#this one is a biggin

[hopelessdelusional]

Literally got a dream after i read this prompt, went insane, and then basically wrote a whole book

so it’s safe to say im obsessed

word count: 4K

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Bakugou Katsuki is a hero.

He is a Pro Hero, number 2 to be in fact (damn Deku). He has made a living fighting battles and saving lives, jumping off roofs and flying in the sky. He is a real life super hero, putting his life in danger. Every morning he wakes up has to prepare himself for the things he may see that day. The blood he might shed, and the people he may not be able to save. He has learned to be fearless, never finding himself nervous when jumping into the fight.

And yet, he’s never felt more terrified right now.

He met you three years ago, after quite literally crashing right into the very studio you record your music. He was battling a woman who had the ability to make and control giant vines, and apparently are explosive-proof. Todoroki almost hit him with a blast of his shitty ice, making him turn to his so called “partner” and cuss him out. However, that gave the villain the chance to grab him, and send him flying.

Bakugou soon found himself miles away from the fight, as he had to use his quirk in order not to fall to his death. But as many know, his quirk is sporadic.

That is how he crash landed into your studio.

It hurt like hell sure, but when he opened his eyes and saw you standing over him with nothing but concern in your eyes, he instantly forgot the many injuries he gained. You were breathtaking, and not like anyone he had ever interacted with. You immediately made the terrified people in the studio help him up and you found the nearest first aid kit and fixed him up as best as you could before an ambulance came.

He was dazed, but you were so kind and made small talk. Bakugou had always been one to hate any type of small talk, but he loved every word that left your mouth. You were newly moved to Japan, some sort of opportunity came to you that you couldn’t turn down (Bakugou was severely concussed so a lot of what you said was a blur).

Bakugou does remember Mina and Kaminari mentioning you, playing your music whenever he came to either of their houses. You had such a unique voice, a bit raspy that caught the attention of millions of people. Surprisingly, also caught the attention to Bakugou, as he would play it during the rare nights when he’d be cooking alone in his kitchen. Your story telling was incredible, your lyrics were anything but bland. Making music about the bad and good exes you’ve had, your friends and family, your past, and even wrote songs about random characters your beautiful mind came up with. You always made sure to use all sorts of instruments, and the notes that you compacted into your songs never ceased to amaze Bakugou’s standards.

Now he was here, sitting on a table asking you all sorts of questions about you. Maybe it was the concussion, or maybe it was just your personality but Bakugou began to get addicted to you, never wanting you to stop talking.

“Here.”

You turned away from him, your hand leaving his knee instantly making him already miss the warmth of you as you shuffled through your bag.

He watched you with curiosity (and took the chance to shamelessly check out your ass) before you turned around with a newfound grin on your face. You were holding a pen, and he cocked an eyebrow at you, not understanding the excitement of this pen in your perfect hand. You walked back over to him, your perfume becoming addicting to him, and you gently grabbed his hand. You were making intense eye contact with him, and Bakugou suddenly felt…nervous? You smiled at the blush that rose on the hero’s face, before you clicked the pen and began to write something on his wrist.

Bakugou watched, feeling somewhat like a child, and once you finished and allowed him to look. He was pleasantly surprised to see your number on his arm.

His head instantly shot up, almost not believing this was happening.

“If I text this and it’s a scam, I’m gonna hunt you down.”

His gruff voice didn’t match the face he was making at you, and you threw your head back and laughed.

Once you caught your breath, you smiled at him, making him blush even more (he didn’t even know that was possible!).

“As fun as that would be, I promise that is in fact my home number. I would never trick my favorite pro hero like that.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw two paramedics walking through the door, ready to help him out of there. However, he chose to ignore them and smirk at you instead.

“Favorite eh?”

You giggled, still holding his hand.

“Don’t get too cocky mister, or else I’ll write a mean song about you.”

His grin widened, using his other hand to lead your hand to his lips. He gently kissed it, hating how chapped his lips were, but the blush that quickly appeared on your cute cheeks made it worth it.

“I’d rather the song have another meaning.”

The two of you held eye contact, and he soaked up every second of it not ever wanting to forget what color you eyes were.

You smiled at him before you turned to the paramedics that began to replace your presence. They helped him up, and walked him over to the bed that was rolled in by another paramedic. Once he was comfortable (as comfortable as someone with many broken ribs and a concussion could be) he looked back up at you. Bakugou was annoyed to see one of the paramedics talking nervously to you, asking for an autograph. However, the jealously slowly turned into admiration as he watched you beam at the man as you excitedly signed the crinkled piece of paper he had in his pocket.

“My daughter just adores your music, she started learning guitar because of you actually! It’s truly incredible watching her play, just makes me so proud of her.”

Your lip was pouted, as you stood listening to his words. You looked so genuine, so happy that he was telling you this. Bakugou could tell this means the world to you, watching you enthusiastically hugged him. The two of you quickly made your goodbyes, and you immediately turned to look his way. Bakugou would have been embarrassed that he was caught looking at you if you hadn’t beamed at him like that. You jogged over to him, making him chuckle how eager you were to be back in his presence. Bakugou instantly grabbed your empty hand again, not a single ounce of shame for how “down bad” he was acting.

“Talk to you later?”

Your voice couldn’t have been any louder than a whisper, making sure he knew these were words only for him to hear. Bakugou grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Of course.”

Instead of one of your flashing smiles, your whole face softened and a small smile appeared on your face.

“In the meantime then, I’ll definitely be writing a song.”

That’s when Bakugou realized there was no coming back from you. He was officially obsessed, never wanting anything more than your hand in his.

Unfortunately for him, the two of you were rudely interrupted by the dumbass that got him here in the first place (not that Bakugou is complaining). Todoroki loudly coughed, making you jump and him scowl.

“I see you’re in good-“ his heterochromia eyes looked down at Bakugou and your interlocked hands, and then looked back up at Bakugou with a smirk.

“Good hands?”

Yeah, Bakugou definitely got teased for the rest of the day, and soon the rest of the week by all the people half-and-half told. But honestly? Bakugou couldn’t give two shits when had you texting him all day.

Besides, they were just jealous.

Kaminari and Mina especially lost their shit, begging for him to tell them all about you, even asking for your number. Obviously, Bakugou kindly told them to stop asking (he told them to fuck off and mind their fucking business) and soon enough the two of you began dating.

It was so easy being with someone like you. The two of you worked so well together, and you already understood the pressure of paparazzi constantly swarming you like hawks. Crazily enough, the reveal of you guys dating didn’t release until after your one year. Of course there were plenty of news articles and random fans on the internet who speculated it, but you interacted with enough people for your fans to also say you were dating them as well. Besides, the idea of you, an international singer/songwriter dating the number two hero in the world was not something that people could believe easily. But it was the truth, and people everywhere went crazy when you posted a picture of the two of you.

It was the picture of Bakugou picking you up by the waist in his kitchen. You were wearing his shirt and some random sweats because you had just gotten home from a concert the night before. Ochako was the one able to capture this beautiful moment of the couple. You had been teasing him for being able to cook but not bake, and he had enough of your jokes and simply picked you right off your feet. In the picture the both of you were smiling widely, especially Bakugou. When you posted the picture, fans analyzed the picture like crazy.

Bakugou knew he wasn’t the most well liked Pro-Hero, but the amount of people who tried to make a video showing the picture and claiming it was “obvious” that he was abusing you was a little annoying. You always reassured the blond when you caught him watching those videos, turning off his phone and climbing in his lap. His hands happily making his way on your waist as you ran your fingers through his hair while the other hand held his face gently. His eyes would close and you would whisper sweet nothings in his ear, praising him for anything and everything, sometimes even singing the songs you wrote for him.

Bakugou still remembers when the two of you were almost a year into the relationship (ten months and 6 days to be exact) and in the mist of him casually scrolling on TikTok a video of you performing at your concert popped up. He was certainly surprised to see videos already posted, since the concert had quite literally just ended. Obviously he watched the video, adoring how you talked to your fans.

“Now children, calm down so I can talk. I am not gonna talk over your borderline screaming, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna be able to sing after this if I talk like that.”

Bakugou snickered. He always loved when you were sassy and continued to watch.

“So whilst on tour, I’ve had a song stuck in my head,” the crowd went wild, probably thinking you were going to play one of your songs called “stuck in my head.” Your face lit up in realization, and you laughed at the mistake you made.

“Oh my poor babies, I’m so sorry but I am not playing that song.”

You gave your crowd an apologetic smile as they booed you. Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, upset as to why you were being booed, but continued to watch nonetheless.

“Oh my gosh get over yourself,” you rolled your eye waiting for the crowd to settle down before starting up again.

“I had like, this chorus just repeating itself over and over again. It was so annoying y’all! I felt like I was going crazy! And what made it even more annoying is that I couldn’t go to my safe place and sit down and write it cus-“

You gestured to your surroundings.

“-I’m on tour.”

The crowd went wild for longer than Bakugou liked, but you let them get it out, shaking your head like you were disappointed but the smile gave you away.

“Instead I had to settle with my oh so very empty tour bus bed, and write the song there. It was literally like, what? 3AM? And I was sitting on that bed with my guitar, notebook, and my laptop. I’m so glad I wasn’t sharing or like in a hotel because I was up until 5…”

You bent over to laugh, and the audience as well. Meanwhile, your now very grumpy boyfriend was about to close the app and text you not to do shit like that. You put on full fledge concerts for crying out loud! You should not be staying up that late just to write a goddamn song.

“And that was last night.”

The concert booed as Bakugou’s patience started to thin. What the hell were you thinking? You even texted him goodnight at like 2! Rest is very important and you need to-

“But I’m glad that I did, because I think this is my new favorite song. And I just can’t wait anymore, so is it okay if I play it for you guys?”

The crowd literally went feral. The person recording was screaming along with every goddamn person at that place. Bakugou was now fully sitting up in his bed, eager to listen to this song. He was a little hurt, he will admit. You always send him a video of the many songs that you write sporadically on this tour, and you’ve written a lot. So why didn’t you do the same thing here? What was so different about this song that he couldn’t be the first to hear it like usual?

“That sounds like a yes,” you reached for one of the many necklaces you were wearing and pulled out a very thin necklace with a familiar pendant. Bakugou immediately recognized it, as it was the one he got for you on your six month anniversary. It was one of the petals of a rose that you saved from your first date. He had it dried and put into a charm of a necklace when he noticed you getting upset that you couldn’t keep the flowers he got you. When he gave it to you, tears were falling down your face as he kissed you. That’s when he swore to himself that if he met any of your exes he wouldn’t leave without giving them a brand new scar.

You pulled it out and kissed it gently, before whispering into it.

“This is for you baby.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, the crowd losing their minds and you started playing guitar. The two of you would make the smallest hints that you were in a relationship, but never as bold as this. Not that he was complaining.

Secretly he had been wanting to let the public know that you were dating, he wanted everyone to know you were his and he was yours. He was honestly sick of seeing people “ship” him with extras and he especially hated when the same happened to you.

He’s good for my heart but he’s bad for business

Tears me apart when he grants my wishes

All of my friends think I’ve gone crazy

But they don’t know me like my baby~

Bakugou remembers that moment like it was yesterday. His face instantly blossomed a bright blush, and his lips formed a soft smile. The crowd finally settled down after the beginning and he was able to listen to the song, closing his eyes pretending like he was there in the audience. He put the phone up to his ear and laid back down, soaking up every word and every note.

He’s good

It’s bad

The best I’ve ever had

And he’s so nice

It’s sad

He ruined all my plans

And he just makes me so crazy

I know everyone sees

He’ll be the death of me

That’s how he got here, standing in a special area in your sold out venue wearing your newest merch.

And Bakugou Katsuki was terrified.


This was the first time he had come to see your concert, because last time you toured it was when your relationship was a secret. Now, he sat nervously in his chair, his colleagues on either side of him. You had given all of them tickets, making sure they had the best seats in the house but also allowed them to not be disturbed by fans.

Bakugou was bouncing his leg, picking at his fingernails as he watched the crowd. It seemed that nobody knew they were there, everyone waiting in anticipation of your show. Your music was so diverse, everyone knew that it would contain all sorts of emotions and energies. You were the type of performer who liked to be as close to the audience as possible, you loved adding commentary to your songs during the pauses, making faces, and dancing around. You loved to have fun, and let loose. When you got the green light to plan the tour, you were practically bouncing off the walls of your now shared home. You spent three months planning it, which was a new record for you, before announcing. However, there was just one thing that Bakugou didn’t like about the tour.

He knew absolutely nothing about it. In fact, you made sure of it. Hiding your notebook, changing your laptop’s password, making sure your manager didn’t tell him shit about it. That’s why he was terrified. His partner, his very famous singer/songwriter of a soulmate was about to do the very first night of the tour in Japan and Bakugou didn’t know a thing.

