#this fic destroyed me

[phoneenjoyer]

Little animation inspired by @cgogs “Scream Eureka” :3

That fic did something to me, the way the characters were portrayed just jxshbfedubfusdhbfwd anywho

[justaz]

im a slut for post magic reveal arthur (& knights) thinking merlin has like. a smidge of magic. like he can get stains out of clothes or warm food and baths but OBVIOUSLY merlin can’t fight. that’s ridiculous. merlin doesn’t correct this notion for whatever reason - perhaps it’s best that people think that so when they’re all in danger, he isn’t registered as a threat so he can protect his silly lil guys. ofc his silly lil guys realize that they were wrong bc the bad guys get a lil too close to hurting arthur and merlin is like “nope! fights over!!” and annihilates them

[d3adlyromb3ar]

⋆˚࿔ bad girls get punished, and rewarded

— pairing. toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— synopsis. a girls night out doesn’t go as planned as Toji watches you dance a little to close to some random guys at the club. he drags you home and reminds you just who you belong to. him and only him.

— word count. 2.2k

— contents. possessiveness, toxic behavior but it’s toji so it’s okay, smut, choking, fingering, pussy spanking/spanking, overstimulation

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+ CONTENT

Leave it to Toji to ruin your girls night out. It was an innocent night spent with the girls, dancing together at a lively club— when he decided to rip you from your friends.

You tugged and tried to pull your wrist free from his tight grip on you, feeling embarrassed from the way he was pulling you out of the club like a little kid.

“Toji— let me go!” You hissed under your breath, trying not to bring attention to you both.

He ignored you, tugging you behind him as he made it to his car. Without a word, he opened up the passenger side door, gently pushing you into the seat and buckling you up. Fucking bastard had the nerve to be a gentleman after pulling a stunt like that.

“I can do it myse—!”

“Shut up and let me.” He interrupted, his voice hard.

Your lips sealed from the cold tone and the way his eyes were dark with fury as he glared at you. Despite his scary demeanor, he was gentle with his actions, shutting the door without letting it slam and moving the drivers side.

You peeked over to him, watching his hands grip the wheel so tight his knuckles were whitening. You were confused and slightly turned on, what was his issue? You hadn’t even realized he was at the club. He was supposed to be home tonight while you were out with your friends.

You felt his eyes dance to you time to time, and everytime you felt like squirming in your seat. There was so much tension in the car.

You were silent the whole ride home, the growl of the engine drowning out the silence. It wasn’t long until you were pulling up to the complex. He stayed scarily calm, opening the door for you as he unbuckled you, a protective arm shooting around your waist as he led you inside the apartment.

Once inside, he shut the door and placed his hands on either side of your head— caging you against the door as he towered over you.

You gazed up at him in false innocence, the sight only making his lips part— a low growl escaping.

“What was that tonight?” He finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly.

You brows pulled together, racking your brain for something you did wrong tonight. Nothing.

“What do you mean? I was out with the girls tonight, you know that. I told you about my plans tonight like five times.” You hissed, although your voice betrayed you and didn’t hold the intimidation factor you wanted it to.

His head tilted, his eyes trailing from your eyes down to your lips.

“Was grinding against those guys a part of your plan too?”

Your eyes widened and you could feel your cheeks get hot with slight embarrassment. It was hard to keep people off you on the dance floor, and it’s not like you were doing it on purpose. You hadn’t even realized you grinded up against anyone.

“Oh… I wasn’t—!”

“Save your breath sweetheart. I watched you rub yourself all over them.” He growled.

You swallowed, bravely holding his gaze as you thought about what to say next. It was clear he was jealous. That thought almost made you want to laugh, seeing Toji like this slightly funny— and extremely sexy. The possessiveness was borderline toxic but you were addicted to him claiming you and wanting you just to himself. It was something you adored about him.

Although, it was clear you two weren’t together. No labels or official titles— you were simply fuck buddies. Nothing else. At least that’s what you thought.

“We’re not together, remember?” You challenge, doing your best to glare at him with intimidation.

His eyes grew even darker, his eyes almost completely black as he tilted his head forward, his nose bumping against yours.

“That doesn’t mean I like seeing you near anyone else,” Toji trailed his hand up your body, his fingertips ghosting between your breasts before wrapping his hand around your neck “You’re fucking mine, got that?”

Your resolve started to melt, his hand giving a little squeeze to your throat, causing you to whimper. The sensation shooting straight down to your core.

His eyes were hooded, sporting a knowing look.

“I’m the only one who gets to have you. You’re mine.” His other hand trailed downwards and cupped your pussy through your skirt. “This is mine.”

You squirmed in his hold, by no means trying to get away, but trying to relieve the ache in your core.

He licked his lips, his tongue running over the scar on the corner of his mouth.

“Who do you belong to?” His voice was deep, one that wasn’t to be challenged.

You swallowed, the bob of your throat pressing up against his rough palm.

“You.” Came out a whisper, your voice strained with desire.

His hand squeezed tighter, pulling your body closer by your neck as his other hand squeezed your pussy. You gasped, staring helplessly into his eyes that were the abyss.

