#rating: m

[spacequokka]

In My Bed

Pairing: bf!Jackson x Reader Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Suggestive Rating: M Summary: Jackson fell asleep when he planned to surprise you. Word Count: 0.7k, Request Warnings: dry-humping

After a grueling day at work, all you wanted to do once you got home was shower and get in bed. The never-ending stream of conference calls and meetings punctuated with answering emails left you drained mentally and physically. However, when you opened the front door and spotted a familiar pair of sneakers sitting on the shoe rack, you were immediately invigorated.

Jackson was home!

You all but dropped your stuff on the bench as you kicked off your shoes. It was quiet save for the hum of the ice maker in the freezer. Maybe he was asleep? You tiptoed down the hallway and sure enough, the light of your life was laid out across the bed on his stomach using his arms as a pillow. His expression was a picture of serenity as he snuggled your favorite hoodie. Your heart swelled with affection. How does he continue to surprise you with his cute little habits?

There was no telling how long he’d been home, but you needed your hugs and kisses. You crawled over to his side and laid beside him, gently prying his hands away from his head then forcing your way against his chest. In the midst of your shuffling, he woke up groggy and sluggish as he registered what was going on.

“You’re home?” He blinked slowly, then looked at the window. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Seeing as he was awake, there was no point in being gentle. You rolled him over onto his side and pulled his arms around you. His scent filled your nose, and you sagged with relief, savoring his warmth. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be home today? I would’ve met you at the airport.”

He chuckled at your whiny tone as he drew you close and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he drew back and kissed your lips, “I wanted to show up at your job and take you out for lunch. I guess I underestimated how tired I was and how much I missed our bed.”

You forced a pout, just barely keeping yourself from smiling. “The bed? What about me?”

“Oh, hush. You know I hate being away from you this long.” He hid his face in your neck. “Why do you insist on being all strong and independent? You could come with me! See the world and join the mile high club and stuff.”

You laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the sex is the motivating factor?”

“No, no. It’s a perk. A bonus, if you will.” He kissed your neck, letting his lips linger. “The motivation is having my beautiful girlfriend with me. It’d be so much better if I could wake up with you in my arms.”

You squirmed against him when his teeth skimmed over your sensitive skin. “I’d ruin your image and hurt your sales.” You bit your lip when his fingers pressed into your skin, holding you still as he put his thigh between yours. “Ah, shit. Wait, Jackie. I need a shower.”

His chuckle made it clear that wouldn’t be happening. “Performing isn’t my only source of income, baby. I can stand to lose a few, especially if it means I get access to you when I get off the stage.” He groaned and pressed his hips against you, drawing your attention to his growing excitement. “It’s been too long since I last had you.”

“But I wanna be squeaky clean for you.” Your squirming only served to increase the friction between your bodies, coaxing him to return the favor by rolling his hips and grinding his erection into your stomach. “Jack, please.”

“Ugh, I hear you.” He loosened his hold. “But if you need one, then so do I.”

With the haze of desire messing with your mind, it took you a minute to process his words. “If we slip and fall in the shower, it’s your fault.”

He smiled wide with glee as he hauled himself to his feet. He held his hand out to you, ignoring the tent that had formed. “I’ll make sure to take the worst of it. Now come on, I need you now before I bust in my pants.”

[lamahnel]

Eighteen-Hundred (and Counting) Anna Croft's Bathing in the River Lethe

You are the sum of your experiences, and now they are all returned to the world. Baptism, dissolution - so you finally open your mouth and drink. So you finally open your mouth and choke down salted defeat. This future is not yours to want. Thousands of lives slough off and are swept away in the current; the death of the woman who lived besides Yoo Joonghyuk until the end of all things. It's the prophet in you but it's also the friend you know dearly. Soon, you think. He too will choose as you do now.

2023

[desceros]

oops you got something between your fingers there, let me get that for you real quick <3

evil evil evil evil evil evil strikes back out of self defense

It's not too uncommon that you wait for him to come home. Not only has his shitty apartment all but become a second home to you, but he's started making little jokes that you aren't completely sure are really jokes about you moving in with him instead.

As such, he doesn't say anything when he comes in through the door and finds you sitting at his kitchen table, scrolling through your phone looking at the cute dog pictures April's sending you from her latest venture to make ends meet as a dog walker. Not until you look up and smile as you see him, putting your phone down because he's infinitely more interesting.

