#and for some reason i feel the need to articulate ALL of these thoughts

[violent-viscera]

my true (respectful) thoughts of arcane s2

so much of the promotional material promised so much in the way of vi and jinx/powder and their sisterly relationship, but i feel like with the amount of storylines/plotlines they did in this season, it was just too busy to focus on anyone–let alone the two supposed protagonists of the show. i think the best way for me to articulate how i feel about the writing of this show is that it fell flat, lost its heart, and emotional impact of the first season.

i would have been okay with them straying from my personal favourite focus if:

the storylines had been fleshed out better

the decisions the characters made actually made sense

main characters didn't become plot devices (vi)

new additions of the show weren't just plot devices (isha, loris, maddie, etc.)

motivations of characters made sense

characters had even small lines/dialogue to articulate their intentions/ideas

less time spent on off-screen development

and the thing is with the amount of plot lines they were ambitiously aiming to see out to fruition, its really hard to also set up all these new facets or opposing characteristics in former characters–plus adding new ones too. for example:

caitlyn's facist arc that didn't really have much meaning or attention

jinx's s1 mental collapse which changed abruptly into her redemption arc via isha (plot device)

jinx's revolutionist arc (first, reluctantly and then, willingly w ekko)

vi's pitfighter/brawler arc which was literally just one clip (which ended up being a teaser that showed everything)

im almost grateful to the minimal screen time ekko got bc they didn't try to change the core and essence of who he was in s1: he stayed true to himself. he's just a boy with a huge heart and love for his people that chose to leave his happy ending in an alternate timeline to return to the ppl who needed him where he is almost guaranteed heartbreak in some way or another.

i think the main reason so many ppl loved the first season was bc the characters were relatable in one way or another and they became so multidimensional when you explored how their environment/circumstances shaped them. but this season bc it was so purely focused on the endgame instead of HOW everyone got there, the characters fell flatter, they lost a soul and heart, and i felt the show lost its charm.

i know we all have our favourite characters and storylines we want the show to focus on and i would have been okay if i didn't get my way. if the show didn't focus on jinx and vi, i would've lived (although the promotional material was unfairly misleading) if the storylines, characters, and everything else made sense to me.

of course, the animation was lovely and the music was catchy/heartbreaking. i dont regret watching the show out to its final episode. it was one of the most beautiful visual experiences of my entire life. i still love the characters and will never regret staying on board until the final moments.

but i cant lie and say im not a little sad at how it ended too.

edited add-on:

also, the voice actors did phenomenally. ella purnell just absolutely nails the delivery for every line and reed shannon also hurt me with how he portrayed ekko. so on and so forth.

but that being said, i also felt the dialogue and lines of each character felt much less impactful this season (again, writing.)

i liked viktor’s monologue at the end of act 2. that was compellingly well written

but the lines this season weren’t the same quality as silco’s monologue about drowning, jinx’s speech at the beginning of the doomed tea party, etc. everything just felt so flat and shallow this season overall.

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

*KICKS THE DOOR DOWN* WWWAIT FREYA I HAVE MIXED FEELINGS ON FANDOMS VIEW OF THIS SHIP I NEED TO KNOW UR OPINION. HOMUMIKU???

WKSHJSHJDBJHAHAHAH HIIIII, GRACE!!!! ❤️💕💞💝💗💖💘💓💕💞💖💞💘

Homumiko (HUGE spoilers for DGS after the bingo sheet):

I have been waiting to get into this ship properly, because I have THOUGHTS and I need to be forced to get them out coherently.

Let's get into the basic ship itself. Honestly? No comment. I think hmmk cheats a bit by relying on the literal decades people have spent shipping Holmes and Watson together, and I doubt that they would be half as popular without this history; but, as someone who has never had strong feelings about HolmesWatson either way, I don't have that bias! Even if we're just going off of DGS and looking at how they complement and trust each other, and are obviously more comfortable around one another than most other people, I don't really have a strong opinion on them. I do think they're close, but whether that bond is platonic, romantic, sexual or some mix of the two is just not something I particularly care about. You know who I do care about, though?

Susato-san.

OKAY, SIT DOWN, EVERYONE BECAUSE THE SHIP BINGO PART OF THIS IS OVER, AND NOW WE'RE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE PARTS OF HMMK I DO CARE ABOUT AND WHY THAT ACTUALLY HAS VERY LITTLE TO DO WITH THEM AND EVERYTHING TO DO WITH HER.

Let's get this out of the way first. Based on my very modern sensibilities, I take a rather harsh stance on Mikotoba's parenting.

Do I think he loves his daughter? Sure. But which parts of his daughter? Because it's very easy to love a child who is always obedient, elegant and the literal embodiment of idealised Japanese womanhood without knowing or truly even looking at her. I think Susato made it easy for him to love her, because she believed she had to earn it. Her father left when she was born, consumed by grief over her mother's death -- her mother, whom she killed. I know the game tries to justify this by saying it was Jigoku who dragged him away (and I do think him leaving was good for him, because I doubt he would have been a good father even if he'd stayed due to his grief), but the point is that he still left. For six years. And when he returned, he didn't even return because of her (whether she knew that from the moment she met him or not is debatable, but I think, at least on a subconscious level, she knew. And, of course, it's also debatable whether he could have returned sooner because of his commitment as a transfer student, but the Mikotobas are a powerful family, and, if Soseki could return before his period of learning was fully up, I think he would have been able to pull strings to return home if he wanted to).

This falls under speculation, so I understand not agreeing with it, but I don't think Mikotoba ever properly spoke to Susato when she was a child, especially not about what he did in England. I believe that a part of the reason why Susato started reading the Sherlock Holmes stories to begin with was because they featured a doctor in London, like her father had been, and she wanted to feel closer to him through those stories. And it probably worked! Her father probably did start engaging with her more after after she picked them up, because it was an easy way to connect with her. That's why I believe she was so insistent on the existence of John H. Watson, as a doctor, when she met Iris and learnt the truth.

There's this distance between Susato and her father which glimpse in moments in the game, like how he remarks on her lack of composure in court (suggesting that he isn't used to seeing her yamato nadeshiko mask slip), how he less requests her trust and more orders or expects it forthright, and how he seems reluctant to face the parts of her that inconvenience him (like how he asks her to play the koto when he isn't home and how, when faced by her real anger, he looks to Holmes to explain the situation rather than actually attempt to himself).

HOWEVER, in the setting of the game (Meiji-era Japan), I will concede that Mikotoba is a fantastic father. He may not have been very present in her life growing up, but men largely weren't expected to be. Their jobs were to provide for their children, not nurture them. And Mikotoba went well beyond his duty in that regard. Add to that the fact that he had her properly educated, ensured she knew how to defend herself, and allowed her to pursue her studies overseas at a level that was on par with any man, and you can see that he's really quite a great father; which is why I don't think he sees his absence as a flaw or even notices he was absent. Susato, though, does.

Now, Susato is obviously a product of her time, too, so I believe she'd be insulted if anyone was to suggest that her father or childhood was lacking in some way. That being said, I do believe she is aware of the distance between them in a way he is not. I think her affection for him is founded on a sense of duty and filial piety rather than pure love (although, obviously, she does love him), and, as she grew older, she stopped vying for his affection; hence why she's obsessed with the Great Detective more so than anyone else when we meet her. I also think that this distance contributed to her becoming so attached to Kazuma, in spite of the fact that he kept her at arm's length, too; he may not have allowed her very close, but he was always there, and he saw her for who she truly was. When she leaves at the end of the first game, Susato is not so much anxious that her father is ill as she is shaken -- she seems more upset that she's leaving her Baker Street family rather than that her actual father might be dying, and I think that's because she knows how to live without him. This distance between them, I believe, becomes all the more apparent to her when she goes to London and sees the deep bond held between Iris and Holmes.

And, speaking of, you know who else I think is aware of the distance between them and the part he played in creating that distance? The Great Detective himself, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

See, I think Holmes has always known about Susato. I'm quite sure that, from the moment they met, he knew that Mikotoba was running away from something and that he had left an infant daughter back home. He just didn't care.

We don't know what Holmes was like when he was younger, but I believe he was a lot closer to how he appears in a lot of modern adaptations and how Watson describes him in some of the Sherlock Holmes stories: the 'cold, calculating computer' character. I don't think it's a stretch to think that Holmes viewed marriage and children as mere distractions and interferences to the mind; and Mikotoba was, presumably, his first real friend. He wasn't going to let something pesky like a baby back home detract from his friend's obviously sterling character and brain! After all, it's a lot easier to ignore this nebulous, abstract entity when you simply consider its existence, and thus its abandonment, unimportant. It's a lot easier when you don't know what it's like to be a father yourself. It's a lot easier when you don't know her.

Here's the thing: I believe Holmes's image of and relation to Mikotoba began changing from the time he started raising Iris. Suddenly, that inconsequential baby seemed to bear quite a bit of consequence, actually. But it was still all right to keep dismissing her, because maybe Mikotoba's baby wasn't special the way Iris was. Maybe she was a brat or an idiot, and really not worth much time at all! Maybe she could've lived without him and been perfectly fine, regardless...? As time went on, I believe the excuses he made for Mikotoba's decision all those years ago became increasingly flimsy, but he was still able to hold onto them because The Daughter was still an indistinct figure in his mind. She wasn't quite real.

That is, until he met her.

In the game, Holmes tends to keep a certain width between himself and Susato. He very rarely initiates conversation with her the way he does Ryuunosuke, and from a Doylist (ha) perspective, this is obviously because Ryuunosuke is... the main character. Looking at it from a narrative perspective, though, I think he was afraid of hurting more than he already has and must.

Holmes is a very resolute man. He sticks by his decisions regardless of what anyone else thinks, so I don't think he ever regretted what he did. However, I do think he felt guilty. Certainly, he didn't quite take her father away from her, but he did play a role in keeping him from her for so long. I think there was a part of him that consciously guided Mikotoba away from thinking about Japan while they lived together, because, well... he didn't want him to leave.

There's an interesting layer to the separation that Holmes creates with Susato, because, beyond the distance he maintains between her and himself, he also keeps her identity separate from her father's. Contrary to how he refers to Ryuunosuke by his last name, Holmes only ever calls Susato "Miss Susato" or "my dear (madame)", and never "Miss Mikotoba". I view this is his way of, perhaps subconsciously, dividing from that little girl he once decided did not matter. And it's interesting because, to an extent, he tries to do with her and Kazuma, too.

In the SS Burya case, despite meeting Susato first and seeing how affected she is by Kazuma's "death", Holmes largely ignores her in favour of focusing on Ryuunosuke and his bond with Kazuma. He calls Kazuma Ryuunosuke's "dear companion" and pretty much only interacts with Susato when he has little other choice... until he sees her cry.

See, I believe that when Holmes found out Susato was going to England and was about to be wrapped up in the whole messy affair, he was fully committed to Not Giving a Damn about Her. Sure, he would let her and Kazuma live with him, but by no means was he going to allow himself to grow attached to her because, again, he values his relationship and history with Mikotoba too much for it to get complicated in this way. Susato's relative composure throughout the case helps him hold on to this resolution; however, when he catches that final conversation between her and Ryuunosuke in the cabin, he is finally forced to see and acknowledge the amount of pain she is truly in. It forces him to at last face the fact that he can't avoid or fake aloofness around her any longer, because she is not some nebulous, distant entity he can continue to ignore. She is an actual girl with a fiercely strong spirit, a brilliant mind and real, human emotions. A girl whom he's hurt twice-over now and must continue hurting until all his lies finally come to light.

When he makes that decision to enter the cabin and console her the only way he knows how, he throws away any hope he had of feeling anything but apathy towards her. In truth, he probably didn't have much hope of that to begin with, because at his core, Sherlock Holmes is a good man, and he cares.

He cares for her, too, even though he may have no right to. How could he not, when she loves him so openly, trusts him so readily, saves his life? How could he not, when she comes to him in the middle of the night with a secret she can't tell anyone else because his judgement is the only one she wholly trusts and believes in? How could he not, when she refuses to accept he lied despite the living, breathing evidence he did until he admits it himself? How could he not, when after everything he has done, she still looks at him the way she always has and says that she's proud that her father is the assistant of "the Great Detective"?

How could anyone not? How could Mikotoba not... love her the second he laid eyes on her?

And of course this doesn't shatter his love for Mikotoba -- he has no right to these feelings in the first place: no matter how indignant or guilty he may feel, it doesn't change the fact that he has been lying to and manipulating her the entire time they've known one another. He can't even bring himself to tell her that he's been lying; he has to go through Ryuunosuke instead, because, even after all this time, he still can't face the woman whom he's done nothing but cause pain for from the moment she was born. When he can't even give her that ounce of respect, who is he to judge Mikotoba?

So he doesn't. Till the end of the game, he keeps Susato at a distance and pretends that everything between him and Mikotoba is as it was from the start. But, inside, I think he knows it isn't. Because I think Holmes can see that Mikotoba doesn't feel half as guilty about what they've done as he does, and that he doesn't view the fact that he left Susato 16 years ago as a real problem. And while he doesn't judge Mikotoba for that, I don't think he can look past it anymore. That final investigation and dance of deduction, to me, is less an assurance that they are still the same partners they were before, and more a final farewell to their old, uncomplicated bond -- the one that did exist before they grew to love other people and understand what love truly meant to both of them.

Going back to the ship itself, I think shipping them pre-DGS works perfectly well. They both had a huge impact on each other's life and changed one another for the better; Holmes by drawing Mikotoba out from his grief, and Mikotoba by pulling Holmes from his life of solitude and loneliness. They needed each other, but it is also because of these reasons that I think there was an issue of codependency between them, hence the semi-horrible for each other box I gave them. With Mikotoba, it's clear cut. Holmes helped him run away from his very real issues at home and allowed him to live like he was a bachelor with zero familial obligations again. With Holmes, it gets a bit more foggy, but I believe that Mikotoba basically allowed him to live believing he was the only person Holmes would ever truly connect with and properly befriend. Holmes is obviously his own person and whatnot, but I do think there was a bit of unhealthy attachment there on his end if not both.

