas hadn’t been particularly awful for him as a kid, him and his brothers actually did pretty well, but there was always a tension simmering just below the festive façade his family put on that unnerved him. There was too much possibility of something going wrong for his liking.

“Look,” you persist, “I’ll sort it all, you don’t even have to lift a finger. If you let me sort it now while you’re getting the regular supplies then I’ll be finished before we have to start heading home. Deal?”

You look up at him hopefully. You see something cross his face, but you’re not sure what it is.

He hesitates before answering. “Fine.” He goes for his wallet, taking out one of two twenty-dollar bills that is in there.

“Thank you!” you squeal, kissing him on the cheek and practically hopping around as he hands you the money.

“We have a tree and decorations and shit back home, I’ll get ‘em outta the basement if you really want ‘em, so don't go wastin’ that money. Meet me back at the truck at 4. You come even 1 minute late and there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”

“Message received and understood,” you nodded firmly, before disappearing back down the sidewalk.

Bo watches you for as long as it takes for you to be absorbed by the crowd. He’s really started to regret letting you go off alone.

*

The ride home is probably more fun for you than it is for Bo. You chatter relentlessly about all your favourite things about the festive season and what you used to do as a kid and how the house will look so nice all decorated. Bo, to his credit, listens to you, nodding at appropriate times, but mostly focussing on the road ahead.

*

Despite your excitement, your festive plans are put even further on hold by an unexpected arrival. It took a few days for the atmosphere in town to calm down enough and for Vincent to finish up his new project before you could herd everyone into one place and force them to start enjoying themselves. By then it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.

“Okay,” you start, pacing around the family room in front of the twins who sit sullenly on the couch. You try to give your voice as much authority as possible because that was the only way you got taken seriously around here, “Here’s what’s happening: you two are getting the tree and decorations from the basement, Lester said he’ll be here in a half with the turkey and I will create some –,” you search for the right word, “atmosphere, in here.”

“Alright, Lil’ Miss Bossy,” Bo says. It sounds like he’s complaining but the way he gets up anyway lets you know that he doesn’t mind too much. If he was honest, he’d say he was even a little bit excited. Sure, he didn’t trust for the whole thing not to devolve into a fight (like it so often did when he was a kid), but for now he tried to trick himself. Trick himself into think that maybe, with you in charge, Christmas wouldn’t be too bad.

He tilts his head at his twin and Vincent gets up to follow him down to the tunnels.

You settle down on the recently vacated couch, picking up the stack of cassette tapes you’d located at the back of the video cupboard. Best Christmas Song Compilation. Festive Party Songs. Christmas Hits. So many to choose from, you thought, giggling with excitement.

As you took out one of the tapes and inserted it into the old tape player on the side table, you glanced at your phone, checking to make sure Lester hadn’t text saying a disaster had befallen him.

(The conversation with Lester regarding the turkey had gone something like this:

“Hey, we’re going to have Christmas dinner this year, you’ll come right?”

“Christmas? I dunno, what did Bo say?”

“He’s fine with it, he agreed! It was practically his idea. [Lord forgive you for a little white lie]. So, you’ll come, won’t you, Les?”

“Sure,” you hear the smile break across his face, “Sure, sounds good!”

“Oh, just one thing though,” you add, sweetly, before he hangs up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could get a turkey from somewhere?” Then, quickly adding, “Preferably not one that’s been hit by a 16-wheeler.”

That gets a laugh out of him; a short, surprised one, like a dog bark. “Sure, I think I know a guy that knows a guy who has a turkey farm.”

You don't question this. “Thanks, you can bring it round on Christmas Eve? And stay the night, if you like.”

“I’ll see you there.”)

Comfortable in the knowledge that Lester had hopefully snagged a turkey from somewhere, you relaxed again, humming along to the first Christmas song that started playing.

Looking around, you realised something was missing. Whistling lowly, you strained to try and hear Jonesy’s feet pattering. She must have gone down to the basement with Vincent, hopefully she wasn’t getting in the way.

It took a while (you supposed if the boys never really ‘did’ Christmas, like Bo had said, then the tree and decorations must be pretty deeply buried amongst the rest of the junk in the tunnels) but eventually you heard a commotion and you wandered down the hall and towards the study.