That’s why Bakugou Katsuki was terrified.

Soon enough, the lights began to dim, and people started to stand up. A hush fell over the crowd as the venue blacked out, and the wrist bands on everyone’s wrists lit up.

“Holy shit it’s happening.” Kaminari whispered to Bakugou, grin spreading across his face.

Ochako, Kaminari, and Mina happily took the evening off to see you, while the rest of your invites weren’t able to. Kirishima made Bakugou promise at least one photo of the two of them after the show.

A soft hum came out of the speakers, and suddenly a spotlight appeared to reveal you standing at the very far back of the stage. The crowd went insane, and you walked down the stage.

When it came to your outfits, you always had to keep it comfortable. You loved to jump around dancing, sometimes fall to your knees dramatically. You especially loved to squat. Jumping around in that position and when you stood up you always made sure to flaunt the ass that you worked very hard on in the gym.

You came out strutting down the stage in very baggy and flowy black pants and a very cropped black long sleeve sweater that allowed you to show off the lace bra that went down to your belly button. But that wasn’t where it stopped, nor was it the best part of your outfit. To Bakugou’s surprise you were wearing boots with an obnoxiously thick heel, that were very obviously Dynamite themed.

Bakugou smirked at the sight, taking in the rest of the little details of your outfit. You wore a giant ring on your index finger that was also Dynamite inspired, as a fan gave it to you, and Bakugou could see his initials sewn into the bottom of your sweater.

You stopped at the end of the runway, pulling the microphone away from your face in a dramatic motion. You slowly looked around, taking in your crowd. A smile spread across your face, and when your gaze looked straight forward to look for Bakugou, he made sure to make little sparks from his hands to let you know he was right here. You pointed at him with the finger that had the Dynamite ring on it, and Bakugou honestly felt like it was just you and him in the stadium. You mouthed an ‘I love you’ at him, and Bakugou was now ignoring the new roar from the audience.

“You guys should get married already.” Mina whispered in Bakugou’s ear, and instead of blowing her face up, he just smiled, still looking in your direction.

“I plan on it.”

The first song you sang was one of your oldest ones, which also happened to be a much slower and sadder song. Instead of listening to the grim lyrics (not because they were bad, just because Bakugou hated to remember how bad some of your relationships were and didn’t want to get angry) the hero closed his eyes and listened to your voice. He wanted to take in his environment and all the notes you sang. The song started to drift off midway, which confused Bakugou. His eyes suddenly snapped open when he heard your newest song, which was much more upbeat. He watched you jump in the air and sing the song with much more passion than the original version. The crowd recovered quickly from the switch up and was singing along happily.

You sang a couple more of your newer and upbeat songs, making sure to add new notes to them and even belt a couple of notes to get the crowd excited. You were having so much fun, and Bakugou had never seen you look more alive. This is where you belonged, and he wanted to be right here every time watching.

There was a pause for you to sit down at the edge of the runway. You sat criss-cross, and much closer to the audience for Bakugou’s liking. He always got nervous when you reached out for a fan’s hand, scared that they would do something that could hurt you.

Thankfully, that hadn’t ever happened, and you sat very cutely waiting for the audience to quiet down so you could speak.

“Wow. We’re halfway through already? Well, I think we all know what that means…”

You cocked your head to the side, and a soft piano started to play a familiar rhythm.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between, get out your tissues. It is now time to remember why you are no longer dating your ex, and for you to be reminded that your trauma isn’t just a thing that makes you funny.”

The crowd screamed, but almost immediately stopped when you began to sing in a much softer and lower register than before. As depressing as these songs may be, Bakugou firmly believes that these types of songs bring out the best in your voice. It allows you to challenge your breath control, and truly sing with so much passion and emotion.

A couple of songs pass, and Bakugou finds you when the stage gets lit up again. You’re in the middle of the runway, standing with your head down waiting for the band to begin. As soon as the piano starts, the crowd screams and yells. This is one of your all-time most popular songs, it was the one that caught a lot of people’s attention and boosted your popularity. Funnily enough, you actually hated this song because you wrote it in high school, so Bakugou was surprised to see you preform it.

“Is this Sick of Losing Soulmates?” Ochako yelled, because of the screaming of your audience.

Bakugou turned to her and confirmed her suspicions, making Mina and Kaminari start screaming along with the audience (as they were doing the entire time).

Bakugou watched as you began to sing, and noticed how you really got into it. You added a lot more dramatic pauses before certain lines, and even speaking some of the lyrics, making it feel more like anger than sadness.

Yeah, I’m sick of losing soulmates

Won’t be alone again

I can finally see you’re as fucked up as me

So how do we begin?

At one point, you laid down on your back, reaching for the sky as you sang your heart out, and Bakugou noticed you choking up a bit at certain lyrics.

We will grow old as friends

I've promised that before, so what's one more in our grey-haired circle, waiting for the end?

Time and hearts will wear us thin

So which path will you take, 'cause we both know a break does exactly what it says on the tin

The song soon ends, and your last pose has you on your knees, head looking down at the floor. The stadium goes pitch dark, including the wrist bands, before they light up again along with your stage. Bakugou sees you wipe a tear off your cheek, and you sit there once more taking in your fans that take the chance to start chanting your name. You put your lips together, closing your eyes and putting your hands on your heart. Your eyebrows are furrowed and Bakugou can tell you’re still crying. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to go to you and hold you, wiping away your tears and replacing them with tender kisses.

You open your eyes, putting the mic back to your mouth and the audience quiets down in order to let you speak.

“Oh boy, I am so overwhelmed by emotions. I mean that was the song that started it all right?”

The crowd was still practically silent, as you’ve trained them well. You get off your knees and get into a more comfortable sitting position (criss-cross of course) and continue.

“I used to absolutely loath that song, because I wrote that when I was at my lowest. I was so sick and tired of love, having to try again over and over again. Every relationship that ended seem to break a piece of me off, and I was honestly starting to give up.”

You let out a broken chuckle, putting your free hand over your eyes momentarily before starting again.

“But then I met Katsuki, in which he literally crashed into my life.”

The crowd stayed silent, but Bakugou could tell they wanted to start screaming. You were not looking at him, and to his surprise Bakugou felt a tear run down his cheek.

“Three years of paradise. I’ve always had a fear of losing you, but it especially hits when I sing songs like that.”

There was a pause, and suddenly Bakugou felt like he was back in that studio where he met you. Staring at you and falling in love all over again.

“I love you baby, forever and always.”

Bakugou smiled, and all that fear that was with him before left. You were his and he was yours, and that’s all that he needed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and you knew.

Bakugou Katsuki was no longer terrified.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─⋅ ⋅ ──╯

none of the songs quoted are not mine!!! the first one is “Bad for Business” by Sabrina Carpenter, and the second one is “Sick of Losing Soulmates” by dodie

i hope you enjoyed bc boy oh boy i did

literally took me 4 hours to write but i couldn’t pull myself away from the keyboard

i rlly need to start writing other characters for x readers but oh well

[cowsaresushi-coral]

oh, also while going through my 2022 file, i realized i never posted this.

enjoy this sketch. funny to compare my 2020 tpoh art to my end of 2022 tpoh art.

[ipromptography]

my worst hear me out

[knifeprtys]

how 2 ask people to tag ur triggers without having to say what they are

[lxvvie]

I’m sorry, my mind won’t stop

With Ghost I want him pathetic, trembling, and entirely fucked out by the two people he trusts most in the world (be it reader and soap or mace and reader, but rn we going with mace). The only people ghost let into his heart and that held it gently instead of crushing it. Changing him not because they set out specifically to do so, but because he wants to be the best he can be for his lovers, and that includes stopping certain damaging habits

He can be open and raw with them because he can truly feel their love each time they touch him, whether simply to groun and comfort, or to make he see stars

Mace is someone who realized too late who Simon was to him, and thoroughly believed he’d never get a second chance. Oh how wrong he was. But even still, what happened haunts him (pun not intended), and you’ll find him almost clinging to you both, day or night. It’s his way of convincing himself that no, it’s not a dream, and yes, BOTH of his lovers adore him beyond words and he gets to keep them.

You never realized how much anxiety you had over Simon getting deployed until Mace came along. In a way, there’s more you need to worry about, because you want your boys home in one piece, but at the same time, a lot of it is relieved, you know they would never let anything happen to the other, and even if something were to happen (dear God don’t let this happen, they’ve been through enough) They won’t go alone.

But as for the bedroom 👀

You thought nobody could out-dirty talk Simon until Mace. It seems they are in a competition to say the absolute FILTHIEST thing every time they fuck you

And in public. You have had to pretend like you don’t know them multiple times.

I also went hunting for fan art and official art, and the general consensus is that Mace is somehow bigger than Ghost. Not as big as König, but like. He a biggin. Maybe 6’5-6’6 range? So hope you got guts of steel 🫢🫡

Simon joining you for flexibility stretches so y’all can get even freakier with the positions

If you’re anything but english, then You and Mace are making fun of Simon’s accent. If reader is also english, He’s making fun of both of y’all

I fucks with alladis. Won't he do it?

Just... fuck nasty filthiness in your ear. In public. Can't keep their hands off of you, either.

And you have to channel your inner Mariah.

I'm all for Ghost being a fucked out mess, too.

Just a chuckle fest, cursing, covered in sweat and cum. Trying to smoke but can't even take a drag he's fucking trembling and chuckling.

Fucked out, filthy, and content. Fuck yes.

[vindictusoverlord]

It’s a Jhin fic. Have fun degens👀

TW: depiction of murder, harsh language, sexual themes.

Kinky(?) stuff!: choking, orgasm denial, oral, slapping, biting, dirty talk(kinda).

Word count is 6,100. It’s a biggin.

God speed, soldier.

————————————————————————————

"Ah," Jhin coos, relishing at the heavy thunk! of his last victim. Under his breath, he recites to himself; "My cacophony... the diminuendo... an opera of death... truly exquisite..."

It was all the musings of an inspired lunatic and it danced on his tone, bobbing delicately like a swan on the water, but it defined his chaotic nature entirely— he was a heretic of classical theatre.... Despite this, you had found that you were just like him, anyhow— twin flames sharing the same sick, perverted proclivities and an affinity to a dramatic bloodstained curtain call— it only made sense that you'd find yourselves wound up like this after another one of Jhin's flawless masterpieces. Such a remarkably stunning signature on a heap of corpses and all the while, Jhin stood untouched and unsullied before them. He blew the smoke off his pistol as he gazed below, sending a misplaced chair tumbling over with his foot to admire his handiwork.

"You've outdone yourself, Jhin," You removed your mask as you spoke, wiping off the splattered blood with a handkerchief, trying to alleviate his anger with your smile, and placing your palm on the small of his back. "Really, it was a beautiful performance."

The man holsters his weapons, spinning them with a certain theatrical flair as he does so, and adjusts the collar of his shirt. "It would have been different had you not been here," He says, tone heavy and dark like the narrator to a story, but the cadence hinted that he was pleased with your show tonight, even if he was horribly angry at the men below. "My art would be nothing if not for you."

"I hardly did anything at all. Please, save your flattery." You grin coyly, admonishing the false humility, but Jhin laughs anyways, seeming to accept that you were, in fact, just fine. Though he had always found it peculiar, he admired your consistent sense of dignity and grace on the battlefield. It was a recurring behavior that you displayed— that is, shifting all the credit of a smooth job to him— when it was truly you who set the whole gig up. But nonetheless, and despite his mixed opinions on the matter, Jhin knew it was best not to argue it, but rather to focus on the task at hand.

While you fish around the bodies for your throwing knives, Jhin turns away from his artwork to finish what you had both come all the way there for— an entire shipment of shimmer and the blueprints of an illegally built underground warehouse, as they all tended to be. The two of you slowly load up the truck with the heavy boxes of drugs, securing them down with tarp and straps, before making the two hour trip back to your client's base of operations.

While the driver careened down the interstate, you found yourself thinking about the choices you've made thus far. It felt as though it may have been getting old, working for chump change and constantly moving; always at the mercy of the dangerous political climate. On the other end, it seemed as though Jhin didn't much care for the result of a mission or why he was there in the first place, but rather focused his attention to the clean kills and the adrenaline rush he got from it. You felt somewhat similarly if you were honest, but the pay was important if you were both to stay alive and in hiding. As two of the most wanted criminals in Ionia, odd jobs like this were hard to come by and bounty hunters were plentiful. You took it upon yourself to be the eyes and ears while Jhin was better at talking and finessing, and between the two of you, your chemistry was undeniably successful. Had your doubts been even slightly mitigated by this success, though, perhaps you wouldn't be thinking so often of leaving with your resident maniac in tow.

