#prompt fill: anonymous

[suzukiblu]

Please, cuddling, and TimKon?

. . . I am sorry but also I am NOT sorry for what I have done with this reply, but hey, why don't we all enjoy this one being the only prompt fill from this meme that got a read-more cut??

“Please,” Kon tries, trying not to look–he doesn’t know, weird and needy and like an embarrassment, or whatever. It feels like such a stupid thing to ask for. He knows Tim’s not really a hugger or a touchy-feely guy or whatever and that he likes having his own space and basically always hops out of bed right after sex to go write down all the shit his post-nut clarity made him think of, and the idea of, like, just staying still and actually cuddling or whatever is probably basically literal torture to him, assuming it’s ever even occurred to him at all, just . . . 

Just he’d kind of like to sometimes, maybe? Like–not regularly or whatever, he’s not trying to drive Tim nuts or cut into either his worktime or downtime here, just . . .

Just he’d like to do it sometimes, that’s all. 

Tim’s not the tactile type. Tim isn’t even the eye contact type, unless he’s lying to somebody or at work or just faking it for Robin-mode or whatever. Kon gets that. He’s been, like–careful about that. Not trying to take up too much space or ask for too much attention or mind when Tim doesn’t even look up at him when he– 

He’s been careful about it. 

But he is . . . well. The tactile type. Like . . . kind of, anyway. 

Like–it’s kinda unavoidable, honestly. 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him in just enough bemusement to make him feel even more self-conscious about bringing this shit up to begin with, and Kon tries to keep his expression casual and noncommittal and–and just normal about this. Because he is totally normal about this. He is so normal about this. He is.

He’s also normal about the fact that when he asked Tim if he could talk to him about something, Tim didn’t even put down his tablet. Didn’t even put it to sleep, or actually even look up from it until . . . 

Kon’s normal about that. About all of this. 

(and he definitely never feels kind of weird or a little bit abandoned because Tim can’t EVER just bring his stupid laptop back to bed or at least work on whatever he’s thinking about IN the bedroom at the untouched desk he's got set up in there or even just, like . . . stick around and hang out on the couch with him, or anything like that. he definitely totally ENTIRELY doesn’t ever just feel like a casual fuckbuddy or an easy hookup or a gala-night accessory or just the most immediately convenient option and not actually–not actually any kind of a–not actually something that– 

he doesn’t. 

definitely.)

“Uh,” Kon says, and backpedals awkwardly, because clearly this conversation is not going the way he’d wanted it to and Tim just looks so surprised by it all, like–like it never even occurred to him or something, that maybe . . . that maybe Kon would want anything like that, or like he literally just hasn’t noticed how hard Kon’s been trying to be normal about it, or . . . 

It doesn’t feel very good, the idea he’s been trying so hard to respect Tim’s space and preferences and comfort levels and Tim hasn’t even noticed that he was doing anything at all. 

Especially because Tim usually notices just about everything. 

Maybe Tim’s just never thinking about it. Maybe he gets out of bed so quick because he’s spent the whole time in it thinking about other shit and just putting up with–just– 

“Kon,” Tim says, his voice going a little tight, and Kon just tries not to wince. He didn’t mention any of the complicated stuff he’s been trying not to feel, he just asked if Tim could–if Tim would– 

He didn’t even mention any of the complicated stuff, so it’s, like–not a great sign that Tim’s looking at him like that right now, like he’s said something really serious or upsetting or . . . 

He really shouldn’t have said anything, yeah. 

“Sorry,” he tries stiffly, glancing away and wrapping his hand around his own wrist and digging his fingers into the inside of it. It’s–tactile. Just . . . something tactile. “I know you don’t–sorry. Uh. Just forget it.” 

“Fuck,” Tim mutters for some reason, and Kon feels like such an idiot for saying anything at all, and a worse one for apparently doing it in a way that’s got Tim making that face at him. That face is Robin’s “my utility belt is empty, comms are fried, and the mission just went to shit” face. 

