#and life don't stop no matter how much you need it to

[chosolar]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ wait for your love

nanami kento x fem!reader

exhusband!nanami who was your best friend since high school. you met during your 2nd year when he was getting teased for being a loser and you defended him. he stayed close to you after and has been close to you ever since.

exhusband!nanami who was forced to come with you to all the parties that you were too shy to go to. he never minded being your DD, as long as he knew you were safe then he didn't care about not being able to drink.

exhusband!nanami's parents had always nagged him to find someone after he graduated university. he took over his dad's company and as happy as his parents were, they wanted a daughter in law! he hated all the set ups his mom made him go to so he came to you with a proposition — get married to him for a few years to make his parents happy and he'll give you however much money you wanted. you needed the money he was offering so you accepted. the wedding was small and intimate with only your close friends and some family members.

exhusband!nanami worked his ass off ever since you accepted his proposal. even if it was just a marriage of convenience, he wanted to make sure you lived happily with him.

exhusband!nanami was the perfect husband. he was attentive, loving, and always spoiled you with everything you could ever want. the ladies in your neighbourhood loved him, wishing that their husbands were a fragment of what nanami is.

exhusband!nanami spent almost 5 years of marriage in bliss with you until you started pulling away. he never pushed you to talk though because he knew you were going through something. so he waited until you were ready to talk to him.

exhusband!nanami who felt in the dark when he was served with divorce papers. he was busy with paperwork, not bothering to look up at whoever was knocking on his office door. it wasn't until the manila envelope was placed on top of his desk that he looked up to see whoever served him.

exhusband!nanami wanted at least an answer before he signs the papers. you just told him the most vague answers. "I feel like we've grown apart" "we want different things in life" "I just can't do this anymore" he was confused with every reason that you gave.

exhusband!nanami couldn't wrap his head around the separation. he thought everything was going well but once he signed the papers to finalize the divorce, he felt the weight of losing you come all at once.

exhusband!nanami who hated being with anyone else but you. even if it did start out as a loveless marriage, he fell for you hard throughout the years. every "I love you" he's ever said, he's meant it. every kiss, every hug, nanami was surprisingly a good actor but he could never fake the affection he felt for you.

exhusband!nanami despises coming home. it was eerily empty and quiet, the sound of his footsteps were the only thing he could hear. he frequently thinks about moving away to get his mind away from you but he can't. he stays at the same place you've always know where he's been just in case you ever come back.

exhusband!nanami started drinking and smoking to waste his time. he rarely drank during college and he only did during parties with you. now that you're gone, he's turned to his vices. he knows that you hate the smell of cigarettes and you hate people who couldn't handle their alcohol but why does it matter if you're not with him anymore?

exhusband!nanami still remembers every little detail about you. no matter how hard he tried, he could never forget you and everything about you. you're the love of his life even if you don't feel the same about him.

exhusband!nanami felt like everything stopped when he saw you again on the street. you're still as beautiful as ever. your hair's longer and you've changed your style, but other than that you're still his pretty ex wife.

exhusband!nanami breathlessly greeted you back when you came up and said hi to him first. he thought you would've ignored him and just went along your way, but you stayed. your eyes stare up at him as you watch him fumble over his words. his heart skips faster as he sees you grin over his flustered state.

exhusband!nanami watches you leave after catching up. he wishes that it lasted a minute longer because for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can breathe properly again.

exhusband!nanami starts sobering up and taking care of himself. he threw away the bottles of alcohol and cigarettes packs so that he can get away from feeling sorry for himself. if he ever sees you again, he wants to impress you (and make you regret your decision).

exhusband!nanami is shocked when he sees your face on the doorbell camera. the weather was relentless and he sees you shivering in the cold so he opens his door immediately. he hands you a change of warm clothes and turns up the thermometer of the house. 

while he's making hot tea for the both of you, he notices the bathroom door open and out you step, his clothes basically engulfing your body. nanami looks away, trying and failing to get rid of his lewd thoughts.

"sorry those are the only clothes I have that could fit you." nanami apologizes but you shook your head. "no don't be! if anything I should apologize for inconveniencing you."

nonsense, nanami thinks, you could never bother me.

nanami disregards his thoughts, "don't worry about that, I'm just glad to get you out of that snowstorm."

he hands you a cup of tea and you take notice of the mug he has in his hand. you think out loud, "you kept that mug?"

"hmm?" nanami glances up at you then to the cup, "oh yeah. how could I throw it away? you made it for me."

"but that was back in high school."

"and? I've kept everything you've ever given me." nanami cooly responded.

you kept quiet as you take sips of the tea he made for you. the taste is familiar until you remember — he made your favourite tea, just the way you like it. you dart your eyes between the tea and the blond man.

why is he like this? why is he still making your heart flutter after all this time? you wanted to get away but you couldn't, not until the storm calms down. the news reported that it'll continue until early in the morning meaning you'll have to stay inside — with him. knowing nanami, he would never let you out because he still worries for your safety.

sleepiness was creeping up on you as you both sat in the living room. nanami sees your head bobbling through his peripheral and offers you the guest room that you promptly accepted. he leaves you be, letting you explore the home that is exactly the same as when you used to live in it.

nanami laid in his bed, moving constantly to find a comfortable position enough to fall asleep. but he couldn't.

the only thing in his mind was you who was only a few doors down away from him. were you sleeping soundly or do you feel as insomnolent as him? he wants to get up and check on you but he restrains himself. with the wind blowing, all he can hear is the rage of the snowstorm hitting the windows of the house.

nanami directs his attention from the windows to the knocking of the door. "nanami? are you awake?"

he instructs for you to come in, the light from the hallway seeps into the darkness of his bedroom. he sits up and taps the space in front of him on his bed to tell you to come sit there. "why are you still awake?"

"couldn't sleep after I got into bed. you?" you wonder as you go to sit on his bed. he chuckles, "same. do you wanna talk? I remember you used to fall asleep to me talking."

"you remember?"

"how could I forget?"

you lift your legs to place them onto the bed and cross them, wrapping your arms and pulling your knees onto your chest. "why do you still remember everything about me?"

"I was your best friend before I was your husband. even if I wanted to forget, everything about you is engrained in me." his hand moves up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. "you were my first and my last, it'll be that way till I die."

"you're so dumb," you mumble into your arms, "I divorced you and you still treat me so well."

nanami grasps your wrist and brings you to his lap, his arms wrapped loosely around you. he kisses your temple softly. "does that bother you?"

"I don't know," you confess. nanami exhales before he changes the topic. "if we're being honest, can you finally tell me now why you wanted a divorce?"

you shook your head. "not really, you might hate me."