Even when you handed over the documents to your temporary employer, listening to the excessive palaver while they unloaded the cargo, you felt confident and secure in your partnership with Jhin the Virtuoso, and he felt the same in you. Rarely did he come to trust anyone. But you... well, you had an electricity to you. A particular kind of panache. The first of its kind to catch and hold the killer's eye, and likely the last. Jhin had great plans for you as his partner in both crime and in love, and he endlessly daydreamed about those deviant fantasies of ruthless killing and depraved splendor upon a bed of thorns and gold. Frequent dreams of staining the goose down duvet with the bloody theatrics of your trophies and images of your exquisite countenance twisting with prodigious ecstasy blinded him— oh!, indeed, all of that he wished to share with you alone. Jhin had a plethora of scenes he wished to enact with his beautiful accomplice, and as you sat beside him, absently tapping your pretty fingers on your leg, he had half a mind to show you those perversions right now—

"Jhin," You snap in front of his face. "Are you okay?"

He inhales sharply. He hasn't even realized the two of you had finished up so quickly, let alone that you were already home. Jhin's thoughts consumed him, inspired by the way you peered over at him with those deep (e/c) eyes full of curiosity.

"Yes," he says, confidence oozing off of him. "I'm fine. Let's get this going, shall we?" It was so frustrating to be pulled out of such a tantalizing spectacle, but he begrudgingly lets the thoughts drift to the back of his dirty mind, nodding his acknowledgement at you before following your lead out of the vehicle.

As you said your goodbyes and shook hands with the driver, Jhin's eyes wandered to your plump behind. He gave his farewells as well, of course, but as they parted ways and you began your steady march just a short pace ahead, Jhin returned his ardent stare. As quickly as they had been suppressed just moments before, the debauched musings collided with him once again as they had for the last few hours. He counted the steps until the two of you entered your temporary home, timing them just perfectly with the clicking of your rubicund heels. Soon.... He thought, I'll give her a show of a lifetime... another timeless masterpiece for the ages...

You felt Jhin's heavy gaze on you, prickling your skin into a subtle shiver. It was often that you pondered whatever spiraled about in his warped mind, but his disassociation didn't phase you much more than peaking your endless curiosity for this man's inner machinations. Even as you fumble with the key, you can't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Jhin, as he had been a bit off since you had announced the recent contract to him. He had an innate sense for those kind of things, so it left you on edge to know that even he was skeptical.

But for now, you'd enjoy each others company in the warmth of your humble home. Nothing else mattered for the next few days while you both rested, restocked, and recouped.

As the heavy door opens up, you enter the room, allowing yourself to finally unwind as Jhin struts past you. After sliding off his shoes, he sets his things down while you close and lock the heavy door, making your way quickly to the large restroom. You were caked with blood and dirt and, seeing as though you were both germaphobes, you couldn't wait to wash the filth down the drain.

"(Y/N), my dear," The man says. "Might I join you for a moment?"

"To wash up?"

"Don't play dumb," Jhin finally removes his mask, setting it carefully alongside his personal items. "To admire. I'll wash up later in the evening."

"Of course," Despite your perceived confidence, your heart slipped into a new gear. He nodded to your acceptance of his request with a smile, staying behind to allow you a moment to fill the tub, but never taking his eyes off of you as you stripped away the soiled fabric, tossing your mask and cloak into the laundry hamper.

He adored your figure, tracing every inch in his minds eye, even if he'd seen it bare many times before. It never ceased to leave him speechless. His feelings had been confounded to an infinitely constricting noose around a proverbial neck, and as you peeked over your shoulder and sweetly smiled at the killer, Jhin felt it tighten even further.

The hot water felt nice on your submerging body. You hadn't realized how sore you were from the scuffle earlier in the day, and having almost been killed this morning left a sour taste in your mouth. Unseen cuts and bruises stung while you sank slowly into the tub, suppressing a grimace as you come to rest at the bottom of the deep basin, enjoying the bubbles that rose up to your neck and surrounded you. Jhin enters the room shortly after, a glass of wine in both hands, and takes a seat on the side of the tub. He passes one to you, a grin curling his top lip.

"To a job well done," The man taps his glass against yours, savoring the sweet wine as he sips from the rim, humming a song to himself as he rises back to his feet. You simply relax back in the tub, scrubbing down your skin with a washcloth and enjoying the rich tone of Jhin's voice. You sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying one another's company while he sings to you, and before long, he speaks up again.

"Do you have anything else in store for us this upcoming week?" Jhin asks, leaning against the sink counter, amusing himself while you bathe. An air of insouciance lingered about his contemplation as he did so, eyes glittering with childlike mischief.

"Hmmm," You mull it over as you rinse your hair out, brushing through the tangles with your fingers. "Not that I'm aware of." Having finished, you rise up from the tub, bend over to pull the drain, and wring your hair out with the plush towel.

Jhin curls his lip upward. "Lovely. Then I'll have you all to myself."

"Oh, you have plans, do you?"

He says nothing, rather letting his silence speak for him as the glass finds its place onto the countertop. He watches you from start to finish, enamored by the seemingly menial task of drying yourself down. You hang up the towel, your hair still leaving little droplets along your skin, before sauntering carefully towards him.

"You know," Your voice is a soft purr as it comes out, calm and collected. "I'm really quite fond you, Khada Jhin. You do know that, don't you?" Your fingers run up his dress shirt, the fabric still pressed firm and starkly clean, from sternum up to around his shoulders, intertwining yourself into his warm embrace. His cologne was decadent and made you feel love-drunk, the floral musk driving your mind to dangerous places.

"But of course I know." He coos. "I am the luckiest man alive, after all."

You rise to your toes and place your lips softly against the crook of the man's neck, briefly sinking your teeth into the flesh before moving on to another, lower spot. Jhin hums his pleasantry, acquiescing to your painful leisure, and tightens his grip on the edge of the counter.

You enjoyed his white-knuckling— the way he held back and bit his silver tongue; how he melted into you like wax; when his lips parted and he sighed, the air thick with tension... You continued down, showing him just how much you loved him; gradually unbuttoning his collar, loosening the tie, and then the placket. You left neat kisses along his pale, scarred skin, raising goosebumps along the surface. Jhin releases a careful hand to caresses your cheek, desire apparent in his focused eyes. His lips twitch when he lifted your chin up with only his forefinger, forming something of a crooked smirk. His normal tepid expression, characterized only by the mask he wore to disguise his heart, was replaced by a sense of passion and, hidden behind his gaze, an exhausted restraint.

Jhin nudges your nose with his own, softy falling into your lips. His breath tasted of wine, bittersweet and boozy, but his touch was soft and deliberate. You melted against him, submitting to your yearning, but Jhin remained surprised nonetheless. You ruled him, every part of him— you, the deliverer of divine retribution to his physical and spiritual being; the one that took his life into your hands— and his soul flickered and faded with every touch, lingering on the timbre of everything you said, just as your tongues did. They mimicked a decadent crescendo until you both needed a breath, stealing the oxygen from one another like it would suffocate you to disconnect for even a moment. And like comets, you were destined to meet again, and so you did, with his hands pressed onto your waist and hips and one your own against his chest, the other making its way down to the bulge in his slacks.

And you both fell back into the other.

The tide of idolatry was all consuming. As Jhin kissed you, it felt as thought you were ascending— almost like falling upwards through the clouds— as you fell deeper in love with the maniac. Just like the first time you had shared a kiss, you felt the distinct shock through your core every time since then. Those rampant butterflies that almost made you nauseous, the furious beating of your heart, and the dizziness that fogged your mind kept you going back for more. Endlessly craving more.

As if he read your thoughts, a slender hand wrapped around your neck and you hummed into his embrace. Jhin pulls away after a moment, his lips grazing against yours, and following instinct, you lean forward, longing for all of him. His other hand, breaking away from your hip, pulls his belt out of the loops and slides behind the waistband of his trousers. Jhin unbuttons them with a simple flick of his thumb and forefinger, letting you to unzip them yourself, and then returns his hands to the countertop. You drop to a squat before running your fingers along his waist band, lingering on each peck you give his abdomen. Jhin watches intently, seemingly mesmerized by your finesse, and, almost as if he forgot how to breathe, his exhales hitch on an absent thought with every breath he takes in.

You slowly drag the smooth fabric from his slender hips, biting softly onto one side of his undergarments and tugging with your hand on the other, only closing your eyes when you return upwards to leave a trail with your lips along his prominent pelvis bones. His member softly presses against the side of your face as you led your kisses to the base, lingering there for a moment to take in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. Mesmerized by his simple beauty, you peer up at him, relishing the sight of his vulnerability as if it were a drug.

"I've been thinking about you— this— all day," Jhin whispers. The light catches his face in a way that accentuates the sharpness of his features and softness of his skin. He was, by most accounts, a very average looking man, only his demeanor setting him apart from the crowd. He was fairly inconspicuous without his mask, though he hated to be without it, but his almond shaped brown eyes held a certain frigidity and authority-- a professionalism, almost-- and his skin was no longer pallid as it had been when you had met. The honey colored warmth in his gaze captured light and turned it auburn like muted fire or an endless horizon— simply full of life.

You bat your eyes at him, feigning innocence. His confidence faltered when you did that, staring up at him through those pretty eyelashes, eyes wide and full of wonder. The way your gaze gleamed with mischief made him let out a nervous chuckle, one that made his cock twitch with anticipation.

"Just sit back, my love." Making eye contact, you let your tongue drag along the underside of his cock to the tip, amusing yourself with the subtle twitch of his hooded eyelids. "Let me take care of you."

He always acted like it was the first time you touched him, as if it was the stars and sky falling right above him in a perpetual performance. Jhin, who put out an air of arrogance and wise experience, was simply a man after all. And every man had a weakness.

Jhin bit his bottom lip as your tongue twirled around the head and ever... so... slowly... inched down as if to absorb him in his own pleasure. Your lips wrapped delicately around your teeth to protect his flesh as you moved forward, flexing outward as you gradually pulled back, creating a suction that forced a soft moan from your fragile lover.

You, the kind woman that you were, took your time building up your tempo, enjoying the soft grunts Jhin elicits, and begin to glide your hands up his thighs. Your fingers softly prod around his package, wrapping around to cup his balls as the tip of his shaft passes down your throat. You hold it there for a few moments before shifting back, returning to your original tempo, but this time, you go all the way down to his belly, grazing his happy trail with your nose. Jhin lets out a sigh, instinctively twisting his fingers in your wet hair. He knew he was at your mercy by the way you moved your tongue so expertly and pulled those degrading noises out of him. It was as if your intention had been solely to devour him soul first. Unbeknownst to you, had that kind of unity been an option, Jhin would gladly let you.

The churning knot built up quickly in the pit of his stomach, raising a pressure below that made it hard to breathe out against his soft moans. The dirty gargling noises that erupted from your throat had him biting his lip far too hard, his head thrown back to whisper his pleadings with the gods, and somehow even through all the pleasure, he softly thanked them, too.

You wrapped your free hand around the remaining length of his cock, pumping back-and-forth in unison with your mouth, capturing it all within the depths of your greedy throat. None of him would go untouched, unloved, or ungrateful, and you were going to make sure of that. You would love all of him down to the molecules of his very being until the day he died.

And as you took all of him in, pressing your nose against his belly over and over, Jhin bit down on the sleeve of his shirt. It had begun to slip off his shoulders, the sleeves just long enough for him to try to suppress his raunchy melody within the fabric. But his legs began to buckle, his arms flung back to the countertop to keep him from falling, and your momentum didn't stop. You kept it up, eyes closed to bring forth your earned prize, and the sheer thought of you forced the man to utterly submit to your presence. You could feel the flexing of his restraint on your tongue as he held back as strongly as he was able to, but before long, Jhin would meet his limit.

The man leans forward ever so slightly as he snakes his hand around your throat once again. His fingers tread lightly along your skin as they wrap around it, pressing into the flesh. His breath hitches as he feels the girth of his cock sliding down, and out, and back again, amazing himself by how well you could take in his length.

"Oh, fuck..." he murmurs, tightening his grip in your (h/c) locks. "How do you... do that?" Jhin hums as he struggles to pull you off of him, eyes dull and weak as if he was simply a puppet and you were the marionette. You noticed a string of spit hung from your lip to the tip of his curved dick, licking your lips seductively up at his bewilderment.

"No more?" You ask, obediently placing one hand in your lap to play with yourself.

He chuckles— exasperated— eyes flickering between the placements of your hands. "Look what you do to me... it's simply... not fair." He spoke quietly between labored breaths, meekly gesturing at his cock now drooling with pre-cum. His hand finds its place there, long, slender fingers dividing to hold his flesh at the base, accentuating the curve.