"Why aren't you sitting on the couch where it's softer?" he asks, slowly stripping the outside world from himself as he gets close. His swords. His belt of medical supplies you keep stocked up nicely for him. A bag whose contents you don't know, but judging from the care with which he puts it down on the counter, you suspect is quite valuable.

"I thought you'd be hungry when you got back," you tell him, gesturing at a tupperware of food you'd brought over from the lair. Leo still doesn't have a decent set of pans, and you've forbidden him from buying any since you can cook just as well at the lair and bring things over. (You're surprised he's held out this long; though you suspect it may be because he has a not-too-incorrect mental image of Donnie's pissy face when he smells you cook something nice and learns it's for Leonardo, not him.)

Leo sits at the table adjacent to you, popping off the lid. It's still warm, thankfully, and his face gets a little softer when he starts to dig in like he's starving. He doesn't compliment it, but you don't need him to. The way he goes quiet, not even speaking in the interest of eating the stir fry you'd tossed together, is all the feedback you need.

Smiling fondly, you grab into the bag you'd brought and pull out an orange. Slowly, you start to peel it, piece by piece. The oil of the rind clings to your skin, making the air between you fragrant with citrus. All the way down to the juicy flesh, until you split it in half, then pluck out a single piece.

Reaching out between Leo's bites, you hold the piece between your fingers. He stares at it for a moment, glancing between it and your face, then opens his mouth so you can slide it inside.

"This was a really yummy batch," you tell him as he chews, eyes falling down to where you peel away another piece. It has a little string on it, which you pick away lovingly before holding out to him just like the one before. "Nice and juicy. I was surprised, considering the time of year."

Leo takes the second piece in his mouth, and the next time you look down to the orange to pull him away another piece, you feel the weight of his stare on the side of your face and the apartment falls silent. No longer do his chopsticks scratch away at the tupperware.

Still, you persist, relentless in your affectionate care. "I've been saving the peels to make a nice cleaning spray. Apparently, you can put them in a bottle with a bit of vinegar, and it smells really nice and works pretty well," you continue to ramble. You hold out another piece. He leans in, his teeth finding the soft flesh with a heavier purpose now. You avoid meeting his gaze, torn between enjoying this little dance and not wanting it to end too quickly.

Another piece hovers in the air, and this time, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and holds it in place. You look up, startled, only to stare with wide eyes as he slides your fingers and the orange slice into his mouth together. His tongue finds the fruit and brings it to his teeth, splitting it open and coating his mouth and your fingers with its sweet juice. Messily, it beads down your palm, to your wrist, tickling even as your breath catches in your throat when he glides his tongue along the webbing of your fingers to catch its origin. Hot, wet, he licks at your skin, suckling the love off of you like it's the waters of the fountain of life itself.

Your mouth falls open as his teeth scrape at your palm, the hitched breath coming out of your lungs on a jagged sound that sounds a bit like a whine in the dead air between you. Mouth curling into a smug smirk, he kisses down the line of the orange juice to your pulse, bending your hand back and sinking his teeth into your wrist hard enough to leave a mark.

It's then that you finally meet his gaze, and see in it the dangerous flame you'd stoked. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together beneath the table. Silly you to forget that it's always the little gestures that drive him the most mad.

Trailing his tongue up your hand to flick it between your fingers, Leo groans, squeezing his eyes shut like the taste of you wounds him. Maybe it does, in a way, you think, feeling the almost painful ache of your own arousal that he so easily calls to the surface.

Licking your lips, clumsy from the rushing blood beneath your skin when he slides your fingers into his mouth and begins to suck on them while bobbing his head slowly, you reach with shaking fingers to pull away another piece of the orange. When Leo looks at you—no doubt visibly affected, dilated pupils, bitten lips, chest rising with your accelerated breath—he chuckles before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your palm, lathing it with his tongue before he releases you.

"How many more do you think you'll be able to share before you break for me, mi corderita?" he asks slyly, taking the piece from you and resting it on your spit-soaked fingers, gliding them into his mouth to begin the process all over again to send you into a hazy, needy state.

The answer, you'll later bemoan as you stare, stunned, completely fucked out, at the ceiling of his bedroom with a familiar full-body ache and the smell of oranges strong in your nose, is one.

[nevesserialwriter]

Taash Week 2025 Submission

Hey all, in between Dock Town Noir, I also wrote a submission for Taash week. I don't think I'll be able to do anymore as the other fic has me quite busy as does life lol, but please check it out I hope you like it!

