#all entwined together with what's left of an old relationship

[rainbowvamp]

Story idea:

married person. partner asks for a divorce married person did not want. married person grants their request because they don't want divorce asker to be unhappy. married person and divorce asker did one of those little sand jar things where you pour in the two different color sands in a pattern to symbolize how you're entwining your lives together or whatever. after the divorce is finalized, married person obsessively tries to separate the two colors of sand from each other over the course of several years. thinks this will be healing. gets therapy at some point. something something giving up on separating the sand and just putting it all together and throwing it out at the beach is way more healing that obsessing about it ever would have been and the lesson is that letting go takes time and sometimes we do a thing we think is letting go (helping) but is actually just a way to hold on (hurt ourselves).

[jaybejaybeyes]

The more time passes, the angrier I get about the Meljay ending. Or, more accurately, the lack of one. And no, I’m not even talking about the criminal absence of a single meaningful, soul-baring conversation between them after act 1 s2. I’m talking about all the wasted potential here. Because just imagine the depth the show could’ve explored if it’d actually leaned into their fallout.

Think about how broken Mel must’ve felt after she reached out to Jayce, vulnerable and raw, only for him to turn his back on her. That could’ve hardened her, made her colder, crueller. And Jayce? Who’s such an openhearted, trusting guy with Mel? The only way I can understand him pushing her away in ep8 is if he knew he was about to sacrifice himself fighting Viktor and couldn’t bear to let her get hurt (that said, I hate that trope, there’s nothing worse than one half of a pairing deciding unilaterally to take away the other’s right to choose whether to stay or leave). At least that explanation would’ve been something. But we got no introspection from Jayce, no reflection on their relationship, only his outburst that felt out of left field.

And the tension we could’ve had?? Them wrestling with their conflicting I-need-to-destroy-arcane vs I-am-arcane???

But wait, let’s flip it around for a second. What if they never fell out? What if, after everything, they had a tender reunion, realising they were now (still!) the only people who truly understood each other? What if Mel finally let herself break down in front of him, letting herself be vulnerable, and Jayce found a (however fleeting) reprieve from the madness of his mission to stop Viktor?

Imagine the old Jayce, the one who dreamed big and loved deeply, breaking through the armour the new Jayce’d built up. Imagine their bond with Mel deepening in the aftermath of not one, but two shared traumas (first, bombing, then ending up somewhere unknown, suffering horrors against their will). Picture them finding some solace in each other, healing together, clinging to the idea that maybe,  maybe, they could have something resembling happiness again.

And when the inevitable heartbreak came, it would’ve been absolutely devastating. Not because Jayce “chose Viktor over Mel” (we don’t tolerate this sentiment in this house), but because Jayce knew he was doomed. He knew that Viktor’s fate was entwined with his and that he’d have to make it to the end alone, whether to save Viktor or destroy him. Maybe he even told Mel this, and she understood, because she saw what Viktor meant to him, and she knew their connection was special on so many levels. 

And yet she still hoped. She hoped Jayce would defeat the Machine Herald and come back. She hoped she could finally stand up to her mother and find freedom. Maybe they even dreamed of running away together someday, like, hijacking one of the Noxian ships and leaving everything behind to process their traumas (okay, two kudos and I might think about writing such a fic, lol).

But instead of any of this character study, we got... nothing. Not even a satisfying reason for their fallout. No contemplations from either of them about what they meant to each other. Just a glaring void where their dynamic should’ve been. So, so disappointing.

[stayinlimbo]

Returned Call

wc: 765, genre: exes to lovers(?), warnings: cursing in beginning, slightly unedited

note: although i feel this could be read as a stand-alone, here is the sequel to Missed Call you guys were asking for. i hope you enjoy ♡

Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system: You know. Lee Minho. Not available. Voicemail. Speak. 

Fuck you, Lee Minho. No, seriously, fuck you. 

Tell me why I was contacted by not one but three of your dancing buddies within the past twenty-four hours about how you’ve been moping around and trudging through your routines for the past week. 

They were all essentially the same. You haven’t been the same since we broke up, is there any way we could reconnect, give you one more chance, blah blah blah. 

You must be doing really bad if one of them was Hyunjin, of all people. 

Two months too late, don’t you think?

As if any of this was my fault.

…

I was getting better before you called, you know?

I finally fixed my sleep schedule. I won’t lie, it took longer than I’d like to admit to break the habit of staying up late for you. At least I was already used to sleeping alone. 

I reconnected with some old friends since I couldn’t talk to Jisung as much without being reminded of you. They can still read me like a book, even after all these years.

I even went on a date. 

Granted, it was with myself, but I like to think it still counts.  

…

You know what I realized on my “date?” And while out with my friends? And on the sleepless nights I spent staring up at my childhood bedroom’s ceiling?

I had forgotten what it felt like to be seen. To be appreciated. To be loved. 

It seems like you’ve come to that conclusion as well, because you’re right. I deserved better. I deserve better. I may have ended our relationship, but I wasn’t the one who left first.

I remember our last kiss, paired with another one of your lies I foolishly kept believing in until I finished the movie night you promised you’d be home in time for. And I remember waking up on the couch with a sore neck to see your fatigued silhouette entering the front door, barely sparing me a glance as you dragged yourself towards the bedroom. 

You didn’t even look sorry. 

How could you, I guess, if you left everything back at the studio?

…

I used to admire your passion, Minho. I hate that I still do. You pour everything you have, everything you can possibly give, into what you love. So why couldn’t you do the same for us? For me?

You say you love me, but why does it feel like I lost something I'm not sure I ever had? 

…

Where did we go wrong? What did I do wrong? I gave everything to you. I gave you my heart, my body, my entire being. I gave you everything until there was nothing left to give.

I never asked for anything outlandish. I think it’s reasonable to want to talk with your partner, to share your lives with one another. I think it’s reasonable to ask about when you’ll be home for our anniversary without being yelled at in front of your friends. 

You want me to be proud of you? You want me to be happy about one of the very things that ripped us apart?

Yes, you’re selfish, but I’m no better. 

…

Maybe this is my fault. After all, no one should feel obligated to love someone. I just never thought it’d apply to us. 

…I wish I could hate you. I really do. 

But all I see is your stupid face smiling at me when I close my eyes. I hear your laugh ringing in my ears when I remember the ways you said or did something ridiculous to make me feel better after a stressful day. I still feel the warmth of your body wrapped around mine when we did wake up next to each other, our legs entwined together to where it was impossible to escape. Not that I ever wanted to. 

I want you to keep smiling at me. I want you to hold me. I want you to miss me. I want you to want me. 

Because I still want you. 

…

I want to give you a second chance, Minho. If things could be different this time, if we could be different. If we could share ourselves, wholeheartedly, as lovers, and not strangers.

I want to fall in love with you again, Lee Minho. 

…

Call me back, when you get the chance. You can keep the shirts for now.

Just please, don’t make me regret this.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

ending note: I hope this didn't disappoint. I really tried my best to make it work with all the angst in here :D. I also tried incorporating parallels from Missed Call so hopefully that wasn't too annoying or anything <3

[sidekick-hero]

To die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

steddie | rated: t | wc: 2k | written for @steddie-spooktober, prompt: rain | tags: established relationship, fluff, proposal | AO3

Sensations slowly seep into his awareness, even as his mind lingers in the depths of sleep. The light filtering through his closed eyelids tells him it’s already morning, and he can just make out the soft patter of rain falling on the tin roof of the shed in their backyard.

It’s comforting. He’s cocooned in his warm blanket, shielded from the downpour outside, while the comforting weight of Eddie’s arm draped over his waist and the warmth of his body against his back makes him want to stay put. Eddie’s breath is softly ruffling the fine hairs on the nape of his neck, his hand splayed across Steve’s stomach.

It’s amusing how, even after ten years together, they still wake up entwined more often than not. They can't seem to keep their hands off each other, not even in sleep. The thought makes Steve smile, as he’s once again struck by just how much he loves Eddie—and how unbelievably lucky he is to have found someone who, every single day, reassures him that he is loved just as fiercely in return.

With a gentle smile lingering, Steve carefully lifts the blanket and then Eddie’s arm, sliding out of bed without disturbing his boyfriend’s slumber. He stifles a laugh when, after a brief pause, Eddie sprawls across the warm spot Steve left behind.

After finishing his morning routine in the bathroom, Steve pulls on his running shorts and one of Eddie’s old t-shirts. It still carries Eddie's faint scent, and Steve pauses for a moment, eyes closed, breathing it in deeply. Smiling to himself, he scribbles a quick note, out for a run, will bring breakfast, love you, S, and grabs his shoes, keys, and some change from the coffee table.

The rain hasn’t let up, and it takes a bit of willpower to step outside into the downpour. But he knows that once his feet hit the pavement, the discomfort will fade. With one last glance at their warm, cozy house, where Eddie is likely still fast asleep—his face buried in Steve’s pillow, probably drooling all over it—Steve steps out and lets his body fall into the familiar rhythm of the run.

He starts slow, easing into a light jog to wake up his muscles and joints. In his late teens and early twenties, he never needed this kind of warm-up. Back then, he’d just take off running, his feet pounding the pavement with the confidence and energy of someone who seemed built for it—driven, always pushing for more.

Now, he sees his body differently. It’s no longer just a tool for winning trophies or proving his worth as captain of some team. He’s loved without needing to be at the top, and he no longer has to carry weapons to show his strength or devotion. Eddie’s hands and mouth worship every part of him, even the new softness around his middle, and Steve’s hands hold things like cooking spoons, grading pens, Eddie’s hand, his godson, or the book he’s reading to Max and Lucas’ daughter. No weapons.

Still, running is something he’s kept up over the years—not just to stay in shape, though he does appreciate the way it keeps his thighs muscular and his ass firm. His main reason is the peace it brings. Running quiets his mind, helps him sort through his thoughts, and gives him a sense of balance. No matter what the day throws at him, he knows he can always find his center during this hour, just him and the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the ground.

The rain pelts his face and the exposed skin of his arms and legs, but he doesn’t mind anymore. It’s the first day of October, and though the scorching summer days are long behind them, the cold hasn’t fully set in yet. The air is crisp, and mist rises over the treetops in the woods beyond their neighborhood, but twenty minutes into his run, the chill feels more invigorating than uncomfortable. His clothes cling to his damp skin, and his hair drips steadily, but he’s no longer focused on that. Instead, he relishes the steady rhythm of his body moving, his legs carrying him forward while his mind drifts, letting muscle memory take over.

At first, his thoughts had been practical—running through all the things he needed to get done today. He’d promised Luke, Dustin’s son and his godson, help with his Halloween costume. Robin had roped him into assisting with the flea market she’s organizing for the community center, likely in an attempt to impress Susan, her latest crush. Not that Robin would ever admit to having crushes, not at thirty, when they’re both certified adults with 40-hour workweeks. Eddie wanted to hit up the craft store later, something about a secret Halloween project he was working on, and Steve knew he’d regret agreeing to it but couldn’t resist when those big brown eyes worked their magic on him.

Gradually, these thoughts fade away as his feet continue pounding the wet pavement. His mind drifts, as it so often has in the past six months, to the small box hidden beneath their tax documents in a drawer in his office. It’s black, lined with velvet, and inside is a platinum band, engraved with words Dustin had helped him translate. Ae ú-esteliach nad… estelio han. Estelio ammen. When Dustin explained the meaning, Steve knew instantly it was what he wanted Eddie to remember every day, as he fiddled with the ring on his finger. If you trust nothing else, trust this. Trust us.

Steve knows he needs to trust in them too—trust their love enough to ask the question that’s been pressing against his heart since the day Eddie looked at him and said, “I love you, and it scares the shit outta me. But having my heart broken by you? It would still be my pleasure, my privilege to have loved you in the first place.” Steve had kissed him then, not because he didn’t want to say I love you in return, but because there had been more words that had come so close to tumbling out—Marry me. Be mine. Let me be yours. I want to live and die by your side.

He needs to believe that when he finally asks, Eddie will say yes, that they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

When Steve rounds the corner onto the quiet cul-de-sac where their house sits, a bag of fresh pancakes from their favorite diner in hand, he still hasn’t come to a decision. He knows he wants Eddie to be his husband, whether legally or not. He knows Eddie loves him. They already share a bed, a house, a close circle of friends who feel more like family—a whole life together. Nothing needs to change.

And yet, something holds him back from saying those four simple words: Will you marry me?

Letting himself into the house, he kicks off his wet shoes and places them under the radiator to dry, thankful they'd already turned on the heat. After putting on some coffee, he slips into the shower while it brews, leaving the pancakes warm in the oven. The hot water chases away the lingering chill, and soon he’s dressed in comfortable sweatpants and yet another one of Eddie’s band tees that seem to be scattered around the house.

With a tray full of pancakes, two mugs of coffee, and some sliced fruit and cream, Steve heads upstairs. As he climbs the steps, his gaze falls on the door to his office. On a whim, he steps inside and pockets the little box that has been on his mind all morning.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says when he reaches the bedroom. Eddie is awake, even though his eyes are still closed, but Steve can tell by the change in his breathing and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Have a nice run?” Eddie mumbles, eyes still shut, but his voice warm with affection. He knows Steve’s routine by heart, always paying attention, no matter how ordinary the details of his day might be.

Steve places the tray on the mattress beside Eddie and reaches out, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his boyfriend’s face. “It was good. Gave me some time to think.”

That gets Eddie to blink his eyes open. “Yeah? About what?”

“You,” Steve says with a smile, leaning down to kiss him.

Eddie hums into the kiss, a contented sound. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Mmhmm,” Steve murmurs in agreement. “I was thinking about your Halloween project—about how much I love the chaos and excitement you bring into my life. And about how great you are with Luke and Leia, and how much I’m looking forward to taking them trick-or-treating with you. I was thinking about how perfect our life is, how happy I am, and how much I want to call you my husband. How I want to celebrate our love with our friends, dance with you to The Smiths. To die by your side—well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.”

Eddie sits up during Steve’s little speech, his eyes wide and unblinking. The morning light filters into their bedroom, the storm clouds having cleared, leaving the sun to bathe the room in its warmth.

“Stevie, are you… is this…”

Steve pulls the box from his pocket and opens it to reveal the ring inside. “This is me asking you to trust me to make you happy, to love and cherish you every day for the rest of our lives.” He takes Eddie’s trembling hand, kissing the back of it tenderly before looking up at him with his lips still pressed to the soft skin. “Eddie Munson, will you marry me?”