"Fairness is a construct," You move closer to his proud member, making eye contact with him as you plant kisses along the his hip bones and his stomach, holding onto his hip with one hand to keep him in place. "If life was fair to all of us, we wouldn't be on the run. And we," You gaze up at him, deviance dancing like demons across your expression, haunting your erotic smile. "Could do whatever we wanted."

Jhin shudders at the sight of you below him, toying with your pussy as his cock stood erect against your flushed cheek. He enjoyed the chase you presented his way as if you were a mouthy slave to his wishes, your sexual deviancy a lure to reel him into a whirlwind of eroticism.

His fingers brush gently through your hair, smoothing out the chaos he had made in it just moments before. "Stand up for me, my rose," Jhin coos, his words flowing off his tongue like poetry. "I think it's your turn, now."

With a quick nod, enticed by his intent, you rise to your feet and take Jhin's offered chivalry. He places your wet fingers onto his tongue, locking eyes with you as he closes his lips around them. His tongue swiped off your juices, delicately dancing along each of the two fingers as he cleaned them up. You couldn't help but sigh, a mewl following shortly after, when you slowly pull your fingers back out. His seduction worked every time, and the image of his face buried between your legs, squished by your thighs until he struggled to breathe... but that intense climax would be worth anything.

"Ready?" He asks.

Baffled, you simply nod.

He leads you to the neat and organized bedroom, shirking off his white dress shirt along the way. He turns and captures you within his arms, positively bursting with passionate affection. You couldn't help but giggle as he did so, becoming ensnared in yet another embrace of his lips. The man slowly walks you back to the bed, never once breaking the contact when he lifts you up onto the mattress. His tall form looms over you, and those same kisses become sloppier as he makes his way down your body.

You feel his slender fingers graze against your skin, down from your shoulders to your breasts. His large palms cup underneath, one hand pressing softly against your hardened nipple, while his tongue plays on the other. Jhin's eyes are closed as he just slightly touches his bottom teeth against the sensitive skin. You grip the duvet under you, trying desperately to hold back the electricity that flowed through you. You could feel the small smile he let slip out, his adoration peeking out through his long, dark eyelashes, and he continues moving down.

The way his hands felt on your skin stirred goosebumps on your skin. They were calloused on his fingertips— a signature sign of a musician— but the smooth palms kept an arch to them that applied just the right pressure as he touched you. As his hands slid slowly past your hips and down to your thighs, he allows his thumbs to just barely brush against your sex while he works his kisses downwards. Before long, Jhin has you wriggling in his arms while he teases you, hushed gasps escaping as you squirm. You prop yourself up on your elbows, pouting your lips and furrowing your brow in protest.

His eyes are narrow, thinned with tension, and he takes it as his sign to brush his lips gently against your heated sex. The man's tongue softly slips from his lips, making a small circle before he kisses your womanhood again. He flattens it out, carefully watching your expression as he goes to work, twirling and flicking in an improvisational dance that landed every move. He kept a consistent pressure and suction on your clit as he always did, skill simply unmatched, volleying the flatness and extending the length of his tongue.

Jhin presses his palm into your lower stomach, sinking it in and holding it there. While he does, his free hand slides his index and middle fingers along your opening, coating them both with a mixture of your juices and his saliva before slowly— oh, so slowly— inserting them into you. He allows you to acclimate, always having loved the tightness and the way you gripped his fingers, humming his praise into your sex.

You let out a soft moan, something more akin to a drawn out, breathy "fuck!", as his long fingers curl upwards, seeming to beckoning you from within. The pads of his fingertips firmly tapped against the spongey part of your sex, curving in and out with a leisurely pace. It felt as though he was coaxing your heartbeat, and it seemed to follow without much hesitation. It descended through your chest, making friends with the butterflies, as it found its home there amidst them. Your breathy moans matched the thudding, decadently rising in pitch as Jhin pushed and pulled his fingers. The pressure built up quickly and formed a fiery heat that began taking root within your depths.

Jhin, of course, knew what you liked and he knew it well, only slightly picking up his pace once your body had flexed, then relaxed and slowed down-- and when it tensed again, he repeated this process, counting to four in his mind to keep a consistent pace.

"Jhin, please..." You beg, a pathetic expression clear as daylight on your face. "I want you—"

He smiles, not stopping his pace and replacing his tongue with the padding of his thumb, swirling it in quick circles, as he speaks. "I know," he croons, melodic in his tone and ever so satisfied with your reactions. It almost sounded like he was placating you, begging for your orgasm as if he wanted nothing more than your body contorting against him.

"I'd like you to cum for me first. Will you do that, my love?" Jhin whispers.

"Yes," You nod weakly, unable to hold from setting your head back down on the duvet. "...sir."

He smiles, going back between your legs with the same fervor. "That's my good girl."

Naturally, you lay back and bring your hands up to fondle your breasts, squeezing the buds softly as you begin to cross over the brink. It takes a few more minutes as you ride your hips into him, taking greedy steps towards the edge as tears formed in your eyes and your thighs cramp from the shaking. Jhin throws his arm over your leg, using a part of the weight of his body on the other to keep them separated and to hold you still as you slip into bliss.

He wouldn't stop until your mind was numb and empty, until your eyes rolled back and your body twitched uncontrollably, letting a pool of drool hang by your cheek. Jhin couldn't hold back from that kind of torture. It was, for him, another pure form of art he performed only for you. And while you lay there squirming, your sweet voice filled the room with a music he could hear every day, all day, for the rest of his natural life.

Your head was spinning, face hot and slack. Your climax had you in a chokehold, lasting longer than you had expected it to. The white hot heat that took over you seared your skin like a brand, marking you forever as Jhin's.

"My sweet girl," Jhin licks his lips, crawling on top of you. "You are so beautiful like this." He positions your legs on either side of himself, cupping your cheek as he kisses your trembling lips, his tongue tracing the soft flesh before he dives back into your embrace. You taste yourself on his breath— the tangy sweetness of your love made you sweat— and you wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly, afraid to let go.

Jhin positions himself at your entrance, tracing his length over your sex before he poses to enter, kissing your forehead before he does so. "Do you want it, my darling?" He hums sweetly, just mere inches from your ear.

"Always," You whimper, barely able to bring yourself to say much else. The fog of his presence held your mind in a bird cage, and it was a helpless, thrashing creature all the while. "Please."

Gradually, he pushes himself in, lowering the tip of his cock into you with his thumb, bringing his hips closer to meet yours. You inhale as his length enters you, the fullness making your breath hitch. You were still so terribly sensitive, arching your back to feel it all— as Jhin gently began to rock his hips, your hands instinctively press against his bare chest. Your fingers traced carefully over his scars, letting them take their place on his collarbone.

"You're doing so well." Jhin's voice is gruff, his kisses dotting your neck and forehead as he speaks. The man brushes the hair from your face, mild and deliberate as he makes his way through the routine. He treated you as if you were a delicate flower on the cusp of a spring bloom, pressing his forehead to yours, clearly relishing in the meek mewls he was able to earn as he picked up his pace.

Jhin pulls back, scooping your legs up onto his left shoulder and straightening his back. He looks so tall and overpowering here, the coldness in his gaze still lingering amidst his dark stare. You couldn't completely take away the sadistic side of the killer, but you loved to see his aggression every now and then.

He picks up his pace, pumping in and out, every move calculated, breaths intertwined as he gazes lazily down at you. He filled you perfectly, the curve of his cock greeting your depths. It was almost as though he could read your mind; the way Jhin's fingers snake in between your thighs while he moves matched your thoughts. He makes quick movements, deliberately toying with you with a fiery fixation on the way your expression contorts.

The man watched as your eyes rolled behind your eyelids, lip quivering against your labored breathing, and he just loved the way you used your hands against the mattress to push yourself back against him. He loved the curves of your body, decorated with your numerous scars. They were a sign of a warrior, uncontested through your countless battles, and while he imbibed your intoxicating aura, you grew ever louder as his pace picked up. The aggression turned primal when his fingers grazed your neck, the melody of skin-to-skin impact filling the thick air. His manicured nails just barely scratch the skin, sending ripples of goosebumps across your body. A crooked, sadistic smile seems to crack across his face, and without any warning, Jhin sends a hearty smack! against your bottom.

And gradually, he slows down to an agonizing pace. He gyrates his hips ever so slightly before moving his callused palms over the length of your body. You sigh out your grievances, something of a mixed bag of pleasure and annoyance, and his brows furrow. Jhin's face shifts, once something so perverse and barbarous, to the warmth of a hearth, or the color of yellow daisies. He was gracious and charming, like the story books would say, but his tone-- a gruffness in his voice-- was the stark opposite.

He leans over, the fingers of one hand clasped on your neck and softly tapping in succession, and whispers, "Who do you belong to?"

"Only you." You murmur it back, only just barely audible, but he smiles as he releases you.

"Show me,"

And so you adjust yourself, slowly making your way to the edge of the bed. Jhin sits down, surveying your every move, but one leg after the other, you lower yourself onto his lap. He holds you, chest to chest, covered in a sheen of sweat. Your breathing was discordant, a tribute to the wild look in your eyes. His, however, were heavy. They were shrouded in ambiguity, a darkness lurking just beneath, and when his lip twitched at the left corner, the air pulled taught once again. Tension could be cut with a knife... But this, well, perhaps not even a bullet could pierce through.

Your stomach churned. All the while, your heartbeat sped up. The man before you was unequivocally methodical about everything he did, even when he brushed the hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. Without much control, your body squirmed at his touch, much like the shaking of leaves in a breeze. It was a shudder that washed away reality-- one that swept away all of the stress of life. Here in Jhin's presence, you felt as though the moon wasn't so far away. That maybe, just maybe, you could touch the dust upon its surface.

Jhin allowed you to lower yourself onto him, slowly rising and falling as the tide. His broad palms spread out against your bottom, lifting ever so slightly while you move, and his lips... They leave a trail along your shoulder, down to your collarbone, and... back up your neck. The man softly bites into your skin, a groan departing from the floor of his diaphragm.

That guttural noise... so primal and inviting... it always provoked something of a beast within you. A devil that yearned for submission.

Jhin hadn't expected you to push him back so roughly, but his eyes trailed your body as you sat up straight and dug your nails across his bare chest. He didn't react much aside from that and preferred to observe. He loved your lust for power and the way you took what you wanted. It was so aligned with his own methods, and initially what drew him to you, so with every movement and shaky breath that left your chest, he, too, rose to that peak of pleasure. It started in his throat, down to his lungs and all the way to his palms, closing in on his innards, and the to his toes. It consumed him in the same way it consumed you.

He came before you this final time, whimpering so, so very softly, but the moment felt like forever and nothing all the same, like the world was stuck in a volleying limbo. You let your hands drop beside his head, reveling in the quivering darkness hazing your thoughts. It was an absolute wash of warmth that drowned you out like a monsoon— the way Jhin held you in his arms as you both shivered, moving your hips ever so slowly in mesmerizing circles to capture his essence within you.

Tepid fingers twisted together behind his head, absently fiddling with the ring that adorned your left hand, and mind clear... absolved, almost. The man hugged you tightly against his chest, his complexion dewy, heart beats colliding in unison. You sigh outward, satisfied and relaxed, and that feeling of butterflies returned, rushing through your core to make you hum your satisfaction to your lover.

"You inspire me." Jhin croons, so soft and calm as he pants, and runs his fingers across the edge of your jaw. He was riding the bliss of his orgasm, floating high amidst the clouds.

You breathe in the romance, exhaling when you meet his lips once more. "And you..."

He smiles and your heart flutters.

"Complete me."

[ronearoundblindly]

The Right Partner (1/2)

Take My Hand, a Fools Rush In story

Summary: Steve is nervous on your wedding day.

Warnings for innuendo, some language, and--well--married life activities, so yes, there is smut. MINORS DNI. WC a honking 7.1k, like she's a biggin' this one. Wow, this got out of hand.

A/N: This half is entirely from Steve's POV. The next half is from yours. Also, it's sappy, gang, and I cried dozens of times writing this. Hope you do, too? But in a nice way? 🤷🏻‍♀️ Enjoy!

Steve is used to tight clothes, but his SSR uniform feels excessively tight as he stands in the mirror. It’s putting pressure on his waist and chest. Yeah, that’s what it is. The suit.

He pulls the lighter tie back and forth to straighten it, flipping the shirt collar back up and down. When he smooths it back down, he keeps his hand pressing over his heart, feeling it race.

“Quit fussing,” Bucky mumbles, standing behind him.

“I’m not fussing.”

