I actually managed to get some writing done today! Have a snip!

They’re better now — the scars — faded and shiny white, instead of angry and red. From Steve diligently putting on oils and creams on them, gently rubbish them into his skin. When Steve was first recovering, once the stitches were out, way before they were dating — back when it was fleeting glances and daydreams — Eddie had helped with the road rash all the way down his back.

Steve’s skin was warm, and tanned, and Eddie’s face burned like a forest fire as he swept his hands over Steve’s back. Feeling his muscles under the palms of his hands, the curve of his hips. At the time he was glad it was only his back he needed help with. So Steve couldn’t see his blushing face, feel his heated gaze, look at him with all knowing eyes.

Now, however, Eddie knows he’s free to touch, if he so wants. And boy, does he want. Almost all the time, actually.

Wants to stand behind Steve and run his calloused fingertips down his boyfriend’s spine. Wants to feel him shiver, feel the goosebumps raise on his skin. Wants to watch as Steve tilts his head up, arches into it, sinks into the sensation. Eddie wants to reach the small of his back, rest his hand there. Wants to gently press down, the way he did last night, as he guided Steve into him. Wants to know if he’ll groan in that way that he does — the groan that always does things to Eddie — sends blood rushing straight to his cock.

But now isn’t the time for that. Steve has to get ready, and Eddie isn’t as up for it as his horny mind probably wants him to be. Their bed is comfortable, it’s still early, and sleep is still clinging to the edges of his mind, thick and heavy.

And if Eddie stands up straight? He is definitely going to feel pain shoot straight down his body. Down his back, to his thighs, his ass. A good pain, of course. A tired, pleasant ache, he’ll feel deep in his muscles. Memory of a night well spent. He’s going to spend today at home, he knows, trying not to waddle when he walks.

So Eddie just sinks into Steve’s side of the mattress, head still propped up on his hands, and watches his boyfriend get ready. Steve unscrews the lid of a palm sized container, and scoops out some gooey moisturiser that Eddie knows claims to smell like grapefruit.

“It’s breakfast with Robin today, right?” Eddie asks, words slightly mumbled as his hand smooshes his face, making eye contact with Steve through the reflection of the mirror. “Or is it your work brunch?”

“Work brunch is next weekend,” Steve replies, smiling as he rubs the moisturiser into his skin. Eddie follows the motion with his eyes. “It’s Robin today.”

“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets. 

Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”

–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.

the calamity.

a comic about being seen.

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creative notes:

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something about Dazai being comfortable enough around Chuuya to be vulnerable and let him see his genuine reactions (especially his genuine shock) as he processes out loud is SO SO IMPORTANT TO ME

plus Chuuya not being shocked to see the genius at work tells us this isn’t the first time he’s seen Dazai actively figuring things out in real time…

the way Chuuya knows Dazai's nervous habits— noticing that Dazai is worried, and subtly checking on him. the way Dazai drops his facade in favor of putting all of his focus into the mental game at hand is such an obvious sign of trust & closeness for someone like Dazai, whose facade is his main form of defense

how they interact with each other in the downtimes when there’s nobody watching…

all i can think is, look how far they’ve come since they were 16 when Dazai couldn’t trust anyone with his plans. how even now, Dazai is always putting up his “all according to plan” front, even with the agency. how Chuuya is the one person we’ve seen him truly drop the mask around, and Chuuya doesn’t bat an eye. even their banter is ongoing, but subdued.

soukoku and their subtle displays of intimacy will be the death of me 💔

Nothings to see here, just Wilmon holding hands.

being aromantic and into whump is like. shoutout to whump for being a great opportunity to engage with stories about intimacy and vulnerability and powerful emotion and physical interactions with other people and intense relationships that are not presumptively based in romance. what would i do without you.

Hi chat, breaking the sonic chain to post a singular homestuck post because ive been thinking about moirail dynamics a lot. Don't follow me for homestuck though probably because this is the only one thats likely to break containment aside from maybe one other WIP in the future. Or do! I'm not your dad :]

superboy (1994) #85 (my beloved)

i still think abt this line so much. hey kon? why would u say this? hey kon do you think thats a normal thing to say about your boy bestie? kon why would u say this out loud. kon?!?

in a way that i think katsuki can be flustered by intimacy, i think shouto is just plain as day curious.

situations like when you're pressed up against each other on a busy train car, leaning into a familiar touch rather than the unknown, i think shouto has no qualms about being so obvious. you glance up at him shyly, heat burning down your chest, and he's just looking at you, open and unashamed.

so close that you can see him catalogue you, explore in ways he maybe never has before; eyes flitting over the width of your nose and the curve of your lips and your each individual lash. just learning, in the most innocent and interested manner, the new bits of you he'll think of when you're not together.

i think in moments like this that could be deemed romantic—two people in their quiet corner, staring so deeply into the other's face, a breath apart—he's easily engaged, but i don't know if he realizes the significance of it. why it means what it means and why it will affect him uniquely, later on. all the lines you're crossing.

that's also why being kissed by him comes as a complete surprise to you, because i don't think he's planning any of it. he just wants to know, is all, and there's plenty to figure out, with you.

people love to talk about invincible for it's over the top gore and violence, but i really do think the show's writing is at it's best when it's just two people have a conversation

God, the intimacy of Astarion feeding from you.