Taash Week 2025 Prompt: Fire/Dragon

Summary: On the Rivain coast, the hunt begins. A dragon looms, the jungle watches, and something unspoken lingers between Taash and Rook. Fire burns hot—on the battlefield and in the quiet moments between. But when the time comes to strike, will instinct be enough?

Rating: M

She Lights My Fire - Ao3 Link

[fic-recs-by-lulu]

Title: Spin the Wheel

Author: Harrowdeon

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: M - Mature

Category: M/M (Jayce/Viktor)

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 36,358

Summary:

After the end, after Jayce joins him in the astral plane and destroys them both, Viktor wakes up alone.

He stays alone for a very long time.

[disastrousrecs]

three more stories

by besselfcn on Ao3 / @besselfcn

house m.d. | greg house/james wilson | unconventional format | rated m | 1.1k

**

The first time it happens is (New Orleans, 1991 | Albany, 2009 | Augusta, 2012) and they are (drunk | sober | out of time).

**

**

yet another gorgeous fic recommended to me by @krakerjaksstuff. it’s been a few years now since i read this for the first time, and it’s still just as stunning now as it was then. i was hesitant about the “unconventional format” tagged, but my friend convinced me that it was worth it, and— well, certainly, she was right. this is such a unique writing style, combining possibilities a d timelines so seamlessly. as an author i still can’t quite figure out how someone could come up with and execute such a stunning and inventive concept. this author deserves any and all praise given. give this incredible fic a read!!

favourite excerpt:

His hands do, though—his hands are clutching everywhere they can find, on the sheets, the collar of House’s shirt, the hair against his scalp. Like someone drowning, House thinks—the way they grab at the people trying to save them, pull both of them underwater. He can feel the water rising around him too, anyway; he wants to reach out just as desperately, twist his fingers into the (soft | starchy | ragged) cotton of Wilson’s shirt, but he can’t. He’s the lifeguard, now. He’s keeping them both afloat.

**

have you read this fic? if yes, leave kudos, leave comments, give it a bookmark. if you haven't, go read it! interact!! show the author just how amazing their writing is!!

as always, if you’d like to rec a fic to the blog, the askbox is always open!

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: M Word Count: 49k Podfic available here Read by: teas_me Length: 5-6 hours Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

[reddforalt]

Takao Path

🦊 Moodboard inspired in Legend of the Willow from the game app Romance Club 🗡

| @rc-catalog |

[softestaries]

“I don’t think you’re quite grasping the magnitude of the situation here, kitten whiskers. We’ve got a Spiderman,” Wade stresses. “That wasn’t in the budget. We’re going so off script right now.”

“Still haven’t got a clue who he’s supposed to be,” Logan grumbles.

“Oh my god,” Wade swivels around to face Peter. “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s cool, man. I get it. I’m not - I mean, Peter 1 is like the Peter anyway. I’m just Peter 3.”

“Okay. So he’s got a few self-esteem issues. We’ll work on that.”

.

Or: The TVA pulled the plug on Peter 3’s universe while he wasn’t in it. As a result, he’s forced to tag along on the Poolverine road trip. Every Deadpool has a Peter, right? Wade might have stolen his, just like he stole Logan, but like fuck he’s letting either of them go now.

[ofmdbigbang]

Title: Kaleidoscope Head Author: Fruit Artist: Kelly Lin Beta reader: Nina Jellybeanium124 Main Characters: Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet Other Characters: Fang, Spanish Jackie, Buttons, Roach, Wee John, Crew of the Revenge Main Relationship(s): Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet Other Relationship(s): Rating: Mature Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Depression, Anxiety, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Has ADHD, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Autistic Stede Bonnet, Past Domestic Violence, canon typical izzy death, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Happy Ending Warnings: No archive warning apply Summary:

Celebrity chef Edward “Blackbeard” Teach is burnt out and struggling. Once he gets news of the death of his brand manager and closest "friend" Izzy Hands, Ed's mental health spirals to some very dark places. After a reality check, Ed decides he needs some help, and enrolls in a partial hospitalization program to improve his mental health. There, he not only finds the help he needs from the staff, but he finds friendship and comradery with the other participants. In one particular program participant, he even finds the emotion he thought he was never fit for: love.

Wordcount: 19k

Kaleidoscope Head

[spacequokka]

Page 146

Prompt: “I didn’t say that. I’d never say that.”