Bucky simply tilts his head with a knowing look and goes to lean on the furniture.

Steve feels no better. He doesn’t have enough information. Are you nervous, too? Are you having second thoughts? Did he do enough to make this feel like your day too? Has he shown you enough love to convince you to hitch your life to his?

Steve Rogers’ life is far more of a zoo than he thought it would be growing up. The original plan was ‘go to war, end the war, come home, and live.’ He’s not quite done all of those things, but they are all on shuffle repeat.

His goal was to do his part. He wanted to stick up for the little guy. Each fight his fragile body got roughed up in could have been his last, so in the grand scheme of things, Steve only recently let himself plan ahead. Those once nebulous, unattainable hopes are starting to coalesce in the gravity of you. 

It’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s new.

It’s making Steve feel a little queasy.

Life is unpredictable. There’s no blueprint. Army strategy doesn’t much apply to single human-on-human interaction, teaches not to make the other party happy, and in terms of friendlies, sticks with ‘don’t shoot each other.’

He knows how to fight, to disarm, to destabilize, to surround and corner, to capture, and to thwart. Steve even knows—begrudgingly—how to kill. Those are his strengths.

What is he thinking? He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to be a husband.

Oh boy, he’s gonna puke.

“Take a breath, punk. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Bucky’s nothing but amused by Steve’s nerves though, so his best friend seems to purposefully offer lackluster help.

Steve adjusts his uniform’s tie for the twentieth time. It’s still not right. Steve’s hands are still shaking, and as sick as he feels now…he actually might want a hearty swig from Thor’s flask to take the edge off.

Buck intuits this and is already on his phone, calling in the cavalry, or so Steve thinks.

“What if I choke up and don’t say it right?”

Steve watches Bucky shrug. “Ok then—“ Bucky unfolds a little piece of paper “—one more time. I, Steven Grant Rogers…”

“I, Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve breathes through lips he can’t seem to move properly.

“…do solemnly swear…”

The tie is still crooked. “Do solemnly swear.”

“That I am up to no good.”

“That I…what?”

“Clever,” Tony’s rich laugh sounds from the doorway, “very modern for you boys.”

“Those aren’t my vows,” Steve (just shy of) whines.

“I sure hope not—“ Tony comes in “—don’t think your little lady would like all these guests to know your dirty little intentions for the rest of the night.” He waggles his eyebrows, elated by Steve’s frustration.

“I’m getting married.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, “he’s allowed to be as dirty as he wants with Nerd once they’re married.”

Steve snaps up at Bucky. “That’s not—“

“Oh, he did not wait until—“

“Tony, don’t!” Steve’s about to crack, face hot like he has a fever, and he’d be fine with the ribbing if it weren’t for experiencing a minor earthquake beneath him, rocking his composure since last night when Nat whisked you away after the rehearsal.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got you, buddy. Here—“ Bucky hands him his phone “—she sent you a little something.”

“Hey, Sketch,” your voice rings in his ear, “I thought you might need a message to help you chill the eff out, so I wrote you a poem. Here goes.”

Steve smiles instantly and relaxes his neck, head falling forward in a sigh.

“You’re pretty old but to me you’re new. I borrow you from the world where you’re dressed in blue. You can keep me forever, I promise you that. Our lives start today…just don’t anger Nat.

“See? I’m such a great writer—“ The message cuts off in laughter from both you and your sibling, Ro.

In the background, he hears Natasha grumble, “if that weren’t true, I’d be pretty pissed, now get over here so your—“ and it’s over.

Bucky beams, smacking Steve’s back with a jolting force, likely checking that his heart is still functioning.

“Awesome,” Tony adds, “final flourishes?”

He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket, and Steve stiffens.

“Tony, the rings are supposed to be with—“

“Hold your horses,” Stark dismisses. “This is something else. You’re missing a pin.”

Steve’s hands frantically sweep down his uniform as he checks. “Where?”

“You mind?” Tony picks something silver out and hands the box over to Bucky. He turns to grab Steve’s lapel and flicks it out.

The pin is a globe with many—but not accurate—lines crisscrossing it. Beneath that sits ‘1943.’

“First Stark Expo commemorative pin. I believe it technically is where you began in a way, and I’ve got to somehow make this day about me, so you’re welcome.”

He wants to be mad and say something sharp, but instead, Steve just gets hotter and more emotional. Tony, pleased with his work, pulls Steve into a tight hug that both cling to for a moment.

“I know, big guy. I’m just that great. There, there.” Tony—only half-jokingly—rests his hand on the back of Steve’s head before a gentle pat.

“Thank you,” Steve sniffs. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I brought you one, too, Dynamo.” Tony collects himself, pointing at the box Bucky holds. “Good ol’ Dad only printed about a hundred of those before his publicist stopped the machine, so it’s extra perfect.”

As the box opens, Bucky snorts.

“Oh wow. Yup. I see why,” he mutters, pulling out another silver pin with the same year and the initials for the World Exposition of Tomorrow.

Bucky smirks while Tony pushes the W.E.T. pin into place.

“Perfect,” he agrees, sharply straightening his matching uniform.

Steve nods. “Now I get why you kept them,” he says flatly, mind already far away again but at least his body jitters less. “Is it time?”

“Just about.” Tony smiles wide and earnestly. “We’re all ready to get up to no good. You just need to—” he waves his hand in front of Steve’s face “—fix this a bit.”

Steve frowns. “That’s my face, Tony.”

“Yeah, well, it’s making me nervous, so…” Tony walks off into the hallway.

Bucky’s expression tells Steve that the sentiment wasn’t wrong. He looks a wreck and a half, and he knows it.

Bucky shrugs. “I could sock you one if that would help.”

Between the Asgardian liquor and a punch to the face…Steve weighs his options and takes one final breath.

It’s crisp out. Overcast. Everything around feels subdued. The beautiful, turning foliage of the woods past AvIn campus sits quiet, framing the wrought iron archway.

Out of habit, Steve scans the tree line. All worst-case scenarios have been on repeat in his brain since Nat shuffled you away last night. There’s the obvious: being called out on an emergency, some of your family not arriving on time, the cake tasting like plaster, him looking like an idiot in every single photo…

Or the unlikely: Bruce hulks out for no reason, some evil agent(s) show up to hurt people, Steve missing a single moment of you walking down the aisle…

Sam’s taught him a technique for keeping his eyes open as long as possible—without looking like a creepy goof—so he can catch every second. Finally, all those stupid staring contests with Bucky have a good use.

Steve stands facing the woods, shaking out his arms in hopes of feeling less crawling beneath his skin. He’s so twitchy. He’s so damn nervous that Buck’s hand on his shoulder makes him jump again.

He knew he was there, for goodness sake. He’s being ridiculous.

Steve tries to crack his neck and accidentally hikes his shoulders clear up to his ears, so there’s one ding on looking like an idiot in a photo.

Sam makes a gesture to remind Steve to breathe. Tony flashes a thumbs-up and winks at him.

Steve’s stomach knots up as if he guzzled Thor’s Asgardian liquor, and he forces himself to smooth the front of his jacket. Steady. He can do this. Even though he feels tiny. Even though his knees feel weak and wobbly. Even though he’s having trouble breathing. He can’t magically develop asthma again, right? He tells his face to smile. Eh, he didn’t quite nail that.

It’s like he can’t register the mass of people—ok it’s not so many, but they’re there—in front of him until Buck’s elbow knocks his.

Steve snaps to attention.

The music warps to a crawl in his ears, and he’s dimly aware of Morgan tossing leaves over the aisle. There are approving murmurs and whispers when the bridesmaids slowly—gah, why is everything so slow?—meander past Steve’s right, but he’s still not looking. Not really.

The delicate rustle should be impossible to hear. You’ve barely inched a toe past the threshold of the building’s West Entrance, but Steve’s vision tunnels immediately into the distance.

He doesn’t see white first.

A deep, navy lace creeps up the long line of you before melting into the more traditional cream color. Some of the embroidered flowers dotting the dress are cast in burgundy, increasing in their cluster until solid along your neckline.

His heart stops, but not in cold. Steve’s sparking, concentration so honed and potent on your every step, every flutter and ripple of your gown, that he could light the ground you walk on with just his gaze.

Honest to god, he can’t see your father on your arm because the universe shrinks to the size of one half strip of carpet for the eternity it takes you to float to his side. He suffocates, blissfully, waiting so patiently.

And then your fingers smooth into his outstretched hand and squeeze.

The pulse wraps his entire body, somehow, someway, releasing all that pent-up terror all at once. He remembers. He remembers now. You’re gonna marry him. Your smile brings the sun. Your beauty brings him warmth. Your love keeps him alive.

He couldn’t breathe without you. That was the missing piece.

Steve should look forward. He should look at the priest and think of his lines and focus, but he just stares.

There’re burgundy flowers in your hair above sapphire earrings, and you’re gonna marry him. A pulse right there beneath the chain of your necklace beats rapidly, and you’re gonna marry him. Your mouth opens, sighs, speaks, and you’re gonna marry him. You’re giggling and helping him say some words…

And you’ve married him.

Your hands are steady in his as he slides a garnet ring over your finger, and your hands steady his while you slide a matching yellow gold band onto him. You’re married, and he’s yours.

Everything’s different. Absolutely nothing has changed.

One second he loved you and the next he loves you more. Unfathomable.

A gentle gust of wind knocks a wisp of hair out of place. We can’t have that, he thinks, tucking it back over your ear with a smile. He smells your hair and skin now, hears your breaths and heart, sees a familiar twitch of nerves, feels the tiniest tremble of your hands in his, and knows nothing but you in this moment.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest harps loudly from a planet away. “You may k—“

He gets to taste now, too. Steve can’t wait. 

The momentum does not start out sweet. You’d expect all delicacy and tenderness from him, but no, he’s married now. Your body bends and molds to him, bringing you close, closer, and closer still.

A chorus of ‘woah’ and one ‘dang, boy’ erupts from behind him, and the poor priest tries to slow Steve down.

“No need to rush. You have eternity.”

Doesn’t matter. As Buck would say, this isn’t kissing; this is necking, and Steve’s gonna neck his wife all he damn well pleases from this day forward.

“I told ya,” Tony cracks behind him, “always the quiet ones.”

“Made her stretch this morning, too,” Nat adds with a snort.

The priest just chuckles. It’s not his first rodeo either. “May I present Captain and Misses Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Even Stevens,” Steve whispers as he pulls away.

Your eyes open, dark and glassy.

“Even—“ but his lips cut you off with one more playful kiss.

He rights you and your dress, careful not to let his buttons and medals snag on the lace, which only leads to Steve petting his splayed hand down your entire bodice while your sibling stands feet away cheering.

“Steady on, brother,” Ro yells.

That is the moment when Steve comes back to himself. The sights and sounds of the rest of the world dial back up into existence, and he flushes, realizing he really couldn’t be held responsible if he’d gone further in the last few minutes. He just wasn’t in control of his body or mind.

But he remembers. He has every minute detail of you locked away permanently now. At least, your joy tells him that he did okay; he’s made you happy. He’ll need a video to figure out what he actually said, however.

Semantics, as Buck would say.

Normally, Steve is not this bold, but something about watching you smile and him thinking “that’s my wife” has caused him to push the envelope. Will this touch at your neck make your heart race? Will that question whispered in your ear make you shiver? For those reasons, he’s taking the ritual of removing your garter very seriously.

He stares right into your eyes through long lashes, ignoring the cheers and hoots of your guests, savoring your alternating excitement and shyness while he drags his hands over the soft skin of your leg.

You’re not wearing tights.

His fingers initially pass the scrunched satin and lace band to pinch at your inner thigh several inches higher than where he’s supposed to be, and you jump, unable to stifle of laugh of surprise. 

The audience reacts, too, but he can’t hear it. 

Stretching out his hand to smooth his palm back down causes the tip of his middle finger to brush against the lace of your panties, and he’s so proud of your widening eyes. He relents after he’s sure you see his devious grin and slides off the frilly band, carefully cupping your foot to wiggle it over your shoe.

Shit.

His wife.

In heels.

No tights.

Yeah, Steve isn’t usually this bold, but he could get used to this.

He eats dinner with his hand on your knee, barely able to feel the shape of you beneath all the layers of fabric, but at least he knows you’re right there. He does not know or care what he’s eating.

When you two cut the cake, the layer you’ve cut is your favorite flavor. Apparently, he’ll have to wait another year to eat his favorite from the topper??? No. That’s not fair. Steve doesn’t like that and plans to just take the thing on your honeymoon, wherever the hell that is since Tony won’t say.

Steve carefully places a big bite of cake in your mouth, hoping no crumbs fall down your dress, and you raise a piece high for him.