“Couldn’t hear ya darling.”

You sucked in a breath through the tightness in your throat.

“You— I belong to you and only you!” You pleaded, your hips trying to move against his palm, desperate for friction.

Toji growled and released you, spinning you around so that your face was pressed up against the door and harshly spanked your ass through your skirt. You yelped, your body pressing into the door as he massaged your ass with his hands.

“Good girl, but bad girl for trying to please yourself.” He spoke lowly, his face hovering over your shoulder, his lips ghosting by the shell of your ear. “Do you really think you deserve to be touched right now?”

Your lips poured into a frown, the thought of not being touched while you were this wound up almost had you crying. Actually, it did.

Tears built up in your eyes, and your bottom lip trembled.

Toji spun you back around to face him, his hand looping around the small of your back and pressing himself against you. He tilted your chin up, tilting his head in wonder when he saw your glossy eyes.

“Sweetheart, why the tears? You know you were being bad tonight,” He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over your wobbly ones. “And bad girls get punished.”

You couldn’t help the breathy moan that came after his words. He chuckled, the cover of his mouth curving up in an evil grin.

“I forget how much you enjoy your punishment, isn’t that right you filthy girl.”

You nodded shamelessly, adding a small pout that you knew would make him tick.

His eyes narrowed into slits before he back up and away from you, eyes locked with yours the entire journey to the couch. He sat back, his arms resting on the top of the couch’s back. He manspreaded, in the way you always found yourself drooling over.

“Get over here, now.” His voice startled you from your daze and you nervously shuffled over until you were standing in front of him.

He looked you up and down, licking his lips like he was looking at a meal he was about to devour.

“Over my knee.” His commands had your pussy throbbing.

You quickly bent over his knee, resting your chin on your arms on the armrest— ass arched over his knee.

He flipped up your skirt, a low growl leaving his lips at the sight of his favorite white lace panties hugging your plump, round ass. He could feel himself harden from the view. As much as he loved seeing you in white lace, he knew you look the best with nothing on.

He ripped your panties off, tearing the material and you yelped from the snapping of the lace.

His calloused hand smoothed over your cheeks, squeezing and caressing the soft skin before he landed a painful smack to your right cheek.

You jolted forward from the harshness of it, a little yelp leaving your lips.

“Count them.” His voice was deep, vibrating his whole body with the small command.

You swallowed.

“One.” Your voice was small, shame laced although you’d done nothing wrong tonight— at least not intentionally.

His hand smoothed over your left cheek, squeezing the flesh before landing another hard smack.

“Two.” You bit your lip, the sting melting into pleasure, sending an enjoyable buzz to your core.

He repeated two more times on each cheek, the smacks harder than the last, the action causing your body to jolt forward everytime. Your hands were deathly gripping the armrest, your nails biting into the fabric as he attacked your already irritated skin.

Toji couldn’t look away, your angry pink skin as beautiful as ever. His hand smoothed over the flesh, the soft skin feeling perfect in his palms.

Without warning, he spread your legs open wider and landed a smack to your pussy, eliciting a cry from you.

You weren’t expecting that, but the sting that was left behind after was delicious and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped.

Toji licked his lips.

“You like that doll?”

His hand cupped your pussy, rubbing over the glistening folds before landing another smack. Your eyes clenched shut, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as the sting morphed into a hard thump. It felt heavenly.

“Of course a dirty girl like you would like this,” His hand smoothed over your folds again, his fingers brushing over your engorged clit. “Bet this isn’t even punishment, huh baby?”

You whined, swirling your hips to press your clit to his fingers.

His hand retracted from you, and before you could complain— he plunged three fingers into your entrance. You leaned forward onto the armrest, your back arched and your ass in the air.

The pads of his fingers were rough, rubbing against your gummy walls with precision. Not even a second later, he was curling his digits up and smoothed over the spongey wall. White dots filled your eyes and you couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping.

“There it is,” He hummed, abusing your g-spot until your legs were shaking, the familiar release approaching. “C’mon baby.”

Your teeth sunk into the armrest, tears escaping the corners of your eyes as your body trembled in pleasure, his fingers still moving inside of you, your high intensifying.

“Tojiiii….” You whined, the feeling of another orgasm about to rip through you, “Please… wait… ah…”

His fingers rubbed harshly over your sweet spot, your legs shaking as quick little pants escaped you. Your body twitched and jolted forward, the second orgasm ripping through you more violently than the last.

Still, his fingers didn’t slow.

“Give me another, I know you can sweetheart.” His other hand came down to your lower back, pressing down and keeping you from squirming over his knee.

You cried out, overstimulated as he abused your spongey wall, the sensation building back up quickly.

“I can’t… I… fuckk…” You were unable to speak properly, the hard thrust and strokes of his fingers drawing out the third orgasm.

Your vision went black for a second, your body collapsing onto the armrest as Toji held your ass over his knee.

Toji watched your body twitch, the sound of your squelching pussy making him rock hard in his jeans. He couldn’t control the lick of his lips at the sight of your juices coating his knee.

You were crying softly, panting as you managed to catch your breath. God, he knew how to make you feel fucking good.