During DGS and post-DGS is where their ship gets more complicated for me, because, while Susato is still very much there at the beginning of their relationship, her role in their lives and what they did to her becomes impossible to ignore once she and Holmes actually meet. I don't believe that they can just pick up from where they left off because there is now (imo) a fundamental disagreement in how they view their actions and how it affected her. So, even if they do go back to being lovers or whatever afterwards, I feel that there should be this chasm or weight between them that they simply don't talk about or acknowledge in any way. Because I don't think they'd discuss it. Holmes because it isn't his place, Mikotoba because he sees it as a non-issue (maybe he doesnt even notice this distance), and both because sweeping unpleasantness under the rug is so ingrained into their cultures.

My main issue with the way this ship is often portrayed post-DGS (why they got a 50-50 on the I would erase them from existence box) is that it ignores what happened with Susato. The few times I've seen the concern that she might have an issue with their relationship even brought up in hmmk works is always because they're gay. Which, like!! Fair!!! It's the 1800s, I get it, but!!!! You're ignoring the actual, very big issue for why she might be hurt and that's because DGS ends with her finding out that three of the men she's closest to have been lying and using her for their own means her entire life!!!!!!!! And she just has to take it!!!!!!!

Which brings me to the second most popular interpretation of this ship which doesn't just put Iris and Susato in a box somewhere unseen, and that's the one where all four of them are a peaceful happy family with 0 issues! And this one bothers me because it seems like it's taking what Susato said at the end of the reveal as what she 100% sincerely meant down to her core, rather than something she had to say because (1) it is her duty to honour her father no matter what, and (2) because Iris was there. When she learns the entire truth, I don't think Susato knows what she truly thinks or feels about any of it; but she sees Iris, and she sees this little girl who was abandoned through her circumstances as a baby, named after her mother, and forced to grow up much sooner than she should have been, and she sees a girl who is more her sister than anyone else. So she does what she always has and tucks away her own emotions so she might tend to someone else's. She has been the perfect daughter her whole life; she can be the perfect sister.

Even if you don't subscribe to the, admittedly, harsh view of Mikotoba's parenting that I do, I don't see how you can get away from the fact that they still lied to her for a significant portion of time. Especially from Holmes, whom she trusted and believed in more than anyone else! In the face of his shoddy deductions, she still held onto her unwavering belief that he was a genius and a good man, and then it comes out that he's just been lying to her from the first day he met her. I just can't extract the ship from their treatment of Susato, so when I say that I would erase the ship from existence, it's mainly about these two bits. As with Asoryuu, the primary reason why I don't ship them personally is because I can't do that to her.

And, obviously, it's just shipping and fun and games, and everyone should feel free to ship whoever in whatever way they want bUT IN A SPECIAL WORLD MADE PERFECTLY FOR ME. iris would be perfectly oblivious, and susato would have tossed both holmes and mikotoba into the thames and left them to figure it out. In a world that must still vaguely make sense with the canon of the game, though, then Holmes would have given Mikotoba the boot and taken the kids; because he may be a coward, but at least I can see that he knows he fucked up, and he allows Susato to set the terms of their relationship, just like he does Iris.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for how long, convoluted and only tangentially-related to the ask this is, but thank you so much for it, Grace!!!! I don't think I quite got down what I meant precisely, but it's the closest to coherency I've ever gotten so. Thank you 💖💕💗💓💕💘💕

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[ajdrawshq]

@ your tags on my post, i am shaking you like a maraca and yelling "YESSSSS"

i wanna see how kh3 tackles that whole thing because it's so eerily similar to what happens in the manga. and in the manga, he is in so much pain and agony, AND HE'S STILL FIGHTING. ROXAS IS THERE WITH HIM, HIS ONLY COMPANION, and then kh3 just tripped and fell on the glass table.

also, i think about this constantly, i want them to do something with it so bad.

YEA i cant wait to see the rest of kh3 manga chapters and how they handle everything, i especially loved the manga versions for days and kh2 and the way their stories were told - even tho kh3 has a Lot going on that might be hard to show well.. amano's been good at it so far tho so i have faith :]

but yeah that whole thing with Roxas is just . oughh. im not gonna lie even i forgot that Roxas was like. still there with Sora when he perishes until i thought abt it writing those tags but now that ive realized that. why the hell did they not take advantage of that!!!! like ok i get that it was more focused on the destiny trio in the ways i talked abt in the tags but yknow. what happened to "he makes up the difference"?? that wouldve been a great moment for it to shine!! ik they already make an example of it during the Xemnas n Saïx fight but still!!

part of me wishes Roxas couldve have more outward influence on Sora the way Ven did. granted, he arguably had an affect on Sora back in kh2, and while i dont remember if it was canon or even intended, that could be applied to both his appearance (his lighter hair, mostly) and his behavior (his hostility towards the organization members; ive seen this argued both as smth Roxas had influence over and purely based on Soras experiences thus far, and i believe in both personally) but Ven in kh3 was literally able to speak and somewhat act through him. im pretty sure this was meant to show that Ven was fully ready to awaken or smth like that, and that wasnt sonething that was needed for Roxas; hes alright, just needed a body/vessel for himself. but i still think itd be a cool way to express the earlier sentiment. and it wouldnt necessarily have to be Roxas "taking over" either, the manga shows very well how Roxas gives Sora strength from within and that he definitely does make a difference

to be fair tho...... whether that wouldve helped Sora in the moment that he gives in to his despair, im not sure. in kh2, both manga and game, hes in a very different mindset than kh3. in that part of the manga especially, despite thinking everyone (except Roxas) is gone for good, he still has the belief that they can live on within him. and that, plus the literal strength hes getting from Roxas, is keeping him going despite it all. in kh3 his self confidence is beyond fucked, and he truly believes in that moment that hes lost Everything, not just his friends. thats hard to come back from

i wonder if he were to remember that Roxas were still there, if that wouldve helped. whether for comfort in the way that hes not really alone then, or for motive to keep living bc if he dies then Roxas is gone too, or whatever reason, i think it couldve changed something, even if its just a little bit. hell, itd have been great if something like that happened afterwards in the final world. id like to think Roxas had a hand in Sora surviving ..... not sure how but its a nice thought. either way i do wish Sora n Roxas' connection and that moment they have in san fransokyo had more....... More. in kh3. it was a great opportunity that they didnt use/forgot about n im now sad abt it forever

[rcmclachlan]

8x06 fix-it fic: Amnion

Buck doesn't bounce back from Tommy the way he did with all his other breakups for reasons he can't articulate or even look at. He thinks of how long it took him to recover from Abby, but even that felt different, because he'd had hope carrying him through most of it. He doesn't have that now.

The worst part is it's bringing everyone else down. It's starting to affect the job, and he can't take any more of Bobby's pity dinner invites or the kid gloves Eddie handles him with. Then one day, Chimney (in an attempt to lighten the mood) asks Buck if he's pregnant, and it awakens some primordial rage in Buck that he never knew he possessed and damn near rips off Chimney's head about it.

But once the blood levels in his adrenaline start rising and he calms down, he starts thinking about it. Before he knows it he's thinking about it day and night, and now that's starting to affect the job more than his heartbreak had been.

Then one night Maddie invites him over to watch trash TV and eat junk food until they can't feel feelings anymore, but instead of the patented Maddie Hug he's expecting, she hands him a First Response test stick the second he walks in the door.

Five minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom pale-faced and dripping tears because there are two lines in the test result window, and Maddie leads him over to the couch where they curl up and cry together. Just like the old days.

Maddie asks if he's going to tell Tommy, but there's no judgment in her voice, like she's behind him no matter what he decides, and Buck tries to make her laugh when he says, "How do you know it's his? I could've been living it up for the last month. New person almost every night. Exploring myself."

She just gives him a Look. Also patented.

Under the weight of her scrutiny, Buck thinks about Tommy's face before he left the loft that night and how ''Buck'' looked and sounded so wrong coming from him. Like the shape of it was so painful he could barely move his mouth around it.

Finally, he shakes his head. His eyes well up with more tears, which feels impossible, because the human body can't possibly produce this much liquid. He's going to drown them both. "I thought... I thought we had a future, Maddie. I really did. I guess I still get one... but only with part of him."

A couple of months pass and Buck's entire world shifts. The 118 have rallied around him in a way that almost feels like they're closing ranks to every other firehouse. Eddie becomes especially protective and devises a 5000-point care plan that makes him twitch if Buck so much as thinks about deviating from it, but he also keeps telling Buck that he needs to tell Tommy about the pregnancy.

"If only to get his family history," Eddie says reasonably, but there's something pleading in his voice every time, like there's so much more under the surface that he's trying to keep under wraps. Like there's more about this that he thinks Tommy should know.

Chimney's in the middle of explaining why he's stealing the cool uncle crown from Buck and sitting pretty on the throne when Buck asks him about it.

"Is there something about Tommy that no one's telling me?"

It trips Chimney up. Literally. He just barely catches himself from going headfirst into the kitchen counter.

Buck's heart starts pounding. "Chim, does he know?"

"No," Chimney says, firm and almost a little offended. "We promised you we wouldn't say anything. But Buck... you should tell him. You should talk to him."

Part of him wants to whip his phone out right then and there and dial Tommy's number. He could do what he did the first time: ask to meet somewhere and laugh about bad coffee and plead his case for a second chance. He could reach across the table for his hand, but this time, he'd stand up and walk over to Tommy and place it on his belly. "I don't care about firsts or lasts," he'd say. "I care about only's. And you're the only one I want."

But the other part of him, still licking its wounds, hormones in flux and forcing organs to shift and bend as it makes room for the thing he and Tommy made together, bares its teeth and snaps, "He made it very clear that he had no interest in hearing what I had to say."

Chimney never brings it up again.

Meanwhile, Hen goes a little overboard with forcing him to undergo random physicals—she pops out of the shadows twice a day to ambush him with the blood pressure machine, and he keeps threatening to avoid rooms that have doors—but he loves it. His body is a complete stranger to him for the first time in a long time, but the changes he's experiencing are interesting and he's having a blast cataloging every new one. He and Hen have a spreadsheet with like fifty tabs, and she helps him navigate every test his actual OBGYN sets him up for.

He's over her house at least once a week, although pregnancy talk at the dinner table is verboten.

"If one of you says the word 'amniocentesis' one more time, I will start a food fight," Karen had said, finally putting her foot down. Across the table, Denny perked up.

As much as he hesitates to even think the Q-word, it's a pretty quiet pregnancy. The cravings are kind of wild, though, and he goes most of his first trimester feeling like he's going to die if he can't eat rice krispie treats with cottage cheese. Every time Bobby sees him cracking open another container of Hood, it looks like he's seriously reconsidering sobriety.

But as incredible as they are about the pregnancy, they're all tiptoeing around the other elephant in the room: when Buck is going to stop working scenes. He and Bobby have a series of discussions that satisfies neither of them and resolves nothing, and it builds to a big blow-out that ends when Bobby tearfully begs Buck to stop risking his own life and the life of Bobby's grandkid.

After that, it's like some stone thing in him dissolves into sand and he finally eases back a bit in his fifth month. He doesn't put up a fight when Bobby orders him to only handle the winch or stick with hose duty, and if he stays a little closer to the engine because he gets winded so easily these days, no one comments on it.

In his sixth month, the inevitable happens: there's a call out at Palos Verdes and it's all hands on deck, which means the 217 is there too. At first he thinks he might make it through without running into Tommy at all, but he turns a corner and—there he is. Smudged with mud and looking like a drowned rat because of the downpours, but in his turnouts he's big and capable and, for a second, he's walking into First Presbyterian and apologizing for missing the ceremony.

But the memory is easily wrestled back into the past the second Tommy's gaze fixes on Buck's belly.

Buck wants to stage a retreat that would make the Allies at Dunkirk stand up and applaud. He wants to throw his arms open so Tommy can get a better look at it, say something cool and mean, like, "Did you know that INNOTEX makes turnouts for carriers these days? Pretty progressive of them, if you ask me."

He wants to be weak and ask if Tommy will spare him a hug. Just one. Nothing greedy. Just—a moment to soak in his warmth, to inhale the smell of his skin. Enough to carry him through the rest of it.

But he does none of that. He inhales through his nose, lifts his chin, and says, "Firefighter Kinard."

At that, Tommy smiles, and it's completely awful. There's no joy in it. Not even amusement. He looks like he wants to be sick, and Buck feels like a monster.

But Tommy swallows and says, earnest as anything, "Congratulations. I-I knew you'd find it. I never doubted for a second that you'd find the person who'd be your last."

Even as he says it, Tommy's face does something indescribable, but it rips through Buck's chest and shatters his ribs, tearing through pericardial layers until it scores the vulnerable muscle of his heart. It's so shocking that it almost knocks the truth right out of Buck's mouth.

Someone comes over the radio and requests all available first responders with flight experience to report to the B-zone, and Tommy straightens up and locks whatever it was away.

With an unsteady hand, he tips an invisible hat to Buck and says wryly, "Firefighter Buckley," before jogging away.

And Buck stands there like an idiot watching him go. It's that night all over again. It's Buck instead of Evan.

"See you around," he whispers, and then runs back to his post in the A-zone.

+

Tommy gets the call when he's halfway through a burrito foisted upon him by Dana, who had taken one look at him and said, "You look like a flood victim. Eat something before I get HR involved."