Then you take it right back before he can get it, eating it yourself.

What did he expect? It’s cake and you’re you. He smiles warmly anyway and licks icing from his fingers.

His solace is the top tier coming with him at the end of the night and that you’re his wife.

His wife, in heels, wearing no tights.

How much longer is this event?

He’s danced with you so many times before, but Steve suddenly feels entirely unsure about his hands. Where he places them naturally isn’t too suggestive in front of guests, is it? Is he pulling you too close? Is the hem of your dress under his foot?

His thoughts are consumed with what he might be doing wrong until your voice pierces through the static in his ears.

You’re singing.

You’re singing your song—his and yours—very softly to him as it plays in the background.

Just like that his feet are light as air. Just like that he’s tucked into the crook of your neck. Just like that his hands feel right hugging you.

Just like that.

“You ready for skydiving and scuba?”

He didn’t, Steve groans internally, staring at Tony’s inscrutable smirk above a scotch glass. He wouldn’t.

“No. No,” Tony snorts, “don’t worry. You two will really enjoy the Avengers cruise leaving from Florida in the morning.”

Steve’s gonna kill Tony because you’re gonna kill Steve if a giant ship in the middle of the ocean full of fans is what Tony’s chosen for your damn honeymoon. There wasn’t a way for you two to plan it yourselves, not with how unpredictable the whole engagement has been. Tony Stark is the only one with the resources enough to make a whole honeymoon happen at the drop of a hat, or a dime, or several billion dimes. Hell, you and Steve would have already changed flight and hotel bookings for anywhere three times by now based on missions alone.

His worry must show on his face; it must be exactly what Tony was hoping for because he beams back.

“Gotcha, Cap.” Tony winks. “Man, you are easy.”

Steve’s trying. He really is.

He’s also met Tony, so there’s a generalized fear of sheer Starkness that sloshes around the bottom of Steve’s gut like their drinks.

“All I’ll tell you—“ Tony grabs Steve’s shoulder and settles into a genuine smile “—is you’re taking a quinjet, and you’re welcome.”

“Great.” Steve’s face falls. “Very specific.”

Tony shrugs, turning to order a refill. “What do you want from me? You’re the logistics, guy.” He points off to the table where you sit talking to your family, huffing, “go snog your wife or something.”

Necking, Steve thinks, it’s called necking.

The sparkler sendoff is a nice touch, the flickering light of waving friends slowly replaced by steel as the bombay doors shut.

Bucky and Nat—who apparently know more about Steve’s honeymoon than he does—hauled his and her luggage aboard—only some of which you two were allowed to pack—before the dancing even ended. Steve scans the rest of the supplies tucked by the duffels of clothes and still can’t tell where you two are going. When he peaks at the clothes though…

Sweaters. Average apparel for this time of year on this continent. That’s a fairly comforting sign.

“Keeps, did you want to change out of your—“

He turns to see you clutching your arms and rushes over. “Are you cold?”

You shake your head, silent, so Steve takes the moment to look at you—really look at all of you—and admire your beauty.

You wear his colors with a twist of individuality, with an added delicacy that’s more Steve than Cap. No stars. No stripes. No harsh lines. Just your gentle curves and complex lace amidst blending colors. You are a representation but the farthest thing from a flag.

You’re a tangible promise.

He watches your breaths push your chest against the red rose trim of the gown’s bodice. There’s a refraction from your earrings that shimmers across your shoulder. He can smell the fading flowers in your hair.

“I haven’t…” you gulp out with shimmering eyes, “been in one of these since that day.”

Oh god, how did he not think of that? He didn’t know. It’s hard to fathom how many times Steve has ridden in a quinjet within the year and a half since you first met.

He didn’t know.

It’s so strange to think he didn’t know then what you would mean to him now. He’d boarded the jet with your Dream Team and had no idea. There was no magic indicator, no slow motion or love at first sight. His world did not turn upside down. More rightly, his world came to you that day.

He assessed the camaraderie of three men and two women. That’s all. He could tell which was the leader, Norm, and Steve thought nothing more of it until after his shield was suctioned to a hole in the hull. 

He secured two men and two women, one of which was trapped with her hand in his makeshift plug.

He remembers he prayed you’d live. That was the first real thing Steve ever thought of you—you specifically—that you’d live.

He remembers looping his arm in the cargo nets and holding you tight. He remembers how he thought about his own strength and if his hold was hurting you. He remembers that your eyes weren’t closed, but he knew you saw nothing. Not really. In fact, your eyes were open the whole time: landing, taking the shield off, examining your hand on the grass outside; all of it until you popped up and headed back toward the jet.

That was the day Steve learned your name.

He remembers you crying at Norm’s funeral and how hard—how brutally, valiantly hard—you tried to convince Steve that you were fine. He’s found that the best people are not fine when something like that happens. He has great respect for those people.

That was the day you earned Steve’s respect.

He remembers footage of the employee gym getting flagged during a day he was on duty as the therapy group leader. He recognized you as he fast-forwarded through hours of footage. You walked the entire time. Alone. After a full day of work. Your car never registered as leaving the compound gate either. In the circle, you were stubborn and cagy, refusing to roll over and open up.

That was the day you impressed Steve.

You didn’t lie. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. You never rolled over, but eventually, you did open up. He felt drawn to a kindred spirit, a thing old Steve rarely feels nowadays, so he tested something. He opened his arms.

That day you hugged him—really, really hugged him—and he couldn’t remember the last time he was held. What’s more is you prompted him to focus on the touch, not for yourself, but for him. How he ached for this without realizing. How he missed it the moment you let go.

That was the day you stole Steve’s heart. He hasn’t regretted a moment since, except, perhaps, that he waited so long to ask you out.

“Are you scared, Keeps?” His voice is soft as is his embrace. “I promise you’ll be safe, but I can turn us ar—“

“No.”

There’s his stubborn girl.

When he steps back, you drop your hands in front of you hesitantly. “Not scared. No. Just…I don’t know. It’s strange to think about.”

That’s no lie either. It’s mind-boggling to imagine coming all this way. Steve gently cups your elbows to ground you both. He’s utterly grateful. His prayer was answered. He was given an incomparable gift.

Even though he trusts you, he knows this is scary, but he needs you to know that he’s here, right beside you, forever.

Partners.

His head sinks down to meet yours, forehead to forehead.

“Strange to be happy—“ which he means in a much deeper, more complicated sense than he could ever explain “—to have something so good come from something so bad.”

With one guiding finger under your chin, Steve tilts your head so your lips can meet. It’s not the same as his overjoyed outburst when you were announced husband and wife. That was in the good times your vows spoke of. Standing in the memory of how you met is one of the bad, but he still loves you, he still holds you, and that’s the promise of this kiss.

“Let’s get you comfy and warm, yeah?” He runs a finger over your bottom lip, further smudging your red lipstick, but he doesn’t care. You can rub off on him as much as you like.

He stands straight to pluck a burgundy flower from your hair. He tucks it away with his pocket square. He plans to press it in a book after he sketches it. 

Every detail must be preserved. He won’t simply rely on photos or video though. He’s old school. He wants the sensory memories as well. It’s alright that there’s no photographer here, too, because Steve has a solution for that which can wait until his hands, nose, ears, and mouth have had their fill of you.

Next he asks if you want to remove the rather large sapphires that seem to weigh on your ear lobes. You take those off yourself and hand them over.

When he raises his hands to help with the clasp of your necklace, he pauses, tracing the neckline of your gown with the tip of his middle finger.

His new wedding band passes over you heart.

He knows he’ll have to leave it behind on missions. There was a moment of wallowing since tattooing one on wasn’t an option with how his skin heals; the ink can’t take. Steve didn’t much like the idea of buying a matching dozen in order to replace them as they were lost or damaged. This one is special. It’s the only one. This one, today, the one you slid onto his finger, has meaning far beyond a circle of gold. He’s going to protect it and keep it safe, too.

“Help me with the back?” You sheepishly turn, forcing the full bustle of your shirt to sweep across his feet.

Good lord, that’s a lot of buttons, and the skinny loops are more finicky than Steve’s most detailed sketches. He manages to only destroy three fastenings out of what feels like thousands.

He’s rewarded with a peak of your skin beneath, absently running the back of his finger over the side of your spine on your lower back. Even though you two have been intimate, even though he saw this soft expanse even before then—on the day you first said ‘I love you’—somehow it’s different.

He can’t describe why this pang in his chest is good, why when he feels as if he can’t breathe he’s happy about it, why he won’t lift a finger to correct any of his past because every second led here. Your worth is indescribable.

Once the dress is undone and pools at your feet, you’re the star at the center of concentric blue, white, and red circles. You are his shield. You are what protects his humanity. You are his wife.

Tony didn’t pull any punches. The tent is basically a thin-walled house, practically a whole kitchen, a bed to actually fit both of you, and generously high ‘ceilings.’ Steve can stand to his full height throughout most of the space.

He’s stunned.

“Good evening, Captain and Misses Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y chimes, startling Steve.

Of course. An entire artificial intelligence inside a fancy camp tent: the epitome of Stark, but Steve lands on feeling incredibly grateful in that moment.

There’s no one around.

You and he get to be completely alone for days, the air is so crisp and clean, and why is he just standing here?

Steve spins and rushes past the duffels he dropped at the ‘door,’ calling your name. His feet hit the ramp of the jet when he hears you behind him.

“Over here,” you harshly whisper. “Steve, turn off the lights!”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

He smirks in confusion but trudges to the cockpit and shuts everything off all the same, muttering “yes, love” over and over like it’s a new phrase for him. When he thinks about it, it is because ‘love’ means wife now. Steve Rogers has a spouse.

He hurries back, squinting in the dark trying to see the outline of you when he realizes you didn’t layer much on.

“I thought you were gonna get warm, sweetheart.” His hand reaches out to test the thickness of the enormous sweater you’ve draped over you, but from the silhouette of your legs, there’s not much—oh.

Oh.

“I’m plenty warm,” you reply, your heart hammering so loud that he can feel it in his throat. Wait. No. That’s his heartbeat because Steve can see more and more by the second as his sharp eyes adjust.

Specifically, he can see your lack of bottoms and a clasp.

Steve swallows thickly. “Did you…are you wearing…?” He lost the words.

The damn garter belt is back, and if he thought he was being so coy and teasing earlier, he is not prepared to be controlled or wait now.

“Got the white one for a special occasion, ya see.” Your hot honey words stick to his brain and fill every crack. “But I was not going to wear these all d—AYY—“

In the blink of an eye, he scoops you up, strategically assessing the nearest surface which just so happens to be a picnic table a few feet away. He doesn’t mean to toss you down so hard, he swears, but he can feel the outline of satin over the swell of your ass.

Steve flips up the hem of your sweater without a second (or first) thought, nearly growling when the moonlight hits the pearly fabric.

He traces the edges of the belt and garters before realizing something else. There’s a glisten below the satin, and it isn’t more fabric. You’re bare and wet before him.

The instant his brain processes that you have no underwear on, the familiar scent of your arousal hits his nostril hard.

“Oh, Keeps,” he moans, one hand flicking open his belt and trousers while the other tangles in your wedding lingerie.

“For you, Sketch,” you gasp in response, breathy and thin with anticipation. “For my—“ you squeal at the intrusion of his fingers “—husband.”

You sound tortured already. It makes Steve realize how tightly wound he is from the whole day, too, and he’s sure this one will be quick. You’re both strung out on the essence of being married. There’s no way to calm down without getting off, or rather, that’s how he’ll justify taking so little time to savor you when he thinks of this later.

He has to pop open the bottom two buttons of his shirt so it’s out of the way, but his tie stays on. That you’re using to haul him forward atop you. He hears the clank of his belt down by his shifting feet and the sharp pants escaping your open mouth as he rolls his tip through your folds to line up at your entrance.

“Steve,” you breathe when he’s partly inside your heat, “look up.”

He can’t stop his momentum, and the drawing force of your walls against his throbbing cock keeps him sinking deeper even while Steve raises his head. His back arches to view the sky. He’s fully buried in you at the same instant he sees that you both are floating in the vast Milky Way.

The light shining down is not moonlight; it’s billions of stars and a nebulous stripe of galaxy that scars the night. 

He’s dizzy, light-headed, and utterly consumed by pull of the universe. His universe. You.

Your body is the central hearth of his world—his home—and your warmth fuels a combustion of euphoria in his veins. It powers the electric jolts of pleasure the sizzle up his spine. He steadies himself with both hands tucked beneath the garter straps to grip your thighs wildly, pinning you open to his lust, spreading the sound and smell of your union.