Before you even opened the door you could hear Bo yelling and cursing under his breath. When you walking in, you tried to stifle your laugh but it was no use. Bo was trying to drag the tree up through the hatch whilst, you could only guess, Vincent was trying to push it up from beneath.

Bo turns to you and snaps, “And what’s so goddamn funny?”

You press your lips together tightly but it doesn’t stop your shoulder shaking with laughter. “I’m not laughing, see, not laughing,” you manage.

“Like hell you’re not,” Bo grumbles, but lets it go in favour of returning to his attempts to heave the tree up through the trap door. “Vincent you’re not even trying,” he complains, even though you all know Vincent is far stronger than Bo likes to pretend.

The movement from below stops and you hear a rustling amongst the branches. Your laughter is kickstarted when you see Vincent’s calloused hand squeeze up through the trap door and flip Bo off.

After a long while of pushing and shoving and heaving, and a lot of complaining (though when did the twins do anything together and not complain about it every spare second), the tree, along with the few boxes of decoration, was out of the tunnel and situated in the family room, positioned under your expert direction.

“Now, this is the fun part!” you clap happily, beginning to rifle through the boxes. You pull out strings of fairy-lights and garlands of tinsel. Plastic baubles and evergreen wreaths. At the very bottom of one of the boxes, you find a smaller box, an old cookie tin. It took some prying but you managed to open it, finding inside a nest of smaller, much more intricate wax baubles.

You look over at Vincent, “Vince,” you hold up one of the ornaments, a turtle dove, “Did you make these?”

Both of them look over at you from where they’re sat on the floor. There’s something childish about the way they’re slowly pawing at the decorations as you take them out of the box. They silently bicker over holding one decoration or another, things passed between them as they start to remember the baubles that they’d been most attached too as children.

Vincent shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before signing, “Momma made those, back when we were babies.”

You nodded in response, “You could make more, there’ll be enough room for new ones, I think.”

He shrugs, “Maybe.”

You let it go.

There’s a rapid knocking at the door and you start in surprise. It must be Lester; you leave the twins to poke through the decorations some more and run for the door.

“Lester!” you greet him, pulling him into a hug while dodging the huge turkey he held by his side.

“Happy Christmas,” he smiles, “Well, almost.”

“Happy Christmas!” you gesture towards the turkey, “Thanks for bringing this!”

“No problem, got it cheap off a guy.” You don't question this.

“Come on in, the twins are in a mood with each other after a tree debacle, go and cheer them up, would you?”

“Annoy them more is more like it,” he shrugs, though he’s still smiling.

You do your best hostess impression and usher him in. He diverts into the kitchen to leave the turkey in the fridge, you’d cleared space for it especially but just looking at it you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. At least you’d be taking it out later to start cooking.

When you go back to the family room, Bo and Vincent have made a start on decorating the tree. Vincent was trying to be careful, while Bo was half-heartedly draping some tinsel around the crooked green branches.

With the music still playing quietly in the background, someone must have turned it down while you were gone, you sway up behind Bo. “You’re doing a good job,” you say, trying to be encouraging.

He’d never admit it, but he liked the praise you gave him. Contrary to that, he muttered, “I ain’t a kid, I don’t need complimentin’ on every lil’ thing.”

“I know,” you shrug, arms circling his waist as you press your nose into the fleece he was wearing. His grandad fleece as you so often teased him.

Maybe you were just imagining it, but a soft air seemed to be spreading through the house, lulling you all into a content silence.

This was momentarily broken when Lester reappeared from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Bo scolds, but the harsh tone of his voice is put on, and all of you know it. Bo just doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time.

Lester laughs him off anyway and starts root through the musty card board boxes, looking for anything that hadn’t already been claimed by the twins.

Things were going well. Surprisingly well, you might even say.

Bo seems relaxed enough in your arms, his own fingers working to string up one tinsel garland after another that you take a chance and let go of him, going over to the tape deck to turn the volume back up. The next song that comes on is terrible, a cheesy old Christmas song that played nonstop during every festive period of your childhood. It was also your favourite Christmas song.

You try not to squeal out loud, holding back only so much as to not start singing, but you sway happily to the tune, your hips swinging as you look around for the decorations that you’d put aside for yourself. Assured that everyone seemed content to get on with their own decorating, you hung your first baubles on the Sinclair Christmas tree.