He really fucked this up. It was fine. Everything was fine, and now he’s wrecked it and Tim’s about to say it’s not even that serious, it’s not like it’s even–not like they’re even–and that Kon’s clearly gotten the wrong idea and they should just–just– 

“How long have you felt this way?” Tim asks very, very carefully, like the question’s something fragile, and Kon thinks from literally the first fucking time you left me alone in bed all night so you could go recalibrate some stupid useless specialty sensor that wasn’t even part of your primary gear, like, a WEEK into us sleeping together and says, “I dunno. It’s not–I told you. Forget it. It’s not a big deal.” 

He’s being weird about this. He’s being an asshole about this, actually, because being prepared for literally every single possible contingency ever is the Bats’ whole thing and he got into this knowing Tim wasn’t the touchy-feely type or all that expressive and emotive about–about his feelings, or whatever, and–and it’s not like he even–not like he– 

(he just wants a fucking HUG he didn't have to FUCK him for every now and then, or for Tim to at least exist in the same space as him for longer than the time it takes for the next email from Oracle to come in or next alert from Batman to go off or next self-assigned project to finish processing or–

but that’s not something Tim does, and Kon knew that going in, so–so it’s his own stupid fault if he feels SMALL sometimes, when . . . when there’s always something else, always another problem to solve or place to be or thing to think about, always . . . always something more important than just . . . staying, just for a little bit, and just BEING with–with him. just him. not the team, or either of their families, or . . .)

He knew all this going in, Kon reminds himself. He knew it. If he were this bad at being with literally anyone else, he’d just–he’d just– 

But something about it being Tim means he just . . . can’t. 

Tim’s jaw tightens, and he finally sets down his stupid tablet. 

Only now, though, Kon thinks bitterly, and digs his fingers a little deeper into the inside of his wrist. 

“Kon,” Tim says again, says too carefully again. Like something’s fragile, again. “I–” 

“I said forget it, for fuck’s sake!” Kon snaps too hotly, and maybe hates himself for both doing it and for the stricken look that doing it puts on Tim’s face, and also maybe cheats a bit by super-speeding straight out the balcony door into the night air and not taking his cell or his communicator with him. Or–definitely does, in fact. Definitely that’s cheating. He knows it is. 

He just really can’t stand to hear Tim tell him how he’s fucked up this time right now, though. He just–he tried so fucking hard not to fuck up this time. 

He really, really tried. 

He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, but . . . but he really did try.

[magnusbae]

"Quit struggling, you will only make it worse."

Obikin, pretty please /ᐠ - ⩊ -マ Ⳋ

Thank you 🥰 Now imagine if Anakin fell a few years earlier than in canon, still has his limbs and pretty hair, and is currently serving Darth Sidious while fighting on the Separatist side. Something like that 😊 1,137w - vaderwan

▾▾▾

“Quit struggling, you will only make it worse.”

Vader bares his teeth and snarls. He snarls like an animal, like he’s a Tusken Raider and it’s the only way he knows how to communicate in. The thought fills him with an even deeper rage, makes his stomach turn in fury and sickness. He is better than that, he is better than them. He is Lord Vader, not some animal to growl and bark— he does not give a kark. 

He spits at Kenobi’s feet and glares up with as much hatred as his eyes would permit without burning white blind from it. 

“Kriff yourself.” Vader grits out when all he receives for his efforts is an infuriatingly smug smirk. (it’s sad, it’s sad, it’s sad)(he ignores it).

“I think I shall pass.” Kenobi says in that sarcastic manner of his that he reserves for Darksiders only. It should not sting Vader as it does, to be spoken to as if he was one of many.

He should be more than that, he is more than that. He’d make him, he’d—

“Please do stop thinking so loudly, you are ruining an otherwise lovely force weather.” Kenobi cuts this line of thought with some sort of Bantha Poodoo that wouldn’t make sense even on the best of days, least of all when he is busy tying Vader up like he was a Life Day’s gift. 