It was hard to believe Jisung given the way his cheeks and ears flushed with color. Considering the information came from Hyunjin, it seemed more likely to be true.

“It sounds like something you’d say.” You pressed on, turning your attention to the cake you were frosting. “You tend to go on and on about ass and tits, so it isn’t—”

“But not about you!” He cut in. “You’re my roommate!”

“I thought you said you’d ‘never say that.’” You gave him the side eye. “So let’s see. What did he say…Oh! ‘I’d let her sit on my face until I suffocated and died.’”

Jisung’s eyes widened in horror at your words, his face turning even redder as he sputtered incoherently. You couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, finding amusement in his discomfort.

“Is that true, Jisung?” You teased, watching him squirm under your gaze. “Do you have a secret crush on me or something?”

His attempt to form a coherent response only made you more determined to tease him further. But before you could say anything else, Jisung took a deep breath and gave you a determined look. “Fine, you caught me,” he confessed, his voice surprisingly steady. “I do think you’re hot. But it’s not just about your looks. You’re an amazing person, and I…I really like you.”

You were taken aback by his confession, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You searched his eyes for any sign of deception, but you saw nothing but sincerity staring back at you. “For how long?”

“…Since I moved in. I thought you’d feel weird and kick me out if you knew.”

Given that it’d been nearly two years since, it was safe to say you weren’t weirded out in the slightest. “I’ve seen you snot-nosed and puking everywhere. I’ve picked up your cum sock. At this point, nothing you do can scare me off.” You dabbed frosting on his lips and gave him a peck on the cheek. “So, how about you plan a date for us this Friday?”

His eyes lit up with joy as he greedily licked at his lips. “It’d be my pleasure.”

[lamahnel]

kintsugi humans

Dearly beloved, you've finally shattered things in a way I cannot repair. If it were just a million little pieces, I would spend a million and one days finding each particle and corner-swept bit of dust, and what I cannot find I will fill in with love. But you've gone and done something tremendous - the way you always do - and now there are no pieces for me to pick up, only you. And what can I do but hold you close, dear and loved. What can I do?

2024

[desceros]

INT DISCORD - EVENING @thejudiciousneurotic: i'm drawing a comic where leo talks about how he accidentally sent someone his nudes me: oh. now i wanna write a fic where leo flirts with you by "accidentally" shooting you his nudes me: ...trade u for the comic thejudiciousneurotic: 🤝 me: 🤝 leonardo/reader, female reader, rated m

You’re having a very nice lunch with April and Casey when your phone vibrates where it rests next to your plate.

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) [image]

Oh boy. What does this goober want?

Normally, you aren’t one to check your phone while eating with others. It’s kind of rude, and you don’t get enough time with the three of you hanging out like this. But April’s busy trying to make Casey laugh so hard his drink comes out of his nose, and—and you’re curious, because it’s Leo, and he’s sent you a picture.

You open the message app, and blink. It's not a meme, or a dorky selfie, or something pretty like he sometimes finds while he's wandering about and shoots your way to share.

It’s… a picture of him. The kind that he’d usually put on his So-Shell, you note, wondering why he’d sent it to you specifically. A little bit of a suggestive pose: his arms curling in just a manner to accentuate the way his arms have been getting big lately, one leg crossed over the other to show off how long they are, fingers framing that smug smirk he gets sometimes when he—

—oh.

Oh, god.

Leo isn’t wearing his mask. Or—or anything, you suddenly realize. No wraps. No socks. 

…Are these… nudes?!

Quickly, feeling your face burn hot, you look up to check in with April and Casey. They’re both still fucking around on the other side of the table. She’s tickling him, he’s giggling. Normal. Normal. They haven’t noticed that you’re a few degrees shy of combustion. Cool, cool. No one’s noticed that your best friend—friend friend just a friend!—has sent you his smoldering-hot naked body.

Quickly, you stop yourself, inhaling deep before you go too deep into it. No, that’s silly. He’s a fucking turtle. So he’s not wearing socks. Or forearm wraps. Or—Or his mask, which you’ve never seen him without before. So it’s a sexy pose in front of a mirror. It’s—It’s not anything salacious, if you don’t make it such. 

You start typing, just the usual compliment that you usually give his pictures on So-Shell, maybe a fire emoji, and—

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) oops! didn’t mean to send that!

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) just uh. pretend i didn’t just accidentally send you a nude. haha :)

“Oh my god,” you quietly whimper. It is a nude. 