*

It takes a few hours, all in all, to finish up. Between singing along with the Christmas music you were in full control of (you’re attempts to hold back going out of the window half way through your favourite song) and taking breaks to force Bo to dance with you, much to the amusements of his brothers, you managed to decorate the tree pretty well, and spruce up the rest of the family room into something festive enough for your liking. Standing back to admire your handy work, you clap happily.

“Great job, boys,” you jokingly praise them. A silly gesture, but they can’t help but feel just a little bit proud about actually doing something nice together for once, without it dissolving into bickering.

Bo has already left for the kitchen, coming back with an armful of beers. He passes them around before settling down on the couch. He takes the middle seat, with you on his left and Vince on his right. Lester, cracks his beer open, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch. He was the youngest, after all, and had long since resigned himself to the floor when all other seats were taken. He doesn’t mind anyway, he tells you, the first time you had noticed him taking a seat on the floor.

With all your decorating done, you sink contently into Bo’s side. He’s warm and solid and safe and you wonder how you ever felt at home without him. Without any of them.

Bo flicks the TV on and searches the channels until he settles on something. Something he is certain enough wont start an argument.

As the time passes, you see Vincent start to fall asleep at the other end of the couch, his head dropping to his chest now and then before he jolts awake again. You can tell that Bo has noticed too, his eyes darting over to Vincent every time he jolts.

Eventually Bo must start feeling for his twin and he nudges him with a soft elbow. “Vince, go to bed would you? You’re just gonna keep fallin’ asleep on me.”

Vincent looks up blearily, glaring at both at Bo and at you, who leant forward to see past Bo.

“I’m not even tired,” he insisted, though his hands were slow and he still made to get up, uncurling the leg he had tucked beneath him.

“Sure you ain’t,” Lester piped up, but he wasn’t in any position to talk. Even if he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he was close to it. You could only imagine what time he’d been up that morning, working his last shift before getting Christmas day off.

Vincent stood and shook his can of beer to double check that it was empty before heading off to the kitchen on his way upstairs. He turned to sleepily sign, “Night.”

Lester doesn’t reply, he’s fallen asleep, even after his teasing.

“G’night,” you and Bo reply.

Then just signing, Bo adds briefly, “I love you.”

Vincent nods, repeating the gesture before going upstairs.

Lester leaves not too long after, stumbling just slightly when he stands up. You hold back a giggle. Bo doesn’t, laughing even as his arm shoots out to catch Lester if he really did fall. He pulls his arm back just as quickly when he knows Lester has righted himself.

*

For a while, you and Bo sit in silence, his arm around your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your arm.

Slowly, like you don’t want to startle him, your hand drifts across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his fleece.

“You getting ideas?” he asks, his large hand, the one not squeezing at you, comes up to cover yours, detaching you from his zipper to lace his fingers through yours.

“Might be,” you smirk, you pull your knee up higher, draping it over Bo’s lap so you can lean into him more fully. You’re feeling restless. The wait on Christmas Eve, on the cusp of Christmas day was always excruciating. Much to your delight, when you glanced at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece, you saw it had just hit midnight. Midnight. Christmas day.

Your hand still twined with Bo’s calloused one, you gestured at the time. “Happy Christmas, Bo.”

His smirk mellowed into a more genuine smile, a soft one like he only gave in the early mornings or late nights. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Do you want your present now?” you ask coyly. Bo knows exactly what the look on your face means and he hates being teased.

“If it is what I think it is, then definitely,” the arm around your shoulders pulls back until his hand is brushing you’re the back of your neck. His grip tightens only slightly and he pulls you in for a kiss.

He starts slow, because everything around him feels slow. Your soft hand in his and your warm body pressing into him. He doesn’t know how he got things so good. Its all coming up roses for Bo Sinclair, you’re your hot lips on his and you’re practically climbing into his lap.

His hands follow your movements, falling to your hips as he slouches down in his seat, gripping you tightly as if you might be going somewhere.

Soon enough, you don’t want it so slow anymore, your hands leave his chest you fumble with the hem of your sweater.

Sure, he thought some lovin’ was his Christmas present, but every present needed a ribbon on top.

At first he doesn’t notice, so insistent he is to return his lips to yours, but when he feels up your waist, over your tits, he pulls back.

Beneath his hands, you’re covered in red lace.