Eddie stays silent, his eyes drinking in the sight of Steve kneeling by the bed, hair still damp and tousled, wearing one of Eddie’s shirts. In that moment, Steve is struck again by how much he wants this for the rest of his life. He takes the ring from the box and places it in Eddie’s palm, eager for him to see the engraving. Those nimble fingers—fingers Steve has felt on his skin countless times, has watched create and hold with such care—gently lift the platinum band. Eddie turns it, inspecting it in the morning light until the sun catches the words inscribed inside.

Leaning closer, Eddie whispers the inscription softly, the foreign words rolling off his tongue in a way that sends a shiver of admiration and desire through Steve.

He repeats the words in English this time. "If you trust nothing else, trust this. Trust us." Eddie looks up from the ring, searching Steve’s gaze. “Oh, Steve. I don’t know what to say. This is…”

Steve has seen Eddie speechless maybe a handful of times in all the years they’ve been together, and never quite like this. It gives him the courage to say, “You could put me out of my misery and just say yes.”

Eddie gapes at him, his mouth opening and closing before he bursts into laughter—a sound so full of joy that it fills the room with warmth.

That finally breaks the spell. Steve barely manages to push the tray aside before Eddie is in his arms, laughing through his words. “Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes, you idiot, of course I want to marry you,” he murmurs into Steve’s neck.

The days may be growing colder and darker now, but Steve knows he has all the warmth and light he’ll ever need, right here in his arms—Eddie, trusting him, trusting them to last long after the seasons change once more.

[altruistic-meme]

skk fic rec time !!! 🖤🖤

okay i officially have more skk fics bookmarked on my ao3 than my sister has fics in general bookmarked on hers. so. it is time for another ficrec list by abram, bsd/skk version this time!!!

i have no idea yet how many fics will be on this list. i will go until i decide to stop. but as of right now i have 124 bsd fics bookmarked and i definitely won't be listing all of them so if anyone wants a pt. 2 then i certainly have the material to do that.

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby @orbitalflyby (Explicit, 23k) Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

~

Don't Pull Your Punches by kanekei (Teen and Up Audiences, 5k) Everyone thinks that their partnership is a series of Dazai being a troublemaker while Chuuya is helplessly dragged along for the ride. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Some days it feels like Dazai is the only one aware of how insane Chuuya actually is. OR: 3 times Dazai cleans up after Chuuya + 1 time he doesn’t bother

~

The 5 Elements of an Apology by artemisiatea (Teen and Up Audiences, 6k) in which dazai learns that change is hard, but accountability is harder

~

Tea Over Rice by the_most_happy (Teen and Up Audiences, 8k) “Oi, Dazai— what would people say if they saw us?” Dazai gave him a puzzled look. “That we’re happy,” he answered. He made it sound simple; he made it sound pure. “They would say we’re happy.” They never stopped being Double Black — just different clothes and less blood on their hands. [Or: What if Dazai and Chuuya escaped the Port Mafia together?]

~

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k) “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?” Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

~

oh darling it's alarming to think of us apart (you know you've got me in your pocket) by interludewings (Teen and Up Audiences, 20k) “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

~

The Undercover Mission by OldSauk411 (Teen and Up Audiences, 16k) It all started when Atsushi was sent to drop off some papers that the Port Mafia had let them borrow. That was when he saw her, the woman with orange hair and blue eyes standing in the Port Mafia's hallways and talking. She was beautiful if he was being honest. However, after he left, he forgot about her- at least until a few months later, when the ADA and the Port Mafia teamed up for an undercover mission. One that was led by said 'woman'. Aka, Chuuya Nakahara. _____ Or: Atsushi sees a woman from a distance and thinks she's beautiful, up until the Port Mafia and the ADA team up for an undercover mission and it's revealed that the woman was actually Chuuya Nakahara.

~

Nothing but your spine by osamuchuu (Mature, 6k) “Oi, Dazai. We’re here.” Chuuya reached into the car to shake Dazai’s shoulders a bit, rearranging his coat to lay over the man’s back. Dazai swayed and blinked up at him. Whatever painkillers he’d been given had stolen the sharpness from his face. Dazai looked fifteen again, wide-eyed and vulnerable. And then he smiled. He smiled and Chuuya’s heart stuttered because it was so fucking real, so small and different from all the painted faces he wore now. This was dangerous.

~

strange loyalties by finalizer @tarmairons (Mature, 13k) “The Agency dorms are being fumigated,” Dazai explained cheerfully. “So, I offered—Atsushi can stay with us.” Or: Atsushi's observations from inside Yokohama's strangest household.

[sidenote: this is actually a sequel fic and while i loved the first one, this one really just took me to a whole other plane of existence which is why it's the one on the rec list. i do also rec the first one though!]

~

Yokohama public High School- almost as crazy as their pep rallies by BlowingYourMind (General Audiences, 20k) "The slacks! They're way too tight on him! Exactly no teachers ass should be like that, the students may be offended-" "Dazai, I think you're the only one that notices, and maybe refrain from eyeing up your co-workers like that-" "But how can I not!" Dazai huffed "It's right there in front of my face, it's hideous!" Oda sighed. he was just an average man with an average job gaining an average salary, but he would need to find a way to help Dazai and his obvious crush on Chuuya Nakahara before he lost his sanity. Or The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.

~

If you refuse to listen I'll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally @olympiansally (Mature, 15k) There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

~

In the throes of Corruption by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 7k) Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc. Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. Or Five times Dazai helps Chuuya through the throes of Corruption.

~

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (Not Rated, 24k) When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

~

Dream a little dream of me by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k) "What would you like to dream of, Chuuya?" Dazai asked, and his partner shifted in the bed before settling down. "I dunno idiot, you pick." Dazai hummed, "I believe I can arrange that." Chuuya's eyelashes fluttered against Dazai's palm as Dazai continued to speak, voice turning into a whisper as he spoke late into the night. Or Chuuya can't dream, and Dazai has a soloution that quickly turns into a routine between the two of them.

~

Multichapter fics (all complete)

in the mirror, i bloom by ephemeralis (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k, 2/2) It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain. Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not. Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love. (It feels like a lie even to himself.) After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

[sidenote: this was the first bsd fic i ever read and HOOOOLLY CRAP what a beautiful way to join the fandom. i've reread this fic several times since. stunning.]

~

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (Explicit, 163k, 20/20) Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

~

Inseparable by milwritsecausewhynot (Teen and Up Audiences, 107k, 21/21) Best friends is too simple a term to squash the entire dynamic of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya within. Sure, they’ve known each other since they were children, and they’re each other’s #1 on their best friend lists on Snapchat, and Chuuya’s been seen one too many times in his hoodies. People have also noticed how Dazai’s main muse for his volunteer hobby of polaroid photographer is the redhead himself. But the pranks they pull on each other isn’t much of a ‘best friend’ thing to do. Especially when one of the pranks get pulled so far, That Chuuya is forbidden from seeing Dazai ever again. And though he sees no good coming from such a forced separation, the one thing that can enhance their futures together is propelled forward at a faster speed than either of them could have ever imagined: Coming to terms with their unusual feelings for each other.

~

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22 (Teen and Up Audiences, 40k, 10/10) Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

~

When I Awake by wildflowertea @wildflowerteas (Mature, 235k, 23/23) Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything.

~

hopelessly devoted by soukocacola (Explicit, 188k, 18/18) "Get your grades up." Oda tells him. "Then we'll talk." Well, Dazai thinks. If he's going to be miserable, the least he can do is make Chuuya miserable, too. Maybe then Chuuya will ditch him and Dazai can fail out of college with no regrets. 

~

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales @fauxfroot (Mature, 94k, 18/18) "As terrifying as it could be, there was something just so freeing in using Corruption. It is, after all, his strongest state. No one can harm him when he uses Corruption; he is all but invincible. There are days when he lets himself dream. There is the part of him wondering if that’s just the god or his instincts trying to convince him to unleash pure chaos and destruction on the world, but that thought is easy enough to push away. He has no control in that state after all." As a teenager, Chuuya is subjected to experiments at Mori's hand in an attempt to find a way to control Corruption. Now, years later, Mori has decided it's time to revisit the experiments. Dazai is having none of it. But can they really leave their entire life behind?

~

death offers no absolution by Zairielon (Mature, 62k, 10/10) After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

~

from a to o, i love you so by anticide @anticidic (Explicit, 22k, 3/3) Here they were dancing a dangerous tango and crossing lines and blurring boundaries that neither Fukuzawa nor Mori would take kindly to. Dazai was supposed to have gotten over Chuuya, not melted in his embrace and bound them together for an eternity. (Or: Dazai and Chuuya's unconventional relationship sparks a radical change within Dazai when he wakes up one day under the weather and feeling very, very off.)

~

My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody) by thereweregiants (Explicit, 26k, 2/2) Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

~

Mission - Entrancing Armed Detective Agency by cocktailjjrs (Teen and Up Audiences, 105k, 12/12) “Charming? Have you finally started dreaming now?” Dazai turned to face his longtime partner again “Say what you want, asshole, but people like me better anyway” Chuuya ignored the jab at his lack of dreams, only shrugging in response. “I can bet anything in this world that you can’t be liked by everyone. Your efforts will be fruitless by the end of the day” “Wanna bet?” Chuuya smirked “You’re on!” Dazai returned the smirk “I’ll tell you who your target will be” . . . In which, Dazai and Chuuya are upto their old shenanigans and make a bet. As a result - Bonds are formed, secrets are revealed, money is spent, devious plans are concatenated; someone gets drugged, someone gets punched, someone gets a wakeup slap. And Chuuya's 'brute' image is at imminent risk. All of this - to with the bet!

~

Prey to Your Instincts by skylorr (Mature, 98k, 8/8) He was a beta. He was normal. Barely any scent, no cycles, no mating instincts. Just plain old normal. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was normal. But instead, Dazai is currently curled up on his single mattress in the shipping container that he calls home as he sweats profusely and struggles through cramps, pains, and the desire to nest. His mattress has a single thin blanket, which apparently does not satisfy the omega instincts trying to claw their way out of his mind. He was so close, too; days away from his 17th birthday, the birthday that would have officially made him a beta. Hope is a killer disease.

[sidenote: there is also a sequel to this fic that i recommend just as much! it's still a WIP <3]

~

Illustrations of Lying by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 49k, 20/20) It is more difficult, perhaps, to bear with fortitude the little daily trails of life, than great calamities, because we summon up all our spiritual and moral strength to resist the latter...  Upon faced with the culmination of Mori's plan, Dazai does not go to Odasaku's side. Instead, he relieves Mori of his duties.

~

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer @neonganymede (Mature, 75k, 7/7) What a shitty way to die.... Less than forty-eight hours ago, they’d been impaled together, and Chuuya had feared that the broken metal pole had pinned him in place against a corpse. Now, he worried that a corpse sat next to him, nothing more than a poorly-crafted imitation of his ex-partner. ... And what an even shittier situation to be stuck in. Or, A mission goes wrong, and Soukoku die together. Except, they don't, but now they're stuck in a safe house pretending that they did. And if Chuuya wants to find out what went wrong with Dazai's plan, he'll first have to find a way around the wall of silence that his former partner has built to keep him out.

~

Cigarette Game by chowderpuff (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k, 2/2) Chuuya has a crush on Dazai. Dazai knows this, and he thinks it’s a prime opportunity to mess with his partner a little. After all, why not? Chuuya’s reactions to his flirting are priceless, a new little bonus feature to the game between them, and Dazai actually starts to find it more entertaining than outright arguing. It’s all harmless fun until Dazai realizes that he has feelings too. Then it's decidedly not.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

[nahoney22]

Hello darling!

I’d love if you wrote a NSFW fic with Tech or Wrecker.

Maybe you’d be coming home from a bad day at work and a bad fight with your parents and he comforts you and makes you forget your troubles with some soft sex. Lots of praise and pleasure. Maybe some overstimulation??

Only if you have the time of course!! If you’ve already written something like this, I’ll scour the master list

Many thanks lovely!!

Gentleness***

Wrecker X F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

After visiting your parents, you brain is fried with their words and demands of wanting you to have a different path in life. So when you return to your boyfriend, Wrecker, you crave some much needed TLC.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language. Soft smut, cunnilingis, praises, overstimulation, established relationship, aftercare and female reader. A little bit angsty, mentions of arguing with parents.

authors note: I chose to do Wrecker because I’ve not wrote for him in a hot minute and I feel like this is Wrecker coded. Sorry for the wait @originalcollectionartistry ✨🤍

With a raspy throat and misty eyes, you approach the Marauder following what was meant to be a pleasant reunion with your parents, only to unravel into a heated debate about your life choices. Are you old enough? Mature enough? In their eyes, the exhilaration of navigating the galaxy with a band of rogue Clones was an unacceptable life for their daughter. They envisioned a different path—one confined to a desolate planet, toiling behind a counter in a dreary little shop.

You yearned for their support, but some convictions remain unaltered. It had been this way for many years and each time you see them, you think they would change their minds.

Outside the Marauder, you collect yourself, wiping away tears and clearing your throat before boarding.

However, the usual clamor had subsided this evening, leaving you in solitude momentarily. Yet, a yearning for your boyfriend lingers.

Thinking you've found respite, you settle into the cockpit, allowing tears to cascade. With your head in your hands and fingers entwined in your hair in frustration, your sobs echo in the silence. Unbeknownst to you, the familiar and resounding footsteps approach, shattering the quiet.

"I thought I heard ya—hey, what's wrong, babe?" Wrecker swiftly joins you, crouching beside you and tenderly placing a hand on your thigh.

Peering at him through your hands, you manage a smile amid the tears and emit a soft sniffle. "I'm fine, just parents."

A frown creases Wrecker's brow. "I thought you were looking forward to seeing them?" he asks.

"Yeah, until they started bombarding me about what they think I should be doing with my life," you groan, swiping away your tears once more and straightening up. "Just annoyed."

Wrecker offers a sympathetic smile, planting a gentle kiss on your cheek. "Did they, um, mention anythin’ about me?" His hand grazes the back of your neck, prompting a playful eye-roll from you.

Fortunately, your parents did inquire about Wrecker. Your relationship with him wasn't exactly a secret after their initial meeting, which left a favorable impression. That much you were thankful for.