He'd taken a mutinous bite and couldn't argue with her. Months later and it still felt like he'd watched everything he loved wash away with a tide he couldn't fight. Except he'd sent the tide himself. He had no business feeling like this.

But they send him to the site of a car accident where a pregnant driver had been T-boned by some asshole who ran the red light, and the RA unit called to the scene didn't have the right equipment to assess the fetus. But the victim's belly was hard enough to warrant a med evac.

By the time Dana gets the victim loaded on the backboard and inside, Tommy's already on with both First Presbyterian and LA General to see whose neonatal surgery team is available.

The door on Tommy's side slides open and Tommy turns in his seat to ask what the hell Dana's doing over there, but it's Hen who's pulling herself inside.

His stomach clenches with dread. "Hen?"

"I'm riding with you," she shouts, taking the headset that Dana gives her.

He looks just beyond her and wishes he'd had the presence of mind to listen to the manifest when Dana had read it aloud to him, because Evan Buckley is strapped to the gurney and looks like he's on a completely different planet.

"Hen." Tommy can't hear him say her name, but he sees Evan's mouth shape the word. Evan reaches clumsily out for her with one hand while pressing the other to his belly.

Hen murmurs something to him that the comms can't pick up, and Tommy wonders if they've notified Maddie, if they've notified the father, whoever they are. If they're already at the hospital waiting for them. If Tommy will have to see them, talk to them face to face.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he feels the hot wash of blood over his tongue, then forces everything down to join the burrito from earlier that really wants to make a reappearance. It isn't his right to know any of it. That went out with the tide, too.

He locks it down tight enough that he gets them into the air so easily they might be a feather on the wind, then he heads in the direction of First Presbyterian. The real start of it all.

They're maybe halfway across the city when Evan shouts, desperation and fear carrying his voice over the rotors, the words sliding together, "Hen, check Nora! Y-Y'need to ch—"

"Nora's fine, Buck," Hen says, her voice clear as a bell in Tommy's ear.

Staring at a skyline he can't see, Tommy says, "'Nora'? Was someone else in the car with him?"

When Hen comes over the comm, her voice is as inescapable as a flood. "Nora's what he decided on for the baby. It's her name."

Tommy's hand tightens on the cyclic so the way it starts shaking won't be so obvious. "Nora was my grandmother's name."

He'd told Buck about the woman who was basically the only family he could stand, who was responsible for not letting him become his piece of shit father, who accepted him when no one else would. She'd meant the world to him. She'd been the world to him. And for Evan to give his kid her name—

Realization hits like a levy breaking, and he turns to look wide-eyed over his shoulder at Hen, because it can't—he couldn't be—

"Patient, male, 33, prenatal course complicated at 8 months gestation," Dispatch had said.

The timeline is right.

Hen stares right back, as good of a confirmation that he could get outside of a DNA test.

Without breaking her gaze, Tommy tells Dana to take over. She gives him an unreadable look but says nothing except, "Copy that," and smoothly resumes their journey while he squeezes into the back. There's hardly any room next to the gurney and his knees are compressing his lungs, but he takes Evan's' hand and stares blankly at the shiner forming around his right eye until Hen breaks the silence.

Why didn't you tell me, he wants to demand, but he knows that if he so much as opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming until someone sedates him.

"For the record," she says, "I hate what you did. I hate what you took from him. But I understand why you did it."

Tommy rolls his lips inward and wants to suffocate himself to death. She understands? Does she? Does she know a life can be obliterated in the span of a minute? Does she know what it is to live a half life, to walk through the world like a five-year old drew a scribble on a blank sheet of paper that was supposed to be a person?

Does she know what Evan looks like when his joy is sucked away? Because Tommy does. She hates what he did? No one hates what he did more than him. No one hates him more than him.

Shakily, he lifts his other hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Evan's birthmark, which used to know the touch of his lips so well that Evan would joke that it was actually in the shape of Tommy's mouth print. Like a brand.

He forces himself to inhale. It seems impossible that Evan's here, carrying their child, their Nora. Evan used to say the lightning strike gave him super powers, made him invincible, and Tommy's ashamed to admit that he almost believed him. It seemed like nothing could ever bring Evan Buckley down, but here he is in Tommy's sky, halfway to Heaven already.

He glances at the LifePAK—where Evan's life has been concentrated into a series of lines and numbers, the reading strong despite everything—and then looks back at Evan, who is still the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen even now.

"Evan," he chokes out.

There's no answer. At least not from Evan.

Across from him, Hen breathes through her nose and then quietly says, "I'm only going to say this once, Tommy, so I hope you're listening. If you can't trust him to know what his own heart wants, then this flight will never have happened. When he wakes up, you will not have been here. I'll change the manifest myself."

Tommy closes his eyes. Something hot spills down his cheeks.

"I know things haven't been all sunshine and roses for you. Lucy's said you've basically shut down since it ended. I know you're hurting just as much as Buck is... which is why I'm telling you: be sure. He's going to have enough on his plate without worrying about whether or not you're going to swan out of his life again. You need to be sure, Tommy."

Tommy doesn't say anything, but he opens his eyes and holds her gaze without flinching, and he tightens his hold on Evan's hand.

The rest of the flight passes in the kind of silence that feels like a cyst was lanced. Or maybe a boil, as it were.

+

Buck wakes up in stages to find he's in a hospital bed, and when he puts a hand on his belly it's smaller and almost deflated beneath his palm. He is just starting to hyperventilate when suddenly Tommy's there, murmuring to him, "You're okay. Everything's okay, I promise, she's fine. She's fine. Look."

And Buck, heart racing, forces himself to breathe slowly while he follows Tommy's gaze down to the bundle in Tommy's arms. Then he stops breathing altogether.

"She's fine," Tommy says. "A little early, according to the doctor, but absolutely fine."

Buck collapses back to the bed and weeps in relief, because she's fine. She's here and she's fine and she's perfect. Tommy gently places her in Buck's arms before retreating to the chair next to the bed which has a dent in the vinyl in the shape of his ass.

But Buck is enraptured with Nora, who smacks her lips in her sleep, and he marvels aloud, "She has my mouth."

"Thank God for that," Tommy says with a laugh. "It'll help take the focus off my nose. Poor kid."

It hits Buck like lightning that Tommy is here. He's in this room and talking about Nora like—like he knows. And there are things Buck should probably be saying, like apologizing for not telling Tommy about her as soon as he found out, or asking why he's there at all, but the words are crowding in his mouth and he can't figure out which ones should go first.

Tommy's lips twitch in a smile that is awful to look at, like he completely understand Buck's struggle, but his voice is soft and even when he says, "I need you to know that it wasn't about you. Not you personally. It never was."

Buck stops trying to speak and just stares at him, because that is bullshit, and oh, he knows which words should come first, and he opens his mouth to release them into the wild but Tommy holds up a hand.

"I know," he says. "I was a coward and an asshole, and I'm more sorry than I can possibly say. I won't ever be able to make up for what I did. But I need you to know why I did it."

And, in fits and starts before he finally finds the thread, Tommy tells him about Jeremy.

After Tommy ended things with Abby and then finally came out, he dated around for a long time before he met Jeremy, who was brilliant and fun and new. Tommy was the first man Jeremy had ever been with, and Jeremy was the first person Tommy saw a future with. He'd been so sure about Jeremy. He'd believed that Jeremy was it.

Until, almost two years in, Jeremy ended it. He'd sat Tommy down and said kindly, cruelly, "You're amazing, Tom, but you're just the first. You can't be my last." And then he'd left Tommy completely shattered in the rearview.

"That night, when you asked me to move in... it was like I was watching him put on his coat all over again," Tommy says shakily. "But what I felt for you was lightyears beyond anything I felt for him. I'd fallen so hard for you that I knew if I had to watch you walk away I'd never get up again."

Buck stares at Tommy, eyes rimmed red, and says, "So instead you made me watch you walk away."

It must land like a fist because Tommy exhales sharply and hangs his head, bowing around the pain. He sits like that for a moment, absorbing it, before he lifts his head and nods. "Yeah. That's exactly what I did."

There are deep, dark circles under Tommy's eyes that speak of a hundred sleepless nights, and his body is sharper, leaner, trimmed entirely of anything soft. He's made entirely of angles. He's so unfairly hot. He's miserable to look at.

Buck swallows and murmurs, "You look like there's no love in your life, Tommy."

Sucking in a trembling breath, Tommy smiles weakly and sketches a shrug. It looks like the fatigued steel of his edges are starting to crack.

"I left all my love with you that night." His gaze darts down. "Among other things."

Buck looks down at Nora, who's sleeping the sleep of someone already exhausted by existence, or maybe just by her fathers' drama, and thinks that maybe he really has been carrying all his love plus Tommy's around. Because otherwise he has no idea how he's so full of it.

"She's absolutely perfect," Buck says, smiling dopily.

"She's... more than anything I could've ever dreamed of."

He looks up in time to see Tommy drop his gaze to the floor at the same time his shoulders lift and lock like they're bracing for a blow. And in a voice so thin it's barely a sound, Tommy says, "I know I don't have... any right to ask, but is there any... any chance I could be part of her life?"

The tears that have been languishing at the edges of Buck's eyes finally see an opportunity. He doesn't think he could've held them back any longer if he tried.

Mouth trembling, he whispers, "Just hers?"

At that, Tommy looks up, eyes wide, disbelief and hope chasing each other across his face like dogs. He jerks a little in his chair but he doesn't move. He doesn't move.

Buck stares at him, a tsunami pulling everything back from his shoreline, and bites out, "Thomas James Kinard, if you don't get over here and kiss me, I swear to Christ—"

But Tommy's out of the chair and at his bedside, cupping Buck's face and tenderly smearing a kiss over his open mouth, licking the relieved gasp right off Buck's tongue.

Between them, Nora makes a tiny noise, and Tommy startles away just enough that he can press the side of his head to Buck's and gaze down at her with a tremulous smile.

"She really is something, huh? Sorry about the nose, kiddo," he says softly.

Buck knocks their heads together and says, "I happen to love that nose, thanks. And like you said, my lips will help balance it out."

Huffing a laugh, Tommy kisses Buck's lips. And the side of his nose and the bolt of his jaw. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to Nora's little pink and blue hat.

"I'm sure if you are," Tommy murmurs, tilting his chin up so he can flash a brave smile up at Buck, who smiles back.

"I was always sure."

[sturnioz]

shy!reader decides to show up at a frat house party after almost a week of radio silence.

꒰ part one ꒱ — ꒰ part two ꒱— ꒰ part three ꒱

you were telling the truth when you told kitty and nick that you were super busy. the timing of being swamped with classes and assignments, coupled with the betrayal and hurt of being isolated from the frat formal, actually worked in your favour. it provided a much-needed distraction.

your classes kept you somewhat sane. yet, the constant buzzing of your phone from chris became a source of anxiety, which made you eventually decide to put your phone on do not disturb.

you hated doing that to him—it felt hard and unkind—but you needed to focus. each time his name lit up the screen, guilt and frustration washed over you, but you knew you had to prioritise your studies.

it might seem hypocritical to say you had no time for distractions, especially since you still made time to meet up with kitty and nick for lunch. their company was a pleasant break from the weight of your responsibilities.

you even found yourself opening up about chris, wearing your heart on your sleeve as you shared the confusion and frustration you felt — letting them know that you struggle to articulate how difficult it is to figure out your emotions of what's right and wrong, especially since you weren't even officially dating him.

they listened to you patiently, letting you spill your thoughts while they threw in the occasional sarcastic remark about chris, and eventually, they gently nudged you toward the idea of talking to him.

after some hesitation, you agreed. deep down, you knew you had to. you're not a mean person; you don't have a mean bone in your body, and ignoring chris' calls and texts felt like the closest you'd ever come to being unkind. that realisation weighed heavy on you.

however, the thought of facing him made your stomach churn. the idea of seeing chris after having been 'mean' left you on edge, your heart racing at the possibilities. but, you reminded yourself that communication is essential, even when it feels so daunting.

talking to him felt like a long shot, but you were willing to take that leap.

friday afternoon arrives quicker than you initially anticipated, and your palms feel clammy as you walk beside your friend, heading toward the familiar frat house that's already overflowing with students, laughing, and the thumping bass of loud music.

as you approach the entrance, your lips part in surprise when some of the frat brothers notice you — their wide, goofy grins spread across their faces, and they wave at you drunkenly. you smile shyly in response, turning their waves with a small, but kind, gesture before your friend pulls you further into the house.

it doesn't take long for your eyes to land on chris. he's sprawled on the couch, man-spreading, a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. he's glancing up at a guy standing over him holding a wad of cash, and you watch as chris holds the joint between his lips before dipping his hand into his pocket, pulling out a baggie of colourful pills and handing it over in exchange for cash.

"where have y'beeeeen?" a voice jolts you from your thoughts, and you turn just in time to see nate approaching, his arms swinging wide as he embraces you in a drunken hug. his cheek smushes against yours, and you catch a whiff of alcohol and weed on his breath. "i felt like fuckin' hansel 'n gretal leavin' a trail of apples f'you to find your way back, kid."

his words making you giggle, and your friend steps in to help untangle you from nate's affectionate grip, causing him to huff dramatically as he leans into her, his arm wrapping around her waist instead.

"come on," your friend urges, trying to tug nate away from you. "let her go speak to chris."