At last, he slowed his movements and pulled his fingers free. Giving your clit a couple of taps, each tap making your body twitch— before he was removing his hand and helping you sit up and positioned you in his lap.

Your head rested against his peck, his strong heartbeat thumping into your ear— the sound nearly lulling you to sleep.

“Good job baby, knew you could do it.” His deep voice was softer now, his fingers combing through your hair.

You hummed, snuggling your face into his chest. He never managed to leave you functioning after your sexual activities— and you fucking loved it.

“Love you Toji,” You whispered, gripping his chin tiredly to force him to look down at you, “But you’re terrible at punishments.”

His eyes darkened before he released a deep chuckle, one that had you growing excited again— your core throbbing.

“Oh doll,” He hand smoothed over your cheek, before dropping down and squeezing your neck in warning, “I’m just getting started with ya.”

[glassy-eyed-poet]

Me because I live and breathe for the marauders but the only merch I have is this mf:

[kinselu]

they have him pinned, but at least they're warm!

fanart for @tsunochizu 's backwards through the snow fic! im SO normal about this story (still emotionally recovering from chapter 15) i love this fic so much <3

they are the STINKIEST of family...

(for those who haven't read this fic, first of all, go read it now. but also pebbles is mostly ok. kinda. hes just dirty and stinky... amongst other things)

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[mr-president]

The god of fear and hunger acknowledges your suffering.

Cahara has formed a panophobia. A fear of everything.

[mischieviem]

Had this concept banging around in my head begging to be released so

I finally forced myself to do it ahaha

[starmocha]

call me master (and i'll call you mine) Sylus/MC | 666 words | AO3 Lines blur between the hunter and the hunted, fantasy and reality. A/N: No, I will not explain myself. MDNI.

There is a hunter in Linkon City who has set her sight on him as her prey, not knowing that she is about to fall into his trap.

Under the dark cloak of night, the city sleeps, lulled to a deep slumber by harsh raindrops. Within his bedroom, Sylus lays upon cool, soft satin, unperturbed by the distant rumbles of thunder, his own mind occupied with endless thoughts of the woman pursuing him and his organization.

How cute, he thinks, that she believes he is the prey.

“Fuck,” Sylus hisses softly, his fingers wrap around his cock, his eyes closed as he envisions this sweet little prey in his grasp. His mouth parts, letting out little gasps, as his hand strokes the hard member in a slow steady rhythm, his mind already drifting away.

Gonna dress her in the prettiest little lace just so he can rip them apart. Have her body on display beneath him, her every curve just waiting to be memorized and mapped along with his kisses and touches. He groans softly, imagining his hands traversing across her smooth skin, eliciting gentle gasps. Pepper kisses along her neck, feel the swell of her breast within his hand, a soft squeeze as she writhes beneath him, her control slipping as she begins to whine for him, her words becoming incoherent the more he taunts her.

Gonna make her his, her eyes will only see him and her body will only crave him. Spread her soft thighs, sink slowly into her wet folds. Look at me, he murmurs, grabbing her chin and forcing her to face him, Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart.

Let her get used to him, the feel of him buried deep inside her. Teasingly slow, he pulls out and thrusts into her again, the languid movements enough to make her resolve begin to slip away. Memorize her expressions, watch her fall apart because of him, her resistance weakening before she breaks, finally begging him to take her completely. He laughs, her desperate pleas awakening a desire within him. His hand finds hers, fingers interlocking, as his hips rock against hers, building a faster rhythm.

What sweet begging, he croons, his hands trail down to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulls her to him to meet his thrust. Is this what you want, my sweet little hunter?

Gonna wreck her until she cries and comes undone by him. How sweet her voice will sound, spilling soft mewls and pleas for him, his name a desperate prayer on her lips as he takes her like a beast, fuck her hard and make a mess of her.

Sylus lets out a deep groan, his heart and breathing quickening as he opens his eyes, the evidence of his aimless thoughts on his hand. He sighs and leans back in bed, his head cradled by the soft pillow as his eyes wander up to the ceiling. The little hunter continues to linger in his mind, his idle fantasy of her still has him ensnared with images of her covered in him, lips bruised so prettily by him, her mouth still calling for him, aching for him.

Him.

He laughs, mirthless, the very thought stirs something within himself. To be needed in such a way, why, he could perhaps let himself be addicted to this feeling, to have a sweet little thing helpless for him.

Thunder continues to rumble outside, the rainstorm showing no sign of passing any time soon. Fatigue takes over and Sylus could feel sleep calling for him now, his body relaxing under the cool satin cover as he allows himself to drift off into a deep slumber.

The soft patters of raindrops mingle with her gasping cries, resounding within his mind. What a sweet lullaby, he thinks before he dreams of her, perfectly flushed and helplessly trapped in his embrace.

In Linkon City, there is a hunter pursuing him, but little does she know, he is waiting for her.