"They just asked about how you were and all," you mention, crossing your arms and leaning back against the chair's headrest. "But... they still disapprove of me traveling with you all. They want me to stay home and work for them."

Wrecker tilts his head, his brow knitting together. "Is that what ya want?"

"Absolutely not, Wreck," you declare. "I just wish they could understand that this is the path I've chosen."

Wrecker stands tall and concerned above you. “Well I’m glad you're still here,” he says, a gentle smile tugging at your lips in response. Yet, he's not entirely convinced. “Is there anything I can do?”

Initially stumped, you gaze up at him, taking in his towering presence, his striking features, and suddenly, a longing for something, anything, wells up within you. "Honestly?"

"Yeah, anything!" His smile widens, noticing a glimmer of light returning to your eyes.

As you stand before Wrecker, your voice carries a hint of vulnerability. "I want you to love me."

Confusion knits Wrecker's brow. "But you know I already do? Don't you?"

You let out a soft, tender laugh at his innocent bewilderment. Your hands trail up his sturdy arms, tracing the contours of his broad chest before delicately cradling his cheeks. Your fingertips brush over the rough, scarred tissue, as you gaze deeply into his eyes. "Yes, but I want you to love me," you express, your voice filled with longing and an unspoken yearning for more.

He’s silent now, but he understands what you mean as his eyes spark with interest.

With such a gentleness, he took your hands away from his face, starting to trail soft kisses up your arms until he seals his lips over yours, drawing you in.

You let him take the lead, keening into his touch as his hands begin to pull the clothes away from your body, his large hands gently kneading at your soft, nude flesh as his tongue dances with yours.

It’s not long until he has you wrapped around his waist, carrying you through the ship until he lays you down on his bunk, warm breath waltzing against your skin.

Soft moans begin to part your lips as Wrecker kneels at the foot of the bunk, your legs spread and balancing over his shoulders as he slips a finger between your folds. Your increasing arousal helps Wrecker to move his digit up and down before he gathers your slick on his fingers, using it as lubricant to rub at your swelling clit.

You choke on a groan, knees subconsciously closing around his head but Wrecker doesn’t mind, infact, it spurs him on as you start to gently roll your hips to his touch. He encourages you, keeping a steady pace as he places kisses to the inside of your thighs as he works at your clit with intent, yet gentle.

Your legs start to tremble, chewing on your lower lip as Wrecker lets out a satisfied growl of pleasure as you grind down on his hand, slipping a finger inside you and curling it as he gently thrusts. “That’s it pretty girl, take what ya need.”

“S-So good Wrecker… you’re so good to me.” You whine, toes curling as he maintains a steady momentum.

“Of course I am, I always will be,” he rasps, eyes fixated on your glistening pussy, “let it go, cum for me. I’ve got ya.”

Your eyes are seeing stars, stars more beautiful than those through space as your body becomes rigid and your breathing becomes heavy. Then, you cry out his name, your orgasm shooting through you as you ride out the pleasure against his hand. “That’s it, you did so well.” He cooes. “That was a lot.”

A happy sigh parts your lips but Wrecker didn’t stop there. “Do you think you can cum again sweetie? I think you can.” He cooed as he placed soft kisses to your thighs before his warm breath fans over your tingling pussy.

Naturally your hips bucked as his tongue glides over your folds, licking up the residue of before and melts as he whines softly at the taste of you. You squirm, getting a bit too overstimulated but a part of you wanted more, you wanted to fight against it and let Wrecker continue to have a taste of you.

“Don’t worry,” he purrs, sensing the struggle between wanting another orgasm and for him to stop teasing at your pulsating cunt, “I will take extra good care of you if you are a good girl and cum on my tongue.”

Your blood runs hot, his praises alone almost making you hit your high. Softly, you hold onto the back of his head, grinding your hips on his tongue as he delves his tongue against your stimulated clit, the burn now desirable.

His large arms wrap under your thighs, bringing you even closer to his face than before, chuckling into your pussy as you let out a wanton cry of pleasure. Your hands move to the sheets on the bunk, gripping as if for dear life as he laps eagerly at you, sucking and flicking his tongue expertly against your sweet sex. “Oh f-fuck! Wreck..!”

“Say my name again sweetie, let me know how much I’m pleasing ya.”

You were blessed to be laying down because if you were standing there was no way you would’ve been able to hold yourself up. “Wrecker, you’re so good at this.”

Again, he chuckles, sending vibrations through you that have your toes curling as your cunt becomes numb. As your moans become louder, you knew you were close again. Wrecker groans as he slips his tongue into your pussy, feeling you clench around his tongue that has you soaring into the galaxy.

“Your moans are so perfect, baby. You’ve done so, so good for me.” He pulls away, catching his breath and you almost sob at the sight of your juices around his grinning mouth before he moves his hand back to your core and lets his fingers strum rapidly against your clit.

It’s too much and somewhat not enough either. His name runs past your lips like a mantra all the while he ushers words of praise. “That’s it, good girl. Cum again.”

One part of your brain makes you squirm away from his touch, finding it unbearable but the other half craves for the intensity of another orgasm. “It’s too sensitive Wrecker,” you moan, knuckles turning white as you grip onto the sheets.

“I know baby but I know you can do it. Let it go, you’ll feel so much better.” For someone so loud his words were so quiet and soft yet laced with pure filth. You’re hot, the stimulation relentless and it’s not until his mouth is back on your clit when your climax finally hits.

“O-o-oh stars!” you whimper as your orgasm rakes through you and onto his mouth and chin, your whole body tingling now. He continues to lick your pussy, collecting every ounce of your high before he stands, wipes his mouth and chin and pulls you into his arms as he sits on the edge of the bunk with you.

“That’s how it’s done, sweetie. Well done.” He cooed, stroking a hand through your sweat covered hair, “was that enough?”

You give him a dazed, dopey grin and nod. “It was perfect.” You sigh happily, resting your forehead into his chest as he cradles your nude body. “Thank you for this.”

“Like I said, I’d do anything.”

Masterlist

Ko-fi if you wanna buy me a coffee ☕️

More Wrecker Works

Taglist if you want to be added or removed (please note I’ll respectfully remove you if you’re not interacting with my work 🤍)

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @imalovernotahater @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @l-lend 🎄

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

A BURIED AND BURNING FLAME

STEVEN GRANT X F!READER

18+. Prompt: "do you think of me when you touch yourself." It's Lovesick Steven, oblivious (and equally lovesick) reader, and a name being called from the shower that wasn’t meant to be heard (but no ones complaining that it was). [9K. Re-uploaded from my old blog]

Their relationship was an odd thing Steven thought. Chaotic in the kind of way that not many would understand. 

God, he just barely understood it himself after all.

It's him and it's Marc and it's you, all entwined, your lives like singular threads that were blown together and now lay impossibly tangled. Knotted so tightly that even if someone was to try and shear them apart, there would still be remnants of the others embedded in the one they tried to pull loose. 

And then it went beyond that. 

There were the separate tanglements that branched from the heart of the whole one. Himself and Marc. Marc and you. You and him. 

He knew that there were differences - that there was something more between you and Marc. Another level to the relationship that Steven yearned for but felt would be pushing his luck to try and approach with you after you had already given him so much. 

When he wasn't in control he sometimes saw fragments of it, glimpses that made him flush and his chest tighten, desire clashing with the jealousy that sat like an uncomfortable weight in the back of his throat.

He saw you through the thinning glass between the alters, saw your lips part around a throaty moan that hit him like a train, the slopes of your bare skin, sweat slick and gleaming, as your back bowed in pleasure.

He was always quick to turn away before he saw too much, squeezing his eyes shut to give you your privacy and to chastise himself for those feelings that were steadily slipping further out of his already shaky control. 

He was arguing against himself, the part of him that craved more than he should, stern in the reasoning that he should be grateful to have you in any capacity. To have your friendship and your care, your protectiveness over him and the way your eyes glowed with interest, gaze fixed on him and smile soft, warm and encouraging, no matter what subject he chose to ramble on and on at you about. 

And if that wasn’t enough to make him hold his tongue then the insecurities that clung to his bones and his insides - his poor lovesick heart - in strings of black tar, were certainly more than willing to do the trick.

Because why would you want him like that when you've already got someone like Marc? Someone so clearly your equal. 

Would you be offended by the idea of him as a partner - of being with both of them? 

What if he ruined things entirely - made things weird and you leave? Plunging your hand in that mess of threads and ripping yours away, splitting fibres that burrowed beneath his skin and left him forever haunted by the ghost of you. 

It didn’t matter that Marc had tried to tell him otherwise, gave Steven as many hints as he could without revealing the extent of your feelings because that was your business and not his place. His voice growing exasperated the longer that Steven refused to do anything about it. 

"Do you really think she would put up with all of this, if she didn't love both of us?"

Yes.

No. 

Bloody hell, he didn't know. 

It’s a question he didn't have an answer to and so he chose to ignore it completely. 

Buried it alongside the too fast flutter of his pulse beneath his skin when you drifted close, when your hand was threading through the mess of his curls. Gentle fingers tilting his jaw, stroking the fragile skin beneath his eyes as you checked for signs that he wasn’t sleeping as well as you’d like before you mumbled out a happy sounding noise, pleased when you found none.

He swallowed it back and pretended it didn't burn all the way down. Like the thought didn’t feel like it would burst him to flames the same way it did when he woke to find you wound around his body, legs tangled with his and your breath, soft and warm, against his neck. 

The only reaction you gave when realising you had fallen asleep with Marc and woken with Steven, being the shy smile that crept across your lips as you gazed up at him, arms making no move to let him go, to push him away and create distance. 

He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. 

He was in over his head.

** 

It was after a fight that it happened. 

They returned to the quiet of their hotel room, heads down and bodies tucked in on themselves as they passed through the plain reception and the corridors with their aged, peeling wallpaper until there was the relief of the door clicking shut behind them. 

They were stained with the after effects of their violence. Blood splattered jaws and rust beneath their nails, the collar of Steven’s sweater torn wide, slit at the abdomen from where he was stabbed before he’d remembered to summon the suit and when he looked at you, there were already bruises blooming. Creeping across your skin - the swell of your cheek - before his very eyes, muddied shades of navy and lavender that made him wince and his hands twitch. 

You smiled when you caught it, all easy charm, a sweet, placating thing that softened the sharp edges that still clung to your features after a mission. “I’m fine Steven.” You told him gently. “Nothing a shower and some bandages won’t fix anyway.

He nodded, a little unsure as always, trying to offer a simple smile back because Steven’s learned it’s best not to hover when it comes to you. To treat you like you were made of glass just because you were something infinitely precious to them. That you could easily grow frustrated at the way Marc loomed like a pissed off drill sergeant and Steven fretted like a frantic, mother hen when they saw you hurt all because you lacked an ancient god fused to your bones and hooked in the meat of your soul. 

Instead he slipped into the bathroom and cleaned away the blood that itched at his own skin, his stomach only faintly twisting this time as he watched it swirl pink in the water before slipping down the drain. 

He was getting better at it, he realised belatedly.

It didn’t feel like he’d lose whatever food he had managed to get down that day anymore when he was faced with the evidence of what he had done, like his stomach wanted to turn itself inside out and he needed you to scrape the sweat-damp droop of his curls away from his clammy forehead. Mouthing soothing sounds into his shoulder as he groaned and coughed up his guts. 

Once he was dressed in something that didn’t look like it’s seen the inside of a shredder he went out again. 

It was routine by now. Him or Marc would go in search of food - flaky pastries dusted with cinnamon or soaked in syrup. Steaming pasta in rich, silky sauce with thick slices of buttery garlic bread. Tacos. Gyoza. Earl grey cake from the bakery you passed on your way into town. 

Anything you asked for because it was the only way you ever really let them take care of you, only huffing slightly when they handed you the painkillers that you absolutely always argued you didn’t need if they didn’t bribe you first. 

And by the time they typically got back you would already be lounging in the bed. Hair slightly damp from the shower, wounds neatly bandaged, and looking far too warm and soft than Steven’s poor heart could handle, sunk into the plethora of mismatched pillows. 

It always made his heart flutter in his chest to come back to you waiting, to step into the room and find your eyes shining over at him, your hands already outstretched, making grabbing motions that had him chuckling as you beckoned him towards you with the food. Head tilting in the direction of the box tv as you teased him with a grin. “It’s about time, there’s an old crime documentary about to start, I thought we could watch whilst we eat.” 

Which is why it struck him as odd when he returned and there was no sign of you. The bed still neatly made. The blank screen of the tv staring back at him, projecting nothing but his own reflection, when his gaze flicked to it. 

He relaxed when he registered the faint sound of running water - the repetitive pattering of spray hitting the tiles. Shook his head at how his body had immediately drawn tight with anxiety all because you weren’t where he had expected you to be. The breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding blowing past his lips in a rushed exhale at the smell of your shampoo, fresh and slightly sweet, comforting in a way he couldn’t explain, seeping beneath the bathroom door. 

Everything’s fine. She’s fine. You were just worrying over nothing.

But then he heard it. 

His name. 

Or at least, he thought he did. There was a few beats of silence when he stopped, quietly placing the bag of food onto the side as he strained to listen.

Nothing. 

It was maybe his imagination, he thought. 

Maybe you had been mumbling to yourself, singing beneath your breath like he knew you liked to do when you thought no one could hear. He went back to sorting the food with another shake of his head, a mutter to himself that he was growing far too paranoid as he pulled out the containers and the plastic utensils before reaching over to the little tv to find something you might be interested in watching when you eventually did come out.  

And then he definitely heard it again. 

A touch louder, clearer that time than the last, his heart dropping to his stomach at the sound. It was a pained thing - a low moan that cut to a whimper and Steven almost completely lost his head. 

Were you hurt? Had he left when you needed him? What if you’re trying to hide the seriousness of one of your wounds, bleeding out in there because of your stubborn refusal to worry him?

He called to you once. A second time that was steeped in a dizzying panic, and when there was no response again all thought went out the window.

He was lunging for the door to the bathroom, sweat-damp hand fumbling with the handle before he nearly wrenched the damn thing off despite Marc’s suspiciously calm voice in his head telling him ‘Steven wait..it’s not what you think-’ 

He almost snarled at that, bristling in disbelief that Marc could be so unbothered when Steven’s fear had snapped to life in an instant to clutch him by the throat.