The raging spin of gravity controls Steve so completely, he can’t warn you he’s coming. He can’t let even a molecule out of his seizing lungs. He tips the scale of ecstasy to unceremoniously fall straight back down to rest in your waiting arms. His breath stutters like his hips, both dragging across your cool, damp skin. He’s not expecting those heavy ruts to push you over.

Your rippling orgasm drains him, and his soul begs you to take whatever pieces of him you want. Every drop. He’s yours.

“Sorry,” he huffs when his brain finally restarts. He lifts most of his weight off of you gently.

“Yeah, me too.” You stare at the stars, ravaged by the same G-forces that wreck him now. “I’m sorry you’re so good at that.” With a blind pat at his still clothed chest, you snort lightly, “terrible really. Want a refund.”

“Oh, ok. Did you say ‘repeat?’ Don’t mind if I—“

“Fuck,” you groan as he pumps once more. “No. God. Give me a minute.”

“Honey, I’ll give you a lifetime.”

The hum of sex softens in your expression when you turn to look at him, your eyes now adjusted to the low light of this beautiful night.

“Good…because I want to see the rest of the place.”

Everything is set up except the water. F.R.I.D.A.Y is ready with instructions on hooking up the jet’s water tank to the utility sink, so once all the packed supplies are in, you two are in for the night as well.

Though he can’t figure out where it’s coming from, the tent seems to be heated once closed.

Tony Stark. Genius indeed.

Steve mourns that the garter belt is off when you settle into the big bed, but he can see the indents left on your skin from the thigh-high stockings. He appreciates the time he had. Maybe they’ll meet again someday. He’ll survive without for now.

While you get comfortable and start to cuddle, his fingertips trace over your hip. Though you’re under the covers, the edge of the blanket drapes down your chest, meaning his big spoon view is all cleavage, and Steve’s got a full-blown montage of all his fantasies rolling around in that overwhelmed brain of his. They aren’t all sexual even; he’s so turned on anyway that it doesn’t matter.

He has time to savor you now. Days completely alone, and without the stress-tension of the actual wedding. Well past midnight now, Steve’s been a married man for exactly nine hours and twenty-two minutes.

He tightens his arm over your waist, whispering, “I love you, Misses Rogers.”

You stifle a yawn and wiggle closer to him. “Love you, Stevie,” you answer softly, chirping when he kisses your temple.

He feels you clench your ass against him, and Steve grunts. No doubt that was your commentary on his returned erection poking at your back.

“Sweetheart,” he tries in a low, cautious tone, “do you think we could…” Steve’s not sure how to word his request. He doesn’t talk dirty so he doesn’t have much vocabulary to express any sexual thoughts.

You turn slightly and lift a hand to his cheek. “You may do whatever you like, Captain. I’m all yours. I trust you.”

Steve’s heart swells with pride until his ribs nearly crack. He brings his hand to your cheek, too, and kisses you gently, pouring love and hope into each brush of your soft lips against his. This is his life. You are his wife. He could die happy but only after this lifetime with you he’s been promised.

When he breaks away from your mouth with a grown, his fingers are already tracing through your folds, the heft of his fist forcing apart your ass cheeks. Instinctively, you grab and lift it to give him better access, moaning when he penetrates you again. You’re still slick from before, some of his cum is there to smooth his way, but that’s good for what he wants.

He’s quickly satisfied by your openness, and Steve lines himself up to enter you. Even though the cabin is heated, even though he runs hot naturally, there is something wildly soothing about burying himself to the hilt in you. He gets one gasp of satisfaction from you before he pulls your hand away to take in his, lacing your fingers together. He lets himself be pushed out slightly as your ass relaxes against his pelvis. Steve stops moving, taking in deep breaths of you and settling your combined hands in front of you.

He kisses your stretched neck. “Can I stay like this for a while?”

Your walls grab at him, but he doesn’t thrust in response. Steve hears how your heartbeat picks up for a moment then tries to calm. You nod and hum approval. He snuggles up to you, his face resting against your spine between your shoulder blades.

He’s still. You’re still. The Earth is still.

Steve relishes every tiny detail of this moment. He takes so long to savor it that your heart slows and your breathing goes shallow. You’ve fallen asleep—likely a light sleep, sure, but that’s how much you trust him. His thumb rubs over your palm absently. As comfortable as he is, he cannot fall asleep like this. The residual effect of the day is an echo of all lovely things, emotional and supercharged with anticipation.

You married him. You two are married. He has no idea when the novelty of that will wear off, but for now, the thought alone makes him unbearably excited to have you close, and hot, and loud with him. His cock has been twitching the whole time he’s been thinking so hard about this, and you haven’t woken. Even if he wanted to let you sleep, eventually he’d have to pull out before he could sleep himself, so he slowly, experimentally, rolls his hips away.

Your hand tenses in his as another soft gasp escapes you. Your hushed voice calls him, says his name like a plea and a prayer. You’ve grown wetter, silky smooth and just begging to be used.

You untangle your fingers and press his hand to your breast.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Like a dance you both have practiced for a lifetime, your needs synchronize. Steve nips at your shoulder while you spread your ass for him again, allowing his thrusts deeper. He’s rewarded with desperate whines and muffled curses until it all molds into one cry breaking in rhythm with his pace. God, you are sexy. God, he is so hard for you.

As much as he’s enjoying this, he knows that you can’t come like this. He abandons the nipple he’s been toying with to graze down your stomach and thigh, parting your legs and lifting the top one until you catch on and switch to holding that instead. His thrusts slow as he circles your clit, already soaked by your arousal.

He can tell you’re close when you go quiet, biting your lip as an “oh, fuck” escapes.

“That’s it, love. That’s it,” Steve pants, craving your coming apart as much as his own. “Baby, please,” he begs.

His favorite shattered sound rises in your throat, and he plants himself inside you to feel that fluttering grip of your orgasm to full effect. He has half a mind—as he continues to torture your clit—to wring one more out of you before he comes, but you’re tired, he remembers, and that wouldn’t quite be fair. He knows you’d say yes, but you have days to be alone, days to handle and tease and caress each other to the brink and back.

You drop your leg, pushing his hand out of the way, and reach back to pull at his hair. “Do it,” you growl as an order, “fill me up.”

Steve may not be able to talk dirty, but he has to admit that in the throws of passion, he likes hearing one or two filthy things from you. It’s almost like a taunt for punishment. The excitement of you playing with him that way has urgent pressure lapping at his spine, tightening his balls while the whiplash of his own orgasm snaps his hips flush against you. He continues to press forward, unable to recede so much as a millimeter, the intense surge of blood to his groin depriving his brain of the ability to care what he’s doing so long as he’s inside you.

He pushes. You release his hair. He pushes more. You shout a bit in confusion. He pushes again, almost drained of his sanity, it feels, and then he hears a slap as your torso leaves the warmth of his chest.

Steve finally opens his eyes.

You’ve almost fallen off of the mattress, braced by your arms, your feet secured behind his thighs.

“Sorry,” he shrieks, twisting so fast to get you off the floor that you flail, planting your hands hard against his chest. You’re sitting up straddling him now, still facing away, your bare chest heaving in the near dark, the blankets banished in a heap to one side. He presses a wide hand to your back for support. “Sorry, Keeps.”

“’S…” You try to control your own body again, incidentally clenching around Steve still inside you.

He moans, his other hand joining to hold your waist.

“’S fine,” you finally get out. “’S fine.”

A long silence descends while you both recover.

You turn to eye him over your naked shoulder. “Think you can sleep now?”

“Oh, god.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right now. He’d be happy and blissed out beyond his wildest dreams, but he definitely can’t walk over to get a warm cloth just yet. “Give me a minute.”

It’s you—his stubborn, amazing, unpredictable wife—who dismounts him and the bed first. “I got it, love,” you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

There must be a draft of the heating somewhere close because Steve’s hit by the intense aroma of him and you dripping from between your legs. He groans, filing that memory away with so many others from the day.

Sure, he can have you whenever he wants, but can he handle that? Through the tender care and warm embrace you offer, Steve makes a simple plan for his future: do whatever makes his wife happy…and do anything that makes her come like that.

He’s been married for eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes.

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

beautiful sparkly dividers by @silkholland

[eternally-smitten]

Drabblecember - Building a Snowman

pairing: Natalie x Trevor Philips

summary: In a rare moment, it has snowed in Sandy Shores and Natalie takes advantage of the freshly fallen snow

word count: 441

author's note: ...I'll be honest I sort of had no idea on what to do for this prompt so I free wrote it until it made sense LOL

“Hmm…” A low hum escaped Trevor's throat as he woke up. 

He smacked his lips together and instinctively reached for Natalie’s waist. Instead, his hand made direct contact with the sheet. He opened his eyes and looked at the empty space, confused. Usually she was still there when he was awake or vice versa so it was an odd start to his day. He sat up on his old, rickety bed and listened closely. 

She wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. He couldn't hear her. 

Trevor forced himself to get up and take a peek outside and found Natalie messing with the snow that coated the area the night before. She was rolling it into tight balls and stacking them one on top of each other. 

He opened the little window in his room to talk to her, “Hey! What the hell are you doin’?”

“Mornin’, starshine!” She waved, “What does it look like I'm doing? I'm making snowmen.”

“Why?”

“...Because it snowed?”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, but why are you making a bunch of tiny ones and not a biggin’ instead?”

Natalie shrugged, “There isn't enough snow for that. It never really snows here, anyway. But there's enough for a mini army. Wanna join?”

“Of fucking course I wanna join! Who do ya think I am?” Trevor yelled, hastily throwing sweat pants on. 

“Well then, get your ass out here!” She called back, “I was getting bored being all by myself!”

Trevor found some other suitable clothes scattered on the floor of his bedroom and threw them on before rushing outside to meet Natalie. 

“There you are!” She plopped a snowball in his hand, “Here’s your base.”

He held it in his bare hand and grimaced at the cold feeling on his skin, “Gee, thanks.”

“Sure,” Natalie answered sincerely. She quickly went back to work and crouched while she made a new ball. 

She was hyper focused on this meaningless task and Trevor didn’t want to interrupt that. Besides, he always liked when she was passionate about working on something so why would he want to stop that? He helped increase her army of mini snowmen until their entire yard was littered with the little guys. Once they were finished, they both stood up straight and gave each other a smirk. They were a little too proud of their work. That was until they started to melt only a few minutes after. The Sandy Shores sun was always brutal but they enjoyed its brief absence while they could. Soon, their frozen friends became muddy puddles underneath their feet. At least they had fun while it lasted.

[stephensmithuk]

The Gloria Scott, Part 1

Some quick notes for the aid of readers:

A Justice of the Peace is another term for a magistrate. These are volunteer judges who deal with low-level criminal cases and initial hearings for the bigger ones. Historically, they've tended to be members of the gentry with the wealth and the time to do this; where communities could not find volunteers, they would offer a salary. Trevor Sr. had made his money gold mining as discussed.

Langmere is a small village in Norfolk just east of a town called Diss (that's its name), which is on the London to Norwich railway line and near the A140. The latter road follows part of the Pye Road, one of the Roman roads of Britain that ran from Norwich via Colchester to London.

There was a Second World War airbase there called RAF Thorpe Abbotts which had B-17s based there and is now home to a museum. There appears to be a private airstrip there, but it's unclear just how active it is. It's no Biggin Hill, that's for certain.

Fencing has long been considered an aristocratic sport. I had a go myself at university. It is rather unlike the movies, a lot less moving involved. I preferred epee as it doesn't have the stupid priority rules.

[tornadoyoungiron]

Excuse me for having a fangirl theory moment, heads up because this is going to be a long one.

Theoretically, Henry could consider himself as a part of the Gresley build, while being part of the Stainer build.

Henry used to be a flawed Gresley prototype, rebuilt into a black 5. In a human's case, he’s like that one family member who is born with disabilities, later having a big comeback after a major surgery. It is quite similar to Great Northern’s case in which he was a Gresley, and was rebuilt into a Thomson. The only difference between those two is that North still considers himself as a Gresley after the rebuild, even when Scotsman and his siblings rejected him. While Henry does not have an actual opinion on lineage in the first place, until he meets the other black 5s. 

Supposedly, if Gordon and Scotsman agree to it, Henry could be a Gresley as well. Hopefully Hilsy won’t yell at them if they want to sign the adoption contract.

After all, being in one build or another, it is all up to Henry anyway. What do you think?

Henry never really considered himself a Gresley, though he did bring it up to Olivia Gresley and Stanier in a story. Gordon has long known Henry's origins but never brings it up to him because he himself has experienced how Gresley engines treat misfits and doesn't want his half-brother hurt. Scotsman also knows but does not bring it up for similar reasons.

Unlike the Stanier Black 5's who pride themselves on familial bonds and are generally excepting of most engines, (They themselves adopted the BR Standard Class 5's as their own), Gresley's have a different attitude that may not make Henry feel welcome.