"good luck... been a fuckin' asshole all week," nate murmurs with a drunken slur, and your smile begins to falter, a wave of unease washing over you. you know all too well that you're likely the reason for chris' mood. as nate stumbles backward, he turns his head, pointing at you with a grin, "m'serious about them apples! they're in the fridge f'you!"

as they move away, the laughter and music fade into the background, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what's about to happen. your stomach swirls and churns with each step, the anticipation and anxiety building as you near chris, who remains unaware of your presence — too absorbed in taking a hit of his joint and counting the crumpled bills in his hand.

just as you're about to stand directly in front of him, his eyes flit up to meet yours. you give him a timid smile, hoping for a sliver of recognition or even warmth, but it falters and falls when he looks away, completely ignoring you.

the sting of his dismissal hits you like a brutal punch to the gut, and suddenly, you feel like you might be sick.

this wasn't how you had planned it in your head. you weren't supposed to be ignored... you were supposed to talk, to find some common ground, and hopefully, to be fine again.

your head is spinning, and your mind is clouded with confusion and hurt. the room starts to close in around you, the drunken students moving like a tidal wave, and you panic, your heart hammering against your chest.

in the midst of your spiralling, you catch sight of matt and kitty sitting on an armchair in the corner of the room, their eyes locked onto you. kitty pushes herself off of matt's lap, and matt follows closely behind, both seeming to make a beeline for you. but before you can even fully process their approach, your arm is suddenly caught in a tight grasp.

you're whisked away upstairs before you can even blink, the world around you blurring as you're pulled away from the chaos. panic surges through you, but gradually, a sense of relief washes over you when you're yanked into a familiar bedroom—chris' bedroom—and shock courses through you as you turn to see that it was him who brought you up here.

"relax," he grumbles, shutting the bedroom door behind you, which partially mutes the music from downstairs. "fuckin' dramatic for no reason."

even with his blunt, harsh words, there's an odd comfort in them, and you hate the realisation of how much you have missed him. the urge to suddenly hug him overwhelms you, but you hold back, wrapping your arms around yourself instead.

"nice of you to finally fuckin' show up," he continues, his gaze piercing as it drills into you, making you chew down on your plush bottom lip. he scoffs, shaking his head. "what? got nothin' to say? just—just gonna come here 'n show your face? all silent 'n shit?"

"i was busy," you respond, grasping at the same words you've been using all week, and the second scoff that escapes him makes you frown.

"right, right... 'cos it uh, didn't seem like you were busy when you were meetin' up with kitty and nick, yeah?"

"they met me for lunch on campus," you explain, your eyebrows furrowing a little. "i was still on campus.."

"what's your problem?" his question catches you off guard, and you blink, momentarily stunned. "like, what is goin' on? two weeks ago, you were fuckin' fine, and now you're ignorin' me? did i do somethin'?"

you take a deep breath, your eyes flitting to the side, searching for the right words before you murmur, "you didn't tell me about the formal."

"oh my god," your gaze snaps back to chris as he takes off his hat, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. a laugh of disbelief escapes his lips. "that—that's what this is about? 'cos... 'cos i didn't tell you about a fraternity formal that you have no interest in?"

you frown softly, "when did i—"

"kid, y'don't even like fuckin' frat parties, what makes you think you'd like a formal?" he huffs, rubbing at his jaw frustratingly. "y'wouldn't have even gone."

"it's the thought that counts," you reply, a bit more defensively than intended. you fidget on the spot, your fingers twisting together nervously as you try to steady your racing heart. "i... i would've liked to have been asked or something."

"yeah? so i could stand there 'n hear you say no?" chris shoots back, rolling his tongue across his teeth. "kid, i knew you would say no. that's why i didn't fuckin' ask — knew you wouldn't like that shit."

"but why didn't you tell me about it in the first place?" you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, that frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface as you swallow thickly. "is it because you was taking her?"

"not everythin' i do needs to be told t'you, kid," chris responds sharply, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. he then pulls a face, "her?"

"cherry." you whisper her name, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tight knot forming in your stomach.

"che—i didn't take cherry," he stares at you incredulously, his brows knitting together. "why the fuck would i take cherry? i went alone, dumbass."

his reaction catches you off guard, and you can't help but push. "but everyone saw you with her? and the photos?"

"yeah, she was there, but i didn't fuckin' take her — she was feignin' for them fuckin' pills, kid," The bluntness of his words strike you hard, and suddenly, embarrassment washes over you. you realise you had jumped to conclusions, just like everyone else, and you look down, biting your tongue as you desperately search for something to say.

silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, and your gaze finds its way back to chris, who is already staring at you as if he's trying to decipher your thoughts. he tilts his head slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, a posture that feels confrontational.

"besides," he begins, his tone shifting to something more matter-of-fact, "shouldn't really matter to you who i go with, right? 'cos we're not datin', kid. we're just sleepin' together, yeah?"

his words hang in the air like a cold reminder, and you nod your head slowly in response.

"do y'wanna stop?" he asks suddenly.

you didn't expect that question, and your heart races. "what?"

"m'givin' you an out, kid.. d'you wanna stop?" his gaze is unwavering, searching your face for an answer, and you can sense the weight of the choice he's placing in front of you.

you think over his question for a moment, and you think hard, weighing the options. ending this arrangement with him would certainly be a lot less complicated, but the thought leaves you hallow.

chris has become the normal for you. he's apart of your routine, a presence that even though frustrates the hell out of you and makes you so confused, he also brings you an odd comfort and excitement. and not only are you experiencing new sexual things with him, you are enjoying the pleasures that come with it too.

"no," you answer softly, "no, not really."

"alright..." chris hums, and you watch as his shoulders seem to relax, his arms uncrossing from his chest at your response. he nods his head, licking his lips to wet them, before he asks, "you stayin' over or you plannin' on bein' busy again?"

your face heats up, your nose scrunching up and your lips forming into a small pout as your murmur. "i was serious about being busy..."

"yeah, okay, bun."

© STURNIOZ

[honeytonedhottie]

hyper girliness⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

this post is just my take on what girliness is to me and how i incorporate it into my life bcuz its a lifestyle for me. being super feminine and feeling happy and beautiful in that way is how i choose to live and this post is just talking about how i go about that. ofc with anything that u consume. take what resonates with you and leave the rest but i hope you'll enjoy…💬🎀

GIRLY MINDSET ;

i think of very highly of myself, like a princess. i did lots of self concept work to get my self concept to where it is now and i can confidently say that my self concept is just as flawless as i am. because i think so highly of myself, i treat myself accordingly. something that i reinforce in my thoughts is to treat myself like my favorite doll.

what does it mean to treat yourself like your favorite doll? PAMPER yourself, treat urself sweetly and preciously and your body and mind and soul will thank you tenfold. every investment that u put into urself whether its mental or physical will give you the highest ROI then anything else can because its YOU.

IN TOUCH WITH GIRLINESS ;

im rly in touch with my girliness when im practicing self care or doing something creative (like girlblogging for example) to me, femininity is expression and creativity and energy and beauty so anything that resonates with those four words is enriching my own girliness.

pampering and self care time every single day is a MUST

dancing or stretching

most tension for girls at least, is stored in ur hips, so whenever ur doing stretches or when u dance, i like to focus on my hips movements so that then i can release tension and let energy flow. doing so helps me to feel super in touch with my girliness and my femininity in general, so things like belly dancing and yoga.

PAMPERING ;

manis/pedis WEEKLY or every two weeks, u dont have to get them professionally done if u dont want to, but mainly focus on being well kept and well groomed and moisturized.

making sure my hair looks pretty and to my liking

being EXTRA during shower time ; using high quality and sweet smelling products, using body oils and body butters and lotions. taking bubble baths and using fancy bath milks and bubble bath.

GIRLY INCORPORATION ;

you can glamorize even the simplest of tasks by being super girly. here are some examples of incorporating girliness into mundane tasks. girliness is lots of ROMANTICIZATION

studying -> using cute stationary (mine are predominantly pink) decorated notes, cute study playlist (i listen to subliminals) keep an adorable space to study and wear a cute outfit

GIRLY CODE ;

being sweet and gentle with everyone (including urself) is SUCH a girly move and it makes u so pleasant and doll-like. theres no need to be nasty for no reason, cuz thats not hot. so mind ur p's and q's. say thank you, articulate ur feelings and ur thoughts. also, me saying making an effort to be nice is girly code does NOT mean that if someone is coming at u some kind of way that u shouldn't stand up for urself bcuz u absolutely should, but rly emphasize grace.

GIRLY ACCESSORIES ;

bracelets

anklets

purses

head bands

mini-skirts

on an ending note the main keys to girliness from my experience is all about how u treat urself, and that'll translate to how u treat others. and this post can serve as your reminder to pamper and spoil yourself bcuz u deserve it…💬🎀

[alchemistc]

i like your voice in person

Evan's staring at the bed like he's trying to navigate a minefield.

Six months ago that would have sent Tommy on another journey of self-deprecation, a reminder that he'd known Evan wasn't ready for this, known this was a possibility, but Evan, for all his own insecurities, knows what the hell he wants and if he'd felt even an ounce of pressure or remorse up to this point he'd have said something long before now.

Sometimes Evan likes to work it out himself, and sometimes he needs a little nudge, and Tommy watches the head tilt and the angle of his pursed lips for cues as he settles under the sheets.

"Something on your mind?" he prompts, and Evan blinks, like he hadn't realized he'd gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Uh...nothing, maybe."

"Sounds like something, probably."

Evan's smile tilts up at one corner, and he settles on the bed a little stiffly. "It's nothing major. Just. Something I've been thinking about?"

He can feel his brows jumping, can see the way Evan takes in the look with a fond expression. Evan steels himself for something -- they're still muddling through past experiences and learning how to be a bit more intentional in some of their conversations, because they both have a bad habit of reverting to flirting and deflection.

"You remember what we talked about last weekend?"

Tommy can genuinely remember about 93 percent of what he and Evan talk about at any given time, which is an astronomically high number and not at all an exaggeration. He'd be embarrassed about it if he didn't have clear evidence that Evan was as deep into this as he was.

They talk a lot, is the thing, about inconsequential shit just as much (definitely more) than the important stuff. They talk far more than Tommy can remember talking in any other relationship he's been in. But Tommy can pinpoint the exact one he means.

"You mean the roles thing."

Evan hadn't been a stranger to a little daddy talk in bed when they started to explore it, and he'd brought it up right at the start for a reason, but Tommy had taken a while to come around to the realization that Evan had sort of internalized the 'I don't have daddy issues' of it all in a way that Tommy hadn't actually meant it. There'd been little things, here and there; like Evan reaching a door before him and then bashfully waiting with it half open like he'd made a misstep; like twisting his mouth a little funny when he snatched the bill from the table before Tommy could get it. Little things.

Things that, in the abstract, yeah, Tommy liked to do for his partners, but in reality weren't actually that big a deal to him.

He'd needed to clear the air.

Evan nods. Curls a hand around his knee before he shifts his body so that he's facing Tommy. "So, I like taking care of people."

(A conversation, a month ago, Evan grimacing around "My therapist says I have to stop calling myself a people pleaser in a derogatory way.")

Tommy hums, something to remind Evan he's listening.

"And I guess I sort of built up this idea in my head that that was like, a hard stop with you."

("Everyone likes being taken care of sometimes, Evan.")

"And I'm not -- I'm not upset at you, or like, feeling guilty, I just -- I've been thinking about it, and I feel like I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be taken care of."

The thing with Evan is that no matter how often he'll deflect with a joke, when he wants to say something serious he's blunt as hell about it. There might be some hemming and hawing to get there but sometimes he says things that just make Tommy wonder if he'd ever actually learned how to say things before Evan.

"I don't really have a list, babe," he says, and then sort of hates himself for it. Deflect, distract, hey baby how about I blow you about all these big feelings inside my chest I can't articulate.

Evan, though, Evan squinches his eyes and runs a heavy hand through his hair. "I...sort of do?"

"Lay it on me."

Evan grins. "That's actually one of the things on my list."

Tommy blinks. Tries to figure out that trail of thought, but he's coming up with nothing. "Okay, can you expand on that?"

"Like --listen, you know I'm a huge fan of being the little spoon. I'd let someone put screws back in my leg just for continued little spoon privileges. But sometimes I miss being the big spoon, and in my head the idea sounded so stupid to bring up but now I'm wondering if, like, maybe I've just been denying you the joy of being the little spoon?"

Tommy thinks of Evan's hands spread big and warm across his belly, of knees tucked up behind his, warm breath on the back of his neck like when Evan stumbles up behind him in the mornings whining about coffee, and maybe he blue screens a bit because he's never actually dated someone so close to his own size, because there's always been an assumption at the outset that he wouldn't want that.

Alex had been a little too into the same dynamic he'd seen Evan stumbling through, and Colin had hated sleeping with someone's flesh touching his own. Beyond that he hadn't really dated anyone long enough to really form a preference.

Maybe Kara might have been willing, back when he'd been closeted enough to pretend it wasn't an effort to get it up when she had his dick in her mouth, but they'd been young enough that staying the night wasn't really a consideration.

"And like -- listen, I don't necessarily prescribe to gender roles as a thing in general, but a few weekends ago I spent like twenty minutes staring at a bouquet of flowers in Trader Joe's and convinced myself you wouldn't like the gesture so I didn't buy them but you have a few vases in your moms old china cabinet and the moment I remembered them I felt stupid for not buying the flowers."

There's something curling tenderly underneath Tommy's ribcage that he's not sure he's ever felt quite like this before. It's not new, exactly, but it seems to be thrumming particularly hard tonight.

Three months in, Tommy had gotten the man-flu from hell, temperatures so high he'd been grounded and sent packing to rest it off, and he'd texted Evan a jumbled mess of barely discernible things when they'd tucked him into the Uber.

Evan and Bobby had made chicken noodle soup at the station and Hen had sent Evan off with a laundry list of things he could do to help drop the fever, and Tommy had spent the duration sulking and glowering and dragging himself out of bed every time Evan had wanted to change the sheets, to keep Tommy as comfortable as he could, but when Evan had caught it four days later he hadn't hesitated to do all the same shit with gusto. Evan hadn't been particularly grateful either, because neither one of them liked being laid up when the world was out there waiting for them, but he'd at least had the grace to not be an asshole about it.