“Force Weather? Have you lost it entirely old m— argh-” Vader sucks in a breath when he feels the durasteel wire cut deep within his skin, so tight he can feel the instant numbing, indicating that the blood had effectively stopped flowing into that limb.

Concern spikes within Vader, he already has one prosthetic, and he is not very fond of the idea of more, Obi-Wan wouldn’t…. Would he….? 

There is a moment in which he thinks that he would. Thinks that Kenobi had lost any sentiment toward his old apprentice, even the guilt that had kept him from killing him in all the previous times he had managed to get the upper hand. (Through luck)(It’s luck, nothing else.)

Losing a limb due to Kenobi’s poor tying techniques would not be technically Kenobi deciding on killing him but— “Ngh.” He hisses out, teeth scraping together as Kenobi lessens the punishing grip of the wire.

Relief  flood Vader, scorching in its intensity.

“A little too tight there.” Obi-Wan chirps, all amusement and good nature. (He sounds old.)(He sounds broken.) “Apologies, Sweet.” he says with his characteristic charm, his typical ease. (He sounds as if he’d like to retch.)(he sounds sick.)

Vader hates it. Hates. Hates. Hates. He wants the anger, the hurt, the words of disappointment and fury and passion. (Love, love, of love.) He wants Kenobi to be honest, to be direct, to be him. The him that only he knows, that only he saw. He wants Kenobi to, (his chest fills and hurts, his lungs collapse with an inhale he doesn’t manage to keep, his eyes close and he cannot, he cannot lie—) care. Care, he wants him to karkin care. Even a little, even sometimes. Care enough to hurt, care enough to scream, care enough to hurt him. 

“Up and about now.” Obi-Wan says and hauls Vader to his feet. Even in this Kenobi is careful to not hurt him unnecessarily. Do not hurt prisoners, a Jedi would say. The Codes. It’s all he sees in him. The Codes he must follow in order to fulfill his duties. No, no. No, no and no. Anakin— Vader is more, he is more, he was, he is more. 

Twisting about to face Kenobi without being stopped is hard enough, his balance off with the way his arms are bound painfully behind his back. He manages it. He’s quick enough, skilled enough— determined enough.

Without a single thought, without a moment of consideration, Vader’s eyes lock onto his target. The neck.

It’s exposed just enough, with the layers of robes covering the curve of it an the beard reaching just the top of it, there’s just enough space.

Vader strikes as he always does, without warning, without hesitation. One moment he is standing there, wide eyes alight with orange-yellow, the next his lips are closing around soft flesh, teeth sinking.

It’s all over in but moments, and yet the way Obi-Wan groans, the way his throat tenses and he swallows, the way he shudders when he pushes Vader off hard enough to make him stumble and fall back onto the ground— the way there’s blood on that neck, on Vader’s tongue— it’s all worth it.

Vader will do it again, no matter the consequences, no matter how it might look to someone who didn’t understand. 

He will make absolute sure that Kenobi never forgets, never.

Vader makes a point of licking at his lips as he smirks at Kenobi, tilting his head from side to side in a way he saw his Master do while in a good mood and flirting. On him it looks mocking and he knows it.

He takes pleasure in Kenobi having no smart retort to it, no easygoing banter to masquerade with. Vader got him, he had won. 

He is almost angry when the sound of engines breaks through, hundreds of them, all belonging to Sidious. Or the Separatists, as the Republic still foolishly believes. He will never know what words had died on Kenobi’s tongue as he looked up and then down at Vader, calculating his chances of outrunning a fleet of battle ships while carrying an unwilling Sith on his back. 

“Not in your favor, huh?” Vader asks, laughing, not even bothering to get up, instead he just flops to lie on his back. It pains his arms terribly, but he does not care. He looks at the sky as if it was a starry sky you’d gaze upon, wish upon.