"I won't." nanami reassures, "just be honest with me dear."

you sigh.

"the marriage was feeling too real."

nanami's expression twists into confusion.

"it was an agreement between us that if one day one of us wanted to stop, we will," you continue, "and one day, I thought about it. there's going to be a day you come up to me and maybe you'll tell me that you found someone else. I don't want to go through that, I don't want to lose you but we've already gone so far. I figured it was best for me to leave before that day does come.

"you'll never have to worry about that," nanami tightens his arms around you, "it's always been you."

you hugged him back, the scent of his cologne intensifies as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. "can we start over? but for real this time."

"we don't need to start over," nanami places a kiss on the top of your head, "we can just pick up where we left off."

as soon as the storm stopped, husband!nanami takes you to city hall to sign a new marriage certificate.

husband!nanami makes sure to treat you right this time. if you think that the act he was putting up was good, then nanami not having to hide his feelings is better. he's not one to shy away from physical affection in public as he always wants to hold your hand or stay very close to you.

husband!nanami who will always reassure you that he'll never leave. you are the light of his life, the reason he wants up everyday. he'll never take a day with you granted.

husband!nanami finds it adorable when you watch over the neighbour's daughter. he'll wait until her parents pick her up and then he'll bring up the thoughts that's been plaguing his mind for a while now.

"honey, what do you think about starting a family?"

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

as per usual, not proofread!! ◡̈

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. This kind of ran away from me. It was supposed to be quick and smutty but sweet, achy feels managed to sneak in, culminating into a pretty unhinged combination of tags. Don’t even ask. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. " Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“ Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “ What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Here's a horny headcanon for you. If Buck gets fucked regularly he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy's dick without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, you know? When there's a long break between sex though, Buck needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again. A warm bath to relax his muscles and get himself thoroughly clean, breathing exercises, Tommy needs to give him indulgent massages, first his entire body, then focusing on his hole. It's moments like these where Tommy likes to play with and finger at Buck's hole without ever entering it for a while. Instead he uses his fingers to tap, stroke, pulsate, circle, until it starts winking at him. Until it remembers him. You see, Buck has gone through his prep routine but now it's time for Tommy to go through his. Which involves tongue and finger fucking Buck until he's crying. Tommy partially drags things out out of genuine concern, to make sure Buck doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Another part wants to tease and chastise Buck's hole for having forgotten him.

oh my goodness anon... this is beautiful. i have no words, this is perfect, this is beautiful, this is everything.

i will love you forever and forever anon

[darling2411]

Her Shadow

Jason Todd x reader

1.8K

*:･✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were confused. It's been nearly a week since you last saw your shadow. Was he gone? Did you scare him off when you called out for him? Or did something happen?

Why did you even care? It wasn't like you knew him. But you missed the feeling of safety his closeness gave you. Yes you never saw him,but you always sensed his presence, and you missed him now that you didn't.

You stopped feeling alone as soon as your shadow entered your life because you weren't. No matter where you went, you could always rely on him to be there. 

Jason longed to be with you, but he had to stay away until he recovered from a mission gone wrong.

He had to lay low for a while after you saw him anyway. But the week he had to spend away from you was one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

His entire being begged to be with you. To keep an eye on you and make sure everything was okay. He had even gone so far as to think about asking his brother to come see how you were doing and find out whether everything was okay, but he decided against it. Jason wanted to keep you all to himself. And to be fair he doesn't even really have you. Yes he knows as much about you as he could figure out without really breaking every sense of your privacy. But you don't know him. And he had to change that as soon as possible. Jason wanted to get to know you, but he didn’t know how he could achieve that.

Like a gift sent from heaven the solution to his most pressing problem came in the form of yourself. 

Other than a few scratches on his face Jason was all healed, but he hasn't seen you in 10 days and he missed you.

He was on his way back to his apartment when he unexpectedly saw you. His heart started beating faster and he could swear that if it could his heart would jump out of his chest and intertwine with yours.

However, all of his optimistic thoughts vanished when he realizes in what situation you are in and instead his head is filled with rage.

A man was pressing you against the brick wall of a building and you were screaming at him to let you go. You were making it clear that you didn’t want this, that he was making you incredibly uncomfortable, but the guy wouldn't let you go. 

Jason was fuming and before he himself could realize what he was doing he pulled the man off you and started beating him.

You were able to breathe again as soon as the man was shoved away from you and after taking a few deep breaths you noticed that the man who pushed the creep of you was still beating him. You heard a sickening crunch and you knew it was the sound of bones breaking. 

"Hey!" you exclaimed, "please stop." And as soon as your voice reached Jason's ears he stopped immediately, his sole focus on you.

"Are you alright?" His breathing was irregular as he asked.“Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head no “ Other than being a creep you stepped in before anything bad could happen.”

“Don't do that” Jason said, his gaze still full of rage, “That he even put his hand on you without you giving him permission is to much”

You flushed and shrugged your shoulders, saying, "I know, but it wasn't like he assaulted me." 

“He did!” Why were you so adamant on telling him that nothing happened?

“Perhaps, but it makes no difference. You stopped him and nothing really happened. And I'm not gonna say anything anyway.” you rolled your eyes.

Jason was baffled “What do you mean you won't say anything? You have to report him.” He looked at you expectantly.

"Report him?I will either get fired or no one will believe me if I report him, Mister-huge-bicep.” You say being unable not to notice his shirt pressing against the bulging muscles in his arms. You turned to the creep who unfortunately happened to be your boss or rather professor. You were his assistant and most of the time he behaved himself but lately more often than not he made weird jokes and sexual comments. But you needed the money, the job in the little supermarket on the corner didn't cover all your expenses. And you really like your little apartment. If not for your job as a teaching assistant you would have to move back in with your mother and that was something you really don't want to do. 

Mr. Huge Bicep? Jason was overcome with male pride, but he was unable to concentrate on it at the moment. There were more pressing matters. “Is he your boss?” He took a step towards you, saying, “Yn. I asked if he is your boss”

Hold on, did he just say your name? Did you tell him? You must have but when?

“How do you know my name? I didn't tell you, did i?”

Shit, he fucked up” That doesnt matter right now, Is he your boss or not?”

"Yes, he is. He is my professor and also my boss. I’ m his teaching assistant and I really need that job”

“Alright this is what we’re going to do now. First of all I'm gonna walk you home and make sure nothing else happens to you. Then we are going to talk about what you plan to do with your professor and after that I'm gonna explain to you why I know your name, alright ?”