There was an anger he wasn’t quite used to rushing through his chest, burning vicious and ugly, charring his bones as he spat back at the other man, “If you think I’m going to ignore the fact that she’s seriously hurt then you’re fucking mental, what is wrong with you!” 

Marc didn't respond, at least not with words - there was a weary sigh that seemed to say ‘suit yourself’ and then silence.

He refused to pay him mind, to focus on anything else other than you, getting you the help you needed, and when he finally flung the door open, the noise of it hitting the wall almost deafening in the silence of that tiny room, everything suddenly stumbled to a halt as what he’d just walked in on seared itself upon his brain. Burning bright behind his eyelids when he slammed them shut, a hand slapped over them for good measure.

Because you were all bare, steam-slick skin. Glittering with the droplets of water that caught the light and shone as they trailed down your body in a way that made the image of him catching each one with his tongue flash across his mind, unbidden, entrancing him until his gaze had followed a shimmering path to where he'd discovered the hand buried between trembling thighs. Your fingers that halted their quick, jerking movements as your pretty features morphed from pleasure to stunned surprise. 

“Oh god - bollocks - I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I-"

He was rambling. Stammering on his words like his tongue was too thick for his mouth, choking on the billows of steam he was breathing in as his face flushed with the sickening kind of heat that came with pure mortification and good fucking god, what the hell was he doing still standing there? 

“I’m sorry,” he continued, rooted in place despite every fibre of his being telling him to bolt. It burst out of him almost, jumbled and tumbling, all frantic to make you understand. “My name- I heard you say my name and I thought… it sounded like you were hurt and I know you like to handle your injuries alone but it sounded bad and I thought you could be bleeding out or dying and I just couldn’t–”

You were wrapping gentle fingers around his wrists before he could talk himself breathless, into an early grave with the way his pulse was hammering beneath flushed skin. Your voice fell even softer, barely rising over the sound of the water that was still pelting against the tiles, as you told him, “Steven, calm down. Look at me, it’s okay.” 

He wanted to resist, unwilling to face the weight of your disappointment, the shame that would only double tenfold when that harsh glare of yours undoubtedly pinned him with it, but he found himself compelled by a featherlight touch at his jaw, the arc of cheek, sweeping the damp curls from his eyes just as they fluttered open. 

Steven gulped as his stare settled on you, closer than he'd expected you to be, now wrapped up in a thread-bare towel that hid only enough skin for you to be considered decent but had him sending a prayer of thanks for to any god that would listen anyway. He didn’t think he’d survive it otherwise.

Not with the way you were actually looking at him.

Touching him. 

He was already having trouble breathing properly, his stomach still flipping from the memory of you, your closeness to him now when your soft moans were still echoing around in his head. 

Steven, Steven, Steven. 

His heart had yet to return to its normal pace and as it stuttered and beat itself violently against the cage of his ribs, he wondered if it was possible to die from something like this. From the desire and longing trapped and blistering beneath his skin, a wicked hot thing that was trying to burn him from the inside out.

 It certainly felt like he could. 

Your expression grew anxious whilst you simply watched one another, gaze troubled and brow knit into a soft frown. Your lip drawn between your teeth in a way that made him have to swallow down the urge gently tug it free with his thumb, to soothe away the rawness with soft touches. An even softer kiss. 

Gods, he was pathetic. 

Even when he was expecting you to be angry at him, for that gentle calmness to drop any second to reveal disgust, he still couldn’t stop himself from thinking about touching you, kissing you. Loving on you. He wanted to shake himself, to rub away the ache in his chest that worsened as your lips parted and he braced himself for you to tell him you couldn’t be around him after this. 

“It’s not you who should be apologising, Steven.” You told him instead, voice tinged with guilt, a hint of embarrassment. Nervous in a way he’d never seen before. And when your eyes dropped briefly to where your hands were still cradling his own you missed the way he blinked at you in stunned confusion. 

“I shouldn’t have been doing that - thinking about you like that - definitely not when you could hear…shit- I’m so fucking sorry you heard it and saw what you did. I get it if you don’t feel comfortable around me and you need a break or something- is that something you would want? Do you want me to go?” 

Steven didn’t even know what to say. His expression had morphed into something utterly dumbfounded. His brain screeching to a halt at your apology - your confession? 

It was spinning around inside his skull like a carousel, all bright flashing light and the swelling tinkling of fairytale music. Because surely it couldn’t be real right? He’d not really heard what he thought he had, he’d not heard you admitting that you think about him.

Maybe he’d been knocked out during the fight and this was a dream? He almost found it easier to believe.

Except for the fact that in his dreams he didn’t have Marc’s voice in his head - seething with frustration. Yelling at him to say something.

Say anything.

He wasn’t getting stressed out by the irate stream of demands mixing with his own rapidly firing thoughts until they all muddled into something that felt an awful lot like the oncoming of a migraine. 

He wanted to snap at Marc to be quiet for just five bloody seconds but then he was raising his voice again - more worried this time - and it cut crystal clear through the rest of the noise. Sharp enough for Steven to finally understand what the other man had been desperately trying to snap his attention to. 

"Jesus fucking christ Steven, she’s going to leave! She thinks you don’t want her - SAY SOMETHING.”

And Marc was right. You had drawn away from him, dropped your hands from his cheeks and tucked them into your sides, arms crossed over your chest like you were shielding the vulnerable parts of yourself you’d only just worked up the courage to expose. 

Curling into yourself in the face of what you perceived as rejection. 

He watched in a throat-tight panic as you nodded solemnly and made to squeeze past him, reaching for the door that had swung back closed behind him from the force with which he had thrown it open. 

It was the brush of you against him that startled him back to life - a smack of reality cracking across his bewildered face that told him you were about to walk out of that door, out of their shitty hotel room and straight out his life if he didn’t stop you. 

Steven was whirling around before his mind could even register having told his legs to move. He caught at your wrist with a shaky hand , the touch of it feverish against your skin that had rapidly cooled once outside the heat of the shower - goosebumps rising beneath his fingertips despite the balmy air that swirled around them. 

You turned, fingers still grazing the door handle, and looked at him, wide eyed and apprehensive, unwillingly hopeful, and it was enough to make the muscles in his throat unlock. Words bubbling up and past his lips before he could even consider if they were the right ones. 

“Did you mean it?” He rasped. “ You think of me when you touch yourself?” 

There was silence for a second, maybe two, and by the way you sucked in a breath - lips parting as you stared at him - he suspected the question had been the last thing you expected to be asked. 

It was agony to stand there and wait and Steven tried his best not to let it show, tried not to breathe because every inhale was drenched in you. 

The scent of your shampoo and your body wash and your breath fanning across his lips when he subconsciously leaned closer. The weight of his heart that wasn’t really his anymore, hadn’t been since he met you, sat on his tongue. Ready to topple along with the desperate plea he was fighting to keep clamped behind his teeth. 

Please. Please tell me you think about me too - that you want me just as much as I want you.

And then, “I did,” you whispered, soft and hushed like you were worried if you spoke any louder it would ruin whatever was happening between you, “I do.” 

He surged forward and kissed you then. Both of you colliding with the door with the force of it, his lips crashing against yours like the world would spin off its axis if he didn’t have his mouth on you.

It was a little clumsy but it still made your breath catch in your throat, made your body melt into his and your hands fly to clutch at the slopes of his shoulders as your surprise dissolved into something hungrier, the sensation of his mouth moving over yours dragging you under. 

It wasn’t a sweet, soft thing like Steven had always imagined kissing you would go, all romantic like pretty sunsets and doves flying, a choir singing in the background as he tenderly cradled your cheeks in his hands. 

It was tongue and teeth, months of repressed yearning bursting free and swallowing him whole, demanding that he devoured in turn. Making everything a little messy, touched with desperation. Frantic. 

He let you part his lips, let you flick your tongue, quick and dirty, against his own and lick the needy groan from his mouth that followed until he was breathless and his knees threatened to buckle.

A hand dropping to your waist to palm at the curve of it, fisting tight at the cotton towel, and the other sliding from your cheek to grasp a handful of the hair at the back of your head. Both meant to keep you locked to him just as much as it was supposed to keep him grounded. 

Steven felt greedy with it, braver than he’d ever been with every little moan that slipped from your lips to his for him to swallow down and when you finally pulled back an inch gasping for breath, lips parted and expression looking entirely kiss-drunk, he felt like he’d found heaven. 

His field of reeds, in the way your eyes were shining.

The way your fingers trailed up his neck and tangled in his curls to keep him from straying too far.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, voice lovesick and bleeding awe, painting your mouth with a sparkling grin as he pressed each word to your lips when you tugged him back down to kiss him again.  “More beautiful than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen.” 

You sighed into him, the hand in his hair tilting his head so you could kiss him deeper, a little more demanding before your lips slipped to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, sliding down his throat to suck a bruise at the skin before dropping a sweet kiss over the mark that made his hips buck against you. 

It had a groan tearing through Steven’s chest when you pressed back, all silky, steam-damp skin and barely any material between you that suddenly felt that much less with the way it was clinging to you both. 

“Steven…please.” You breathed.

And gods, you sounded just as needy as he felt. 

So he hitched your leg high up at his waist and rolled his hips a little harder, a little more deliberate, drawing back just enough that he could watch how your lashes fluttered and your mouth dropped open, trying his best to take note of the exact angle and pressure that made you keen so he could do it over and over again. 

He could feel how wet you were, the bare heat of you soaking into his jeans, pressed tightly against where he was achingly hard beneath the denim and Steven felt himself twitch at every gorgeous sound that poured past your lips -  at the way you had snuck you hand between your two bodies without him noticing to palm at the thick outline of his cock. 

It made his jaw go slack from the pressure, brain fuzzy from the bolt of pleasure that skitted down his spine when you squeezed him just right and then he was curling himself over you, burying you into the door and mouthing sloppy kisses and obscene praise into the skin of your neck whilst he rocked his hips. 

He forced himself to bite back a whine when you pushed him back an inch, extracting yourself from his grasp so you could stand before him properly, eyes glossy and a touch wild, all panting breaths as your fingers curled around the hem of his shirt and tugged. 

“Need to feel more of you.”

And then you were yanking it over his head, throwing it somewhere to be forgotten about whilst you pressed your hands into the warmth of his chest and made a greedy noise of appreciation that threatened to make his heart burst, a groan rumbling in his throat in response when you dragged your nails ever so lightly across his stomach and down to the waistband of his jeans. 

His hands found yours then. Stopping them from popping the button beneath your fingertips, and when your eyes shot to his, the beginnings of the soft frown that shadowed them melting into something akin to surprise once you caught sight of him, he wondered if you could read the desperation that he was sure was plastered all over his face. 

Because it wasn't that Steven wanted to stop that had him catching at you. 

It was the utter assurance that if you got your hands on him he wouldn't last a fucking second that made his voice hoarse and his own hands tremble as he all but begged.

"Tell me more of what you think about… tell me what you want." 

And Steven didn't think he'd ever forget the way you looked at him then, eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, hungry. Lips kiss-swollen and parted as you sucked in a sharp breath. Looking so fucking sinful that it had him swallowing down a choked moan.  

You looked wrecked by his words. 

By him. 

He was almost embarrassed by just how close the sight drove him. There was a swell of something unforgivingly hot behind his ribs, searing in his stomach and his veins, all liquid gold and white flame, and he couldn’t resist re-capturing your mouth in a kiss that echoed just how helplessly he was affected by it all. 

You drew his hands up whilst his lips were busy curving over yours, pressing them to the place where the towel lay knotted against the warm flush of your chest and when he groaned at the implication, the way the material came that little bit looser at the slightest touch, you took advantage of his distraction to skim your mouth across his cheek and to the delicate curve of his ear. 

“I want you to take it off, want you to touch me” you murmured, breath hitching when he obeyed with quick fingers, worn fabric slipping away in a soft rush the same way his own breath exited his lungs. “Please.”  Added like it was possible he would even think of saying no, like his hands, large yet reverant, weren’t already exploring. Pulling shudders from your body with every light graze of his fingertips. “I think about it all the time.”

Steven was a goner. Utterly devoted to bending to every whim that you had, to acting out every thought that had popped into your head from whenever you had begun to want him until right then. He wanted to know it all. 

How could he not be when you were reacting to him so beautifully? 

Your fingers had left his to wander long ago so you could twist them into his hair instead. Using your hold to crush him into you further and kiss him breathless when he touched somewhere that made you arch, to tug just a little meanly at the soft strands when he lingered on his path to where you were apparently growing impatient for him, and by the time he was tracing the crease of your thighs you were both wound achingly tight, panting into each other’s mouths. 

He matched your moan when he finally slid his fingers through your folds, throat tight and something like pride flaring deep in his chest at the soaked heat he found there. At the soft, broken noise you made when he pressed gentle circles over your clit. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered against your lips. “Tell me.”

Tell me what you like. Tell me what feels good. Tell me exactly how you picture it so I can give you everything you want. 

Tell me, tell me tell me.

“Fuck, yes, more– please - don’t stop.”  You rushed out, voice strained but he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t the prettiest Steven had ever heard it. Absolutely hypnotising and he was under its spell without question, ready to worship at your altar in any way you deemed fit. 

He kissed you with heavy-lidded eyes and open-mouthed, lips catching at yours in the briefest bursts because he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the way your chest heaved as he slipped a finger inside you, a second. 

The way your own stare glazed when you told him just how much pressure to use whilst he curled his fingers and had you choking on the words, clenching around him before you could even finish. 

You were feverish in his arms, mewling and arching as he picked up the pace and Steven almost lost his head at the state of you, trying his hardest to not bite his lip bloody when every flex of your hips into his hand had it pressing against his own need.

He allowed himself to rock into you just once and then hastily pulled back as the pleasure burned white-hot, sliding his thumb a little firmer over your clit when you squirmed and whined at the loss of him. 

“I know, I know– m’sorry love.” He gasped, breathless, chest tight and voice shot. “You feel so fucking good– I can't–”

You would be the death of him, he was sure of it. His hands shook, fingers curling around the nape of your neck in an attempt to hide it, and there was this unfathomable want clawing at his insides so savagely that he could hardly move without the friction of his jeans threatening to send him over the edge. 

Bloody hell, you had him so fucking desperate he could scarcely think. 