“Run now, Kenobi. You’re so good at it, after all.” He does not look at him, does not want to see that back turned on him. (Again. Again. Again that.)

The silence from Kenobi’s side is a heavy one, a painful one. Then he forces out amusedly (Chokes on it.) “We’ll have to rain check our little date, my Dear.” (He does actually choke on it.) (Vader hears, he always does.)

“So long.” The man who raised him cheers, all good spirits and not a care in the world. Then there’s the sound of Obi-Wan’s light feet as he force-runs towards his own ship. Leaves him. 

Anakin closes his eyes and all the world falls down. 

There’s only the sound of shooting and the flavor of Obi-Wan’s life on his tongue. For now, it’ll do. For now, it’s enough. (It is not.)(It never is.)

[anon911andbuddie]

hii! idk if this would be a good fic but i just thought it would be cute, what if one day Eddie comes home to find Buck with like a sizable cut on his hand from cooking or something. and of course Eddie is all like "protective medic boyfriend mode." he insists on sitting buck down (even though buck claims it's fine) and properly bandaging it up.

Sorry its been a while. I've had a lot going on and still do, but I was able to pop this out rather quickly, so I hope you guys enjoy.

-Red💋

Accidents

Buck just wanted to do something nice. Eddie and he have been working opposite shifts since Buck agreed to cover Ravi's A shifts so he could go see his parents on their anniversary week. This was the first night he and Eddie were going to have alone - Christopher staying the night with his best friend and in that moody young teen phase.

So Buck was making a nice dinner and, hopefully, it was seductive enough for Eddie to take him to bed after. God he missed the sex.

Pain seared through him as his trailing of thoughts kept him from watching his cutting board. He cursed, abandoning the knife and veggies to go to the sink and wash his hand off. Blood trickled from the cut and Buck made a face. This was not how he wanted his night to start out.

The running of the water kept him from hearing the door open. Eddie made his way through the house, following the sound of running water to the kitchen. "Buck? What are we-" he cut himself off as he took in the scene. "Babe?!"

"Eds, I'm fine."

Eddie reached into the stream of water to pull Buck's hand out. He took a look at the cut and hissed. Grabbing some paper towels, he placed them on the cut. "Hold pressure." He guided Buck over to a chair. "Sit and don't move."

"Eddie-"

"Babe, I'll be right back. Just, please, stay right here."

Buck sighed and nodded. Eddie traversed into the bathroom, grabbing their first aid kit and coming back. He knelt in front of Buck and took his hand into his grip. "Can you still move your fingers?"

Buck wiggled them, wincing as it pulled on the injured skin. "PMS is fine. It's not that deep of a cut. I just had a moment of ADHD and suddenly the knife wasn't cutting vegetables anymore."

Eddie examined the hand further with drawn brows and a downturned mouth. He nodded at Buck's explanation, putting on disposable gloves. He removed the soaked paper towels from Buck's hand, poking and prodding at the site to check it out. "It doesn't look too deep. I think you'll be fine without stitches. It's just going to be a bitch when you forget not to use this hand for heavy lifting." He pours peroxide over a square of gauze and begins wiping the cut down.

Buck hisses and Eddie kisses one of his fingers in apology. "Told you it was fine." He chuckled lightly.

"I don't like it when you bleed, Evan." Eddie replied easily. He finishes cleaning the sight and grabs more gauze, placing a think layer of antibacterial cream on it before placing it over the cut. He layers some gauze after it before wrapping it tightly with coban. "We'll check it every twelve hours as needed."

"Yes Sir, Doc." Buck goofily salutes.

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly, leaning up to kiss Buck's lips lightly. "You're an idiot." He laughs.

Buck laughs with him. "But I'm your idiot."

Eddie smiles lovingly at him. "You are...how about we order in tonight? Watch a movie?"

"Sounds like a plan."