He had, though. Been grateful. A little awestruck, too, at the mere idea of someone so unafraid of just being there through all the moaning and groaning and hacking and coughing, keeping the tissues from piling up on the bedside table and switching out cold packs to the freezer so he always had one ready in case he wanted it. In the clarity of a full day without fever making his brain feel like cotton candy he'd stared down at a sleepily wheezing Evan and known he could absolutely lose his heart to this man.

"Also I don't want to toot my own horn here but I give excellent foot rubs, and I feel like there's about a million other things I've just been -- holding back from doing?"

"Because of the role thing, or because all your stupid exes told you you were needy?"

It's not a night to pull punches. Also Tommy wants to send thank you cards to every single one of them and attach them to boxes with a bark scorpion inside.

"Both," Evan says without a second of hesitation. His smile crinkles at the corners of his mouth, and Tommy is suddenly annoyed with the space between them. When he holds out his hand to tug Evan into him, Evan melts into it for the space of a moment before he pulls back. "I actually kind of desperately want to be the big spoon right now, if that's something you'd be into." Evan had definitely clocked the look on his face when he'd mentioned it, but he's keyed into the way Tommy checks in and reciprocated in kind since the start of this, so.

Tommy peels his glasses off, snags his bookmark to keep his spot in the monstrosity of the Wrangler maintenance manual he'd stopped being cagey about the fifth time Evan caught him flipping through it, and watches Evan settle comfortably into bed next to him. The problem is, Tommy actually isn't sure where to go from there, which is a ridiculous thought to have because Evan hadn't either and he'd figured it out just fine.

"How do you want me, Buckley?"

The roll of his eyes is so bitchy that Tommy has to remind himself that for all his people pleasing attributes, Evan Buckley is, at heart, a huge fucking brat. Evan tugs and twists and maneuvers his arms and Tommy sort of sinks into it, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, draping his leg over one of Evan's when he shifts his knee pointedly, a massive, unruly breath escaping Tommy once they're all done shifting.

"You should absolutely try out the rest of your list," he murmurs into the space where Evan's shoulder meets his neck. "Although you don't need to woo me anymore, I'm actually fully wooed."

Lips against his crown, pressed tightly enough that he can feel the smile against his scalp, Evan chuckles. "You don't know how good my wooing is."

The fingers shifting up and down his arm feel somehow different, from this position, even though Evan has done it a hundred times before from the spot he likes to claim with his head right over Tommy's bleeding, three-sizes-too-big-for-him heart. It's ridiculous, and it shouldn't feel any different, but it does. He wants to be greedy with it, soak it in and then never let Evan do this again because he finally understands the appeal and he doesn't want to deprive Evan that.

"This is nicer than I expected."

Evan's soft laugh ruffles his hair, and Tommy wonders if he's dumb enough to ask Eddie how long he should wait before he can reasonably beg Evan to spend the rest of his life with him.

"Save the reviews for when I actually spoon you. It's gonna rock your world." His hand drifts up, fingers digging into the dimple of Tommy's skull.

The hum in his throat has a mind of it's own, going thin and reedy and --

Evan pauses, and Tommy can practically see the gears whirring in his mind, because this is new information.

To both of them, actually, but Tommy doesn't have time to process it because the fingers on the back of his skull spread and sink deeper, just enough pressure to be more than a glancing ruffle, and Tommy can't quite help the way he tilts his head back into it, or the way he hitches his leg to press his groin a little more firmly to the outside of Evan's thigh.

They're both too tired for it to really mean anything -- both off 48's and a fumbled round in the shower while they were already bone weary -- but Tommy wants the reminder for them both when they wake up in the morning.

He can feel his eyes drooping the longer Evan scrubs his fingers against him, and the thought pops into his head as he's drifting off. He doesn't want it to disappear into the fog, though, so he murmurs it into the soft, warm skin of Evan's neck. "I like camellia's. White ones."

Evan hums, and Tommy just knows that the moment he drops off, Evan will be reaching for his phone to google the language of flowers.

[shibaraki]

HELD BY YOU, FELLED BY YOU ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship, physical affection, touch starved shouto, loneliness, hugs + hand holding, fluff, only a little angst, obliviousness, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 1.4K

series masterlist: 1/5

It is 4:03pm on a Thursday afternoon. The skies are grey, and the rain is so light it’s practically a wet fog. You have not touched Shouto in any meaningful way since Monday.

Before this week Shouto was certain that he must have been absorbed into a long-standing state of neutrality and apathy as a child. He didn’t long for anything, atleast, not in the way his friends claimed to. Whiny professions of loneliness, lamenting over romantic relationships and sex or lack thereof, dreamily recounting their passionate escapades. It didn’t appeal much to him.

Shouto had what he needed to survive—to live his day to day and climb the ranks without disruption, and it seemed that affection was not one of those things. The Todoroki household had never been particularly affectionate anyway. After his mother was admitted to the psychiatric hospital touch became less associated with comfort and happiness, and more of a thing to avoid altogether.

Shouto never actually voiced an aversion to touch. He held hands with crying children as he walked them back to their parents. He rubbed the backs of countless scared victims, he let them wrap around his arm and squeeze until his fingers grew numb. He offered his left side to elderly folk in the colder weather as they waited to be loaded into an ambulance.

But these small instances were always initiated by him, and his well-meaning friends decided to leave the ball in his court sometime during highschool. It never really left.

Until—

“Can I hug you?” you blurted. Your expression quickly twisted into a sheepish grimace. “You look like you could do with one, is all”.

At that moment Shouto had been sitting in the infirmary half covered in soot and picking out the bits of rubble that managed to get inside his suit’s ventilator. He stared up at you and wondered what that would even look like on himself, lifting a hand to feel his face and finding it relatively normal.

The sound of his heart flooded his ears and he frowned at the reaction. You weren’t a new friend by any means, but Shouto scarcely made new friends so you are newer than the others. You’ve never tried to be physically affectionate but he’s caught you gazing at him fondly sometimes, when you think he’s none the wiser, and he likes it.

Shouto nodded. Why, he doesn’t know. To quell your anxiety and get rid of the awkward atmosphere, he reasoned. Then your lips pulled into a soft, pleased smile, and he felt it like the sun on his face.

You stepped forward as though approaching some skittish animal. Shouto made no move to stand. He had only watched with trepidation as your hands lifted. A breath caught in his throat as they extended to rest on his sloped shoulders. “I’ll get you dirty,” he murmured dumbly in afterthought.

“That’s okay,” you replied, barely above a whisper. Your arms slipped around his back gently, and soon tightened to a secure hold when no objection came—there could be none, because the instant Shouto’s cheek pressed against your soft stomach, a rush of adrenaline speared through him and swept away all conscious thought.

To Shouto touch was like skipping a rock through the cavity in his chest; doing it only ever made its presence more obvious. But you cradled him there for what seemed like hours and he felt warm in ways he couldn’t articulate. Your fingers danced aimless patterns along the top of his spine, sometimes pausing to curl the wispy hair at his nape around them, and he sank.

True to his word, Shouto had dirtied your clothes. He apologised when you pulled away because it was all he could do not to whimper. You didn’t spare your shirt a glance—you just smiled at him again, and said you hoped it helped.

Helped? Helped?

The weight of your embrace had lingered for hours, cloven to the forefront of his mind, clinging to the memory before it became too obscure. Only now the memory hurt him to think about, and the pervasive ache for more intensified as the days passed.

Just this morning he’d wrapped his bedsheets tight and drew them around his shoulders to simulate that same feeling. Closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing you there. Your sweet, purposeful touches. Your comforting scent. Your chest rising and falling. Your voice rumbling against his cheek. Heat filled his body, like you’d reached inside and turned the spigot of his heart.

It was mortifying. And exhilarating.

Shouto stuck his hand out from the shelter of the awning and let the rain lick at his fingers. Overturning his wrist, catching them on the shallow of his palm, he contemplates how he can get you to touch him again.

Last time you said he simply looked like he needed it. Too frustrating and vague, not to mention Shouto has been needing it all week. You could have meant his grimy post-battle appearance, but he didn’t really think this should warrant being thrown from another high rise building. Maybe he has to earn it this time.

You’re standing beside him, too preoccupied by the emails on your phone to notice his dilemma. Things have been fine. No awkwardness on your part, which he should probably be pleased about, but his mind keeps veering beyond rational conjecture. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. It all felt too one sided.

Shouto gives you a sidelong glance. You might be the only person he knows that can look alluring in the dreary afternoon light. With a sigh he lets his hand drop to his hip and wipes it on his dry suit.

Your thumbs move fast across the screen. “Sorry, Shouto. I promise I’m not ignoring you—just need to reply to this intern,” you tell him. “God, have I ever mentioned how much I hate the email software your agency uses? Because I do”.

He hums, “You have”.

Whatever you hear in his voice has you looking up. There’s a crease etched in your brow, expression open and apologetic. Your gaze flickers to the hand held to his front, where he’s working out the static in his knuckles.

“Are you cold?” you ask, pocketing your phone. It’s a silly question. He is a walking furnace. But Shouto is statuesque as you reach to cup his distinctly bigger hand with your own. Heat prickles under his skin. The staccato of his heart kicks up. You lean down to exhale a warm breath over his fingers, and stroke your thumb along the dips and peaks of his knuckles.

Shouto sends a mental apology to Kaminari for the halfhearted response he gave after a long, lovestruck monologue about his girlfriend’s hands. He thinks he gets it, now.

Your lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Better?” you scan his face and the smile falters. “Shit. Sorry, Shouto. I should’ve asked,” then you’re retreating again and—

He reflexively grabs your wrist. It’s a loose grip, enough for you to free yourself from. You pause. “No,” a puff of steam billows out from his mouth and he has enough presence of mind to be embarrassed by it. “…It’s fine. You don’t have to stop”.

Your concern dwindles into amusement as he wafts it away. “Alright,” you say placatingly. The tension alleviates, and when your fingers slip against his you immediately twine them together, taking the ache in his chest with it. “Is this ‘fine’ too?”

Shouto nods, not yet trusting his voice or his quirk.

“I wasn’t sure if I crossed any lines on Monday,” your eyes dipped to stare at the pavement as you continued. “I know you aren’t touchy feely like the others. They were… surprised when I mentioned the hug”.

“I didn’t think I was,” he swallows, flexing his fingers to squeeze your hand. “I liked it”.

You squeeze back, “You did?”

Shouto squeezes harder, and can’t stop the smile coming unbidden to his lips. “I did,” he says.

You meet his gaze. He’s pinned by that fond look you always try to hide from him. “Do you want another one, then?”

“But I didn’t do anything”.

A litany of emotion passes over your face at his response. There’s determination in the purse of your lips as you step into his space, entangled hands caught between your bodies. Wrapping an arm around his waist, you tuck your nose into the hollow where his jaw met his neck.

There’s a clumsiness to his movements as he follows your lead and slips his arm around your back. Head suddenly too heavy for his neck, he rests his cheek on your crown, melting into the embrace.

“You don’t need to earn my affection, Shouto. Not now and not ever”.

“Oh,” Shouto breathes. “I can just ask?”

“You can,” you laugh softly.

Why hadn’t he thought to just—ask. That is far more reasonable than being flung from another burning high rise.

“What?”

Ah. He pulls you further into his chest until you’re pressed together like the pages of a book. “Nothing”.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Annabeth Chase and Jason Grace - two sides of the same coin, an analysis post.

after a long wait, I've finally posted my analysis on jason/annabeth being similar, and mirroring eachother as rivals/potential sibling figures more than percy/jason's 'bro rivalry', based on this post of mine which has crossed over a THOUSAND notes in the last week alone, and I've been getting so many reblogs and comments asking me to expand on my tags in that post and do a full analysis. so here it is. I've been procrastinating this for quite a while now for some reason but I'm glad I'm over my writer's block and I got to articulate my post well enough.

annabeth and jason have had very minor interactions throughout hoo, but the parallels and similarities in their character is jarringly noticeable, which is why I hoped for a jason/annabeth rivalry and not a percy/jason rivalry. they've both been raised at their respective camps since they were literal kids, they were well versed in their respective fields of knowledge, and were well respected/intimidated in their camps.

let's start off with the lost hero

when jason first meets annabeth, he says that her eyes were really intimidating and fierce, so right off the bat, we have jason who's pretty put off by annabeth because she very obviously looked angry, especially since she was frustrated about jason's arrival instead of percy, and looked like she could kill jason to get percy back.

-----------------------------------------------

this parallels to a lot when hazel kept going on about how difficult it was to warm up to jason because his eyes were always calculating and cold, and he gave off an untrustworthy vibe, that he'd sacrifice anyone for the sake of the mission.

both annabeth and jason have a certain similar ‘look’ in their eyes, which have nothing to do with the color. they both have the tendency to make people nervous simply with their eyes, because they always look like they're thinking of new things every few seconds. Ironically, jason first perceived annabeth, the way everyone else perceived him. scary and intimidating with an icy glare and hardened eyes.