You both trembled as his lips ghosted across your cheek, each breath hot in your ear, as his voice quivered. “What else– what else do you need from me?- I’ll give you anything you want, darling, please.” 

He barely registered the knock of your head falling back against the door, the whisper of a curse slipping past your lips, because at his words you had clamped tight enough around the twist of his fingers to make him shudder. Lashes fluttering at the way your nails bit deep into the muscles of his shoulders as the slick sound you being fucked on his hand grew over the roar of the shower. 

“I- I don’t- Steven, oh!”

Maybe that’s what did it. The way you were so ready to fall apart for him, all pretty and messy and pleading something sinful for more, more, more.

Maybe it was the way the evening light peeking in from the tiny window had begun to turn into shadows, hiding the way his cheekbones were swept with pink better than the clouds of steam ever could. 

Or maybe it was the fact that every time his name dripped off your tongue it made him feel so fucking wanted that he was delirious with it, his heart full and shining golden as you peeled back each of those strings of black tar insecurities that had choked the beating flesh for far too long.

Whatever it was, there was suddenly a new found confidence that burned through his veins, one that took every dirty thought swirling in his head and made him prepared to do them all. To give you anything you wanted, regardless of whether you were actually capable of forming the words for yourself. 

There was no missing the blaze of your stare caught on his lips as he spoke after all. 

Oh.

“Do you want my mouth?” Steven asked hoarsely against your throat. “Is that something you've thought about - you want me to taste you?” 

He barely waited for your desperate nod and then he was gone. Dropping to the floor and ignoring the flash of pain that the cold tile spears through his knees as he buried his face between your soaked thighs. 

The first flick of his tongue made your breath catch. The second had you twisting your fingers in the silk of his curls. A third had you tugging at him hard enough that Steven whined into you, the fingers that were dug into the meat of your thighs slipping to your ass to press you to him tighter, his hips thrusting against nothing whilst you bucked against the searing heat of his mouth, utterly uninhibited. 

The sight of it was maddening.

It was divine. 

He still didn't quite believe this wasn't a dream. 

There was sweat beading at your hairline - glistening along the column of your throat, the valley between your breasts. He watched the way your free hand trailed the softest path to one of them and squeezed, felt the way your body reacted to the added sensation in the flutter of your walls around his fingers. Squeezing tighter, tighter, tighter, as he rubbed at the soft patch of tissue until your thighs quaked around his head and you grew liquid. 

Voice thread-bare when you whimpered that you couldn't take much more, that you were so close and please don't stop.

He went to flame then. To desperation and insanity and burning, searing need to devour you whole and drink you down until he either drowned or you had nothing left to give. 

And just like you begged him to, he didn't stop until you spasmed and gushed around his fingers.

He didn't stop when the call of his name cracked and broke as your voice gave out whilst he licked you through the violent crest of your climax until it's dying breaths and your body fell slack into the door. Propped up between the paint-chipped wood and Steven’s flushed body shoved tight against your own. 

He didn't stop until you jerked in his hold, gasping and pleading, your fingers eventually releasing their tense grip in his hair to slip down to his chin, tilting it. Away from your swollen cunt as he was made to look up at you.  

“Are you trying to kill me?” You laughed weakly, stunned gaze roving over every inch of him as you tried to catch your breath, and he wondered if he looked as wrecked as he felt before you. Wild haired and panting. On his knees with his eyes dazed and face coated glossy with you. 

“I'm sorry,” he rasped, not bothering to even try and appear like he was very sorry at all, “you just taste better than I ever dreamed you would.” 

Your eyes glazed a little at that, a dopey little smile playing at your mouth with it, as the first tendrils of hunger crept back into your expression alongside the tender amusement. “Fuck, Steven - who knew you were such a smooth talker?” 

He laughed, a bright burst, cheeks kissed pink with the heat of your words and the slightly smug feeling of satisfaction that rumbled through his chest as he watched you glow with pleasure before ducking his head. 

“I think that's all you, darling. I can't help it - not with the effect you have on me.” Steven mumbled, a soft and embarrassed grin tugging at his lips even whilst they trailed high over your shin to the crease behind your knee - rising up, up ,up to explore the warm skin of your inner thigh as his fingers swirled delicate little patterns at your ankle. 

He couldn't stop touching you, couldn't feed the ache fast enough that came with needing to do it more than he already was. 

And when his other hand swept the length of your leg to stroke over your belly you made a playful grab for it and brought it to your lips, eyes shining down at him at the way his lashes fluttered and his expression turned smitten before you tugged at him. Pulling him up your body until his jeans were scraping at your skin and his mouth was surrendering once more to yours in a syrup sweet kiss that burned deeper, more feverish, the longer it lasted. 

Steven let you wind around him, let you urge him closer and closer until he was crushing you against the door at your back- wood slippery with condensation. 

He let you roll your hips into his own and finally allowed himself to chase the pleasure with you as it renewed its intensity, let the thick outline of his cock rock against you until you were groaning into each other's mouths. Hands knotted in his hair and pearl-white teeth grazing the plush of his lip when you drew back to murmur. 

“I want you inside me– want to make you feel good- want to show you the effect you have on me.” 

It sent a shock through him - ripped a low, guttural moan straight from his lungs that was followed by a heat-soaked curse that you took from him just as readily as you had everything else he'd given so far. 

He didn't even blink before asking. “Can you say that again?” 

You licked your lips and grinned, breath stuttering as he continued to move against you, fingers digging hard into the meat of your ass whilst you clung to him. “I need you inside me or I'm gonna lose my mind, it's all I've thought about for months - the way you'd feel- how you'd fuck me- oh gods.” 

Another desperate noise. “Fucking hell. Again. Please.” 

This time he didn't try to stop you when you reached for the last article of clothing keeping his body separated from yours.

There was the sharp clink of metal as you tore your hands from his hair to wrestle with his belt, your fingertips slipping over the leather whilst you fought to tug it free from the loops of his jeans before it fell to the tiled floor with a quiet thud and a clank. 

And then you were pushing his jeans down just far enough until he was able to shakily kick them off. His heart in his mouth as he straightened, utterly naked before you apart from the shadows that slanted over his skin. 

He felt a flicker - the ghosts of his insecurity passing over his face before he could blow them away like cobwebs- and prayed that you wouldn't notice. That you wouldn't mistake his hesitation for something else and even consider it to be directed at you. 

But instead it seemed that you understood.

Your hands found his jaw and you drew him into a kiss that ached. A lovely, bruising thing that had him melting into you, any insecurities fleeing so fucking far away that he could barely remember what they felt like. 

You held him as tightly as you could and hummed in delight against his lips when he did the same and crushed you to his chest, the sound of it morphing into something needy as his cock throbbed, hot and smearing slick against your hip. 

“I want you, Steven, I don't have the perfect words to explain just how much right now… just know that I need you so badly it hurts– it's hurt from the moment I met you and I don't think it'll ever stop no matter how much I might have you.” 

Gods, you were threatening to undo him. 

You had said you didn't have the perfect words and then given him everything he had dreamed of. Everything he thought he would die still wanting and never get to hear. 

Steven swallowed hard, throat bobbing, and then he was bending down to lift you in his arms, the strength of a god thrumming through his muscles and large hands gripping beneath your thighs as you wound your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Clutching needily at him whilst he peppered your face with sweet, breathless kisses. 

“You can have me whenever you want,” he pressed the words into your jaw, the damp warmth of your cheeks as he walked you into the shower, murmuring the next ones over and over until the rush of the water threatened to drown them out, “I’m yours.” 

You went soft for him in the cradle of his arms at that. Stripped down to your barest bones in the face of his raw emotion and it made his heart flutter and thump all too fast behind his ribs when your voice trembled on a sigh his name, so sweet and lovely. 

Beneath the luke-warm spray and with cold tile at your back, you drew him closer, nudged your nose tenderly against his own and touched him as he fought to commit it all to memory. The way he felt - burning with each and every stroke of hand, each part of him alight as you murmured beautiful affections against his mouth - at the intimacy of it all. 

The image of you that he was sure not even in death could take from him when it eventually came - eyes bright as jewels, lips swollen with his kisses, all lush, silken skin that shone under the weak stream of light the evening had yet to swallow. Droplets of water clinging to your hair and lashes like crystals.

You looked like something ethereal, something otherworldly and untouchable, and the privilege he felt in being the one to see you that way, to contribute to the way you were a gorgeous mess, felt like something holy. 

It was almost too much and Steven hissed sharply through his teeth when you finally guided him into you, a whimper caught in his chest and eyes screwed shut as you lowered yourself down inch by inch until his hips met yours.

He felt like he was on fire, the warmth that had been blooming in his gut morphing into something violent and unimaginable that had his body tensing as he struggled not to finish before he’d even started. Head falling against your shoulder just before he felt your lips brush against his temple, parting on a rushed exhale. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “fuck, Steven.”

At least, it seemed that you were in just as bad shape as he was. He’d probably say something similar if he could remember how to speak. 

But his mind had splintered. Shattered apart to fragments and the only thing he could focus on was the way you were surrounding him- all slick, tight heat and the overwhelming sensation that burst through his chest of all his lost pieces suddenly slotting into place, like you were a part of his soul he wasn’t aware he was missing until you were finally joined once more. 

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute.” He stuttered, voice hoarse and eyes blown wide, endlessly dark when he peered up at you. Half adoring, half pleading. “I want to make it good for you, you just feel so–gods, you feel too good.” 

He could only moan when you kissed him, a filthy sound that would have had his cheeks flushing scarlet had he not been so out of his mind.

Could only stare at you like you were pure magic taken form - no god or pact needed for whatever it was running through your veins - as you threaded your fingers through his hair and whispered. “It’s okay, Steven, it’s okay. It’s already so good, christ–you feel amazing, just let go for me, I want to feel it.” 

It made his desperation threaten to win over. Head spinning as he dragged himself back out of you before surging back in, tightening his grip on your ass and lifting you up higher so he could do it again and again and again. Each thrust sliding you further up the tiles and pulling a strangled noise from the back of your throat that he quickly stole with greedy lips moulded over your own. 

It started slow, deliberate and devastating, and then turned faster. Needier and unrestrained. The sound of panting breaths and skin on skin rising above the dull roar of water pelting against the tiled floor. Open mouthed kisses that were forced to come to an end because all the oxygen felt like it had fled both of your lungs, punched out everytime you slammed yourself down to meet the frantic rolling of his hips. 

Steven had never felt anything like it and it was dangerously close to annihilating him completely. 

There were wicked bolts of something animalistic, a feral rush of desire, threatening to weaken his knees and you gasped in surprise, legs clenching tight at his waist, when he moved to hold you with just one arm banded around across your back as his other hand slammed against the wall for support. 

It changed the angle that he speared into you with and with the next thrust that came you were sobbing for him, seizing up like he’d plunged into the heart of your pleasure and pierced it - letting it flow out to the farthest reaches of you until you were curling into the solid press of him against you. Fingers in his hair and teeth searing a mark into his shoulder. 

“Steven,” you whimpered and fuck, you sounded just as overwhelmed by it as he felt. Shaking in his arms as the heat wrapping around you both grew and grew. “Steven, Steven, Steven.”

It made him choke on his tongue, eyes rolling back at the way you were clenching around him as his thrusts became deeper, greedier. His cock harder than it had ever been whilst you made a mess of his stomach and his thighs and Steven couldn’t get enough.

He was so close to losing his mind, so close to devouring you entirely and begging you to ruin him because every sound you made, every sweet little uh,uh,uh that tumbled past your lips was unlocking something wild tucked deep inside him that he was helpless to rein back. That had him babbling nonsense, incoherent words that dripped down on you like scalding hot honey. 

And then he latched his mouth to your nipple, relishing the way you jerked as he flicked his tongue and scraped his teeth across the peak until you mewled before trailing a path of fire up to your collar bones and then higher again to the tender skin of your throat. Sucking a kiss there that had you keening and shone like a bruise when he drew back to meet your burning stare.

“Touch yourself.” Steven begged, more than a little desperate because you were so tight around him and he was so fucking close. Stomach quivering and flooding with golden heat. “Want you to show me– want to see how you touched yourself all those times you thought about this.” 

You nodded slowly as if dazed by the request, lips parted and eyes gleaming dark. But you were quick to comply. Quick to thrust a shaky hand down to where he was fucking up into you, to the crest of your sex where you were soaked and scorching like a furnace, and once you were there, your fingers drew quick, sloppy circles to your clit that had you throwing your head back with a loud cry of his name whilst he watched, lust drunk and in awe. 

“Shit, shit shit.” Each word that bubbled its way up your throat was ragged, edging on breathless as your back arched like a bow. “Steven, oh my god, I’m gonna–”

He surged up before you could finish, hand tearing away from the wall to tangle itself in your wet hair so he could drag your mouth to his and kiss you as you came. Holding you fiercely in place and groaning against your lips, swallowing down your own noises whilst your cunt fluttered around him, convulsing over and over until his movements grew frantic and messy. Warmth pulsing brightly in his groin and his stomach and his too tight chest. 

It was too much - he was bordering on delirious. Everything was hot and wet and he was wound so tight that any moment it felt like he’d explode.

Burst apart like confetti.

It took every ounce of strength he had to stave off his own release so he could extend yours by letting the frantic rhythm of his snapping thrusts morph into a slow, intense grind that stole the breath from your chest and made it feel like he was melding himself to your body. Like you were burying into each other so deep that you would never truly be able to remove the imprint of the other afterwards. 

There was a flash of pain from your nails scratching down his scalp and across the broad sweep of his shoulders, teeth scoring the softness of his bottom lip whilst shudders wracked your frame and it startled him. The low, starving noise it drew from his mouth.

It knocked him flat when you drew the stinging flesh into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the marks you had left behind, and began to raise and lower yourself up and down on his cock that little bit faster despite the way he could feel the muscles of your thighs trembling around his waist. 

And when you cupped his cheeks, eyes burning with a wicked hunger whilst you whispered against his mouth, Steven was utterly lost. 

“C’mon Steven, let go,” you encouraged him, voice wrecked. Desperate. “Want you to come for me, want to feel it, please.”

He fell apart for you then, crashed into bliss with his arms winding achingly tight around you as his hips stuttered and then came to an almost stop, twitching desperately and fused unyieldingly to your own. His vision going dark and your name like a prayer that he gasped into your skin over and over. 