[a-deep-ocean-of-secrets]

Home Is Where I Want to Be (But I Guess I'm Already There)

Summary:

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Read below or on AO3 (3.8k words)

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Those first few giddy weeks and months (like bubbly champagne buzzing through his veins every time he saw Tommy’s smile, kissed Tommy’s full lips, found himself tangled in Tommy’s bed sheets) of staying over in his boyfriend's cozy, Venice bungalow have him living almost exclusively out of his trusty duffle bag. Which isn't a big deal. He's used to lugging that ratty thing back and forth from the firehouse to his apartment. 

Can it be annoying sometimes? Sure. His clothes are constantly wrinkled (which majorly sucks when he's trying to dress to impress on date nights) and he's always forgetting or running out of one toiletry or another. If it’s not his deodorant then it’s his mouthwash. If it’s not his aftershave then it’s his moisturizer. Minor inconveniences, really, but worth it every time to wake up in Tommy's king-sized bed with Tommy's strong arms wrapped around him and Tommy's hot breath on the back of his neck.  

It doesn't take long for that to change. Like a seed beginning to take root, Tommy, as he’s done since the very beginning, makes room for Buck in his life. Just as he opened his helicopter to Buck and his friends and flew them headfirst into a raging hurricane on nothing more than an outlandish hunch. The same way he took time out of his busy schedule to grant Buck a private tour of Harbor Station and answered all his jumbled questions as Buck nipped at his heels like an overeager golden retriever, tail wagging a mile a minute, wanting nothing more than to be closerclosercloser to the cool guy with a megawatt grin, who called him ‘Evan’ and had his heart skipping a beat even if he couldn’t identify the why of it all at the time.  

So it’s not a surprise at all when he carves out precious space in his closet and lets Buck's colorful and patterned button-ups and polos blend in with Tommy's neutral henleys and shackets. They’re two big guys with a penchant for working out, so their wide array of tank tops, sweatpants, and basketball shorts become indistinguishable from each other. Their LAFD-issued shirts are so interwoven that they've given up trying to tell them apart and frequently go to work wearing the other's name branded on their backs, much to their coworkers’ loud and endless amusement. 

Buck’s grapefruit shampoo and citrus body wash relocate to the shower niche alongside Tommy's own sandalwood and frankincense-scented products. On the vanity, Buck's red toothbrush is a companion to Tommy's green one. 

All these minute modifications to Tommy’s home are simple and understandable ripple effects of Buck regularly spending a few nights a week there. 

The offshoots of that single seed deepen into winding vines without Buck even noticing. 

First, it's Buck's lucky set of boxing gloves hanging innocently alongside Tommy's Muay Thai gear in the garage. After a frustrating and tedious shift, he enjoys nothing more than a few vigorous rounds with Tommy’s punching bag. Then, Buck's large and varied assortment of books (ranging from biographies on famous figures such as Marie Curie to The Book of 10,000 Incredible Facts to the new YA fantasy series that is all the rage among Christopher and his friends) slowly but steadily find a home among Tommy's WWI & II aviation history collection on the shelves of the reclaimed redwood bookcase Tommy crafted by hand. 

His favorite cast iron skillet and Instant Pot take up permanent residence in Tommy's kitchen, alongside his garlic press and waffle maker. His 'Buck Off' coffee mug (a gag gift from the 118) is always ready to go for lavender and daffodil-colored mornings spent on Tommy's front porch overlooking the canal as kayaks and paddle boards drift by in the early morning light. The sinfully soft, ocean blue afghan Carla knitted for him during the pandemic is draped over the back of Tommy's unfairly comfortable sectional. Christopher’s US History textbook is lying open on the coffee table, left behind after a pizza and study session. The newest season of The Bachelor (the combined forces of Maddie, Chimney, and Josh got him hooked. What can he say? He loves love.) is TiVoed on Tommy's flatscreen TV. His Jeep has its own designated spot next to Tommy's ’71 Bronco. 

The roots of their budding relationship grow deeper and extend farther than the eye can see. 

Buck's most cherished brand of coffee is readily available in the kitchen cabinets. His all-time favorite blend just so happens to be named The Beast. A fun fact that never fails to stop him from leering at Tommy and waggling his eyebrows every time he brews a cup. His favorite cereal is stocked in the cupboards and his favorite yogurt is in the fridge. The same fridge that is currently plastered with Jee-Yun's vibrant crayon drawings alongside pictures of Tommy’s nieces and nephews in Chicago. A true collage of sparkly princesses and menacing dragons beside Polaroids of beaming faces on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan and sitting in the stands of Wrigley Field with messy hotdogs and giant foam fingers. 

Even food Tommy turns his perfect, aquiline nose up to but Buck loves (like quinoa and chirimoya) are now staples in his pantry. His most treasured cookbook, battered with stained, dog-eared pages with the margins filled in with his own corrections in his scratchy scrawl, holds a place of honor on Tommy's countertop on a wooden stand Tommy scrounged up at the local flea market. 

He has to rack his brain to remember the last time he spent a night at the loft. The last time he had been there, to pick up some clothes from his rapidly depleting wardrobe, it had looked even emptier and barer than usual with hardly any food in the fridge, the bed sheets stale and unloved, and a thin layer of dust on his kitchen island. The industrial, modern space had felt cold and clinical and nothing like a living, breathing home. 