His for-once soft features twisted beautifully into a smirk. He stretched his fingers out over your tits, both thumbs over your nipples as they hardened from the touch. Moving further down, he tugged at the waistband of your pjamas, snapping the elastic against your skin. You yelp; you would have been annoyed, scolded him even, if you weren't so insistent of him seeing what was underneath.

He pulled your pjamas down as far as he could with you still in his lap. Enough to see the red lace dip down between your legs.

“Lemme see you, darlin’” he patted your thighs, pushing his hips up to make you stand. Quickly you did as he wanted, stripping down to just the red bodysuit you had bought when you were last in town. Twenty dollars could go a long way when you needed it to. You point your toes, stretching up and posing for him. You almost get the giggles at how entranced he is with you, following the

“Oh angel, aren’t you just a perfect lil’ present…” he coos, reaching for your hand to pull you back to him, making you straddle his lap once more. “And all mine.” His lips dance over yours before dropping lower, teeth and tongue tracing your neck before latching onto skin, sucking. He was going to leave a hickey; you just knew it.

At that, you let out a whimper, he always knew exactly what to say – exactly what to do – to get you going.

“All yours,” you return, fingers gripping his fleece as you pulled him into another kiss. Hot and needy when you’d once been slow and savouring.

Before you can even think about it, he’s rolling you over, your back against the worn couch cushions and his weight pressing between your legs.

Keening into him, you moan again, his thigh firm as you try to grind into him.

He chuckles lowly, letting you writhe for a moment before sitting up, leaving you cold while he pulls his fleece over his head. Making yourself useful, you think, your hands go to his waistband, undoing the fly of his jeans and he shucks them off, as quick as he can without standing up.

He drops back down over you, fingers slipping beneath the lace to press against you. Your hips stutter and he slides through your wetness.

You don’t need to hold back, everyone else in the house is asleep, but you try to anyway. You kiss across his chest to give your mouth something else to do. Kisses turn into bites, which turn into your soothing tongue lapping at the bruises you leave behind.

“Bo, please,” you plead, “D-Don't you want your present?” You hope the question will provoke him enough to get down to it, to finally give you what you want.

He just chuckles again, “Is this my present, or yours?”

“Yours.” His thumb works your clit and you can barely give your answer before your breath catches in your throat.

“That’s what I thought.” But he removes his hand, leaving you empty, as he pulls down his underwear and lines up against you.

You can stop the sigh of relief that leaves you as he pushes in, sliding in like you were made for him, before you whimper, feeling the stretch as he lets you settle around him. Whilst he waits for you, his hands, long fingers and rough palms, drifts to your neck. A pressure, just slight, against your skin. Your breath hitches, whether from the feeling of his cock inside you or his hand on your throat, you can't tell anymore.

His hips twitch every time you clench around him, twitching until he builds up a rhythm. The thrusts start shallow and slow, building and building until he’s ponding you into the couch, his hand tightening around your neck, your legs tighter around his waist.

You never want this to end, Bo’s warm panting in your ear, his hands on you. Hands that can hurt but never do.

You don’t realise you're over the edge until your already there. It feels like falling and his hand release your throat as you gasp for air, hips shaking with want even though you’ve already got it. Already got everything you might ever want. You’ve got Bo.

He shudders when he comes, a low groan in your ear and suddenly, everything is still. He rests against your chest, palming the soft flesh absentmindedly.

“I think I won present giving this year, don't you?” you mumbled, combing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He shrugs, but you can see the smile tug at his lip, “Well, I was the one givin’ really, wasn’t I?”

You lean down enough to press a kiss to his temple, your thighs tightening around him, in an embrace this time.

You’d have to go up to bed soon, but for now you watch as the fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the house settles for the night with a happy family inside.

[crybaby-bkg]

I-I wanna just push dilf eren’s hair behind his stupid big ears and pat his soft belly and scratch at the scruff on his cheeks and pick at him for having grays even tho the salt n pepper beard only makes him hotter. wanna watch him cater to his daughter (bc he’s a certified girl dad me thinks) and her friends while they all sit around the kitchen and watch him bake his infamous German chocolate cake with chocolate icing and coconut shavings. want him to grunt and groan every time he gets up from the couch but have zero problems throwing your legs over his shoulder to shut your annoying ass up. I wont him old and stinky and mean.