The proper thing would be, of course, to do as he asks. Spam a bunch of junk until it disappears to the void of the past conversation. Laugh it off with him. Tell him a joke to make him feel better when he’s probably fucking mortified. 

…A little like how you’re mortified the moment you tap on the picture, making it bigger. 

God damn it. It’s… It’s so unfair how good he looks, you think, biting on the inside of your cheek. He’s finally hit that growth spurt Casey has warned everyone was coming, and he’s just so—so big. Towering over you easily. Putting on muscle like it’s as easy as putting on a shirt. Moving like silk through the air. Comfortable in his skin and knowing he looks good.

A fresh memory comes to mind. How the other day, he’d picked you up in one hand to snag the blanket you’d been sitting on to hand to Donnie where he’d been whining about being chilly. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon uncomfortably wet and turned on, hoping to god his sensitive turtle nose couldn’t pick up on it as he draped an arm on your shoulder for the last half of the movie and pulled you to lean into his plastron.

(...Friends cuddle, right? Totally. Friends totally cuddle.)

Plus he’s just… pretty. The way his cheekbones curve, the markings on his face cutting beautiful lines around his eyes, eyes that you can see without his mask in the way. The breath catches in your lungs as you stare into where they’re half-lidded in the picture, turning the smirk into something sultry. The smirk, framed by fingers that are long and thick and—

“Oh fuck,” you choke, clenching your teeth so hard your jaw aches. 

(...Friends think about getting fingered by their friends, right?! Right?! Oh god, oh fuck—)

“You good?” April asks, finally looking away from Casey who is dabbing at his face and bellowing with agony. Oof, carbonation up the nose. Not fun.

“…I’m so good,” you tell her around the knot in your throat, fingers going tight on your phone. Gah. You have to leave now or else she’ll suss out what’s wrong and you’re pretty sure you’d rather die than admit you’re getting flustered off of Leonardo’s mess up. “Say, uh. I—I have to go to the bathroom. Right now. For a while. I’ll be back.”

You can feel her eyes between your shoulder blades as you flee her knowing eyes, quickly going into the stand-alone bathroom in the cute little café and snapping the door shut behind you. You slump back against it, whipping out your phone and looking at it a bit like it’s a ticking time bomb. 

Which it kind of is, you realize with a sudden terror. You haven’t responded to him yet. He would have seen the little dots where you’d given away you were typing. That you’d had his picture in your face. He knows you’ve seen it. You’ve seen it, and time is passing while he’s sitting there, knowing there’s a fucking nuke on your screen. Oh god. Oh fuck.

Stupid sexy turtle, you think, hands trembling as you compose a very normal, very chill response. You only delete three before you settle on the last and send it.

sent (12:45 p.m.) no worries! i didn’t see anything, haha :)

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) hm. you sure? you sure took a while to respond

Oh god. Embarrassment lights your blood on fire. He knows. He totally knows. Fuck, it feels like he knows how you zoomed the fuck in and had to press your goddamn thighs together beneath the table. Swallowing thickly, you try to do as much damage control as you can. 

sent (12:45 p.m.) i mean, of course i saw it. i was curious!

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) oh yeah? what were you so curious about?

sent (12:45 p.m.) i. you know. i’ve never seen you without your mask. 

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) you know you can ask, right? i’ll take it off for you whenever you want.

You fumble your phone. What the fuck. Is this happening. Quickly, you look up. Yep. You’re still here. A quick pinch reminds you that it isn’t a dream. It’s quarter til one on a Saturday, and your childhood friend has sent you a nude on accident and then said that. 

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) is that something you want? seeing me without my mask?

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) i’d do it. for you.

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) no wraps. no socks. no mask. 

“…Holy shit,” you mutter, feeling a little dizzy. You gape, unsure of how to respond, how to fucking breathe. Then, you nearly jump out of your skin when the phone of your screen fills with a selfie of you and Leo in a photobooth at Alberto Land, feather boas and silly matching heart-shaped glasses stupid on your face. 

Oh fuck. He’s calling you. 

“Where are you right now?” Leo asks as soon as you answer the call, not waiting for you to find your voice, his words velvet in your ears.

Defensive at how you’re reacting, protecting your friendship with him tooth and nail, you claw out of the fog that had settled and made you stupid. You narrow your eyes at the hand dryer next to you. “…Did you actually ‘accidentally’ send me that picture, Leonardo?”