And when it all eventually calmed, the crashing of his heart beat against his ribs and your chaotic breaths, the exhaustion had him almost falling to the shower floor with you. Both of you slipping down the wall just an inch or two before he managed to right himself on weak legs to the sound of your startled laugh. 

It wasn’t until he had set you down and moved to clean you up, massaging with gentle hands and tender sweeping kisses all the places that he’d gripped so tightly, the places where you were starting to bare his marks that had him frowning apologetically, that it finally hit him that the shower was running cold.

You were both being pelted with what felt like tiny shards of ice against your rapidly cooling skin and you snorted a laugh when he yelped in shock and immediately dragged you out of there, eyeing him with a sticky-sweet kind of affection as he snatched the thickest towel he could kind and wrapped it around you before pulling you close in an attempt to warm you up. 

The way you were looking up at him was making his chest ache, filling his lungs up with an adoring kind of wonder, the kind that sprouted wildflowers and soft vines that breached through all his organs to wrap around his ribs. Suffocating him in the best way with just how much he was in love with you. 

It made it impossible for him not to ask. “Can I kiss you?”

And if he thought that you would laugh at him considering everything that had just happened, that only moments ago he’d been buried inside you, then he was delighted to be proven wrong. Because you were beaming at him the second the question rushed past his lips, eyes sparkling in the near dark of the tiny, damp bathroom. 

“Please.” 

So he kissed you like he’d always wanted to the first time, slipping his fingers through the wet tangle of your hair to cradle your head whilst his lips pressed sweetly and almost shy  against your own.

It unfurled like it held its own magic, the type that could stop time and make him feel like he was floating, tingles rushing all through his body until he was lightheaded and needed to draw back before he lost his breath to the irresistible pull of it all. 

You just stood leaning into one another for a while, foreheads resting together, noses nudging each other lazily alongside the occasional soft brush of lips.

And then you were wrapping him up in a towel of his own and leading him to the bed, using an extra towel to carefully dry him with a reverence that had his heart flip flopping in his chest and a blush rise high on his cheeks.

He melted when you kissed him, little butterfly presses to his arms and chest before you pulled a clean sweater over his head, his thighs and his hips when he lifted them for you to pull his sweatpants on. 

And once Steven had returned the favour, he was drawing you to him in the middle of the bed, your back to his chest and the food that had long gone cold balanced precariously on the blanket pooled around you both.

He fed you bites of chorizo and feta fries, coated in herbs and sprinkled with pomegranate, whilst an old movie played and when those three words fell from his lips, without thought and as easy as breathing, Stevens was no longer afraid. 

No longer felt in over his head. 

He murmured against your hair. “I love you.” And swallowed the lump that threatened to form in his throat when you turned and smiled, your fingers touching his face like he was something precious you had spent a lifetime yearning for before giving him the answer to a question he’d always thought he’d have to ignore for the rest of his life to save his own heart. 

“I love you too.” 

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Hi, I’m the one who asked for a fluff request yesterday. And, you told me to request on this blog.

would it be possible to request for a fluff ares x reader where he has a massive crush on the reader but he’s too shy to admit it bcs she’s just so perfect and she’s sought after by many gods. Lucky for him, she has a crush on him as well?

And once again, I apologize if it’s too much to ask :)

Hi! I did make a couple of changes to the scenario, but I hope you will like this rendition of Ares with a haganzeuka!fem!reader :)

Special thanks to @radioactivesweet for bouncing off ideas to me and @yellow-snark for being honest with their feedback!

Ares adored Aphrodite. From the moment he set his gaze upon her that fateful day in Mount Olympus, they were fated to be together. Love and War, forever entwined even when their tumultuous relationship had been fractured over and over for centuries, finding comfort in the arms of others. But now…well, Ares was tired. He had long since grown weary of the goddess’ vanity and manipulations, especially the former.

Why would she still get into an argument with Athena, Freya, or any other goddess on who is the most beautiful being in the universe, he had no idea. Had his opinion not been enough? He wooed her with gifts, sang praises of her loveliness and dedicated any victories in his battles to her.  And yet it still wasn’t enough for her, who wanted the entire world, nay, the universe to kneel at her feet. 

Henceforth, he and Aphrodite were no longer romantically involved. Strangely enough, instead of isolating himself from the Greek pantheon to lament the loss of Aphrodite’s affection, his sorrow was soon forgotten when his armorer [First Name] arrived at the steps of his temple, asking if she may enter. She was here to deliver his spear and the new custom-made gauntlets that Ares ordered to replace his old ones. 

As an apprentice who worked in Hephaestus’ workshop, [First Name] was allowed to have the other gods as clients but never to aid him in his projects without explicit permission. Even after all of these centuries, Aphrodite’s husband is still a picky artist. 

The war god immediately allowed her to come inside, instructing his guest to leave her offering of plum wine in front of his statue before following him inside further into the temple. The wind chimes attached to her wide brimmed hat created a pleasant ‘ching’ sound as she walked down the marble hallway in her sandaled feet. It made [First Name] less…intimidating. 

Her fashion sense wasn’t horrid per se, though she did appear intimidating with the lower half of her face concealed by a bronze mask shaped in the muzzle of a Chinese guardian dog. Her [Hair Color] tresses were either pulled back and tucked under a black handkerchief or let loose because she had been too focused on her craft that she forgot to take care of herself again. 

Although Ares had expected the armorer to immediately leave once he was satisfied with his equipment, she stayed with him for a bit longer. She did not talk much; she was more of a listener, and she listened to him talk about Aphrodite, then rant about other things until he saw Apollo’s chariot ride across the blue hazy skies. He apologized profusely for taking up her time, but [First Name] brushed it off with a small smile and said to contact her again if he needed anything else done for him or his men before exiting the temple. 

It was after the armorer left that Ares noticed a cluster of pretty stones sitting right next to the offering. He didn’t know why or how…but the war god supposed that was when he began falling for her. 

Like everyone else in Olympus.

But this time, he had an advantage over his competition. Ares knew what she liked and disliked, even what day of the week when Hephaestus' workshop was not too busy to drop in for a surprise visit...only to discover that his sweet little armorer had an incredibly short temper as he did.

“HOW DARE YOU LOSE YOUR SWORD, YOU FOOL?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO LOOK FOR THE CAVE THAT POSSESS AN EXTREMELY DURABLE ORE, WHICH MIGHT PREVENT YOUR SWORD FROM BREAKING AFTER WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME?!  FOUR MONTHS OF SEARCHING, GONE TO WASTE! THAT’S IT! DIE! DIE TEN THOUSAND TIMES AND REFLECT ON YOUR ACTIONS!!” [First Name] roared, [Eye Color] orbs glowing in fury as she chased after the terrified client around the workshop with a cleaving knife, ignoring everything and everyone else around her. 

Including him.

Ares sighed softly, glancing down at the bouquet and the bag of sweets he was carrying. Perhaps he should have gotten mitarashi dango instead of cupcakes? She loved sweets, but which one would calm her down long enough for him to profess his desire to court her?

[kalena-henden]

(Pandora's) Box provided sage guides in the form of love interests. As I mentioned previously, Hongjo was able to open the box by saying, "Please, can you come?", out loud while thinking about Jaekyung being there to help her. With all of the questioning he's done both to Hongjo and Shinyu regarding their relationship and the preview next week showing that he's been told about the love spell, I realized he is the guide for their relationship to make themselves ask the hard questions, reflect on what they truly feel and lead them to action towards each other. Jaekyung is there to help her just like she magically asked. After she first opened the box, Jaekyung rejected her love confession, even though we learn later that he does indeed like her but feels he's too cold and odd to be good for her. However, Jaekyung's rejection is the very thing that compels her to cast the first spell to begin her journey towards her fate that is entwined with Shinyu. Even in this, Jaekyung was unknowingly her guide to help her do exactly what she needed to do at the right time.

It may be a cruel fate for a sage guide to be a love interest (almost as cruel as it is to be a Second Male Lead) but people need a reason to care for and meddle in someone else's life. If you're not family, a longtime friend or co-worker, or a wise old person sought out for advice then love interest is most reasonable choice. But I did say sage guides, plural, because there is another one.

Kim Wook (forever Imoogi in our hearts) has unwittingly become a sage guide for Shinyu's parents. With the opening of (Pandora's) box, all hell has broken loose and whatever curse was put on their family is in flux. It appears the curse could be temporarily curbed if you truly fall in love as Shinyu's parents did since his mom was an actress and not the normal choice for a respectable rich wife. They noted at the beginning how his dad and grandfather were bucking the trend in not dying young. It was also interesting how his father met with Nayeon separately to convince her to stay by his son's side despite the fact that he broke up with her. I'm sure this was in an attempt to save his son's life by keeping Shinyu's love by his side to curb the curse. Though he doesn't know Shinyu and Nayeon have never truly loved each other.

Which brings us back to Shinyu's parents' marriage falling apart after the box was opened because their love is entwined with the family curse. It is likely that with Shinyu's mom's love wavering for her husband, his health will start to rapidly decline. His stomach being too upset to go stargazing with his wife might have been the start of it. While their fate is tied to the outcome of whether Shinyu and Hongjo's relationship is able to break the curse, they also have their own things to work through in parallel. And like Hongjo, Shinyu's mom called up her own sage guide to help with her issues in lawyer and potential love interest Kim Wook, whom she's now running into coincidentally as well.

The Villainess Trio. Our villains are now emerging. From the beginning we had the horrible Haum Construction CEO Lee Hyunseo, now back and making shady deals with Onju's corrupt mayor, who is also the father of Nayeon, Shinyu's two-faced, vain girlfriend who's in charge of the latest Onju city project they are all working on. Shinyu left his prestigious law firm to fight corporate corruption, especially against Haum. This will now pit him directly against his girlfriend and her father.

Which bring us to their past lives and the origin of the curse. It's safe to say that the past is repeating itself with a chance to change the outcome in the present since this is clearly a reincarnation story. This means many people from the past are together in the present, including the villains who won the first time around. Nayeon joked that she was a princess in a past life. With her father mayor in the present, it would not be shocking if her father was previously a king and his daughter a princess, desperate to get her way and marry a handsome nobleman, Shinyu in his past life. He wasn't interested in her so she had a shaman put a curse on him, that he needed to fall in love to survive. Only to be thwarted by Shinyu falling in love with a court lady, Hongjo in her past life. So Princess Nayeon had her father's loyal henchman, Haum CEO in his past life, kill Court Lady Hongjo, who died in the arms of her love, Nobleman Shinyu, reaching up to caress his cheek with her bloody hand to comfort him with her final breaths. But after Court Lady Hongjo died, he still refused Princess Nayeon and died young. Unfortunately, the curse didn't just apply to him but included his entire family line. Obviously this a speculation, but I've seen enough reincarnation stories to have a rough notion of how this plays out. Facts are that Shinyu has been dreaming about his past life, saw and chased a vision of Hongjo in a court lady hanbok through the Changdeokgung Palace, and has a comforting bloody hand of one whom he killed haunting him because of his family's death curse. The rest we'll find out soon enough.

[sharpace]

Hi! Can you please enlighten me about the divorce era in crank it universe? Will they have a divorce and reunion there? And if yes, will you draw it?

Hello!! Yes, I can!

ABOUT THE DIVORCE ERA

The short of it is it’s meant to reflect the canon “Divorce Era” between Jayce and Viktor but… like ridiculous and sad.

The long of it, Jayce and Viktor grow in their success and eventually turn their little computer building and gaming (mostly gaming channel) into a company proper. With the new resources and sudden stress, their relationship slowly chipped away until all that was left was resentment and moving through the motions and… a really explosive fight that lead to the separation. But for the sake of comedy, they live across the hall from each other and refuse to be the one who signs for the divorce so they never sign but keep instigating paperwork at one another.

WILL THEY REUNITE?

They will reunite! I think the divorce era was the result of realizing you got together quickly and young and then proceeded to spend over a decade 24/7 together without ever hashing out what “helping kids like we were” truly definitively meant. So the time apart was needed to create an individual identity and untangle their life goals from one another. But the relationship would look a lot different than it looks in Crank It since one of my “rules” for writing Crank It is they “love each other no matter what” with the intent that they’re entwined in each other 24/7 even when only one appears. Whereas I think the reunion era would be more blunt, mature, and generally like two individuals coexisting instead of two people existing as one.

WILL YOU DRAW IT?

Oh ho! A tricky question. Yes and no. So I do really love microwaving the Divorce Era (and I love draw them as old cranky men) and I have some written pieces and comics BUT Crank It is such a safe space for so many people, that I wouldn’t want to cross them over and jettison everyone into weekly angst.

However!

Any comics I’ve made, are available to members on my Ko-Fi and I am working on an illustrated timeline of the divorce era going through the major moments starting from their wedding day all the way to their reunion. This will also go up on my Ko-Fi. I’m debating on how I want to release it so 👀 I’d recommend keeping an eye out for when that official announcement rolls through.

And some old men for you! Thanks!

[multiplicationdivision]

Jackson loved the state NCBA meeting.

Every rancher from across the state gathering in some backwoods town in Arizona. Owners and shareholders flocking together to discuss price rates and production and wages. Jackson represented his local union, making himself vocal for their rights and fair wages. Knowing deep in his heart and soul the wants and needs of every man he represented.

You see, Jackson didn’t exist for most of the year.

Every fourth friday of every third month, the cowboys of Jacksonville, Arizona gather for beers after work. They’d slam a few with each other, getting well and good wasted as they celebrated the coming weekend.

Drunken rough housing and wrestling would become more physical as they wandered to one of the many empty barns. Pushing and laughing, men with girlfriends or even wives letting it all be forgotten as their camaraderie escalated to something much much more.

Their Union organizer Hunter would start with their new hires, the younger men confused and intoxicated by the energy of the group. There was nothing closer than this Union and they would be taught that.

Hunter would embrace them, holding them stable as he stripped them of their clothes. Men who had never been touched by another man now eagerly allowing him to slowly insert himself into them. Rough rhythm losing its weight as they found themselves melting together.

Hunter melding with the new recruits, showing them the incredible worth of their union dues. Their faces merging together into a composite that was so much more handsome than the man they were apart. The new man hardly waiting a second after he became stable to grab and insert himself into the next man, all while the crowd of well experienced men cheered him on.