“That sounds good and I'm gonna make us a little something to eat and don't you even try to say no. It's the least I can do after you literally saved me.” you smiled up at him kindly.

How could he ever say no to you in any way? He was totally smitten with you and he never even really talked to you until today.

“Alright” You already turned away from him and didn't see the slight smile on his face after he accepted your invitation.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The two of you made your way over to your apartment. If you noticed that he led the way there without you telling him where to go you didn't say anything. 

You opened the door when you arrived and let him inside. 

Your apartment is a pure reflection of yourself. It is plaid out in your favourite colours and all your little hyperfixation are displayed all over the place. It was so unapologetically you and Jason immediately felt at peace. Just like he usually did when he was following you around as your shadow and was in your mere presence .

“Nice place” he muttered as you ushered him into your little kitchen. 

“Thanks, I love it” you beamed.

Yeah he could see that. “Is that why you don't want to tell anyone about your boss?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yes,” you answered silently.” If I want to keep this place and I really do, then I also have to keep that job.” You just got your shot at independence and you weren't going to let it slip through your fingers without a fight.

“Okay then.”, Jason sighed, ”Has he ever done anything similar ?” he asked, his fist clenched tight. The simple thought of you being in a situation like this before without him there was making him want to punch the professor all over again. Additionally he was extremely mad at himself because how could he not know that you had a second job and that your professor was a fucking creep? If he had known about this he would have helped you sooner. Jason hoped that your boss would still be where he left him later so he could give him another beating for even thinking about you inappropriately.

“No, not really. I mean he always made little comments but he has never been physical with me before. I think it is my fault. I was really nice to him this morning and said that we could meet up to mark the next exams after the lectures were finished and I think he misunderstood me.” your voice got more unsure the more you tried to explain yourself.

“This was definitely not your fault. He is stupid and heard what he wanted to hear. Nothing that happened had anything to do with what you said or how you behaved. This is not your fault, sweetheart” Jason squeezed your shoulders reassuringly.

You looked at him sheepishly, his fingers now drawing little patterns into your skin calming you down. “ I know that I'm supposed to feel like that, but I can't help but feel guilty. I know that the guilt has to change sides but the victims almost always gets all the blame and it’s so deep ingrained in us that even I as a woman sometimes think that it is my fault and that is so messed up.” You sigh heavily.

“Yes it is that is why you have to report him” Jason says trying to persuade you to do the thing he thinks is right.”Nothing will change if you don’t try.”

“You really think that it will help?” you ask, still unsure if anything will change if you report your professor.

“If I come with you yes” Jason says extremely sure of himself.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask perplexed.

“Well I uhm” he trailed off , not quite sure what to say. Should he already tell you about his connection to Bruce? “I mean I saw what happened so im sure they have to believe you if  you have a witness.” 

“You're right I will report him first thing in the morning. I hope you know that you have to come with me. You are the witness after all.” Now it is your time to look at him expectantly.

He did know and the possibility of spending more time with you made him all giddy inside.

“Yeah, no problem.” He looked at you intensely, finally being able to really look at you without as much distance between you as when he was keeping an eye on you from far away. You are the most magnificent thing Jason has ever laid his eyes upon. And if he could he would never stop looking at you.

“You said you would tell me how you know my name?”,that got Jason's attention and he stopped staring at your perfectly kissable lips and focused on your eyes instead.

“Yes but how about we eat something before I tell you?” He asked, trying to delay the conversation as long as he could before he has to tell you everything and you wouldn’t want to see him ever again.

He hopes you won't hate him when he confesses to being your shadow.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[macsimagines]

YANDERE!SHINICHIRO SANO ONE NIGHT STAND

ok so here it is. I hope it's ok I'm kinda iffy about it let me know what you all think!! this is worst timeline btw!!!

MINORS DNIWARNINGS: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, ONE NIGHT STAND, SPANKING AND DRINKING

You had no idea what you were even doing with your life. Late at night, in a run down jazz bar, you found yourself sitting on a stool sipping a cocktail all by yourself.

The piano on stage skillfully played a tune that was just pleasant enough for you to feel yourself to start to ease slightly. Maybe the drinks and bar itself weren't anything special, but at least there was music.

"Tastes like shit," a somber voice says to your side. You look over your shoulder and your eyes meet a dark pair. Two onyx eyes that seemed to only reflect abyss.

Maybe on a different day you would have just ignored him, but tonight? You were feeling brave.

"What's wrong with it?" you inquire, suddenly finding the stranger fascinating. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark soul. You think you may have a type.

His eyes barely lift from his glass, a dark liquid swirling with his ice, "It's bitter." He answer plainly. Maybe his monotone response should make you reconsider trying to spark a connection...but something about his voice...

"It's... bourbon, right? You should've gotten a cocktail if you wanted something sweeter," you purr, pushing your own glass toward him, "Wanna taste mine?"

Finally, his eyes fully meet yours and something in the way that they analyze you has a shiver running across your skin. He's handsome, pretty even, and you find yourself feeling just a little hot under his intense stare.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. There's the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. Then he's sliding his hand, purposefully brushing your fingertips, and taking the glass from you. Your eyes never break contact as he brings the glass to his lips, his tongue licking at the sugar coated rim first.

You can feel your thighs clench at the erotic image this stranger makes. Something inside of you aching with a sudden need. "Well?" you say, scooting in closer, "Better?"

"Dunno," the man says leaning in closer, "I'm in the mood for somethin' much sweeter." You feel a rough hand come up and firmly squeeze your thigh.

Maybe its the alcohol, the atmosphere, or those gorgeous void like eyes of his, but you find yourself checking into a hotel with that stranger. Yes. Stranger.

His name doesn't matter, what he does for a living or why he's in this part of town. The only thing that matters is how good his hands feel around your throat and inside your aching pussy.

You don't care about all his tattoos or the fact that their was a danger slowly growing in those perfect eyes of his. A strange sort of obsession?

Tonight, you don't fight. When his hand cracks down hard against your ass, you moan and beg for more. When he makes you kiss him and devours every sound you try to make. And not even when he's plunging deep into you and pounding like a man going for broke.

As you start to see stars and get light headed, you allow this man, a man whose name you didn't even care to know, to have his sick and depraved way with you.

"Be my good-girl," he purrs a rough hand coming to wrap around your neck, "Stick out your tongue for me." You end up mindlessly doing as he says, so eager to please. And your pussy clenches and flutters around his thick girth when he meets it with his own.

Shamefully, you're just moaning when you fill him cum inside you, loving the feeling. And finally the man stops his constant praise of 'Good girl, perfect woman, mine so fucking mine,' to look you in the eyes again.