It lacked the wooden floors Tommy had spent weeks refinishing as he lovingly sought out the perfect stain. It lacked the extra-long, extra-wide hammock hanging off Tommy’s back patio where Buck delighted in taking the occasional catnap on sunny afternoons. The loft hadn't inspired even a fraction of the warmth that Tommy's home did every time he walked through the door with the key Tommy had given him three months in, dangling from a helicopter keychain that made him grin like a dope whenever he pulled it free from his pocket. 

Buck doesn't realize any of these very important and essential truths until one morning when he nearly trips over his running shoe that was lying discarded by the front door. At the sound of his clumsy stumble, Baron, Tommy's five-year-old Shepkita ("That's not a word, Evan. He's an Akita Shepherd.”), raises his head from where he's lounging on his overstuffed dog bed, exhausted from their early morning run at the beach. 

At the sight of Buck being Buck, Baron lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and puts his head back down to resume his beauty sleep. Kicking the offending sneaker out of the way, Buck stops dead center in the living room, hands on his hips and wearing Tommy’s faded USC sweater that’s been worn soft from years of washings and smells tantalizingly of Tommy’s laundry detergent, and can't help but survey the terrain and take stock of how much of himself is residing in Tommy's space. He's visible in every nook and cranny. 

He has completely, and totally, infiltrated Tommy's home. 

The thought instantly fills him with indescribable joy that blossoms like radiant sunflowers inside his chest. For all of ten seconds. He then remembers the last time he unknowingly moved in with someone and the heartbreaking consequences of it.

Abby.  

She had been so terribly sad and broken in the wake of her mother's death. It had been as easy as breathing for Buck to step up, to prove himself, to try and do everything in his power to fix her with his love and devotion. So he stayed with her day and night, and his things had steadily trickled into her apartment. It had been easier back then to do, he had had so little to his name other than the Jeep and his clothes. And he can't lie, it was a relief to get out of that glorified frat house filled with Connor and the others. 

It had seemed natural to move in with Abby (even if she had been unaware of it). He thought they were building something special together, something made to last. He hadn't known at the time that while he saw a new beginning, she saw entrapment. For her, she would be trading one role of caretaker for another. Going from a sick mother to a young punk (at 26, he had still been a kid) who was stumbling like a newborn giraffe through his first serious relationship. Had she stayed, there would have been so much handholding on her part as he continued to figure out all the volatile nuances of life and commitment. And that hadn't been fair of him to ask that of her when she was so vulnerable, he understands that now with valuable time and distance. She had been so lost that the only thing she could do to find herself again was travel halfway across the world and leave him behind in the process. 

He had lived (however briefly) with Abby. He was living with Tommy, even if he hadn't clocked it until just now. 

And he wants it, he realizes with a jolt not unlike the bolt of lightning that had struck him. He wants to live with Tommy. He wants to wake up with him every morning and come home to him every night (demanding schedules permitting, of course). He wants their high-energy workout sessions that always turn into a different kind of workout and their sunset strolls through the canals with an enthusiastic Baron (complete with goofy selfies in front of David Hasselhoff’s house from Baywatch). He wants their weekends at the Venice Farmers' Market. He wants their monthly meetings of the LGBTIQA+ book club that Hen and Karen started and that Tommy and Buck have hosted twice now inside this very house. 

He wants Tommy. Plain and simple. He always wants Tommy. Tommy, who has the world’s worst fake mouth static, but jokingly brags all the same about winning a medal for it. Tommy, who acts big and tough on the job and up in the air, but he never fails to shed a tear whenever they watch the climax of a romantic comedy. Tommy, who always has a heating pad and massage waiting on standby for rainy days when the pain in Buck’s bum leg flares up like relentless flames. 

Tommy, who has no idea that they're living together. 

An icy sliver of fear sluices down his back at the terrifying thought that once Tommy learns they're essentially playing house with each other he might turn tail and run away, just like Abby did. Or, perhaps, even worse, he won't run, but he won't want Buck here anymore either. He can already see it in crystal clear HD: Tommy's handsome face shuttering to stone as it does when he's uncomfortable but doesn’t want to show it. His blue eyes darting away and his lips thinning into a brittle line as he tells Buck that this is all moving far too fast, that maybe they should take a step back and put some space between them, and then Buck will be banished back to his sad, pathetic loft that doesn't have Tommy waiting for him in it. 

He cuts the catastrophizing off at the knees before it can spiral into something far more treacherous. Tommy, for all his flaws — he drinks orange juice straight from the carton like a Neanderthal and he doggedly believes that his directions are better than the GPS ("I spend most of my time in the air, Evan. I know all the shortcuts throughout Los Angeles County.") — isn't the kind of man who runs away from a fight when the going gets tough. He's the kind of man who digs his heels in and comes out swinging the next round. And he's been nothing but kind to Buck the entire time they've known each other. He enforces tough love when he deems fit, but it always comes from a place of kindness and gentleness. 

They love each other. And they live together. It's time Tommy knows it. 