His laugh fills your ears like wine; rich, decadent, intoxicating. Warmth blooms in your chest. “Where are you, beautiful?”

That’s about as close to an admission as you’re probably going to get, you think. The pet name, familiar in shape but foreign in tone, makes your stomach dip. Licking your lips, you try one more time. 

“…Why are you sending me your nudes?” you ask, air catching in your throat, voice quiet but feeling loud in the privacy of the bathroom. 

“Why are you looking at them?” he responds cheekily. You bite down on the snarky response that reflexively comes to the surface; am I not supposed to, goober? There’s something glittering in the air, an invitation for something, and it makes you hesitate. Makes you look at the boundary of the lines you’ve drawn around him. Wonder what they’d look like a little smudged. 

“I… wanted to see,” you admit, feeling a little breathless, wondering if you sound so. If he can tell you’re on the edge of a cliff, feeling a bit like maybe you’re ready to take a step and fall.

“See what?” he asks. Voice lower still. Umbrous. Hypnotic. Tantalizing.

“You. Without—Without your mask. Without… any of it.”

His phone ever so slightly picks up on a sensuous rumble that comes from deep inside his shell. The sound of it makes you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin. Your eyes fall shut. It’s an easy fantasy, thinking of feeling it in your flesh.

Leo says your name. It’s not a way you’ve ever heard him do so, before. It pricks your attention, hooking into it, pulling it where he wants it. “Where are you?”

You tell him. A second later, your eyes flare with familiar blue light. Two seconds later, your back is against the bathroom door, the sound of the lock clicking loud in your ears as he reaches over and ensures no one will be interrupting.

“Leo, you—!” you gasp, the barest amount of protest that he cuts through as easily as if he’d taken his katana to it. 

“I got tired of waiting. And you want to see,” he says, his fingers finding your chin and holding you in place, his mouth hovering over yours, his breath hot against where you can’t breathe. His other hand finds the curve of your hip, pulling it to meld to his own, his plastron pressing you to the door. “So look while you still can, pretty little thing. Because you’ve got about three minutes before I plan on getting my face between your legs for a long, long time.”

Later, much later, after you nearly bite through your palm trying to keep quiet through the several orgasms he easily eats out of you, after he portals you back to the lair and he pins you to that cursed mirror in his bedroom so you can see how good he looks while fucking you stupid, after he crawls over you in his sheets and slowly curls his fingers together with yours while rolling his hips to get slow and deep to drive you absolutely insane, your phone vibrates again.

This time, you ignore it, fully fucked out, completely disinterested in moving from beneath where Leo’s snoring into your shoulder, having everything you can possibly want within arm’s reach for the foreseeable future.

ayyy-pril (2:19 p.m.) lmao did you fall in?

ayyy-pril (2:19 p.m.) hellooooooo

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) …since leo’s also not answering i’m guessing you’re with him. girl u Gotta let me know when you dip so i don’t worry >:T

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) also. ugh. can you two just make out already? the pining is getting ridiculous. and don’t tell me i’m just imagining things again. i’m sooooo bored by your excuses

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) grabbed your leftovers for you. love you ttyl byeeee

[eyesofshinigami]

Through Blood and Through Tears (I'm Still Here)

Rating: M

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, Sexual Content, Top Eddie, Bottom Steve, Mentions of Steve's Bad Parents, Mentions of Eddie's Bad Parents, Itty bitty angst

Prompt: "Love is wanting to know everything about what makes up the person you're in love with, even the difficult stuff" from Anon.

WC: 1007

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 3

Sometimes being known is terrifying.

Eddie and Steve fell together not long after everything fell apart and was haphazardly sewn back together, including each other. How could they not, finding comfort in someone who understood, who got it. Neither of them had to explain the scars, the nightmares, the little quirks and tics they’ve picked up from the trauma they’ve suffered. They also knew the other ugly parts of the other. Late night talks when neither of them could sleep were good for that. Eddie learned about how scared Steve is to be left behind, to never be loved for who he was and not what he could do for the other person. And in turn, Eddie cracked open his own chest and let Steve see the twists of his own heart. How Eddie wants to escape because he doesn’t know how not to run away from the things that scare him, how he may seem like he doesn’t care, but in fact he cares so much it suffocates him.