They were both said to be ‘studying’ each other in distrust many times throughout. A part of why they didn't trust each other, was, in my opinion, because they embodied their least favorite shared personality trait of each other, secretiveness and guardedness. which is why annabeth got on so well with percy, and jason with leo/piper.

they didn't admire the closed off-ish vibe that they gave eachother. they both needed people who were open and carefree.annabeth said that jason looked like he knew too much information, but chose to keep it all a secret, very similar to her own guardedness from time to time, keeping it a secret and wanting to deal with it silently.

we also know that annabeth and jason are extremely knowledgeable in greek/roman mythology, they both love debates and were quite passionate about history. they were both assigned architecture projects by the gods themselves as a mark of honor and favour.

moving on to the next most important point, they reminded eachother of the people they missed, causing them to feel resentful.

jason, barely met his sister after they reunited. he was bitter when thalia said he had to go look for percy to help out annabeth with the search. he was aware that thalia and annabeth were childhood friends, getting closer to eachother than jason and thalia ever did. she found a home in luke and annabeth, not even a few months after baby jason was thought to be ‘dead’, that knowledge would've weighed a lot on jason. annabeth became the sibling to thalia grace that jason could never be.

while annabeth? the only thing annabeth thought of, after jason had a face off with his mother's remnant in boo, was the fact that jason, who looks eerily similar to luke, could've experienced the exact same fate as him. luke was jason if he had more wrath and held grudges, jason was luke if he had less anger and resentment. annabeth could connect the dots so easily, and that was truly the moment where she gained immense respect for him.

and, when jason told annabeth that his sister was thalia? she had a very odd sort of expression on her face.

annabeth also quotes that looking at jason made her feel bitter, because he reminded her of heras exchange, and the fact that she lost percy for months. whenever she looked at jason, she would only see her two childhood friends, a found family that was broken, and a love that was challenged.

whenever jason looked at annabeth, he would be reminded that thalia had a closer contact to her than she did jason, and had to accept that he would never know thalia as much as annabeth does.

annabeth and jason also appear very confident and sure of themselves, but have second thoughts all the time. they had to put on a fake facade, to live up to their expectations and lineage.

they were both also sort of people pleasers, annabeth couldn't really say no to anyone who asked her for help with things, like carrying the sky for luke especially, because not only where they giving her a chance to execute her knowledge and skill, the thought of helping someone made her genuinely happy. jason also loved seeing people happy, always wanting to say the right thing to satisfy someone, even if it meant he had to sacrifice his own struggles to help them.

fatal flaws:

annabeth’s fatal flaw, is hubris. when you are confident and sure that you can do something, and have a sense of excessive self pride.

and jason's fatal flaw is the temptation to deliberate. hesitation and second guessing, to put it in simpler words.both fatal flaws are so different, yet so similar, and they have both flaws, just in a different viewpoint.

as a child of athena, annabeth appears super confident and even conceding at times because of her wisdom, but at the same time, annabeth had to make sure she was one step ahead of everyone. she had to rethink everything and had to have a plan in her mind all the time, fearing that things wouldn't go smoothly.

she had to hesitate and second guess herself alot, despite her knowledge, like she did when she knew she had to look for the mark of athena. piper and percy had to boost up her confidence with affirmations, to let her know she's on the right path and to just follow her gut. annabeth feels obligated to have a temptation to deliberate, because, as a child of athena, she has to be all knowing and wise, and most definitely cannot fail her mother.

and jason? despite having a very low sense of self esteem and hesitation, he was so used to leading the people who were considered slightly inferior to him in camp jupiter, and basically getting treated like a celebrity for 12 years of his life in camp jupiter, that often, he thought what he did was right, he had his own perception of what a hero should be, and I quote

[“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.” “You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”Jason tilted his head. “I mean… sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos… even a god”- Tower of Nero]

which was normal, since he had everyone basically following his lead without question as a kid. he's expanded on this in his conversation with piper in mark of athena, where he said he felt weird to suddenly be around people who were either equal/or superior to him in power, and not being in the ‘lead’ particularly.

jason had hubris, but certainly not in a way that you would call it an ego or excessive pride. he was hardwired and brainwashed into having his own perception of what is right and what is wrong, that he thought he was always making good enough decisions, at least from a roman child soldier’s standpoint. [Like when he was okay with not saving nico because it might sabotage their mission, he genuinely didn't think what he said was insensitive until hazel called him out, because he was brought up that way. he thought he was doing the right thing, by prioritising the mission and the duty, first. Like the dutiful roman he was made to be].

both annabeth and jason, have hubris and a temptation to deliberate.

annabeth and jason, also had an extremely difficult time breaking free from the thoughts that their godly parents were always right. It took on alot of disappointments for both of them to stand up to their parents (and not just godly ones, mind you)

they've both had disappointing absent mortal and godly parents with a hostile stepmother involved and monitored with each and every one of their moves. annabeth has had to deal with her stepmother playing the ‘bad cop’ with her father not even coming to her defence, just the way hera came butting into jason's life and giving him terrible memories, taking him away from thalia, with zeus not even caring.

speaking of which, they are both the only demigods who have harboured the most amount of resentment for hera. just the sight of hera pisses them both off, as it hera, stripped off so much time away from annabeth and percy, and memories from jason, which he never permanently got back.

this is sort of irrelevant but I'll add this anyway, in boo, athena also immediately liked jason for calling out zeus's unfairness to apollo, saying something like 'the boy is right' and she gave him an approving/appreciative look for his wisdom, which is pretty rare for athena to say or do to literally any demigod ever. this makes me wonder if she ever saw jason as someone who had some sort of athena legacy in him, which is why she was so pleasantly surprised with him. ugh we could've so gotten jason and annabeth as potential sibling figures bc of how many parallels they have, too bad that the percy/jason rivalry narrative was pushed too hard.

I hope I've drawn enough parallels with their characters, as a lot of you have been looking forward to this post for a while, hopefully this analysis hasnt been underwhelming for you all to read!

@thevoidcaller @karmaajr @onestorytorulethemall @newlyfoundwren @thesummerstorms

[what-eats-owls]

Clean Books.

It's Friday of Ace Week, and I feel like I need to articulate something.

A month or so ago, I was signing at a convention, and I kept getting a specific ask from adults: "Are your books clean?"

And I didn't know what to say. I write for teens. There's body horror, violence, swearing, underage drinking, child abuse/neglect, forced marriage, discussion of past sexual assault, the magic system is essentially "take drugs made out of gods," dirty jokes by the bushel. Sex itself is discussed and depicted with, I hope, all the awkwardness, silliness, and earnestness that rings true for teen characters, as well as respect for the intended teen audience.

But to the people asking for "clean books," it's usually just that last one they're interested in. (Followed by swearing.)

I think, when your book is flagged as an Ace Book, some readers just expect a prominent ace character... and some readers expect a Clean Book. Something pure and wholesome, where sex doesn't exist and no one thinks dirty thoughts, it's just chaste hand-holding and cuddles and maybe a closed-mouth kiss.

That is deeply, deeply unfair to ace readers and writers. A lot of us have spent and/or will spend a lot of our lives, from adolescence onward, trying to figure out exactly what our relationship is with sex. What we want, what we don't want, when we want it, if we want it, if we even tolerate it. Asexuality is a spectrum for a reason; to expect ace work to be "clean" denies it the room to assert its full identity.

I write for the teens who are told they're "just late bloomers" because they aren't interested in dating, while their saved AO3 searches would obliterate the Vatican. My books are not Ace as in No Dirty Thoughts, they are Ace as in Deconstructing the Scam of Compulsory Allosexuality. And that doesn't have to be for you. But it doesn't make it any less ace. It is not abandoning asexuality. It doesn't make them "impure."

Happy Ace Week, y'all.

(I decided, by the way, that my standard answer to "are your books clean" is a simple "Yes.")

[chilschuck]

I'm not sure how to put it into words on what I exactly want outta this, but please give us a Chilchuck x Tall Woman Reader.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ hi anon!! i hope this is okay! i kinda did a mixture of hcs with a drabble, just something put together for you! thank you so much for your request, this is so cute!! <3

— CHILCHUCK x fem tall-man!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + fluffy goodness with this emotionally constipated man. enjoy!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 524

✦ this was so fun…. fem tall-man is so funny to read… tall-woman?? idk anymore. holds my head in my hands. i think this turned out more gn, but i tried. :”)) please enjoy!!! feel free to submit the request again if you’d like me to do more for it!! <3

✦ Chilchuck was used to being looked down upon, something he experienced both figuratively and literally. It came with being a half-foot, and that was the cold, hard truth. Yet, for a reason he couldn’t wrap his head around, he felt warm around you.

✦ Maybe it was your smile, or the way you managed to make him feel like you were always on the same page. It didn’t help that you weren’t bad to look at, on top of being possibly one of the easiest people to talk to he’s come across. He could continue to play it off as just a perk of working together, which was something he planned to do. But things were never that easy for him.

✦ Chilchuck was stubborn. He knew what worked and what didn’t, and he surely wasn’t going to put everything on the line for some tall-man. Yet…

✦ Watching you interact with the rest of the party, the kindness you exude and that comfort you brought with you, made him start to crumble. You were wearing away at the wall he built up, faster than he had the ability to rebuild it.

✦ “I look up to you, Chilchuck... For all you’ve done for half-foots, the way you show others not to underestimate you. It’s really amazing.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at your palms. You had suddenly felt the need to tell him what had been on your mind, and there wasn’t any way you’d let this stroke of courage go.

✦ You bit your tongue for a moment. The last thing you wanted was to make him think you were sucking up to him. Clearing your throat, your gaze sought out his.

✦ Surprisingly, you had managed to catch him off guard. You… look up to him? His brow furrowed, really taking in what you had said. Cheeks rosy, he opened his mouth to speak, only to grow silent again. Dammit.

✦ You… You made it so hard for him to articulate a thought. Especially when you looked at him like that. What was he supposed to say? That he truly respected you, too? That he didn’t think you were too bad? Not to mention, the way you always looked out for him didn’t make him feel inferior for once? Ah… Shit.

✦ You were used to being honest, so it didn’t strike you as how it might maybe be too much to say in the moment. Swallowing sharply, you tried to catch his attention.

✦ “Sorry… I just mean that I really, uhm, enjoy having someone like you around. Is that too much? Sorry. Let me clarify—“

✦ Mind reeling, grabbing at straws from realizing just how deep the waves of his feelings had crashed into his psyche, he waved a hand at your words. Your name left his mouth softly, stopping you in your rambling.

✦ “That means a lot… Thanks.” A beat. “And stop saying sorry so damn much.” Chilchuck mumbled, a gloved hand scratching the back of his head in bashfulness.

✦ Who thought he’d be catching feelings for a tall-man…

dividers by @/cafekitsune!

[naeviskz]

genre. idol!hyunjin x model!f!reader | established relationship

words. 1.5k+ tags/warnings. angst, fluff (towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hj is lowkey toxic (but we love it hehe), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread

this has been in my drafts for years and i finally finished it bc i was tired of seeing it LMAO. btw the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rlly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to hyunjin was like conversing with the wall, never truly grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with chan or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

hyunjin felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere ___, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hyune, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious ___? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” hyunjin couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you hyunjin. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” hyunjin angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

hyunjin’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed slit “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, hyunjin!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your dewy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hyunjin-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, hyunjin loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. hyunjin knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a slew of curses leave your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. hyunjin slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and tummy.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing hyunjin’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe you’re all mine.” hyunjin whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much baby.”

“love you too hyune.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[luveline]

hey jade! i’m really going through it right now so was wondering if we could have something with eddie and roan? i love them

eddie and roan try to make you feel better after a strange day alone. (step) mom!reader, 1.5k

You don’t feel well, but you’re having a hard time articulating why that is. 

Maybe not having Eddie and Roan at home is throwing you off kilter. You don’t have reason anymore to be here without them. You wake up and leave while they’re still getting ready, and you get home after they're already home. If Roan is at her Uncle Wayne’s, Eddie’s begging for a date night or spending the weekend in your lap, and if Eddie’s with friends, Roan’s hanging off of you with a Barbie in hand. You’re used to having company. You love it. 

Your stomach aches at the thought of seeing them… You miss them, but it isn’t what’s making you feel so poorly. Life is just tough right now, it’s hard, and you’re tired. 

You curl up into the couch, the tight fabric of your work trousers stretched over the backs of your thighs. They aren’t used to this positioning. You’d change if you had the energy. 

“Watch the step,” Eddie says from outside. You scrunch up into yourself further, knowing you’ll have to explain why you’re home, and worse why you didn’t tell him you’ve been here all day. “Babe, every day! You come up these steps every day and you still don’t remember.” 

The babe in questions laughs at his light chastisement. “Well, sometimes it moves.” 

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

Eddie turns his key in the door and tries to open it. “Oh, what? Did I forget to lock the door?” 

Now is the least awkward time to confess. You force yourself to sit on the couch on your knees and look over the back of it, catching his attention as he opens the door. “Sorry, just me,” you say. 

Eddie takes Roan by the shoulder to direct her to you. “Hey, mom!” he says, surprised. 

“Mommy,” Roan says, chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles and drops her school bag on the floor. “What are you home for?” 

You sit down properly as they both enter the living room, arms already open in anticipation of Roan’s hug. She climbs into your lap shoes and all, her purple coat wet with the drizzle outside. “You’re so cold,” you worry, hugging her close to your chest. Her nose is pinking, her lips chapped. “Oh no, princess. The weather got you.” 

She laughs easily, sinking into your embrace. “It’s cold outside.”

“I can feel it on you. You need some chapstick.” 

She puckers for a kiss. You laugh and kiss her cheek as she kisses yours. 

Eddie takes his coat off and folds it over his arm. He smells like diesel immediately, oil staining his wrists and the thigh of his work pants, but he’s amazingly handsome, so you barely notice. “What are you doing home, lovely girl?” he asks, meeting your eyes over her mess of damp curls. 

It catches you off guard. Eddie is a solid babe guy. Babe, baby, bub. Sweetheart and sweet thing when he’s feeling brazen, but ‘lovely girl’ is rare. Pretty girl when he’s flirting, but lovely? He says it so softly, it falls off of his tongue, with the sort of gentleness he’d give Roan when she’s hurting. You must look more wounded than you thought. 

Your voice turns tight. “Um– uh.” You clear your throat, eyes widening as Eddie approaches, as he leans down to touch your cheek. “I–” You look between him and Roan, not wanting to upset her, but not being able to handle it internally. “Eddie.” 