[bookshelfdreams]

this tired world could change by @sassygwaine / gangnamstyles

One summer day, two unlikely paths cross in the alley behind Bonnet Group’s towering skyscraper: Stede is at the end of his rope, and Ed’s just taking a smoke break. Of course, after they’ve become inseparable, Ed’s past catches up to him as Stede tries to find a way out of his own obligations, and the solace they’ve found in each other is threatened.

 

“You’re freaking out in here,” Lucius says, shutting the door behind himself. He grabs two rocks glasses from the bar cart and a decanter of the good whisky and sets it all on Stede’s desk.

“Astute,” Stede declares. “I’ve asked Ed on a date.”

“Ooh, Mr. Mechanic?” Lucius simpers, and Stede blushes. “Haven’t you two been dating for weeks?”

“Wh—No, we’re friends!” He says.

“Oh, my God, you can’t be serious,” Lucius says.

[dasketcherz]

Confrontation base from @runaway-fantasy’s LXH fic With You, My Heart Feels At Home Chapter 16

[lollytea]

Hello and good afternoon, new Atlas n Avid Reader art that I'm screaming over

[vander-affectionate]

Ah, you're welcome!! I hadn't intended for it to get that long. If there's anyone I kin from Arcane it's definitely Ekko. Istg I will raise hell if Riot gives him anything less than the spotlight in S2.

Oh, but to be the lover of the boy savior. You're technically another big sister/brother/sibling that the kids of the commune look up to. He's the leader who fights on the outside, you're the leader who holds things down on the inside. A dynamic duo the two of you are

I have a personal headcanon that when ekko comes home all he wants is you. He doesn't wanna debrief shit, he barely wants to shrug off his clothes and chuck his boots into any corner of the room. He doesn't wanna say hi to the kids but give them a lil wave so that they know he's not purposefully ignoring them

He just wants you, his lover, in his lap, to hold you close and tight and never let you go. To kiss you in the most sensual way, hands roaming your body, rough and calloused from tinkering, heavy lifting, carrying the weight of responsibility. Everything fades away with you, and he can't help but let a breathy, strained "I need you" leave his lips when he feels the pressure of your hips begin to weigh down on his.

omg my brain is melting out of my ears and this isn't helping. im just thinking about how ekko hates smoking because the air in the undercity is bad enough as it is and he just- everywhere else that isn't where you are is simply unbearable. he's a soft spot for the crap hole of the undercity but it is still the polluted undercity.

warnings: minors/ageless blogs do not interact or you will be blocked,, lil smut under the cut, seperation anxiety..

i know he comes home in a flurry. he pulls the pigtails of one kid and maybe he spares the faintest of smiles, it makes you smile from where you're in your room. but the moment he juts his head towards the door, they're out and he's inside of you.

it's hungry, but he's never rough when he gets home. he's grabbed tight and the hand he curls around your neck when he's languidly sliding in and out of you is nothing, but heaven on earth. he stares into your eyes when they're not shut and he doesn't have his face buried into his shouoder.

you trust him with his hand around your throat and the way your hips buck to meet his only provides him that much more relief because you're here. you come alive beneath the tips of his fingers, the way you gasp, twitch, shudder and moan from the pleasure he gives you and the pleasure he gets from fucking into you makes his breathing falter. his hips falter and every time he fucks you, at some point, he wraps his arms around your hips and waist so there's no room between you. it's bodies sliding against each other, your moans in his ear ss his lips press against yoor throat in an effort to muffle his wanton groans and the desperate gasps.

your hand finds his that's curled over where you're dripping the most and you're shuddering, barely able to keep your hips from trying to writhe away from the ecstacy he's pumping you with. it's mind numbing and the moment he faintly thinks you need this for pleasure you're gasping, shouting that you love him. it makes no nevermind that you're coming undone from how desperately the two of you are trying to stay close, to breathe nothing but each other's scent in the humid air thats filled your room.

when that choked sound escapes his mouth onto the column of your throat and your legs won't stop shaking from where he's slotted his between yours, you can't come down from that high. not when you're entirely sure that he's everything. you're everything to him. and a welcome home kiss can't fulfill the gratitude you both feel when the other returns. when the other comes home. his hands still knead your backside, fingertips run up your spine and you shiver. he hums out an apology that he almost means because he needed to check that you weren't a dream. you nestle closer despite those wandering hands making you twitch because you're happy they're nothing your mind has conjured up.

he stays close for awhile and the tree whispers about, bustling as if it's rejoicing that you're both together again and it's a welcome sound.

together ekko has built a home with you. one that he will not be so easily pulled away from and any opposing thought is thwarted when his arms wrap themselves around you. you're a cornerstone and he's yours, without one or both, all that you know comes crashing down either way. you both know it. you whimper and the sound is swallowed by his kiss when he murmurs against your lips that he's yours for the rest of today and you'll always have him for now and the rest of your lives.

his arm is wrapped around your shoulders because he's not ready to remember what it feels like when your body isn't flush against his. you're all the home he wants and all he'll ever need, but every day he steps out forces him to be faced with his anxieties the moment he thinks he has it under control.