Astarion drinking from your neck as he pulls your body closer to his in bed, his chest up against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist. It's a casual thing, now, his whispered can I? and your answering nod, as much a part of your bedtime routine as your bath or his curl care. You sigh as his fangs pierce your skin and his fingers flex against your stomach. His breath hitches when the taste of you hits his tongue, and that's familiar too, the physicality of it, the noises he makes low in his throat as he drinks, the way he grows warmer against you as your blood begins to flow through his veins. Nothing else makes you feel so heady, so intoxicated- so comforted.

Astarion drinking from your wrist when he’s starving for it and can’t wait to get you more comfortable. Pulling him into an alleyway one night on the way home from the Elfsong because you can see how badly he's craving in the way he can't keep his eyes off of the pulse point in your neck. He seizes your arm with both hands (can I? Yes-), bringing the soft skin on the inside of your wrist to his lips. He has just enough presence of mind to kiss the heel of your hand distractedly before he bites, fangs sliding through your skin and into the vein. The sound he makes can only be described as a growl, something feral and possessive (and you'll never tell him that it turns you on, since he would be insufferable about it- a promise to yourself that lasts exactly as long as the space between the moment and the next time you're tipsy and want him).

(NSFW Below!)

Astarion drinking from your inner thigh, one hand holding your leg steady and the other cupping your cunt. You groan, eyes shut in pleasure, as his thumb comes to rub your clit. The pain of the bite is barely pain this way- it collides with the pleasure in your belly and sends you almost out of your mind, overwhelmed with sensation and heat. He takes you all the way there, takes just enough from you to have you relaxed and pliant and soaring somewhere above your own body, plays you like an instrument with all the knowledge of you he's gathered over the months, the years. He knows when you're close, knows to crook his fingers inside you just so, knows the reaction he's going to get when he pulls away from your thigh for just a moment and looks up at you with dark eyes and tells you to come for him, he wants to see it, you fall apart so beautifully and it's all for him, isn't it, tell him how good he makes you feel and when you climax with his voice in your ear and the scent of blood on the air he has the audacity to laugh at how well he understands you, your body.

He's soft, after, softer than he'll ever be with anyone who isn't you. He licks you clean before he takes you to the bath, carrying you with the strength your lifeblood gives him. It's the least he can do for you, with everything you've given him: not just your body, but your trust, your closeness, and he will never stop being grateful.

"Miguel...your hand please" you smile wittily, shifting a bit from the lower placement of his large, warm palm grazing over the small of your open bare back. His long fingers hardly skimming over the sleek material of your open back dress that snugs around you oh so perfectly.

He simply huffs out a steep grunt, eyes skimming over through the crowd of formally dressed people amongst the ballroom, gradually glimpsing down at the inviting, tempting tender flesh of your back.

"What about it?" he keeps his trance solely on your lower back, admiring and sinking in the delectable curves of your lulling body. Fighting back every elusive thought and scandalous idea perplexing his wandering mind.

Your heart stammers against your chest, heat resonating amongst your cheeks and shoulders as you feel his fingertips delicately trace over the exposed flesh of your open back. Instinctively arching forward towards the bar from his lingering, simple touch.

He grins cockily to your little adjustment to his grazes, follows over to the obvious tint of deep rose staining across your cute puffy cheeks.

"W-we're on a mission right now..." you'd shakily murmur, tilting the short clear glass of alcohol to the crimson tint of your plush lips, your eyes rolling back to meet his sternly focused gaze.

He keeps his coy smirk on his face, tracing soft, slow circles along the lower dip of your back. Leans a bit closer towards you, as his full lips nearly brushes inches away from your ringing ears.

"What? I can't admire my beautiful wife wearing such a gorgeous dress?" he'd tease with that smooth, rasp voice of his. Lowers his baritone a bit (the very same tone he knows that gets you all hot and bothered), traces the back of his fingers up along the prominent indent of your spine with such ease and steady caress.

Chuckles softly at the way your body responds to his simple touches, selfishly indulges in the way your back arches ever so sexily to his tracing. Has to choke back the reformed growls and deep groans of arousal when he listens to the soft hiccups of lowered gasps and sweet hitches of your breath sputtering off from the tip of your tongue from his taunting action.

Your grasp around your half consumed beverage tightens, legs molding together as immense heat begins to brew in between your quivering thighs and the pit of your fluttering stomach.

Oh.

"M-Miguel O'hara, compórtate" you'd hiss firmly under your breath, your nails clinking against the glass of your cup as your knees gently hit the underside of the bar from the jolt that he reels out of you from his wooing touch.

Again, it takes every morsel of his being to contain his arising hunger for you and your sweet little reactions, from taking your there and then. Right on the spot.

His head nooks a bit to the side, lips gently pressing against the shell of your heated ear, his wide palm gliding back down to the lower of your tensed back.

"With the way you look cariño, it's hard too"

♡

I'm watching you only from far away, but you're in my mind ✨

via: fb

Sure, bud