“What?” he asks in concern. “What, Y/N?” He puts his hand on Roan’s shoulder, thumb quick to rub a soothing line. 

“I just don’t feel very well,” you say weirdly. 

You sound like you’re going to burst, they both hear that. You frown at Roan as she frowns at you, trying hard to fight back tears. “Sorry,” you say, touching her cheek with the back of your pinky. “Sorry, Ro, I’m okay.”

Eddie scoops Roan gently off of your lap and puts her in the seat beside you. “I’m sorry I’m so filthy,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, hands on your legs, “I don’t want to ruin your nice shirt.” He looks you in the eye. 

You shake your head. 

“Hey. Tell me.” He waits, as he always waits. You could tell him anything in the world right now and he’d make it better, because he’s been taking care of you for a long time. 

“I couldn’t face it.” 

Eddie catches the tear in your lashes before it can fall. “Couldn’t face what, sweetheart? Work?”

“I just didn’t want to do anything today.” 

“That’s okay. God, I wish you’d told me, but that’s okay!” He leans up for you, taking your face into his hands. “Is something wrong? You can tell me anything, sweetheart.” 

You close your eyes and let your face fall forward into his hands. Your lips part, but in place of the apology you’d meant to give falls a whining breath of air, a sudden dispelled panic. Things feel so awful, but he’s going to take care of you; your relief is an immensity off of your shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your cheek, hands moving around to the back of your neck. He holds you in place. 

A small hand touches your back. “Yeah!” Roan says, patting you with a clumsiness that’s clearly meant to be gentle. “Don’t be sad, mom, please.” 

“I’m not,” you say uselessly. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says again. “Roro, she’s not sad, she’s tired. We cry all the time when we’re tired, don’t we? She needs to lie down.” 

You laugh through your tears. There’s a sludgy headache behind your eyes and your throat aches —you really do want to lie down. 

“Sorry if I’m freaking you out,” you say. 

“You always freak me out,” Eddie says, “that’s your thing. You’re amazing.” 

You laugh-sob and force him into a hug that gets oil all over the side of your shirt. Eddie holds you without argument, without a hint of complaint. He just sits up on his knees even though it must hurt and covers up as much of you as he can with his arms, his hair all over your face, your breath damp and warming your skin where you're tucked into his front. “I should have called you this morning,” you say with a little sob.

“Yeah, babe, you should have, but it’s fine. We’re here now.” 

Roan stands on the couch, hugging your heads. “‘Xactly!” 

Eddie asks Roan to go and get changed. You see him winking from the corner of your eye, and Roan kisses you with a smacking, “Mwah!” before she does as he’s asked. From there, Eddie turns investigative. “What’s wrong?” he asks between kisses, the daintiest, softest kisses he’s ever given you as he rubs your tacky cheek. “Please tell me. You can’t just be by yourself all day when you don’t feel like yourself. You gotta keep me in the loop.” 

“I really didn’t mean to. I thought you’d still be here ‘cos I got to work and I turned straight back around but you’d already left, and then I kept wanting to call you but I didn’t know what to say. I just feel sick and everything is stressing me out.” 

“Okay,” he says, kissing you super, super softly before climbing onto his feet. “I’m gonna get your notepad and we’ll make a list. We’ll write it all down, and we’ll see what we can fix.” He smiles hopefully. “It might even be fun.” 

You lift your head and look at him, his lovely eyes creased with concern, his hair falling into his face, the dirt on his arms. He’s worked all day and now he’s taking care of you, even though you don’t know what’s wrong. 

You stand before he can get away from you and thrust your face into his chest, arms thrown behind him. “I’m so glad you’re home,” you say. 

Eddie covers the back of your neck, a smile evident in his tone, “I wish you would’ve called me.” 

Eddie encourages your head back, the two of you smiling at one another without worry. Eddie’s gonna write a list. You’re probably gonna sit in his lap while he does it. Things will be okay. 

Roan bumps down the stairs. “Mom, I have brought your pa-jamas.” 

“What about me?” Eddie asks. 

Roan shrugs. “I couldn’t reach them.” She hugs you around the thighs, your pyjama shirt slipping out of her hands. You can see now where she’s put her shirt on backwards, and lost a pony tail holder in the process of getting changed. 

“Wow, my big girl! You did it all by yourself!” 

She cuddles into your leg. “I know.” 

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Sass & Suspenders

Legal AU: Prosecutor!Bucky x Female!Doctor!Reader

You and Bucky are both professionals in a long term relationship, but you like to mix things up once in a while despite the humdrum of life.

Warnings: smut, 18+ only, minors please leave

Word Count: 2,953

A/N: Because I have a thing for men in suspenders and I've thought about this for far too long.

Bucky groaned. But not one iota of the deep articulation of the sound that escaped his lips was rooted in any form of pleasure. You shared the sentiment. Taxes - who ever enjoyed doing those?

"Do we have to?" he whined.

"You promised!" you admonished, knowing full well that if he persisted in his protests, you would succumb to his point of view. 

The pout you received in response was almost as good as his closing arguments. It was 9pm and you had both left your busy jobs to spend an evening together completing your tax returns. Your relationship had most certainly reached the pinnacle of excitement. 

Heaving a sigh of resignation, you nudged your boyfriend towards the study you shared. The two of you had been putting off the chore for several weeks and you had finally laid down the law to your handsome attorney.

"I'm tired."

"So am I, but it has to be done. Come on."

Despite the fact that your crazy careers that kept you busy until ridiculous hours, the two of you found a way to do something together, even if it was only sleeping. Early in your relationship, there had been a number of rescheduled or incomplete dates, but the offending party would make it up to the other with their favorite cupcake the following day. In all honesty you were surprised that you hadn't gained a tonne of weight because of the quantity of cake you had consumed.

It wasn't long before you knew that Bucky was the one for you and you apprehensively admitted your feelings to him. To your immense relief, he reciprocated those feelings and in no time at all you'd moved in together and were filling out tax returns like an old married couple. It was incredible how well you synced with each other, in spite of your differences. A difference that was evident on this auspicious evening.

When carrying out a task that needed concentration and an arduous undertaking, you liked to be comfortable, meaning you immediately changed into one of your chemise nightgowns. Bucky on the other hand felt the only way to concentrate was to roll up his shirt sleeves and dig in in full professional garb. He often said that staying in ‘character’ helped him focus.

Neither of you objected particularly to the other's choices, particularly when Bucky was wearing suspenders with his suits. You would never dare admit it, but you had developed an overwhelming fondness for seeing your sweetheart in suspenders. One might even describe it as a kink.

Before meeting Bucky, you had never met anyone under the age of 70 wearing suspenders. You considered it to be a quirk of many of your elderly patients. But for some reason, Bucky made it look like the height of fashion. Many a time you found yourself wondering what it would be like to grab a hold of the elasticated straps and pull him into your arms. Today happened to be one of those many distracting occasions that left you dazed and very much aroused. It was several moments before you acknowledged the fact that Bucky was leaning across the table in an attempt to meet your gaze.

"Hey there, doll," he gave you that lopsided grin that drove you nuts. "What happened to 'we must focus' and 'get this done tonight'?"

The flush on your face deepened. 

"What's going on in that brain of yours? You're kinda quiet."

You bit your lip, treating him to a coy smile. "I just have other things on my mind."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Just admiring how handsome my boyfriend looks."

"You looked like you were looking straight through me, not at me."

"Bucky, let's get back to this paperwork."

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to tell me what you were thinking about." His tone was low and commanding. Almost as though he already knew the dirty thoughts that had crossed your mind. 

You felt your pulse quicken. "May I plead the fifth, counselor?"

"No, doll. You're under my jurisdiction now. You're under oath to speak the truth."

"The whole truth?"

"Nothing but the truth."

"So help me God?"

"I'll be the only one here that can help you. Now tell me what you were thinking."

"How about I show you?" Rising from your chair, you sauntered over to Bucky's side of the large oak desk.

Sliding into his lap, you ran your fingers along the elastic straps of his suspenders, tracing the small grooves and indentations of the springy material.

"See something you like, doll?"

The groan that escaped your lips was nothing short of sinful. You wrapped one strap in each of your empty fists and tugged at them forcefully, pulling Bucky towards you until his mouth was barely an inch from yours. All words were forgotten on your part.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice so low you could barely make out his words through the carnal desire in his voice.

His lips were so close, you could practically taste a whiff of that last cup of coffee he had swallowed before leaving work. You watched the steely blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils expanded with arousal. Bucky's hands settled on either side of your face, his skin was on fire, or maybe it was yours, it was impossible to tell.

His lips brushed against yours lightly, so soft and it sent shivers through your nerves, shivers that made your whole body tremble. “If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered. When you said nothing, he pressed his lips on yours a little harder, leaving a slightly sloppy kiss on your mouth. “How about now?” he asked. He traced a solitary finger along the line of your cheekbone. “Or now-”

The rest of his words were lost against your mouth. He kissed you gently, carefully, but it wasn’t gentleness you wanted, not now, not when it had been so long, and you knotted your fists tighter around his suspenders, pulling him harder against you. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and his arms circled you, gathering you against him.

All you wanted was Bucky, you wanted to feel him, all of him, pressing into you. You inhaled, breathing in his shaving cream, his cologne, that extra scent that was just...Bucky. The aroma was intoxicating and you were dizzy with desire to take him in. Parting your lips, you invited him. His tongue deftly entered your mouth, forcefully searching every possible crevice, teasing, tantalizing, tasting your unique flavor.

His hands slipped under the hem of your chemise, gently gliding his long digits across your sensitive abdomen, before moving them to your bountiful breasts, enjoying the way you whimpered and writhed every time he flicked one of your perky nipples. The electrifying sensations traveled through your body culminating in your arousal pooling in the meager piece of material covering your leaking lips. Before you had time to object, Bucky’s hands were splayed across the inside of your thigh, fingers creeping ever closer to your clothed clit.

"Mmm, objection," you hummed into his mouth.

Bucky unlocked his lips from yours, surprise and disappointment evident on his face. "Ok, I know, we have to get this done," he took his hand off your thigh and waved at the paperwork on the desk.

"Eager much?" your smirk insinuating at your meaning. You laughed and snapped one of his suspenders lightly. With the other hand, you swept your fingers over the bulge in his pants. "I have a counter argument."

"Oh?"

"Let me show you." Seductively, you slipped off his lap and knelt down between his legs. Looking up at his face, you watched the look of comprehension spread across his handsome features.

"Are you sure?" he asked, somewhat apprehensively. 

"Certain." The bulge seemed to be growing before your very eyes, straining at the seams of his pricey pants. "I've missed how you taste."

Bucky sucked in a breath in anticipation of your actions, eyes wide as you unzipped his pants and freed his hardening cock. Gently, you trailed your fingers up and down his shaft. "It's your turn to tell me what you want me to do to you."

"You know what I like, doll."

That you did. "I want to run my tongue over every inch of you." Lowering your head, you took him into your mouth, warm and soft, you took a moment to savor his taste. You hummed with appreciation, your tongue flickered and danced around the tip and instantly you felt him swelling and growing hard for you, his cock filling your mouth with every lick. 

You pulled back slightly as the head of his cock started to push against the back of your throat. "Tell me how good it feels. I want to hear you say it."

He groaned. The sound excited you, his body was coming alive for your mouth. You reached up to his chest, slipping your hand under the suspender strap and pushed down on his nipple.

"Oh doll, nobody has ever fucked me like you do," he cried as you worked your tongue over his frenulum. Bucky responded just as you wanted, the taste of pre-cum seeped into your mouth. He arched his back, eyes rolling backwards with pleasure.

Your free hand curled around his now rock hard member, with a loose grip, you gently moved your hand up and down encouraging the flow of more pre-cum from his tip to lubricate your actions and elicit the most ungodly moans from your boyfriend.

Hearing Bucky groaning so obscenely sent a tingle through your clit. After a pause, you tilted your head to take him further into your mouth, bobbing up and down with ease. His fingers mingled with your luscious locks as he guided your head gently as he tried not to trust too deeply into your throat. Bucky knew you often struggled to take him in completely and that he had to take care to not get too carried away in his bliss. 

It wasn't until he started cursing quietly under his breath in a way that made you come undone. You removed your mouth from his cock, "Buck, I can’t wait any longer… please I need you to fuck me."

"Doll, I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow." He stood suddenly and pulled you to your feet effortlessly.

"Buck-" you whined. "Please, I need you. Touch me."

"Turn around."

You obeyed. His erection pressed against you was more than you could bear.

"Buck, fuck me like you mean it."

"I always mean it," he growled into your ear. He pushed you forward onto the desk, forcing you onto your elbows. Your chemise rose up as you bent over the thick table, exposing your ass. His cock rested comfortably between your thighs, eagerly twitching, ready for action. Your dripping wet pussy literally begged for it.

Bucky tugged at the strip of material that was the only thing keeping him from entering you. "Is this ok?"

"Oh God, yes," you exclaimed. At any other time, you may have been ashamed of your wanton cries, but right now you couldn't care less. All you wanted was to feel Bucky pushing into you, filling you up, making you pulse with pleasure around him in that way that no one else could compare.

"Not God, just me," he smirked.

At what felt like an excruciating slow pace, Bucky stroked your slit with his tip, collecting the succulent elixir that you had made, just for him. As he touched your clit, you shuddered deeply and gasped. You closed your eyes and focused on the ecstatic sensations that shot through your body as your opening stretched in receipt of his cock.

It was a good thing you were half sprawled across the sturdy table because your legs felt like jelly and would give way at any moment. As if Bucky could hear your thoughts, he curled his fingers around your hips, the tips pressed into your flesh salaciously.