"i love you." you whisper. he squeezes his eyes shut and his face is no longer visible when it's smushed into your cheek.

"i don't want to leave you every day."

it's a promise. one he swears by. he wants to stay home with you and he wants to cook with you and go wander the streets with you like the world is both yours for the taking and the lump in his throat is one that he's long learned to swallow but knowing that the world is meant for those who will bend for it, not the lovers who will bend the space and time for each other. he swallows anyway because this is the life he's accepted and it's worth more than a world of those with nothing to lose when his everything would give everything and more just to see him breathe another breath.

there is promise on your skin. the darkenning marks on each other, the swollen lines, the cresents left in skin is only there for memory. solely for memory. so when you see the way he winces when someone slaps his back or when ekko sees the stains on your skin from his hands and a few darkening lovebites from his already baggy shirt that's wayy too big on you. as his fingers glide across the puffy lovebites between your thighs, leaving kisses and lingering fingers before he moves to get up from bed is the promise of something deeper than what pleasure he finds between your legs.

his arm is caught and he turns, finding you teary eyed and lip trembling because you don't know what you'd do without him beside you and he never laughs. ever.

he pulls his arm so that your hand glides into his hand easily and he squeezes it when he leans over you to bask in your lips and the way your arms curl around his neck. he needs to go to the bathroom and get back so he can hurry back to trace lines, write his name on your skin with his fingers and he's not going to mnimize the desperation you feel. especially not when he's crippled with the same feeling whenever he doesn't have to be out to patrol streets or drive away the dangers that threaten what he loves most. this is nothing compared rare occasions you give him a good scare when you're asleep and don't answer him when he's home.

he cleans you with gentle hands and his aren't as rough as they should be after all the broken and scarred things he's held together. you care for him and his calluses, they're only rough in the swell of his palm and occasionally his fingertips. his knuckles can't be helped, but his touch is soft otherwise. you're pliant and lean into him each time because despite all ekko has seen and all he's been through he's yours and he's careful, patient person he is.

he kisses your skin, you, over and over and between them you both can't help staring or murmuring nonsensically because you're mapping out the planes of each other's face to commit them to memory. you do it because you won't have that time when he's jumping out the window or running out the door to make out the light in his eyes or the smile you get when he cups your cheek. you do it so that you can remember everything before you both come home to the other.

and really, im here for it. i love ekko and this got unreasonably long but was totally worth it. ekkos so worth it,, i love you so much for giving me this, i can barely fit it all in this baby here

[backseatloversz]

there's actually a missing scene that takes place right after the no scene, once everyone else left and its just todd and neil again & neil keeps asking about the poem -- why cant i read it? oooh is it about someone? have you ever written poetry about someone? and todd says no, tells him its for keatings class, and uh no of course hes never written poetry about someone else. neils not convinced and keeps pressing him on it, promising its not stupid and he wouldnt tell anyone. but -- about who?? please, who? best friends tell each other this sort of thing!! please??? and todds like. well. i honestly havent written about anyone. but ... i like the idea of it, y'know? of having someone to write about. nd neil softens, yeah, someone to care about.

they both still when he says that -- someone to care about. theyre sitting next to each other on todds bed and only when he looks over does he realize how close they are. yeah he breathes, and neither are moving - neither are moving away and so he leans in and kisses him. its soft -- unsteady and unsure, but its good. its better when neil brings a hand to his face and kisses him again, and again and again and again until they barely can cos theyre smiling, giggling, and they fully break apart when a door slams somewhere down the hall and they look at each other and laugh again. neil falls to lie on his back and todd follows suit, and they both stare up at the ceiling, saying nothing. but todd presses the backs of their hands together, and he feels neils fingers pressing against his own, and thats all he needs. (n then the movie resumes as normal)