It would go on like that for hours, Jackson slowly gathering his parts as he absorbed more and more men into his being. Collecting the excited men who were happy to become him again, happy to be Jackson.

At the end of the night, with only Steven left, Jackson smiled. Steven was a thirty year old farmhand who’d made an impact on every man that Jackson was. A handsome man who always had the time, always there when they needed extra muscle or a competent hand.

The younger men all wanted to be him, jacked and rugged. It left Jackson needing the same, holding down this integral part of his soul and body as he reintegrated him. Feeling Steven’s skin meld into his muscles entwining together. Kissing the man as their heads merged together, the memories and personality of Steven joining with the rest of his Union in perfect unity.

Jackson would lay there on the ground, amidst a straw floor covered in barn clothes and boots. Panting as he savored himself, the new parts of himself loving his strength and body as the old parts of himself rejoiced at having it again. Taking his time as he searched the barn’s mass of clothing for something that would fit his new frame. He’d look at himself in the mirror later and study how his face had changed since last month. Staring long and hard before he took one of his many trucks down to the site of the meeting. Check himself into a motel and enjoy the night.

He got real work done during those meetings, an absolute juggernaut for improving the conditions that he experienced in a hundred lives every day. Shane’s boots and Cliff’s jeans settled comfortably on him as he walked with more confidence than anyone on the floor. Using his lifetimes of experience to easily sweet talk and intimidate for what he wanted Then at night, he would use that same experience to reward himself for time well spent, with whatever his eclectic mess of sexualities desired at the time.

This time wasn’t just for the financial benefit of the many pieces of Jackson, but for the relationships. Jackson loved himself and put the time and work into making that known each time he came into being. Jackson loving himself was the Union loving each other, as brothers, friends and lovers.

When the meeting concluded, Jackson would drive home singing their favorite country songs. He didn’t fear his inevitable separation, he loved living every separate life inside of him. He’d be back anyways, sooner rather than later.

Union elections were coming up, and who better to choose than Jackson himself.

Photo by @ricardolima

[silvery-bluish]

Tell us about Ars, Danny, and Ricardo? What are they like together? Does Ars act differently around Danny as they do Ric? Where do they all stand at the end of Retri?

Haha oh we’re inviting walltext. Sorry for the delay, this took me a few days to write out LOL dropping it beneath a cut bc it's pretty long.

tldr: ricardo means a lot to them and has always meant a lot to them, but theyre real bad at communicating. Daniel makes them better at communicating in some ways but they're very aware they fucked that up before it started. They're stuck in Ortega's apartment and theyre gonna implode dramatically.

Arsinoe and Ricardo have the weight of their past behind them, the 8-odd years of being at its complicate (with a break to be presumed dead) has comfort to it, Ricardo’s part of their normal, it’s like falling back into orbit when they’re near him. But there’s lots of things left unsaid, undefined, unclarified, because they felt they COULDNT in the old days and they certainly feel like they can’t now. Which is part of why they spend most of Retri avoiding him, whoops.

I think Ricardo’s afraid to push them too hard to clarify, these days, bc that might make them run again, and he wasn’t ready to push for things like publicly officially dating, in the Sidestep days. They trust each other in ways that are practically automatic at this point. They’d die for each other. They keep assuming they’re on the same page when they’re in entirely different books.

Arsinoe and Daniel sure don’t have that inertia behind them, so in some ways it’s easier to talk plainly? Daniel’s earnest bluntness and mental openness make Ars answer in kind. It's easier, smaller, maybe, for now, not as entwined as their relationship is with Ricardo, but that's safer, in some ways? They like his determination, his Decision to see the best in people.

They do have the, uh, fact that Arsinoe is So Very Aware that they fucked up his knee at the gala, because at the time he hadn't made it to the list of people they give a shit about and they'd decided that hurting him was the fastest way to be sure he wouldn't get in their way again. Whoops. This affects their interaction with him in two main ways-- they're pretty constantly worrying that they're taking advantage of the fact that he doesn't know - which is also kinda true - and they're hyperaware of not wanting to hurt him again, in a way that means they probably back off a little too fast when they're training which probably makes Daniel think they're going easy on him, sometimes?

So. They won't commit to anything real and firm and solid with either of them, because Arsinoe is very aware that the villain situation means anything they're building right now is going to inevitably fall apart except oops! car crash!! ortega knows theyre a regene and the world didnt end! Arsinoe's staying in Ortega's apartment, because it would feel like taking too much advantage of Daniel to stay in his apartment, and they don't want to leave Los Diablos to get to the Ranch, and Ricardo's apartment has been something like safe for them before so maybe it's safe now--

(They're rapidly running out of excuses to avoid talking about their relationships. I want them to villain reveal before they get anything firmed up relationship-wise, because they are-- very stressed out about building something they want and having it ripped away from them, inevitably. Safer not to name it. Probably going to accidentally imply to the guys theyre ready for a poly relationship talk and then actually hit them with the villain reveal. Sorry All.)

[angrelysimpping]

Man, this one is so fucking mushy

Also! This is Danny's biggest fantasy :3

Warnings: outdoor sex; extra mush; mentions of being caught; mentioned past: age gap relationships, cheating, death, abduction, noncon, possession

M!OC x friend's M!OC uwu

Aksel and Joaquim belong to 💜@inkyquince💜

Words: ~1.1k

Danny was young, in the grand scheme of things. He knew that. He knew that when he bedded a 60-year-old man. He knew that when his parents died and left him pretty much on his own. He knew that when he felt like his life was crashing down around him when he found his only monogamous relationship was crumbling because of cheating. 

He knew when he delved deep into the occult. He knew when a voice whispered in his ear how to carve out a better life for himself. He knew when he picked his target, when he lured that man into a secluded building, when he painted the room red with blood.  

Young. Too young. Too young to get possessed. Too young to get kidnapped. Too young to get tortured and assaulted, over and over. Too young to feel Aksel's teeth in his neck or cock carving out his insides. 

Just 22, whole life ahead of him. 

But, this was definitely the best fucking day of his life. 

"God, f-fuck, you feel so fucking good." Danny's words are slurred, legs locked around Joaquim’s hips and back pressed against cool grass as he's fucked into. 

One of those lovely hands is planted on either side of Danny’s head, loose strands of red hair brushing against his face and carrying the scent of raspberries. Beautiful, Danny thinks dimly, he’s so fucking beautiful. 

It’s then that the fat head of Joaquim’s cock hits his prostate, back arching sharply and a loud, unrestrained moan ripping from his throat.

"Dankovsky," Joaquim laughs, breathless, Danny's nails digging into his shoulders. "Get any louder and you'll attract an audience."

"I h-hope I draw a, fuck, a fucking crowd. Let them a-all see how, ah, g-good you fuck me.”

Joaquim laughs again, a sweet sound that rings like church bells in Danny’s head and makes him shiver in pleasure just as much as if Joa had wrapped a strong hand around Danny’s neglected, dribbling cock. Danny smiles himself, turning his head to press a kiss to Joa's wrist.

"H-hey, hold on a moment."

Joaquim stills, brows furrowing as he frowns. “Someone here?” He cocks his head to the side, listening. Even with the threat of being stumbled upon in an isolated, out-of-the-way meadow, Joaquim still stays pressed against him, cock keeping him so wonderfully full. 

“Nah, just hold still, Kimi.”

Smiling softly at the nickname, he keeps still as Danny shifts his weight, keeping one leg locked around his lover as he uses the other to leverage himself off the ground. Joaquim’s grin grows  as Danny flips their positions, now the smaller man sprawled on his back in the soft grass. 

Danny shudders, sun warming his back and Joaquim’s cock pressed deep. This is what he wants. Always. Warmth and…and him. Joaquim. Muscular chest damp with sweat, the golden undertones of his skin contrasting sharply with the nearly dead pale of Danny’s hands as he steadies himself. Danny pauses, staring at his hands pressed against Joaquim. 

Lucky. The thought reverberates in his head. He’s so incredibly lucky everything turned out like this. Captured by some power-hungry cultist wanting to break his spirit and give his body over to the entity he unwillingly housed, thrown into a cell with a blind man and left to rot together. How was he lucky enough that they ended up like this? Out of that horrid place, free. Or, free enough to hike out into the woods and fuck like idiot teens or something. Entwined together. Forever, as far as Danny was concerned. For as long as Joaquim wanted him.

A hand grips his hip, warmth alighting along the markings the entity gave him in a surprisingly pleasurable tingling sensation. Joa’s other hand slides up his side, almost cruelly grinding his thumb against Danny’s pierced nipple. 

“Fuck!” Danny hisses, head tilting back and cock twitching dangerously where it lays heavy against Joaquim’s stomach. 

“C’mon pretty boy,” Joaquim all but purrs, “ride my cock like you’re always begging to.”

“Ha, think you can handle it?”

The smile Joa gives Danny is sharp. It makes his stomach flip. “Oh, I know I can, loverboy. But do you think you can manage to not go overboard?” Joa's thumb grinds into his nipple again, making Danny jerk with a laugh. 

“D-don’t wanna carry me out of the forest?” Slowly, Danny rocks forward, grinding on Joa’s cock and making the tip press deliciously against his insides.  

“If you’re my eyes, I’ll be fine.”

With a sigh, Danny leans forward, chest to chest with his lover. Teasingly, his tongue flicks out, swiping over Joaquim’s lips. He doesn’t get a chance to pull away before a strong hand clamps onto the back of his neck, keeping him in place as Joaquim presses their mouth’s together, tongues twisting together as Danny starts to move his hips, humping Joa’s cock like his life depends upon it. His own cock is pressed between their stomachs, going from being ignored to almost overstimulated. Still, he humps away, fucking himself on Joaquim’s cock.

Even when Joa breaks the kiss, he doesn’t let go of the back of Danny’s neck. “My boy,” the redhead growls, mouth pressed against Danny’s ear. “My fucking boy, aren’t you?”  

“Y-yeah,” Dannay manages to moan out, “yours. A-Always.” 

“Good boy, Dankovsky.”

It’s with a hiss that Danny cums, making a mess out of both of them. Still, he keeps going, hips almost moving on their own.

“Wanna take a break, babe?”

“N-not until you f-fuck me f-full. Wa…want your cum. N-now.”

Danny doesn’t have time to think before he’s on his back again, legs getting pulled up over Joaquim’s shoulders.

“As you wish, princess.”

“My loyal knight, huh?”

Danny’s laugh gets cut off by a loud groan as Joaquim moves, fucking him deeper than before. 

“My love” Joaquim murmurs. “My love, my boy, my everything. Mine. Forever.”

“Yours,” Danny agrees, eyes starting to roll back into his head as he’s slam fucked into the soft ground. “Yours, yours, yours. F-forever.”

With a grunt, Joa cums, fucking Danny through his own orgasm as the taller man writhes under him. 

Slowly Joaquim starts to pull back, cock slipping free from Danny’s puffy hole. He doesn't make it far, though, Danny’s legs locking around him and pulling him back down. 

“Quick break, yeah? Then round two?” 

“You insatiable pervert.”

“Your insatiable pervert.”

Joaquim throws his head back, laughter shaking his body, and it’s all Danny can do not to jump him again, press him back into the grass and guide his still soft cock back inside. He promised a break, after all, and there was plenty of time for Joaquim to fuck the feeling out of his legs.

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of: Orange Blossoms

HP Flowers, Spring Round, 2022. A prompt event with weekly prompt choices inspired by the language of flowers. Of course, I was intrigued! After all: I really love Harry Potter. And I really love flowers. And symbolism. Not to mention this would take place in May, my birth month!! This fandom event seemed tailor made just for me!

Sadly, when I get excited, I get really excited.

And this was all happening in a time period when I was busy. And thus: stressed. And I do not work well under stress.

May 2022 was not only HP Flowers, but also Snarry-a-Thon. Leading up to May, I was pulling out my hair to finish my Snarry-a-Thon fic, Contempt. Not only was I bound and determined to participate in Thon at least once, brilliant me decided it was the perfect time to write the story of my soul. But that's another story (which you can read about here.)

I so had my heart set on writing for HP Flowers. Not just a story in May for HP Flowers, but I had my heart set on posting a Snarry fic for Flowers on my birthday. Which is earlier in the month (the 8th, to be exact.) I was losing hope I'd be able to finish Thon and pop out another fic in time for my birthday. Thon was driving me batty as it was! Surely when I was done I would need a nice, long break from writing.

Fun fact, but I did sneak some of the HP Flowers prompts into Contempt. Week 1, option 4 gave:

4. Ivy- Fidelity or Attachment

If paired with: >> Dahlia- honours a long-lasting relationship OR >> Hellebore- says nothing will ever come between you and your partner

Which directly inspired:

Harry doesn't know exactly where Snape's quarters are, but Snape's name on the map leads him down to the dungeons and a door with no handle. Engravings in the stone, of serpents entwined with ivy and dahlias. No lilies, Harry is pleased to note. A speech bubble appears on the map, helpfully suggesting "hellebore" as a password.

If I couldn't properly write for HP Flowers, I thought that would have to be good enough!

But you're not here to listen to me babble about Contempt yet again. You're here for Orange Blossoms.

Well, I finished and submitted Contempt and there was time left before my birthday. I kept a notebook where I scribbled various ideas. There was plenty I wanted to write for HP Flowers. I had the whole month's prompts written down, going over various combinations and ships and ideas. Above all else, I needed a Snarry, and I needed to write it for May 8.

For Snarry, I was mostly drawn to the Week 1 prompts, though my birthday fell at the start of Week 2. The "ivy" prompt drew me in more than anything, though I dabbled with others. What to do, what to do. I had too many options and too many paths available to me. Few concrete plans.

It was frustrating, not to be swarmed with actual ideas. I'm forever plagued by story ideas, but having to form ideas on command, to fit within a framework? Not my usual style. Only for love of Snarry + flowers was I wracking my brain for any workable idea. C'mon, brain, you can do it! You do this all the time, popping out story ideas!!

It's hard to really lay out a step by step of how it all came together. I made list after list. Threw down Merlin knows how many random thoughts. I stared at the prompt lists. I did Google Image searches for all the flowers. And bit by bit it came together.

It was the language of flowers, after all. How perfectly that lends itself to courtship! And the Week 1 prompt list had an option for: "Use all of the flowers/plants listed above to either celebrate Beltane or to incorporate them in a magical garden." Beltane was too tempting not to include, but it also gave me the idea of looking to the other sabbats, and how to entwine paganism with the Wizarding World.