There's something different about them. Almost child like and wide. There is the smallest light in them and through the haze of your orgasm you swear there was something else...

But you're so spent and exhausted that you end up passing out in his arms. You're sure it won't matter in the morning, either one of you will be gone. Right?

You're surprised to find him still sleeping soundly next to you. You can't believe your good luck when you find he was as beautiful as you had remembered him being. The pleasant soreness of your body also told you that the sex hadn't just been the greatest wet dream of your life.

Its a shame you have to go. You two might actually be compatible, but something like that just didn't work out for you. Maybe if things were different... No. You won't let yourself fall for some stranger.

You're trying to get yourself dressed and out the door as quietly as possible but something is grabbing your wrist and pulling you back-! Right into someone's solid chest.

"Quit makin' all th'racket," he slurs, nose rubbing into your neck, "Lay back down with me, baby."

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and his soft touches remind you of everything from the night before. Fuck you want to stay for another round- or 3 -but you really needed to leave. So you try to push back.

"S-Sorry for waking you. I'll be out in just a second. I'll leave my half of the bill-!"

"You're not fucking going anywhere, Y/N."

Ice quickly runs down your spine. You're very sure you didn't tell him your name. You were supposed to be nameless strangers after all.

You turn to glare at him seeing that he has his phone open. "I had a friend of mine do some diggin' on you after you passed out last night." He tells you calmly. Like he didn't just admit to doing a creepy back ground check on you.

"Let go of me." You demand fighting back harder, "I want to go home!"

This man only smirks from where he sits on the bed his eyes having gone back to being cold and dead. "You brought me back into the light, baby. I'm your home now."

[breelandwalker]

Thank you for elaborating! I appreciate the clarification. (And I appreciate you taking a somewhat more civil tone with me than with your comments section. Frustration I can understand, but it does behoove us to be patient with each other in order to encourage meaningful discourse.)

I do think this is a discussion worth having, partly because you bring up some valid points with regard to making distinctions between witchcraft practices from New Age pseudoscience and junk theories, and partly because this is an excellent object lesson on the need to move past our own opinions and egos when dealing with the broader witchcraft community, particularly because it's not a monolith. (What community is, right?)

I agree that using the term "energy" in reference to one's life force or the power behind magical workings or the shared vibrations of a group in ritual or the broader music of the cosmos may be an oversimplification. But in terms of accessibility, it's a nice, simple word and a concept that just about everyone understands, regardless of the context. This can be especially useful when you're having a conversation with practitioners from various paths and traditions who have slightly different ways of doing things.

True, it gets bounced around in New Age speak quite frequently, but to say that reduces or nullifies its' value in witchcraft spaces sounds rather like giving up on a perfectly good word. After all, there are plenty of terms that exist in witchcraft that are also (obnoxiously) overused by New Agers. How many "clearing" or "cleansing" videos have we all rolled our eyes at on the socials? And yet, clearing and cleansing are still vital concepts in witchcraft, though they generally don't refer to dodgy medicinal practices. All this to say, the co-opting of a word by New Agers (or worse) only diminishes its' value in witchcraft spaces if we let it.

As for terms like "witchy" and "baby witch," there's a certain amount of seriousness involved with witchcraft, it's true. You do have to take the craft seriously if you want to make progress and you do have to grow as a person in order to do so successfully. But there's also a point when growth requires us to stop taking everything so deadly serious, including ourselves. There are lessons to be learned from play and silliness and shedding the trappings of ego and self-consciousness.

"Witchy" has entered the common lexicon in a playful way that allows witchcraft and witchcraft-adjacent things to be more accessible to the non-witching public. Accessibility leads to acceptance and we could use all the help on that front that we can get. Is it a slightly unserious word? Sure. But is there really anything wrong with being unserious? And does that really matter when the people who are attracted to it might go on to more serious investigation?

The same with "baby witch" - perhaps it is limiting or infantilizing, but it's accessible as an entry point for some people, and with time and guidance, they will outgrow it. (From a personal standpoint, I'm seeing it used less often than it was even a few years ago, mostly in spaces where discussion groups and non-judgmental communication are strong, though a steady replacement has yet to be found.)

Also, in terms of public image and respect, I highly doubt that the existence of terms like "witchy" and "baby witch" will make much difference in the minds of people and parties who would never respect our community or take it seriously anyway. If hundreds of books published by respected scholars and and religious recognition by the state couldn't make them take witches seriously, nothing will.

And on that note, let's move on to Wicca.

Gerald Gardner was not solely responsible for the creation of Wicca. He died before its' official inception and others who had been in his circle took up the movement. One might mention such notables as Doreen Valiente, who we have to thank for MUCH of what constituted the roots of Wicca in its' first officially incorporated iteration. Furthermore, the religion hasn't even been around for a full century and yet it has already evolved enough to have its' first schism and has changed with the times more readily than some other religions I could name.

To say that no one should practice Wicca because people involved in its' creation and evolution have been problematic is like saying that no one should be a Christian because of the Crusades. I'm not sure how the broader public is expected to treat the witchcraft community with seriousness and respect when some of us can't even seem muster the maturity to respect other witches when it comes to differences of religion or relative levels of experience or commitment.

While I can respect and agree with your personal preference to not use certain terms or follow certain paths, I might suggest having more conversations with witches whose traditions differ from yours. You'd be surprised how much we can learn from each other when the need to be Right or Superior is left at the door in favor of open communication and understanding. And I speak as someone who has BEEN THERE. There are enough forces in the world seeking to divide us without our own judgmental tendencies or poor attitudes furthering the problem.

Anyway, thank you again for taking the time to respond (and to read this wall of text my brain spat out in response, I appreciate your forbearance). Best of luck on the path!

Witchcraft vocabulary I’m surprised is still used in 2025:

- Witchy

- Magick

- Energy

- Karma

- The Goddess™️

- G slur

- Baby witch

[thatbitchery]

Last night decided to give in to the pressure and watch Love is Blind Habibi 100% for Nour because apparently we are bringing feminine and classy back and now see I know the bar is in hell I really do and I will give credit where credit is du ma'am knows how to hold herself but then she did the dumb girl thing and I had to pause the show and take a walk around town to cool down the second hand embarrassment of someone that seems to have it all just- falling apart but on national TV.

Ladies we DO NOT tell people our standards we live by them and they either match up or fall off. When ma'am said she does not pay the bill she needs to- I had to go take a breather and recollect myself because. Ma'am. 100% of all the crap she went through on that show would have been avoided if she wasn't trying so hard to be this season's IT girl (it worked though, she is. So from a marketing perspective - 10/10). We do NOT tell people what our standards and expectations are we live them and either they are it or they are NOT.