So, screwing his courage to the sticking place (Jee-Yun loves Beauty and the Beast), Buck shuffles his way into the kitchen where his boyfriend is manning the stove and making their breakfast. In the oven, a frittata bakes away in Buck’s cast iron skillet and on the stovetop, turkey bacon sizzles as it fries. Tommy, hair curly and wet from his earlier shower, flips crispy pieces while humming along to The National playing softly in the background on the radio. 

God, Buck adores this man with everything in him. 

Tommy catches him out of the corner of his eye hovering there like a massive dweeb and flashes a dazzling smile his way. 

“Hey, babe. What was that noise I heard?” 

He can feel an embarrassed blush rapidly bloom across his cheeks until his face is as pink and splotchy as his birthmark. “Oh. That was just me. I, uh, tripped over my running shoe,” he lamely explains. 

“They can be quite the menace,” Tommy says with his usual brand of wry humor. He chuckles quietly to himself as he turns his attention back to the mouthwatering bacon. For a tempting moment, Buck just wants to forget the stunning revelation he’s had and instead stay in this blissful, domestic bubble that seems to exist whenever the two of them are alone together. It doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing, there’s just an undeniable ease to the two of them existing in the same space, breathing the same air, hearts beating in tandem. 

But, alas, he’s a man on a mission. 

Reaching up and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Buck thinks through his options. He’s come to learn, through many a messy trial and error, that honestly truly is the best policy. The last time he had so thoroughly ignored the elephant in the room was when he had asked Taylor to move in with him for all the wrong reasons. 

That had been a train wreck of epic proportions, even for him. He had well and truly bucked that situation up beyond repair. 

But that was then and this was now. And the only things Tommy and Taylor had in common were their initials and their partiality to cruising around LA in helicopters. His feelings for them were night and day as well. He had loved Taylor, but by the exhausting end of their relationship, he hadn’t genuinely liked her anymore as a person. They were too different, their morals too misaligned to exist harmoniously together. It isn’t like that with Tommy. He both loves and likes practically everything about his fellow firefighter, even the traits and bad habits that annoy the ever-living shit out of him. 

“So, hey, I, uh, kinda just realized something…pretty important.” 

Smooth start. And to think, before he met Tommy he had honestly had game. But something about the self-assured pilot, from the moment they met on the tarmac at Harbor and he introduced himself as Evan instead of his standard Buck, had him tripping over his tongue in both the best and worst ways. His foot-in-mouth syndrome had ruined their first date and nearly all chances he had had with Tommy, but it was that same unfiltered nature of his that had Tommy granting him another shot and scoring him as his plus one to Maddie and Chimney’s wedding that never was. 

Which reminds him: he owes Tommy a dance. He files that tidbit into his mental to-do list for another day. 

Tommy looks at him with a quizzical raise of his brow as he lazily twirls the spatula in his hand. “What? Found some more facts about that jellyfish? What’s it called? The spotted—“

“Chriodectes maculatus,” Buck corrects automatically. “Or more commonly known as the spotted box jellyfish. Only the rarest jellyfish in the world, I might add.” 

The corner of Tommy’s lush lips curl up into a fond half-smile. “Yeah, that’s the one. I thought you exhausted all knowledge on it last night when we watched that documentary.” 

“In the words of Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou, ‘Life is finite, while knowledge is infinite.’ So, no, I’ll never know enough about jellyfish, rare or otherwise, to exhaust myself, Thomas.” 

Tommy mouths ‘Thomas’ to himself and looks to be gearing up a quippy retort of his own when Buck realizes with tightening dread that he’s on the road to derailing this potentially monumental conversation with talk of jellyfish, of all things. Honestly, he can’t even believe himself half the time. 

Time to pivot. 

“Forget about the jellyfish. They’re not important right now.” 

Swiveling his broad-shouldered body, Tommy gives him his full attention as his eagle-eyed gaze slowly sweeps over the entirety of Buck’s 6’2” frame. Buck, for his part, staunchly fights the urge to fidget as he knows it would give him away in an instant. There’s something almost surgical in the way that Tommy, without ever saying a word, can expertly peel back all the layers of bone and marrow of Buck’s psyche down to his bleeding center where his festering insecurities and crippling self-doubt reside. 

If it were anyone else it’d feel violently invasive. But Tommy has only ever treated these undesirable parts of him with the tenderest of care, delicately stitching up invisible wounds Buck hadn’t even known existed until the moment Tommy kissed him in his kitchen and completely shook the bedrock of all his pre-conceived notions about himself. 

“Sounds serious,” he says after a moment of contemplative silence. The only sound in the kitchen is the hiss of the bacon roasting away on the stove. Through the window over the sink, a beam of sunlight shines in and bathes Tommy in its golden rays. 

Buck heavily exhales a breath out between his teeth. “It is. Or, it could be. Maybe. It really depends on how you look at it, I guess.” 

“Look at what?” Tommy asks, even-keeled as ever. It’d be infuriating if it wasn’t such a damn turn-on. 

It’s now or never. 

“Look at the fact that… We kinda, almost…sorta, seem to be living with each other?” 