That birthed The Old Ways; an idea that various pagan traditions began with magical folk, and is part of Wizarding history. And how history and traditions can be sources of structure and comfort. Wartime drove people to marry. (Bill and Fleur, Arthur and Molly; Molly's comments about people eloping "left, right, and center.")

How would it feel to be away from your family, living at school while war rages on outside? A strange sense of safety (being at Hogwarts) while aware of how dark and dangerous the real world (outside of Hogwarts) is. Think of how hard it would be on children and teenagers. Think of how people turn to faith in difficult times; or even find faith in difficult times.

All of this sort of inspired the trend at Hogwarts, of learning about and following The Old Ways.

All of that was background, of course, and my very convenient excuse for love confessions via flowers.

At some point, I had to decide who would be courting who via flowers. If Severus sent them, Harry would need an outsider source (probably Hermione) to point out that "hey, flowers have meaning!" If Harry sent them, well, I can see Severus having floriography knowledge, but Harry would need a valid excuse to start it in the first place (hence the trend.)

There was also a need for secrecy, I think, if Harry was going to do this. He's our bold Gryffindor, remember? In ideal circumstances, he would make his move in other ways. (Though, in fairness, getting through Severus' thick skull is no easy task, whichever way you go.) And isn't it fun for a student/teacher romance, exchanging intimate confessions in whatever method possible? And this is the language of flowers. No letters to be found and studied and traced back to the sender.

I always love a good student/teacher, I won't lie. And there's something quite sweet about Severus being courted. And by a student, no less!

And I do love Severus. And he deserves nice things. Let the man be wooed, dang it!

So, the jumbled mess in my head more or less sorted itself out along the way. "Floriography...courtship...who courts who?...what reason would each have for sending flowers?...Beltane, the Old Ways, traditions and trends...wartime, student/teacher..." At last, I was getting there!

Elsewhere in my notes, I'd had vague ideas of handfasting at Beltane.

And looking at my more solid plan, it occurred to me. The taboo nature of their love, the darkness of the war around them...but the light of their love, and the sweetness in the method...

I often rely on sex to get Snarry together. There is so much explosive passion between them, and so much baggage, so much of who they are as individuals, how others see them, and their complicated and antagonistic history...It takes a lot, I think, for them to see their connection for what it is. To accept it in themselves, let alone revealing it to the other. All of that aggression and intensity unleashing itself in a physical manner. And all of my headcanons about each of them, and their loneliness, and their trauma, and the desire for affection and physical touch. And how much easier it is to communicate via touch. How difficult words can be, how difficult thoughts can be. All this to say, there is a reason for it.

But here, I had a perfectly constructed a scenario excluding touch almost altogether. A time of war, a time of desperation. People being driven by fear, and clinging to what they can. Two men who found love in the most unlikely of places, in an unfortunate time.

It seemed wasteful to bring sex into a situation where it wasn't needed.

So: it's rated T. And I indulged in my more romantic side for this. It's still easier for these two to communicate without actual words, but instead of physical touch, I relied on gift giving. It was a fun change of pace. And I leaned into the language of flowers a lot. I used the HP Flowers prompts, yes, but I also went outside of it, too.

A whole courtship without sex, and hardly talking at all. A whole courtship under the noses of all of Hogwarts. A secret they dared not breathe aloud, even to each other.

I have a lot of feelings about Snarry as a ship. The incredible power of their connection, and their love. How it bleeds into everything. And being able to express that in a whole new way was such a beautiful experience.

So with my plan more or less in place, I began. I used two prompts: Hawthorn (hope) and Ivy (fidelity.) So I opened with flowers.

1. Hawthorn- Hope

If paired with: >> Orange blossom- shows hope that the recipient will return your affection

When I began, I was content to have any Snarry + flowers story. I figured I'd get a drabble out of it, if nothing else. I didn't expect a love story that would bring me to tears. I ended up with a story that was so dear to me. The best birthday gift I could have given myself, truly!

[malachitecrows]

I have no coherent writing pieces I've done to post but I do have the most cherished lore for my favourite pair of OC's that I'm just going to put here to show this blog is still active. There's an inherent sort of romanticism with these two, named Vivian and Imarae. I've struggled a bit with making them into the canon end game pairing but I decided today to say well it's my lore and I get to decide what I do with it. Read more about them under the cut

The first character is a (formerly) human man named Vivian Blythe. There's an inherent sort of tragedy to his character that I keep coming back to. Vivian was born in a community that worships the God Islwyn. He had no father, only a mother who was so deeply devoted to the God that she typically ended up neglecting him for her worship. A deeply lonely child who grew into an equally as lonely adult, Vivian struggles with consistent issues regarding depression and feeling unwanted.

For Vivian, his community believed that the vampirism curse their God created was a blessing. Everyone accepted it with open arms, everyone but him. Viewing him as a traitor, the community attacked him and left him for dead. A traveling vampire healer finds him, converting him to a vampire to save his life. She didn't realize it wasn't what he wanted. His reaction to this fact wildly changes how she treats patients on the brink of death from then on out.

Vivian struggles with his new desire to cause mayhem, to hurt people, to use them as food sources. He struggles greatly, until he meets the Goddess of the Moon; Imarae. She takes him under her wing, and eventually appoints him as her priest. While she would like for him to be her saint, she respects his decision to not. Their lives are very entwined together, and their relationship starts off on very friendly terms.

The second character is a crossbreed between a dragon and a human, named Imarae. Imarae is a very special individual, born with the power to wield the moon. It's theorized her birth was one out of necessity, as the planet had no sun or moon until her and her childhood friend Aeyr came into existence. She was a very beloved child, and was very close to Aeyr during her entire childhood.

Much like Vivian, Imarae's life has been very full of expectations other people set for her rather than her own choices. She was expected to ascend to Godhood, expected to marry Aeyr, expected to bear many lesser God children with the God of the Sun. She doesn't realize until she meets Vivian just how much the lack of her personal agency bothers her. She chooses to entwine their lives together, chooses to keep him around.

Aeyr views her friendship with the vampire as a betrayal. He has his own prejudices against creatures such as Vivian, believing all of those who have been cursed should subsequently be killed. Imarae wholeheartedly disagrees; her moon and night is what makes her so defensive and loyal to the creatures of the night. Her loyalty to creatures Aeyr views with disgust is a consistent source of great conflict for the couple.

Eventually, they come to a compromise for Vivian. Aeyr begrudgingly gives him access to his beloved Saint, Sasha. Sasha begins a careful healing process for Vivian, and while it is extremely successful, the vampire completely regresses on his progress when they ultimately die from old age.

The Sun and Moon Gods argue. Vivian has become incredibly dangerous in his grief, spreading indiscriminate carnage and brutally killing dozens. He is unable to deal with the fact that his beloved Goddess is hurting, ultimately vanishing one night in an attempt to spare her suffering. Imarae blames Aeyr, believing that the Sun God secretly had her priest killed. Aeyr's previous behavior, his past attempts to take Vivian's life, do not do any justice for giving her the idea that he had no hand in the vampire's disappearance. She ultimately breaks off their relationship; permanently, and vanishes to find the body of her priest.

Vivian and Imarae reunite years later, and during this time, Vivian has become a creature, known as a Forsaken, that kills for pleasure. To feel some sort of emotion that isn't crushing emptiness. Imarae is relieved he's alive, though holds fear for his psyche when he snaps out of this state. Carefully, she guides him back to his humanity. Ultimately, they realize just how important they are to each other in a way that transcends their previous relationships. I have a series started documenting this healing process I call 'How to Train Your Forsaken' which I need to rewrite but will post here.

They're not entwined by fate outside of Imarae's influence, they're not even soulmates. But the message behind them is they choose to be with each other, even as the Gods who made their souls say they should be with other people. They choose to be together because they give each other some semblance of hope, hope for their individual futures, hope that they will be able to choose whatever they both want in life. They inspire each other in ways their previous partners could not.

Imarae finds, with her new relationship with Vivian, she has power over love. Over soulmates. It's through Vivian she learns she is the patron Deity of Love, in addition to her other domains; moon, night, magic, knowledge. She learns she has always been capable of making choices and not doing what everyone tells her to do, and despite the protests of the entire world, she chooses Vivian.

Likewise, through Imarae, Vivian learns what it's like to be loved. To be wanted. He has more power over his life than he had initially believed, he is capable of making his own choices rather than have them be decided for him. He gains complete self acceptance, and finally is capable of finishing his healing that Sasha had started.

They're my favourite cause they choose to be together, even when the world tells them it's unacceptable. They're my favourite and I can tell cause I keep coming back to them. I love me the trope of Weird Little Guy x Literal Goddess. Top Tier.

[jellybeandrawsthings]

☹️hi i dont usually do this thing where i ask for art/thoughts on things but ive had a super bad day and i was just curious as to what your take on your wounded-on-krypton Kara would be doing with Lena if she hadn't of come out as Supergirl but they still met and fell in love- would Kara just be floating around Lena's apartment during quarantine listening to Lena read books and making her gf tea's and flying out to get her her supplies so Lena would stay safe from getting sick? I really love your art.

aww, I'm sorry u had a bad day, I made a little doodle and tried writing a little story for it as well that should answear your queastion about my scarred!Kara and her relationship with Lena if she didn’t became Supergirl (tho I'm not a writer, so its quality might not be the best)  hopefully it will make u feel even just a little bit better

The first time she met Lena, Kara was going to L-Corp to get a prosthetic replacement from their new Cybernetic Futures program since she kind of destroyed her old one.

Okay, she definitely destroyed her old one, but to be fair, who knew kicking a cement boulder with a prosthetic leg made from human metals but with the force of an angry and very frustrated superpowered being would destroy said metal leg. Really, who could've predicted that?

Walking into the building with warm coffee in hand proved to be more difficult than Kara hoped, her busted prosthetic making her wobble every two steps since she didn't have a spare she could wear - this was the spare - and the slippery tiled floor didn't help. Making her way to the elevator she kept glancing down focusing on her steps, this meant she didn't notice when a woman absorbed in her phone walked straight into her path. On instinct, she relaxed her body as to not harm the human she collided with, unfortunately, that meant she lost her barely-there, to begin with, balance and was sent sprawling onto the floor and her coffee splashing straight at the woman's shirt. Perfect. Just what she needed today.

She had an apology already forming on her lips when she looked up and for the first time noticed the woman, no, the goddess she bumped into. Her hair was black, but when it caught the light it shone deep chestnut brown and cascading down her back, her skin was pale and looked so soft Kara found herself wanting to touch it, her fingers twitching at her sides. The woman's eyes were green, though her right eye seemed to be two shades lighter, more gray than green. She wasn't looking at her currently occupied with taking in the state of her clothes. And Rao, her clothes. The outfit was that of a businesswoman, high heels ready to kill, dark burgundy slacks with a matching suit jacket, loose black tie, and a white shirt. A white shirt that was now covered in Kara's coffee. Oh no. She needed to fix this, like, immediately. The best place to start is with an apology, right?

———————

Lena was having a pretty normal day, all things considered. She should have known her days are never normal. She woke up early, ate a small breakfast, and went to work. There she had meetings with investors from 8 to 11, some paperwork to sign, a small meeting with the head of R&D at 12, and now she finally had enough time to take a break and maybe grab some lunch. With a certain sandwich place in mind, she made her way down to the ground floor and, while answering some last-minute e-mail made her way to the exit of the building.

Before she could even make it halfway to the wide double door, she felt something surprisingly solid and at the same time very wobbly bump into her, and then a sudden warmth and wetness on her chest. Looking down at herself confirmed what she already suspected, someone, spilled coffee on her. Thankfully it was only warm and not scalding hot the last thing she needed right now was dealing with coffee-induced burns. Making sure her shirt was the only thing damaged in the incident, Lena paid no mind to the person who bumped into her, that is until a very apologetic voice started talking to her. From the floor. Looking away from her ruined shirt, she took in the person frantically trying to apologize for spilling coffee on her, at least that's what she thinks the woman was trying to do, seeing as at his point she was rambling a mile a minute.

The woman on the floor looked young, probably around the same age as Lena herself, she had blond wavy hair gathered in a messy ponytail and hidden behind cute square-framed glasses, the bluest eyes she has ever seen. There was a burn scar covering most of the left side of her face and neck and more peeking out from under her shirt. Her left leg ended right below the knee, and the prosthetic she was wearing looked like someone put it under an industrial press and then tried to put it back into shape with a hammer. She was wearing blue sneakers, jean shorts, and a yellow tank top with tiny rainbow dinosaurs on it that gave her an unobscured view of the rippling muscles in her arms as she gesticulated wildly still rambling out something resembling an apology.

Taking it all in Lena came to one conclusion. She's cute. And so with warm coffee drying on her chest and a beautiful woman at her feet, really what else was there for Lena to do other than ask the blonde out on a date.

———————

They moved in together after a year of dating. Alex asked if they were sure, but there wasn't a doubt in their minds that this was what they wanted. It felt right. And they were glad for this decision since a few months later, they and most of the world's population were confined to their homes.

Days in quarantine were spent working from home on their laptops with their legs entwined together and sharing a blanket out of the view of the cameras. When they weren't working they were finding new ways to entertain themselves. Slowly making their way through the classics of fantasy and sci-fi literature, with Kara floating them above the couch and Lena laying on top of her chest reading aloud from her Kindle was how they were spending most of the evenings. During the weekends when there was less work, Lena tried to teach Kara how to bake - with mixed results - and Kara made it her mission to recreate as many childhood experiences Lena missed out on living with the Luthors as possible. Her blanket fort wasn't the most structurally sound, but it sure was cozy. Movie nights were a nightly routine, and cooking dinner together became the most sacred daily ritual neither of them dared or wanted to skip. Weekly game nights through zoom were initiated almost immediately after lockdown and to no one's surprise, Lena and Alex's competitiveness did not lessen with the development of not being in the same room. If anything it became worse. Bets about how long will it take for the two of them to start fighting and accusing each other of cheating were as much a tradition as game nights itself. Most days though were spent working and lounging together with Kara occasionally flying out to pick up supplies they needed. And when one day Kara flew through the balcony with two cats and a dog saying there wasn't enough space in shelters, who was Lena to refuse those cute puppy eyes (it didn't hurt that the dog and cats were adorable as well).