Shut Up and Do You then go home.

EVERYTHING. EVERY single THING that you say not only can but will, as a matter of undeniable and unavoidable fact, WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU in the court of social groups. Learn to SHUT your mouth. This is where therapists and I don't match up, they want you to be open and communicate and I want you to (in real life)

NEVER part with a fact unless you have to

Shut uppppp and observe

After initial outspreading, DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS YOU'RE SPOKEN TO

If you can't do this have an anon account on here and on Instagram or something and yap and say all that and be real so you can satisfy that need/desire and move on be a baddie IRL.

Human and literally animal communication is non verbal/literate. Even before you say anything subconsciously we have you boxed, but we can't quite put a finger on what we already know. Like that weird guy said in that equally weird interview- the thing with Noor is that she's a liar. Her actions do not match her words. She's fake. Because Queens don't tell kings treat me like a queen it just happens. Because queens live like Queens and everyone just automatically fall inro service.

If i had a dollar for every time I was told 'I told him/ her I don't like X and they still did it and now I'm hurt' uh huh and you deserve it. And I pray to God it keeps happening till you learn your lesson and stop being embarrasing.

Human beings- specifically men, are naturally competitive and combative. They want to turn No into Yes. When you tell a man no he automatically wants to make it a yes if they didn't we as a species would have died when the meat said no don't hunt me and they said aight bro bye. It takes combat to be a hunter. It's instinct. Notice how when you tell a man something they do the exact opposite. It's instinct. Outside men it's human and animal instinct to want to survive for longer by preserving energy so people naturally push boundaries & you see it so much in kids when you say don't do that and they do it looking at you to see if they can preserve the energy of not doing that by just overruning you. People are naturally combative we pyush boundaries that's why we have aeroplanes someone pushed the walking boundary.

No oneee wants to be told what to do. No oneeeeee. Not even you. It's degrading. It assumes you have no free will or the comprehension to exercise it and naturally people will fight back to maintain their independence.

You do know you're teaching people how to manipulate you do ypu not? By telling them what you like or dislike from the onset you take away the requirement to work hard to know you and handing them yourself on a platter. You tell a man you like flowers you give him a great path to just manipulate you bc now he can just buy you them whenever you're mad and it's good? If you shut it he'd have had to figure that out which would stress him which would force him to cherish you because he had to work? When you tell a girl 'don't talk to me like that' you teach her how to tick and trigger you but if you'd just walked out or shut her out she'd have had to make her way back?

I don't have standards for men because I have standards for me. Or friends or family. I'm a narcissist so I run everything by me to decide if it's worth it or not and just remove myself? I buy myself flowers sir? I don't talk to myself like that? I don't do that to me why the fuck would you think you can? This time i went on a date with a man and he expected me to pay my own bill I just did because I'm not broke and blocked him??? Sir? Even my male classmates carry my bag from class to the car and they're like 17 I will block you bc you didn't hold the door for me be serious. Matter of fact I don't even carry a bag to dates my lip gloss and perfume are in a clear little bag on the table because? Which one of us had to walk in heels? Which one of us is the visual on this table? Exactly. If I don't talk about my own body what makes you think you can? DO you hear me talk about myself like that? Then which exact demon made you think you could bc now if I can't cut you off I'll show you hell itself. One way or the other I will get rid of you and I'll never explain why. Because I'm my bare minimum. I don't tell people don't X I just watch them and cut them off and if it doesn't matter that I did (Like why would some random person I'm not friends with care if I cut them off) I will hurt you and I won't explain why. And I can hurt you.

Shut. It.

[genderqueerdykes]

okay i’ve been wondering about this for a while. i’ve seen a lot of fandom discourse that headcanoning a character who’s commonly accepted as transfem in fandom as a genderweird trans in all directions nb person is transfem erasure. is this true? i haven’t really thought so‚ but i might just be biased as a nb transmasc myself. (common examples include john egbert)

hello there, thanks for stopping by!

i am definitely the wrong person to ask about this, i am very sorry. i do not participate in fandom at all, i don't engage with much fiction and when i do, i don't get into it that much. my brain doesn't really latch on to fiction like it did when i was a kid. i still play games and watch anime here and there but i don't interact with fandoms, so i apologize for that. i find them to be genuinely uncomfortable and unsafe environments to be in due to being intersex and biracial. fandom spaces unfortunately tend to be extremely racist & intersexist. i had friends who were heavily involved in fandom as a teenager and i felt very unsafe due to the sheer amount of fetishiziation of intersex bodies that goes on in fandom spaces.

this is simply an outsider's perspective, but i don't really see fandoms as "representation" that can be "erased" because it's all conjecture and everyone has such wildly different opinions on what a character is or is not. it's not representation if it's not confirmed. if it's just a headcanon it's not representation, as it was not confirmed and thus is conjecture and speculation. i might be wildly off base as an outsider, but i always kinda thought the point of fandom was for everyone to express how they interact with that piece of media uniquely, and spread and share their thoughts and opinions? why are people trying to control how other people interact with a piece of fiction that they did not make...?

that seems antithetical to the idea of fandom. i thought it was supposed to be a fun hobby? again maybe i just *don't* get it as an outsider, but it makes no sense to me to try to control someone else's internal opinion on something that quite literally is not real. like at the end of the day none of these people are real, you can't hurt their feelings you're not 'erasing' anyone here, they're literally not real, and if it's only a headcanon that that person is transfem... then you're not. erasing. a transfem character, it's just conjecture. it doesn't matter what gender or sexuality you see them as because you're free to think and feel those ways in your head. you're allowed to engage in those thought experiments because that person quite literally is not real so it's okay to speculate on their identity. it's not okay to do this to another live person but if they're fictional who... cares?

this may sound really harsh but i need to stress to people that fictional characters are not real human beings, and stressing out over their genders or sexuality does nothing to help you. you can't hurt their feelings. you can't erase a transfem that isn't confirmed to be transfem. a headcanon is just that: a personal opinion. it shouldn't come to the point where it causes distress and fighting. this is a hobby, it is not one's entire life. i would recommend just blocking and not engaging with people who try to police how you interact with leisure behaviors. i don't think there's one true way to be "Right" about these kinds of things because it's literally all conjecture

also sorry, i have no idea who that character is! i don't know very many fictional characters by name so i can't lend any input there, apologies. for the future, if anyone is curious about my feelings on these sorts of things about other characters, i unfortunately cannot help you as there's a near 100% chance i am not familiar with them and can't lend any input

how can an opinion be right or wrong ... ? that just doesn't make sense to me. it's all opinion. it's not worth hurting other people over or yelling at each other. i'm sorry that i can't give you a more informed opinion, but i thought maybe an outsider's perspective could help somewhat. i hope this is somewhat informative or helpful to you at all- i honestly don't think it's right for people to try to control each others' headcanons because that is quite literally thought policing and i am not here for that. anyway, take care of yourself! thanks for stopping by :)

[vii0so]

[BSD 120.5] Theory/Analysis

NOTE BEFORE READING: 90% of this post was written on the day of the chapter's release but got forgotten in my drafts. As I'm too lazy right now to read through and edit, expect things that: make no sense, are worded as if the chapter came out today or recently, stop in the middle of the sentence/incomplete etc. Also for some reason I added stuff not directly relating to the chap...I'm sure I wanted to lead into a bigger point but by now I have no idea what I was going for.