Tommy freezes to the spot, his eyes going wide as he blinks, coming off as a perturbed owl for a moment before he schools his features back into his usual calm facade. He looks back down at the bacon and quickly flips some pieces before they can turn into a charred mess of meat. 

Composure regained, he asks, “Was that a question or a statement?” 

He’s always lightning-quick to toss the proverbial ball back into Buck’s court. Always willing to let him take the lead in their relationship and set the parameters and boundaries. Without fail, where Buck goes Tommy follows. It had been a sweet relief in the early days of their relationship when Buck was stumbling around blind, but nine months in and Buck needs Tommy on equal footing with him. It’s the only way forward. 

“It’s, uh, a statement.” Damn. That didn’t sound convincing at all. Closing his eyes and centering himself the way Dr. Copeland taught him, he slowly takes a deep breath, and then another, and then one more for good measure, opens his eyes, and looks Tommy square in the eye. “It’s a statement. We’re, for all intents and purposes, living together. And I want, no, I need to know what you think about…that.” 

Tommy’s gaze slides away and catches sight of Buck’s mug already topped off with his second cup of coffee for the day as swirling mist rises off of it. He sees Buck’s LAFD hoodie hanging off the back of one of the stools situated at the island. He spots Jee-Yun’s drawings on the fridge, giving the stainless steel appliance so much color and joy. He spies the Fokker Dr. I triplane chew toy Buck specialty ordered for Baron lying on the floor near the dining table. 

Tommy’s home hasn’t just been Tommy’s home in quite some time. 

He spots every single change that Buck has brought into his house with his very presence, and he gathers them to him like they’re the most precious of jewels. He turns to Buck and smiles at him. 

It nearly stops Buck’s heart for a moment. 

He loves all of Tommy’s smiles. He loves his smirk when he’s said something particularly snarky or deadpan. He loves the closed-mouth grin he does when Buck is batting his eyes and pouting and Tommy is steadfastly pretending he isn’t endeared by the silliness. He loves the smug curve of his lips when Tommy moves just right inside of him, hitting that elusive, perfect spot that has him seeing stars and clutching Tommy tighter to him until he can’t tell one limb from another. 

But this, this is his favorite Tommy smile by a far-flung mile. 

It is simply radiant. His smile is wide and open, with his straight, white teeth brilliantly on display. It stretches broadly across his rugged face, exposing his deep-set dimples on either side of his ample mouth. His nose adorably scrunches and his eyes are squinty with unbridled happiness. At the corners of his eyes, his crow’s feet spread like tiny estuaries spooling into the grooves of his tan skin. 

He looks boyish and carefree. And so very in love. 

All because of Buck. He was the cause of such boundless euphoria. No one has ever loved him the way Tommy unashamedly does. 

“What I think is,” Tommy says clearly and concisely, “I think we should make it official. What do you say, Evan? Will you move in with me?” 

Buck feels like he was socked in the gut, but only in the very best of ways. His breath is stolen from his body and he doesn’t even know if his feet are still on the ground or if he’s simply floated away with how incandescently lighthearted he feels at this very moment. 

“Y-You really mean that? You want to live together?” 

It never hurts to double-check. He does that every time with his faithful clipboard. It is truly the only way to be efficient. 

Tommy’s smile only widens further. “Evan. You’re my favorite person in the world. Of course, I want to live with you.” 

The sunflowers inside Buck’s chest come to full bloom. 

He and Tommy live together.

[mewtwo24]

Not to be That Guy but like.

Am I the only one that can't stop thinking about how Tianlang-Jun says about Luo Binghe that he pretends to be cold-hearted like his mother. The hint of fondness there, the heartache in that utterance.

Like it drives me absolutely insane. Imagining her putting on a front of strength, cold and driven and unrelenting. Why does TLJ say that about her. Did she secretly look for solutions that meant reconciling with demons instead of hurting them when her sect wasn't looking? (I wonder this because I feel like his weird fondness for SQQ would lowkey track if it's connected to the woman he once loved.) Did he mean that she was tasked with basically assassinating him and she fell in love with him instead (re: failed step one)? Did he mean that she was fond and doting in her own way (e.g. conceding he was attractive, paying for his exploits and humoring him)? Did he mean that, like LBH, she thought that power would be the thing to protect her--and that it was disguising a person who was deeply and privately wounded? All four????? I don't need sleep I need a n s w e r s

Did she know about the Huanhua Palace Master's skeevy ass intentions before she met TLJ? Or did those only come to significant light after she fell in love with TLJ? Is that why she never anticipated that level of betrayal, because initially she had no intention of being with anyone romantically? And HHPM just assumed she would be under his thumb forever?? Was she furious at her own indiscretion or did she try to use the pregnancy as a bargaining chip, a way to try to stop the immortals of Cang Qiong Mountain from attacking TLJ (plus the bonus of marriage entrapment no takesies backsies this is where LBH gets it from)? Did she try to use that claim on her to dissuade HHPM from his covetous advances, framing herself as tainted so that she could finally escape? Did she dream of a life by TLJ's side, far away from Cang Qiong Mountain?