"Oh Buck! I want you all the way inside me, give me all of you."

"Is that what you like, doll?"

"Yes, you know that’s what I like."

"I hope you're ready for this, because I know I am," Bucky purred.

He certainly was. He didn't hesitate in plunging himself further into you like sheathing a sword to its hilt. The force made you gasp with pain and surprise and the grimace on your face didn't go unnoticed. Bucky bent forwards, his abdomen pressed against your back and asked, "too much?"

"Tad too fast," you answered. "I may have been a little too hasty about what I asked for."

His new position had relieved some of the pressure and you felt a lot more comfortable and ready for him to try again. Bucky's breath was hot on your back and the wave of pain was now ebbing away, replaced by your impatient longing.

"Let's try something different, shall we?"

His fingers crept around you until he found your clit. Bucky encouraged you to spread your legs by nudging your knees apart. Slowly, his digits struck up a steady pace rhythm of slow movements, starting below and dragging up again and again, until your the bundle of nerves was flushed and firm under his fingers and your juices started leaking out around him. Not until your hips start undulating did Bucky try pushing back inside you. You had to admire his self control as he made you unravel with the smallest flick of his finger.

"Buck-"

"Doll?"

"If you keep fingering me like that, this is going to be over before you get the chance to have any fun."

"Watching you cum is extremely fun for me."

"You feel so delicious inside me, but I need you to fuck me with your cock."

Bucky was only too happy to oblige. Proceeding with caution, he pushed slowly until he was fully inside you. A burning sensation radiated through you as you stretched to let him in.

"How does that feel?" he asked slightly apprehensively.

"Exquisite!" you sighed. 

You shifted to make yourself comfortable before Bucky pulled out slowly, leaving you feeling empty inside. But you didn't have to wait long before he was thrusting back half inside you, making you gasp and moan. It was almost too much for Bucky, he was already struggling to control himself but he held back, wanting to give you as much pleasure as possible for as long as possible. In and out, he moved further with each thrust until he was sliding all the way into you, hands roaming over your exposed back.

“Bucky. Buck...” you murmured.

“Doll, a little louder for those of us in the back.”

“Does it turn you on?” you smiled.

“You’ll be screaming my name by the end of the night.” He rutted against you sharply in an unexpected rhythm. 

“Haha, you’re going to have to do better than tha-ahh,” you struggled to complete your answer as he slipped one hand between your 

thighs.

"Come on," he coaxed you by edging his fingers up your leg.

"Make me cum, counselor."

"On one condition."

"Name. It."

"You know what I want doll. Let me give you a taste of what you want." Devilishly, your boyfriend slipped his hand between your folds and gave your throbbing clit a few small flicks.

"Buck-uhhhh."

"That's right doll, just a little more," he grunted, starting to come undone himself. "Oh fuck, just a little more."

"Just a little more, Bucky!"

You pushed down against the hand he had clamped over your clit as he pounded against you mercilessly, all speech forgotten. Both of you panted and pumped away each chasing your release. There is was, that all too familiar knot at the bottom of your stomach. It spread through you like lightening, permeating every fiber of your being. "Bucky, oh Bucky, I'm-" you cried out.

Your walls fluttered around him pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. His thrusts became more and more erratic as you tightened around him.  Your whole body shook with pleasure. "Bucky!"

The sound of you screaming his name in euphoria was what made him pulse inside you. Arching his back, Bucky spilled his hot milky load while chanting your name under his breath. 

Neither of you moved for the longest time, you sprawled across the table with Bucky bent over your limp form.

"Buck," you finally worked up the energy to speak. 

"Mmmm?"

"I wish you could be inside me forever."

"Wouldn't that be nice," he smirked at the very thought.

For a few more moments, neither of you moved. 

"Buck?"

"Mmmm?"

"I think my arm fell asleep."

You could feel the rumble of his laughter flow into you. He slowly extricated himself from you, now you were only connected by the thin trail of his creamy elixir.

Bucky gripped your waist as you clumsily lowered yourself off the desk. "Looks like we made a mess of this." He waved his hand at the scattered receipts that were now strewn all over the table top.

"Next time don't wear suspenders if you want to avoid interruptions," you admonished him playfully while pulling your chemise back down to a comfortable position.

"Seriously, that's what turns you on?" Bucky wiped himself off and tucked himself back into his pants.

"They make you look distinguished!" You sighed and wrapped your hands around the offending article of clothing.

"So how would you feel if I put on some plaid pajamas?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you should hold me responsible for what happens to you." Smiling, you pulled at the straps and led your bemused boyfriend to bed.

[222col]

Your womanize!Art fic is too good to be true seriously. Can you please right a fic about womanizer Art who can't move on from his first and only love who made him become a womanizer because he realized that he can't love another girl who's not her. One day he meets her in a bar drunk because she had an argument with her boyfriend and Art takes this opportunity to convince her to leave her boyfriend and go back to him by begging her and being her little good boy

oh my lord yes, thank u so much !!

"when you gonna think about settling down, art?" patrick asks him, the two of them sat at their hotel bar mid tour. "never thought you'd be the one asking me that, pat." art laughs, sipping on his whiskey. "i know, but we're getting older, artie. we can't just keep fucking anything that moves." they look at each other, laughing their way through more drinks. "i'm happy just fucking anything that moves, easier than a relationship." art breathes out, fiddling with his glass. "you can't seriously still be hung up over her?" patrick asks, looking to his friend, art knowing exactly what and who he's referring. art had only been in one real relationship his whole life, meeting you at college and immediately falling head over heels. the two of you were together for a few years, but when art went on tour, everything fell apart. he cheated on you, you cheated on him, it got messy. neither of you meant to hurt each other, both lonely and needing attention while art was half way across the world. you were the only person art had ever loved, patrick still convinced that art never did fall out of love with you.

"patrick, that was half a lifetime ago." art sighs, lifting his glass, signalling a refill to the bartender. "you're not denying it though.." patrick pushes, eager to hear the confession from his friend. "i'm not 'hung up' on her, i just don't think i'll feel about someone else the way i do about her." art articulates, bringing his glass to his lips. sipping down the brown liquor, enjoying the burn down his throat as a distraction from you. "do feel about her?" patrick's smirking now, holding his own drink in his hand, repeating art's words back to him. "do, did, whatever. i'm never gonna fall in love with someone how i did in college, don't want to." patrick's hand pats art on the back, picking up his jacket and standing from the stool. "well, unlike you donaldson, i don't mind the idea of actually having feelings, hence why i'm off on a date, take it easy, buddy." patrick disappears, leaving art alone sat at the bar.

art knows that patrick is right, there's something about you that art just never got over. it's not like he never forgave you for how it all ended, he wasn't exactly innocent either. it's not the relationship that he never got over, it was you. art had been in love with you since the day he caught your eye in the cafeteria back at stanford, and he still was to this day. half the reason he sleeps around and never dates is because he knows it'll never compare, no one will ever compare to you. art knows he's getting older, knows he should be thinking about settling down, starting a family, getting ready for the day retirement comes, but art only pictures that with you. it's not like he hasn't seen you since you broke up all those years ago, the two of you speak on the phone every couple of months, meet up for sex when he's in your city or when he flies you out to him, you've even been to a few of his matches. he hadn't heard from you for a while, some excuse about having a boyfriend now, never stopped you before, he'd always think when you told him you couldn't see him this time.

finishing his glass, art leaves the hotel and heads to a bar he always goes to in the current city he's in on tour. sitting himself on a stool at the bar, ordering a beer and watching the world go by. "something strong, please." art hears from the stool three people down, leaning over to confirm his suspicions, it's you. trying desperately to hide the grin plastered on his face as he notices the mascara down your cheeks. standing up from his stool, he pulls you around into his arms. "wha- art." your body melts against his tall frame when you feel the familiarity of his grasp. "what are you doing here? what's wrong?" he asks you, letting you out of his grip. taking your drink from the bartender and leading the two of you to a small table in the corner. trying your best to wipe the stained skin under your eyes. "i hate that you're seeing me like this, it's so embarrassing." you half laugh across the table. "you still look hot." art shrugs, smirking to you. "now please tell me what's going on?" his hands reach across the table to hold yours, accepting, you begin to explain to art the argument with your boyfriend. "i know you don't want to hear this, we were in town for a weekend away, and it just went so sour. we had a big screaming match so i just started walking, i remembered you talking me here so that's where i ended up." art strokes the skin on the back of your hand, gritted teeth as he listens to you. "he sounds just lovely." art spits out sarcastically, through rolled eyes. "art, don't." you sigh, keeping one of his hands in yours, sipping your drink with the other.

"come home to me, i'd never treat you like that." art's whole demeanour changes, softens, he's always been sweet but you've never seen him quite like this. "yeah, we had our issues at the end but we never argued like that." your heart is in your stomach. you'd always thought art would be your future, but you didn't think you'd both find your way back to each other. "art, i can't-" you start, your hand still resting in his as he brings it up to his lips to softly kiss your knuckles. "baby, please, come back to me. he sounds like an asshole, just come home to me instead." your eyes flutter closed, breathing deeply, really considering art's words. "i want you back, okay? i always have, since the day you left i've wanted you back." he's begging you, your first love, your beautiful blonde first love, across the table from you, ten years later, asking for you back. "art, we both hurt each other, both did things we shouldn't have, i don't wanna hurt you again, i don't want you to hurt me again." art shuffles his chair in closer, leaning over to be as close to you as the table will let him. "we wouldn't do that again, you could come on tour with me, travel the world with me, be with me again." his free hand moves to stroke the skin on your cheek, feeling you melt against the contact. "stop fighting how you feel, i know you still love me too." eyes closing softly again, breathing deep, love me too, after all these years, you both never moved on fully. always being drawn back to each other. "let me show you good i can be for you." eyes fluttering open, looking to the blonde through your lashes. "take me home, then."

it's like slow motion, the road lit by street lights and neon signs, hand in art's as he pulls you along to his hotel. turning back to look at you, smirking, eyes dark. his lips first attaching to yours in the elevator up to his room, hands caressing your body, soft moans against your lips. "i've missed you." he mumbles, lips on your neck. inhaling the perfume, the same one you've been wearing all these years, high of the scent of you. "i know, i've missed you, art." hands pulling and grasping at his hair, as the elevator doors open. walking you out down the hall, lips still attached to yours, leading you with his body. "it's been so long since i've tasted you, too long." art mutters, fishing the key out of his pocket and pushing the two of you through his door. it had only been a year since art last fucked you, one weekend at your apartment before you met your boyfriend.

ripping your jacket off your body as the two of you slipped off your shoes, lips still attached to each other, undressing each other as quickly as you could, desperate to see each other fully. "god, i swear you get hotter each time i see you." art groans, laying you down on the bed, fully naked before him. "shut up, art." you chuckle, his body crawling on top of yours. "oh yeah, you gonna make me?" he teases, sloppy kisses placed down your chest. you hum at his response, pushing his head down between your legs. hands wrapped around his hair, his tongue disappearing into your cunt, lapping up your wetness. moans vibrating against you as art's tongue moves up to your clit, flicking over the sweet spot as the room fills with heavy breathing. "fuck- that's so fucking good, good boy." the vibrations ripple through you from art's mouth, the noises he's making almost louder than you, revelling in your sweetness. his hands wrapped around your thighs, pink tongue devouring you, his blue eyes overshadowed by lust as he looks up to you. keeping his gaze on you as he watches your back arch, hands gripping tighter on his hair. smirking into you as he feels your body jolt, thighs squeezing his head into you, his name echoing off the walls as you become undone on his tongue.

pulling his body up over you by his head, smirk covered in your wetness, dripping down his chin. pulling his swollen lips down to yours, legs wrapping around his waist as you flip the two of you over. art laid on his back, knees either side of him as your wetness starts to slip over his cock. grinding yourself against his length, feeling his tip rub against your clit. his arms snaking around you before pinning them down above his head, smirking up to you above him as you do. he knows he could get out of your grip if he tried, but he loves seeing you pin him down like this. lifting up your hips, holding art's arms with one hand as you line him up with your entrance. sliding down on him as your hands go back to holding his wrists against the bed. sitting up on his lap, rolling your hips against him as you sink down to the base of his cock. moans escaping both of you as you take him fully inside of you, his hips bucking up as you grind your hips against him. once adjusting, bouncing yourself up and down on his dick. art's eyes rolling back, his hips jumping up to keep meeting you there. finally letting his hands free as you steady yourself on his chest, his hands immediately reaching to your ass, helping guide you as he gropes your skin. "jesus, shit- you feel fucking amazing." you mutter, head leaning back as the two of you fuck each other at speed. his cock bigger than anyone's you'd fucked, seeing the bulge of him in your stomach as his hips slap against your skin. "so pretty like this, all mine." art mumbles, eyes on yours. your body falling against him, lips attacking his, tongues sliding over each others as art pounds himself up into you. "cum on my cock, baby please, i've missed how it feels."

art's words, and the speed in which he's fucking you, send you over the edge. orgasming for the second time today, clenching down against him as his arms around your body keep you still. moans hitting his ears as art's thrusts get sloppy, eyes in the back of his head as he curses his way to orgasm. painting your walls as your name leaves his lips, bodies sticky with sweat, collapsing against each other as his cock stays inside you. "fuck me, that gets better every time." art chuckles into your neck, his chest still rising and falling at pace. laughing back at him, kissing his cheek, jaw and neck. "i mean it you know, i want you back, for real." art mumbles, finally slipping out of you. "i want the same thing art." you smile, placing your lips softly to his forehead. "are we actually gonna try and make a proper go of it this time?" you laugh to him, moving to lay next to him on the bed. "i know, so unlike us." art laughs back, his fingers drawing circles on your hip. "you're my future, i don't wanna lose you again." he whispers against your lips. "me neither."