I realised it's almost time for the new chapter and that's how I remembered this was still in my drafts...

So I'm posting it more for me rather than anyone else (which I sort of already do anyway).

─────────────✧

Well well well...it's been another month so I'm here again to put my 2 cents in on this month's chapter.

I'm sure there's no need to say it but the following will contain spoilers for BSD chapter 120.5.

And as always with my long posts...expect me to sidetrack a lot.

This includes a deep dive into Fyodor's title as well.

Today's Topics:

Humanity & Fyodor's outlook

Fyodor's title

Fyodor's humanity

Ability Users & Humans

The page isn't with Fyodor

Thoughts on Fukuzawa's "death"

─────────────✧

█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

Humanity & Fyodor's outlook

Today's chapter gives us a great insight on Fyodor's goal, or at least confirms the one we already knew of and bathes it in a new light. But let's first start with what his outlook on humans is.

"An unlearned outlook befitting of your short lives."

"Your" = humans "Short lives" = human lifespans

This is basically saying: "You haven't lived as long as me so you don't know/understand" Or better yet, "You will never have enough time in your short lives to learn like I did."

Fyodor in his immortal life has seen things, witnessed eras come and go, same with wars. He has had nothing but time to observe humanity and their many flaws.

He believes no one with a short life-span (humans) will understand his learned outlook.

Note: We don't know how old Fyodor actually is. I personally believe that he's over two thousand years old but I only have one small piece of unrelated evidence that supports this. Though, no matter the age, he has lived a long time, that doesn't change.

Fyodor looks genuine in this scene. The look of "acceptance". Accepting the fact that humans won't understand or change, no matter how many centuries pass.

Note: It should be remembered that acceptance does not mean compliance. Fyodor is the perfect example of this.

It honestly feels lonely. Trust me, I don't even like Fyodor but this is just depressing, even for the villain. Imagine your ability has made you pretty much immortal and you watch humanity make the same mistakes, have the same flaws, see them drive themselves to ruin multiple times and no one will ever understand you as they haven't lived as long as you. (Arguably, I'd say Dazai got close)

TLDR: Imagine living forever and watching humans ruin themselves repeatedly and having no one who will understand what you're thinking. That's Fyodor's life.

He lost faith in humanity a long time ago.

Anyway...on a different note (slight backtrack), our boy Atsushi seems to agree or at least understand that "Humanity cannot bear such enormous virtue." Based on his expression here and the panel.

It's like his expression is saying, "Damn, he's right, I've gone through so much to stop this but it's just way too much even for me (an ability user)." or something...idk honestly.

Atsushi is emotionally tuned in with the world so maybe he just saw Fyodor's expression and was like: "holy shi-" again, idk.

"Pure evil"...not like anyone has said otherwise about Fyodor.

His calm yet determined(?) expression when Fukuzawa tells him this shows that he finds what he's doing as necessary and planned.

What Fyodor wants is a world war. Specifically, one that will eliminate all ability users. Instead of getting his hands dirty, it'll be done by humans.

Now, I know that ability users get separated a lot from your every day average human but Fyodor's choice of words shows that he doesn't view ability users as humans at all.

Though, the way he uses the word "humanity" may be more as in those of the greater population, or just "The ones without abilities."

With [One Order] though, does "humanity" include ability users? In theory it should, and yet it doesn't seem that way.

Fyodor believes there will be peace if ability users are gone...Looks like he either has never seen a world without ability users or there's more to this plan than he's letting on.

"What...are you...? I can't possibly see you as human."

Fyodor has never once claimed to be human. Or at least he has never seen himself as human.

And he clearly separates himself from those with short lives (humans) as a different being.

He has been considered a demon throughout the whole series.

Now for my monthly: "Analyse the original Japanese even though I don't speak it."

Today's segment will mostly be my curiosity taking word form, so feel free to skip to the next part or enjoy.

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Fyodor's title

First off, I didn't manage to get the raws to see the spelling of the title. I only heard the spoken Japanese version in the anime, which was "majin".

[ Dazai says it around 12:33 in Season 3 Episode 8 ]

So feel free to interpret it as either [魔神] or [魔人] (both are pronounced as "majin" but have different meanings).

Due to the official translation calling him "conjurer", I thought that maybe it was [ 魔人 ] but the fact that the fan translation calls him "demon", points closer to [ 魔神 ].

Left: Fan translation (DazaiScans) | Right: Official English translation

When you break it down more into individual Kanji, you start to see the difference and similarities.

Both are pronounced as "jin" when in "majin".

[ 魔 ] / "ma" is in both [ 魔神 ] and [ 魔人 ]. And it's from "ma" that we get the more demonic/evil meaning.

So, in a way, even [ 魔人 ] could be seen as "demonic person".

[ 魔 ] / "ma" is in "majin" and "akuma"

Now, when Dazai was called a "demon" he was referred to as "akuma".

As you can see, [ 悪魔 ] is way more serious than [ 魔人 ] or [ 魔神 ] .

This obviously gets lost in translation, as both become "demon".

One instance where Dazai is being referred to as 悪魔 is in the 15 light novel and manga adaptation. For some reason, it's not in the anime.

I'm not here to talk about Dazai's humanity though. I just wanted to show the difference in seriousness of "demon" between the titles*.

*Correction, "Demon" is not Dazai's title. While he has been called as such, his only known title was "Black Wraith" (Kuro Yuuki - 黒幽鬼).

Yuuki [ 幽鬼 ] - ghost; revenant; spirit (of the dead); departed soul

Kuro [ 黒 ] - black

So back to the topic at hand!

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Fyodor's humanity

Fyodor being referred to as "majin" instead of "akuma" makes a big difference even if both can be "demon".