Like. Literally every single permutation of what this could mean guts me to hell. Do you ever just cry about tianxi because I--[loud bawling noises]

[chichikoi]

hiraeth.

part II. synopsis: she watches as cassian falls for another, grappling with her own hidden affections and their newly snapped mating bond in the process. pairing: cassian x fem!reader fandom: a court of thorns and roses (book series by sarah j maas) genre: angst warnings: none a/n: house of balloons/glass table girls, this is his song... i love him. fluff part two coming up OBVIOUSLY, im not fucking ending it like this i cant do this to my #1 loverboy babygirl kitty princess beloved. @joyseuphoria hi <3

Cassian had always been the beacon of power and resolve, with a demeanor rugged and unyielding. But beneath the surface was vulnerability, and she knew that it was written in the stars for her to remain by his side as his closest friend and confidante, never to become one to uncover that side of him.

But it didn’t make it easier. Watching him as he fell for Nesta’s every glance, every touch, every word that escaped her mouth seemed to throw him deeper and deeper into a trance. And she was fine with that, and accepted it. Accepted that she would never be the object of his softened glances, his featherlight touches, his-

Her thoughts halted as Cassian stormed into the room, frustration radiating off him in waves. She glanced up from her book, her eyes immediately catching the tension etched onto his features. Without a word, she closed her book and shifted, making room for him on the couch.

Cassian collapsed beside her, his movements rough yet familiar. He stretched out, his feet finding their place on her lap almost instinctively. Y/N didn't flinch; instead, she settled into the comfortable silence, waiting for Cassian to speak.

"It's Nesta," he finally muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "Training with her…it was like walking on eggshells. One wrong move, and she was tearing into me with those ice-cold eyes."

She listened attentively, her gaze soft as she absorbed his words. "It was like she was always testing me," Cassian continued, his voice growing softer with each word. "Pushing me to my limits, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself."

Her fingers instinctively started to massage his feet as he spoke. It was a small gesture, one born out of years of friendship and trust. Cassian didn't protest; instead, he leaned back against the cushions, allowing the soothing touch to ease the tension from his muscles.

As the minutes stretched on, their conversation ebbed and flowed, the weight of Cassian's burdens slowly lifting with each passing moment. Y/N listened, offering words of comfort when needed, but mostly content to provide silent support.

Cassian's breathing eventually evened out, his body relaxing against the cushions. Y/N glanced down to find him fast asleep, his features softened by the serenity of slumber. She smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection.

Suddenly, chains, bolts, and locks shifted, loosening, their weight growing just a little more tolerable. A soul peeked through. Broken, scarred, and trembling — with fear, she realized, but it stretched further and further. Yearning, searching.

It was as though a tether had snapped into place, an invisible thread binding her to Cassian in a way she had never felt before. Confusion flickered as she processed the intensity of the connection, the undeniable pull drawing her closer to him.

She was aware that this was not happening in the slightest. A mind trick. A dream, she thought. betraying once, the jolt of real-time that pushed through her. Burning her cheeks and stealing her breath. How the waking world slipped past the knobby parts of her fingers like a whisper, barely there, because dreaming was just a fancier word for getting lost. It held her there, suspended in imagination and for every second, it felt real. Like she could grasp the outlines and the textures. Like she could touch the weather, drink the clouds, and taste the sunlight.

The gods who had her in a chokehold withdrew.

Death feared her too, it seemed.

He was soaring in the air, and she was on the ground. She tried to reach him but he was far, far out of her reach. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and every thought that tried to sneak its way in, through this thick veil, bounced off and dissipated into thin air.

Because she then remembered… that beautiful things shouldn’t be broken. And she had a knack for breaking things.

The soft rays of dawn streamed through the windows of the House of Wind, casting a warm glow over the sitting room where she and Cassian had fallen asleep. As she stirred from her slumber, she found herself alone on the couch, the imprint of Cassian's presence still lingering in the air. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her mind foggy with the remnants of… dreams? Visions? She felt as though the very fabric of her existence had been torn asunder, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, but when has that ever stopped her?

So she stood on the ground and longed.

part II here >>

[almostfoxglove]

pedro pascal cinematic universe aus 14/?

the one where dieter bravo lingers beyond the veil. (insp)

[kantush]

I fucking love Kelvin. My cute malewife

He's doing honest work.

[queerofthedagger]

nothing, and i mean absolutely nothing, like starting a long fic and knowing within the first 2k words that it will absolutely wreck you. therapy has nothing on this mwah

[coruscantguard]

ONLY BY SURVIVING THE WAR WILL YOU PREVAIL

a web weave about the coruscant guard

Aeschylus: The Oresteia, Aeschylus || Darth Vader (2017) 10 || S6 EP7 "Crisis at The Heart" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || Maurice Sendak (2011 interview with Terry Gross) || S1 EP1 "Ambush" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || S1 EP22 "Hostage Crisis" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || S6 EP4 "Orders" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || It, Stephen King || S6 EP4 "Orders" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || S1 EP1 "Ambush" (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) || Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls, Nico Alvarado || Star Wars: Revenge of The Sith, George Lucas || observer's effect, @bytebun