Sometimes Eddie is scared that this might be the only reason they’re together. It’s easier to be with someone who doesn’t ask questions, whose scars mirror his own so that he doesn’t have to come up with a reason for why he looks the way he does. Or why his demons don’t always come at night, sometimes in the middle of the store or when Steve has him pinned against the bed. Maybe it’s convenience, maybe its just simpler this way.

But then Eddie remembers the way it feels when Steve kisses him, hot and wet and perfect. He remembers how it feels when Steve listens to him ramble about the chords he learned or the book he read yesterday. He thinks about the way he loves how excited Steve gets about learning new recipes to make for them, or how good it feels to curl up on the couch together and watch movies until they both fall asleep.

He thinks about the way that their bodies move together under the moonlight. How Eddie never flinches when Steve’s hands roam across the damaged canvas of Eddie’s skin, touching each scar with a reverence like his boyfriend is worshipping at an altar. How Steve lets Eddie into his heart, into his body, rocking into each other over and over again until it bursts into pleasure that makes them forget for a little while.

It's the sweaty press of bodies, curled around each other to fight back against the nightmares they both can’t outrun.

It’s talk of how they plan to get out of this town, away from prying eyes and whispered words and too small minds. It’s shared fears about never amounting to anything, to being the sum of all the shitty things their fathers ever said about them. Steve’s scared he can’t escape from Richard Harrington’s shadow and Eddie’s scared that he’ll be trapped by the deeds of Al Munson for the rest of his life.

They are more than the sum of their fathers, they remind each other with kisses and touches and whispered words in the middle of the night.

So they make plans. They talk of where to go from here, what place will the safest to land once they get their feet under them. Eddie wants to go to California, Steve is happy with Chicago. They bicker and argue but it always ends with them deciding home will be wherever the other is, and that’s good enough for now.

It won’t ever be perfect, Eddie knows. They’re both stubborn fucks with scars inside and out, and sometimes that turns into yelling and words they don’t mean. Even then, they don’t let the ugly parts win, they come back together and try to fix what cracked but didn’t break. They’re both learning, figuring out how to navigate this thing that’s still so new but feels like a forever kind of love.

Eddie contemplates all of this in the dark, pressed up against Steve and tracing the softness of his lover’s skin beneath his fingertips. They’re both broken, both a little ugly, but somehow their jagged edges of each other fit in a way that Eddie doesn’t always understand but refuses to question. It just is.

“Nightmare?” Steve asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He turns over and presses against Eddie, the lines of their bodies touching everywhere they can.

“Nope. Just thinking about how much I love you,” Eddie replies. It might be a bit too early to say now, too raw, but he can’t keep it in. He loves Steve, all of him, even the parts that are ugly and broken and kept hidden away.

Steve smiles, pulling him into a kiss. He feels Steve open underneath him, legs spread and his cock hard as they rub against each other. It’s not long until Eddie’s breathless, full of love and want for the man beneath him. He reaches down to rub across where he’d been inside Steve hours earlier, finding him still wet and open. “Yeah?” he asks, even as Steve bucks up against him.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes against his mouth. Steve’s hand snakes down, takes Eddie in his grip and guides him to where he wants him, gasping when Eddie starts to slide inside. It probably stings, isn’t the smartest idea, but neither of them seem to care. They’ll take the hurt with the pleasure they both know will fill their bones and chase away the empty spaces. “Fuck, Eds.”

Eddie nods against Steve’s neck, slowly pushing inside until he’s carved himself a space inside Steve, pressed tight against the man he wants to love for the rest of his life. “So good, baby,” Eddie says in between kisses, in between thrusts.

Sometimes Eddie gets scared. So does Steve. But moments like this? Moments like this remind him that they’re both here, love filling in the broken, ragged parts of them. They’ve seen the best and seen the worst of each other, and they’re both still right here. Right where they want to be.

[fic-recs-by-lulu]

Title: tastes like resurrection

Author: sulkybender

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: M - Mature

Category: M/M (Jayce/Viktor)

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,576

Excerpt:

Here’s the game they play: Viktor is a good boy. Jayce keeps saying it when they touch, when Viktor allows himself to be held and kissed. Good boy. It comes out without thinking the first time. Immediately Jayce sees the hunger in his face, the desperation, and he says the words again, slower, like if he’s just slow enough Viktor can pluck them from the air and eat them.

Viktor kisses him then for the first time, like he needs to taste the words on his mouth.

“Please,” he breathes into Jayce’s mouth, and he tastes like nothing. Jayce wants him to taste like sweetness, afternoon sunlight, resurrection.