Gresley's are less about familiar bonds and more about pedigree, performance and standing. If you can't uphold the Gresley name or values you get exiled like Great Northern, who was not only rebuilt but had a reputation for being super controlling and nasty. Even if he wasn't spurned, he was so much of an asshole that no one wanted anything to do with him anymore.

Black 5's however will keep Biggin Hill around even though she doesn't uphold their values because she's their sister. They unconditionally love their own no matter what.

The Gresley attitude has waned over the years and Scotsman did adopt Tornado, so Gordon and Scotsman would adopt Henry as a half-brother. They would 100% do it but you can bet that North and some of the A4s would have issues with it. Olivia would be 100% on board, she's no prude.

Scotsman threw Spencer into a lagoon for disrespecting his adopted little sister Tornado so he'd most likely do the same for Henry. The Black 5's themselves wouldn't care because if it makes Henry happy, then that's all alright with them.

As for my version of Henry, I think he sees all the drama that the Gresley's go through and wants no part of it.

Henry's called Gordon Fat Face and they've tried to outwit each other numerous times anyway so they're practically brothers.

[atomicmoths]

Do the Suncatchers have a Ketch? What is it like?

Yes they do have a Ketch and boy it’s a biggin’! The three sisters dubbed the Ketch Sunsail when they inherited it from their mother, the former Kell. It’s been home to the entire House of Suncatchers ever since they left Mercury. Inside is decorated with various tapestries and drapes of varying color. In the Kell’s quarter, there’s a series of large stained glass windows. The Sunsail predates the Whirlwind by quite some time and is one of the biggest and long living Kecthes in the Sol System, which is what also allows them to take in so many refugees from varying houses. As it stands, they’re an all Eliksni crew since they originally started as a typical House so because of this they still have traditional House roles and rituals. However, they have a very small Dreg population and refrain from docking unless they feel it’s absolutely necessary.

Full disclaimer, this is an edit I did of their Ketch from some original blank destiny models, hence why I had to add the sails.

[pom-seedss]

Got tagged by @arts-i-enjoy at just the right time to be able to do one of these things. It's a nifty ask game!

Are you named after anyone?

I think my middle name is based off of some kind of Sears or Eatons model but I cannot verify this.

When was the last time you cried?

Ahh ha ha haha. next please.

Do you have kids?

Nah.

What sports do you play/have you played?

Competitively I used to play a lot. Hockey, curling, ringette, baseball, gymnastics, ice skating, volleyball, basketball. - Basically the only team sport that I didn't participate in was soccer because I couldn't stand soccer. Non-competitively I did rock climbing, general obstacle courses, roller blading, swimming, tubing/water skiing/wakeboarding, archery, hiking, snowmobiling, downhill and cross country skiiing... Dodge ball > : )

Do you use sarcasm?

No. Never. [/sarcasm]

What is the first thing you notice about people?

I don't really notice things in a particular order.... I guess someone's style since I usually notice like... earrings, pins, cute sweaters, neat beards.... novel stimuli is what I notice if I notice people.

What's your eye color?

Brown

Scary movies or happy endings?

Why not both?

Any talents?

I'd like to think I have quite a few. I can sing pretty well, I can draw pleasing things, I'm pretty good at making people laugh. I am a good listener and apparently good to bounce things off of. I got a lot of those "soft skills" you always hear about but can never monetize, lol. But I am content with just being helpful for the people in my life.

Where were you born?

Canada.

What are your hobbies?

Art, video games and animal keeping are the biggins because they are what I have the most energy for. I pick up and drop various physical hobbies (crossstitch, knitting, clay modeling) all the time though but none have a lot of staying power. I like the learning process more than anything, I think.

Can just "learning" be a hobby I guess?

Do you have any pets?

1 Doggo, 2 cats, 1 tiny parrot!

How tall are you?

Short enough to cause problems. 5'2" ish.

Favorite subject in school?

In school? Philosophy and Culture classes were probably my favs.

Dream job?

Ah haha. In a dream world, I want to be a little Renaissance Man with a patron who pays all my bills and leaves me to create. Occasionally asking for something specific to which I can bend my mind to, but otherwise allowed to create freely at my own pace. In reality? I don't really have job aspirations since my disability is so bad, but I'd love something just simple like working at a small town grocer or something. (lol, I say in reality as though big chains haven't made the concept of a general store all but nonexistent outside of extremely rural places ... and even then....) When I was in grade 6 we were supposed to like make plans and figure out what we wanted to do with our lives and I thought it was dumb because I was 12 and knew there were jobs out there I'd never even concieved of so how was I to pick right now? So I just said a dumb answer like I wanted to run a convenience store and didn't take it seriously. Though the more I am out in the world the more I think 12 year old me was right. Just a nice mostly quiet job serving my community, dealing with the public and all that entails but not necessarily the same overwhelming level as retail. And not like... in a city. Small town or bust for this dream I think.

So... uh...tagging... uh..... @evilweasel24 , @ravenbara , @rembrandtswife , @localcryptideli , um..um...um... that's all who I can think of to tag in this I am sorry v.v

[templetogavage]

Weekly Weighing (11/27 to 12/03)

https://www.tumblr.com/fatmen-xxl/702606124678004736

Courtesy of @d0ughb0i, I think this picture is an excellent example of how a gainer can show off without showing too much skin. The way that shirt clings to the belly, revealing just the lower third of it...the way it leaves the arms completely exposed...beautiful shot.

2. https://www.tumblr.com/yourgainercoach/702409098794352640/fat-male-celebrities-sam-straley-and-adam-ray

Follow through the link to see another find by @fat-male-celebrities. As usual, the guy is too thin for me, but I'll never say no to chubby guys exercising. Shame there isn't a video included.

3. https://www.tumblr.com/reluctantloser/702359644032679936

Although this week I didn't find any great videos on my dash, I did find this hypnotizing GIF. While I'm skeptical of the power of hypnotism, I do hope this inspired some gainer somewhere to gluttony.

4. https://www.tumblr.com/tktk1/702488893214294016

Something about the sunglasses, face, and build brings to mind Arnold Schwarzenegger. This image has the air of a confident, assertive man who's always had to maintain his body finally letting go a little. I rarely feature this look (too much muscle, too little fat), but something about it called to me.

5. https://www.tumblr.com/sumbellies/702480529367482368

@lardgerthanlife impressing as always. The double chin is the only part of the face within frame, the shift rides up perfectly, the sight of some stretch marks as the gut is perfectly framed and lit in the center of the image...couldn't look more like a gainer if you tried. Like the first image this time, this one is a classic, the kind of image you can find on gainer Tumblr a dime a dozen, but that's precisely what makes it great.

6. https://hunky-to-chunky.tumblr.com/post/702402750507597824

I'm rapidly becoming a huge fan of @olinebestline. Not since Football Biggins days of yore have I been this interested in sports. Combine my love of the football player build with a flexing pose and I'm all in.

7. https://www.tumblr.com/templetogavage/702174944466993152/dieter-williams-daddy-takes-care-all-i-gave-you?source=share

Self-promotion break! I'm proud of this particular audio, I think the script came together nicely. Click through the link to subscribe to my Post+ to hear the whole thing.

8. https://captainjaneways-bitch.tumblr.com/post/702364117432991744/i-dont-think-it-fits

@captainjaneways-bitch wears the hell out of this shirt. That's all there really is to say, just...admire that belly. Hard to make intelligent commentary about this, to be quite frank. Gorgeous guy, gorgeous gut, case closed.

And that's this week's Weekly Weighing. Thanks to @fatmen-xxl, @yourgainercoach, @reluctantloser, @tktk1, @sumbellies, @hunky-to-chunky, and @captainjaneways-bitch for gracing my dash with these posts.

[deke-rivers-1957]

"I imagine your biggin wearing the jacket he had on when he was helping the cops direct traffic and he's "yelling" at one of them." Huhh? Is there pictures of this?

Oh we got pics anon. It was March 26, 1976. The Facebook link tells the story.

This was the pic I was talking about. The look of intensity on his face makes it look like he's yelling at the cop. He did have badges in Memphis so he likely knew this guy personally.

But yes this wasn't an exaggeration, he did in fact try to help out at the scene of the accident until actual help arrived.

[doublegoblin]

Author Ask Tag Game

Well this is a biggin! Thanks for the TAG @gummybugg

I send an invite to @asterhaze (Lol I know gummy tagged ya but nyeh) @angie-j-kay @tailoroffates @tisiphonewolfe @lola-theshowgrl @conkers-theficwriter (that's right I got you and your alt, talk about that fanfic!) @stanrendipity @randomstupidchaos @catchingbigfish

I'll be centering my attention on Rituals and Red Tape because I am nothing if not self-indulgent of my baby.

(1) What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

Your adversities are with you but do not have to define you Bodies are meant to be used as an expression of ones self Corporations are eldritch entities who no matter how much love they shove up your ass will replace you in a heart beat There are no true transitory spaces with which your actions can be left behind, what you may see as a place to visit is someone else's home. Angry Nihilism is the easiest and most childest response to discovering you are not the main character of a story. and Let others be content in their life, not everyone wants to be out there making a name for themselves.

Why did I choose these? To be completely honest I didn't set out with them in mind. These are what has sprung up as I delved into writing more and more and was finding some elements that were hidden from me while I fiddled with the keys. These are as much lessons for an audience as they are for myself.

(2) What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

So I know the stigma that was (maybe still is) attached to this statement but it comes from my dreams. Wait wait wait let me explain! So for a while I have had (although I haven't for a little bit) an ongoing sort of continuous dream. Not like the same dream over and over but more these dreams take place in the same location and I am always in this same role. I would give my partner "lore updates" every so often because it was something fun. Well on a long car ride (3hr) we spent the time chit chatting and I realized I wanted to make a story out of this. So during the same car ride the basic skeleton of the story started to emerge. Then wham bam thank ya mam fast forward and here we are. A lot of the world building also just kinda spring from my own imagination. Like I'm sure I maybe got the pieces from soooomewhere but can't tell ya, unless they are an obvious reference to something like the Giants on The Farm being "as tall as windmill" being a reference to Don Quixote, just small little nuggets here and there.

(3) What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

Alex is honestly just trying to get through each assignment with all their limbs still on their body and as little paperwork to do as possible. They just want to have a nice easy life that is comfortably mundane. What I want to do is entertain first and foremost. Like sure my stuff can have lessons and morals and whattheshit but if it isn't entertaining to at least one person I feel I have failed. And also, maybe help someone who needs to work through some stuff do so through Alex or anyone else in the book. I can't say for certain that can or will happen but there is always a chance.

(4) How many chapters is your story going to have?

No idea, as many as it needs to be told in full. I'll know when we get there lol.

(5) Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Teehee time to self promote! This is original content. And I post the first draft chapters on here but I post the more edited and more concrete chapters on my WattPad MaxwellAlabaster I try and have the stuff on here accessible through their own dedicated pages on my blog and up to date.

(6) When and why did you start writing?

I started to write this story about a year ago. It started as a writing only for me kind of thing as I was dealing with some life stuff. But, once I started to write and post my stuff on here I really fell in love with the hobby and putting my things out there for people to hopefully enjoy!

(7) Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

Despite my verboseness I can be quite shy and anxious. So i tend to follow people who follow me first lol. It's not out of a self inflated ego but an uneasy feeling. So far it's worked out well and I've really enjoyed the people I have interacted with! Even if it's just getting little hearts here and there.

Something I adopted early and fully: Write for yourself (but we've all heard that before!) Fine! Write slop. Like just absolute pig pleasing slop. Not everything needs to be the next big seller, the most enjoyable, or "good" piece of literature. Write what makes you happy and what you have fun writing. Go outside your comfort zone and make an absolute mess of it all. You don't have to post everything after all. This is advice for even those of you that rely on writing for an income. When you can, just write the hottest and most fun garbage that you want. It's really refreshing to just go hog wild and look at the word doc or whatever and go "Wow...this is horrible, I love it".

Also don't let people tell you there is only one way to write. Like yeah grammar and stuff is good for being comprehensible, but there is power in each punctuation you use;or leave out~ Get flowery with your language too sometime Steve doesn't cheer; sometimes his voice carries so high the birds grow jealous.

Lastly: you don't need an english degree or whatever to be a writer, look at me, I have a freakin science degree. Did you put words on a page to convey a meaning of feeling? You are a writer. Don't let others take that away from you. You are a writer because you write dam it.

[vintagepresley]

*he nods* I agree. ain't no one got sassy kids unless its biggins.

jodie tatum

😂😭 I love that you can tell it’s his child because they’re all a little sassy.