In this chapter - as I stated earlier - we see Fyodor talk as if he isn't human. Akuma would refer to a demon - not human, but majin refers more closely to an "evil being", and if it's [ 魔人 ] it can especially be seen as a "demonic/evil human".

Therefore, Fyodor's title shows that he is human, no matter how much he separates himself and the rest of the ability users from the greater human population.

...Wait a minute...just remembered something.

I should have trusted my memory and checked the raws from chapter 120 earlier...it was literally only a month ago and yet I almost forgot Fukuzawa literally used Fyodor's title at the end of the chapter!

So Fyodor's title is [ 魔人 ]

[ 魔 ] for "witch", "demon", "evil spirit"

[ 人 ] for "person"

...Remembering this earlier would have saved me so much time ;-;

I will still keep what I wrote from earlier - my rambling about wether it's [ 魔人 ] or [ 魔神 ] - as I spent way too long on it and don't have enough mental energy to change it.

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Ability Users & Humans

(Specifically in the eyes of Fyodor)

Now that we know it's [ 魔人 ], I can analyse further into Fyodor's view on ability users.

In short, Humans are...humans, I won't go into the foolishness and ugliness of humans, because in life there's death just like there's pain in love, it's yin and yang. Basically: where there's good, there's evil.

人類 - mankind; humanity

異能 - unusual power; superpower; ability beyond that of humans

者 - person (rarely used without a qualifier)

I understand 者 as the user in "ability user"

So 人類 vs 異能者 = Humanity vs Ability users.

[Section Incomplete] - I remember wanting to talk about how Fyodor sees himself and then talking about how that shows how he views humanity and ability users. First off, he doesn't care what he becomes or is seen as. He is the type to "willingly become a demon for future peace" (at least "peace" in his eyes). I remember having a plan (in my head) for this section but...by now I've forgotten and are too lazy to continue it.

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The page isn't with Fyodor

This may sound strange since we see Fukuchi hold the page too but remember: we never saw them actually use/write on the "page" that we've seen. It's basically just a normal piece of paper.

Fukuchi claims the paper he's holding as the page. [Chapter 83.5]

There's no proof of it actually being the page though.

Fyodor offers the page to Atsushi [Chapter 119]

This was Fyodor's plan to show Atsushi that the page is there with them. So that he has no reason to question where the page is.

If you see an apple in front of you, you won't be thinking "I wonder where the apple is" but instead believe that it's right there.

I had a far fetched thought that maybe the page was with Fyodor in the prison and then made to be found by Sigma in the guise of the note claiming he needs help:

When Sigma picks it up, it looks like there are two papers.

And yet, when he shows it to Fyodor there seems to only be a one:

Now of course, this could just be artistic error or even mere perspective but I don't think so. Every detail is usually intentional.

So what's the second paper?

The page.

...possibly

"How did Sigma not realise?" I don't know...Maybe it's been changed to appear as a blank page somehow.

This would tie in with my theory from last update that Fyodor is in a rush to get to Sigma before he wakes up.

Atsushi thinks Fyodor has the page and that he'll have to take it off him (steal it) somehow. He has no idea that the page isn't even close by but instead in Meursault.

A lot of people think "How could Atsushi's day get any worse?"

Well...fight a literal god-like-level being who is controlled by a 2k+ old evil mastermind who wants to get rid of all ability users by manipulating the general public and then never even get the page that you were fighting for because you were being manipulated this entire time and the page was never there...

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Thoughts on Fukuzawa's "death"

First off, I don't think I've mentioned it in my theories so far but I don't believe that those "killed" by ame-no-gozen will stay dead. At some point, all of them will be alive again with no issues.

Anyway, Fukuzawa's "death" reminded me of Rampo after the "Kamui is Fukuchi" discovery. Is this a sign that we'll see him in the next chapter? ...probably not, but it did feel like a parallel, at least to me.

Also, I know last time I said "maybe next chapter he'll die" but no, this is not the death

Btw, this feels like a parallel to me even if it's not exactly the same:

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██████████ Complete!

Note: The following segment was written around a week after the chapter released.

The moment I finished reading the chapter (a few hours after it released) I started typing this immediately. So I've been writing this on and off for a week now...

First, I was tired IRL, then the next day was busy, and the next and the next and...you get it. I probably wrote most of it on the first day while tired so don't mind if anything makes no sense.

This must be the longest theory post I've written for BSD so far...

Should I stop doing long posts? Would you guys prefer short ones? I try to do one long post per chapter, but I feel like not many people read them, precisely because they're long. I like doing it like this as it's more compact (in my opinion) but if you guys would like me to stop the long posts let me know.

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To the people who actually read this post, if anything doesn't make sense or seems incomplete, it's because I wrote all this while tired (35% with a headache) and whenever i came back to write more I couldn't remember what I was trying to say...

It was in my drafts partially incomplete so since we're expecting the new update soon, I remembered this and posted it.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/773535634626379776/is-het-people-placing-moral-weight-on-attraction?source=share

This makes a very depthful problem seem easy to resolve. I'm an autistic person, and I've got a lot less compared to others, filter and all, and the thing about "finding someone who you don't need to hide anything from" is that this feels impossible because people are deeply ashamed of themselves—this is why any community of "freaks" will often feel safer, because they aren't so repressed, thus they hide less and express more, and later in my life, as I began to understand that the cost of hiding myself away was far too much, I stopped. I burnt out, and this has been... detrimental.

I think it doesn't matter if you're het, homo, neurodivergent or typical. Labels don't matter. Nothing does. We're not seperated by much in essence, even if we're different in many other ways. It's just that the idea of "good personhood" or "moral uprightness" is so often associated with being small, and a lot of weirdos will, eventually, understand the harm of that and stop, or otherwise be forced to if it takes them significant energy they no longer have (hello!), but it's hard.

It's difficult! It's not easy! Especially when your identity feels like, or in some cases is, a crime. It's because shame is enforced and engrained. It is hard to be yourself when your "self" is constantly denied. People are constantly shouting, or crying inside, wanting things, but when facing denial or being refused consistently, you'll learn how to be helpless, or more extremely, have your power stripped from you—because we don't want to be alone. We don't feel complete alone, but we feel alone around others, so we try to make up for it assuming our lack, but we aren't lacking, and I think it's important to focus on yourself, fulfill yourself. It's just that this is also so often used as a weapon.

When you're confident, or trying to be, people will try to trip you up or feel intimidated and try to lessen your sense of worth, that if they don't have it, no one can.

I mean, I know the whole thing about self-love is sort of cliche, but I really think that, by some measure, it's true. You have to love yourself to love others, in a sense, and not that you don't deserve it anyway, but that... loving is knowing, understanding, seeing clearly, it is respect and kindness and acceptance, even at your worst, and when you fail to do that for yourself—though it's fine to slip—when you can't even try, or you don't want to, I feel like... how can you make effort for someone else that you won't do for yourself? If you can't feed yourself, then you'll struggle to feed someone else.

You need to know things, and most people are too scared to even want, to look inward, to be curious, anything, all because of potential risk—which is going to happen in a real relationship. These things aren't avoidable just because they're ugly to you. They're hard to look at, yes, but no less real. And no real relationship can blossom without understanding, or in ignorance.

I don't think love is a walk in the park, but it should always stay, even through disagreement, and people can't even... have internal discord without coming to hate themselves for their contrasts and faults. But you have to. To forgive yourself, too.

It's out of your hands, in a way, what is done is done, it is what it is, and at one point I would have hated that, because I didn't want it to be, but if you want to control yourself, that eventually spills out, and if you're so focused on image, you... it feels impossible to have a deep connection when you can only look at the surface. There's no connection, and any requests for that are met with denial. So I truly think you have to work from within before you can work from without, as someone who has been. And this isolates you. It makes you strange, or unveils your strangeness, and people don't like that.

They don't like it because they don't understand, and refuse to try to get familiar out of fear for "what it means", because they can't control it, but it makes no difference because what's true still is, even if you spend your whole life looking away from it.

Literally anyone, anywhere, no matter who they are, that could apply to them. It's not a heterosexual issue. It's a human issue. People don't listen to people. People don't hear people out. And I get that, sometimes. But I don't know. People who are unsupported are more likely to lose that and needlessly go on chasing senseless things trying to make up for "missing pieces", but you're— you know, we're... whole people on our own, and we do deserve to have things.

It's just that queer people might be more likely to understand how much of a distraction that is by nature of being queer. They maybe can't afford to, but het people, by contrast, neurotypical people, anyone more privileged for any reason, may be less likely to notice these things because they grow up in or around certain structures that obscure them! When you exist inside of a system, it's harder to see the structure of it, and if you believe that something keeps you safe, then you'll hesitate to want to tear it down, but anything that promises to keep you safe is a lie—it's already hurting you.

We really just need to be more selfish and focus on our own satisfaction, what pleases us beyond simple engagement, because it isn't... any of this. I really think we already have those qualities, but if we could just see them elsewhere, then maybe...? I feel like I've been lucky with media and stuff, actually, but... well, even that's not easy. It's all isolating, and we all need to get more comfortable with being alone if it means we just get to be. You need to be yourself before you can love someone else. If we're too afraid of that, it's... well. Dreadful.

From experience.

It's just fear, though. And you shouldn't lose it entirely, but you can push past it. Unfortunately, uh, a lot of people don't try. You can lead a horse to water and all, but you can't make it drink, y'know? That's been what het relationships are like. You can't fix anyone, change them. They need to be able to help themselves. You are your own savior.

This is long. Apologies. I have many feelings from living a life. I don't know. I did also try, myself, to smooth things over, but it's just not worth it, and I think all the ideas around this stuff make that worse, because they say it is, though, and if you just try— and sometimes the harm is more in the trying, not the failing. Because failure isn't necessarily personal or signifying any "wrongness" in you. It just is. The blame, everything, it makes it all so much harder! Because blame and responsibility go hand in hand, when things fail, it implies that you have made some grand mistake, but that happens, too. You mess up, you fail, you learn, and eventually, you win. It all happens and it can't necessarily be avoided, but it's fine if we as people can work on it together!

--

[invisible-madness]

Snapchat filter save me

[asterdeer]

thinking "literally nothing i think or write matters anyway, no agent is going to care about my stuff and even if they do then no one is going to read it anyway, i might as well delete my writing blog and maybe my goodreads account just for good measure and just do small-scale county paperwork for the rest of my pointless life with some knitting in there for spice" and then looked at the clock and realized it's after 9 pm. and maybe i should just go to bed.

[haru-chi]

I'm sorry if I had worried anyone yesterday ... I didn't mean to ...

I think I even kinda regret having worried my sister because I asked for little help which she couldn't do so got worried ...

I then called my friend after that which was very late at night 3AM .... she got also worried cuz I never ever did that ...

I hate this .... I really do .... because I do know none can help me in this, it's my own battle so why worry them

Wanted to vent here for a bit and I'm sorry if made someone worry ...

[britneyshakespeare]

You know I have a cousin who is a trans woman who is visibly and openly trans online, and because she is my family member and I have known her all my life I think I can say on good authority that she is nothing close to a faultless person. I actually had a lot of problems with her growing up and she still often posts inappropriate and objectionable things online that perhaps make her a bigger target than just the fact that she is trans by itself. And I like know that she's quite an easy target and I see herself put herself online in ways that make me worried and concerned for the kinds of comments she gets. She has people scroll her public Facebook page and on any post, especially if it mentions being trans or queer, whether it is innocuous or not, she'll get all these laugh reacts, because Facebook transphobes are evil. But it also feels like, I just wish she'd stop posting like she does. This is not blaming her, and I know transphobes seek her out whether they at first find her saying something respectable or not. It's not fair at all. But I do very much see that she cannot resist feeding the trolls and it's just hard to fucking watch

[francisnyx]

What am I suppose to call Merlin. He's hard to describe. What is he, I created him and I don't even know (irony with his lore lmao). He was a person raised to fulfill a role from birth (which I might add that he's suppose to be more of a vessel, like a medium to channel other on to like the previous ones before him but fellas is it clone or simply homuculus if you're create from an essence of the progenitor but is still an individual with some differences or is that more like descendants but also they kinda are all the same person but not. It's Complicated), doesn't know much common sense and is inhuman but grew a heart after the journey but Then Things happen and now he has no body. Became a incorporeal entity. Met the progenitor and awaken the memoeies and discover the reason of his existence and all previous versions and the machinations of things. And he later fused with the awakened will of a star (which is much older than he is but is also not with the complication of maturity of a star conciousness, also the will was an AI built by humanity that has descends to became one with the core and born anew)

Is he the progenitor? Is he the guide they hope for? Is he the guardian of a star? Is he human? WHAT IS HE

Ah i forgot to mention the thousands soul of people he knew and cherished he carries around in his chest. Humanity conciousness is a part of him by the way. With the whole sea of human souls thing in Avalon (the star above, should be called moon really)'s garden

[lith-myathar]

.

[archerstreet]

my sister called me and kept asking excitedly that what's happening in my life and