[casyawn]

serious yet embarrassing question. do we need to start up an iwtv kink meme like in the olden days. iwtv is such a horny show ripe for the most fucked up weird fic yet i feel like the fandom is holding back somewhat. do we need to bring anonymity into the picture to get the real sickos out here

[youssefguedira]

for the first kiss prompts: "you kissed me first" "I definitely didn't" 😊

"You kissed me first."

"I definitely didn't."

They've had this debate more times than either of them can remember. It comes up about every few decades or so. The way Joe tells it, Nicky had kissed him first, in the kitchen of their tiny apartment in Cairo, after he'd finally decided loving him in silence was more than he could bear and told Nicolò everything, not looking him in the eye even once. There had been silence for a while, and then Nicolò had stepped forward to close the distance between them in one stride, lifted Yusuf's chin, and kissed him.

The way Nicky tells it is only slightly different: he maintains, and has for over nine hundred years, that even if he was the one to step forward first, Yusuf was the one who kissed him, his hand on the back of Nicolò's neck to hold him in place, fingers tangling into his hair.

The truth, and they both know it, even if they pretend to disagree, is that neither of them know for sure exactly who moved first anymore. They may be immortal, but their minds are still the same as anyone else's: they forget things, after a while.

(What really happened, though and the reason they can't agree on what exactly happened, was this: neither one of them leaned in. They moved at the same time, drawn together as if it were inevitable that things would happen, like this. Nicolò might call it destiny. Yusuf, a long while later, might call it something like magnetism.)

"It was definitely you," Joe responds. Nicky can hear the smile in Joe's voice before he sees it, looking down to where his head is resting against Nicky's shoulder. "I remember it like it were yesterday."

"No, you don't," Nicky says, fond. It would have bothered him, a few centuries ago, that he couldn't clearly remember what he considered then to be the most important moment of his life. He's made his peace with it, though.

Besides, there's no worth in being lost in the past. He knows that well enough.

Joe hums, tilts his head inwards to kiss the curve Nicky's shoulder. "We got here in the end, anyway."

"We did," Nicky echoes, and then kisses him properly.

(first kiss prompts)

[coiled-dragonart]

C3 Dipper ? :0

Hope yall dont mind I combined these <3 @atrouspine

Protective big bro Dip for the win~!

Send me Expression Prompts + Gravity Falls characters!

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

shayncer 274?

number 274 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt you generated in specific is: you're my everything also partially inspired by this ask

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 10.6k, rated E

summary

"Sure, Spencer. We'll call what I am mad. Like when I called what we had a relationship, and how you refer to it as fucking. I'm gonna head out." || Or, Spencer and Shayne don't communicate clearly and more people face consequences for that than you think.

The worst thing about fighting with Spencer is that he's nothing less than professional the entire time. They haven't had a real conversation in at least a month, a few days before they broke whatever they had going on off, and it's been all business ever since. He doesn't act like he's mad at Shayne, he doesn't ignore him, he just acts like Shayne is his coworker. Even if their relationship wasn't exactly what Shayne wanted it to be, they had always had a really good time hanging out together. It seems like that's over now. He's never been a particularly talented hand at losing and furthermore mourning friendships; he's been friends with Damien for their entire adult lives, friends with Courtney and Ian for years, friends with everyone on the goddamn cast because he has a nearly pathological need for everyone to like him.

That's not really what it's about with Spencer, though, is it? Things are fucked because of how different what he wants from Spencer is from the rest of his friends. He wanted more than Spencer could give. It is what it is. He's been a bit of a fucking wreck since everything happened. Since Spencer broke up with him. Whatever the fuck you want to call it.

"Hey bud, Spencer asked me to come grab you for the meeting that started a few minutes ago?" Damien says, knocking his knuckles against the desk Shayne has his head down on. He rests his hand on the back of Shayne's neck, squeezing briefly, comforting. He knows that Damien wants to help. It still cracks him in half that Damien needed to come tell him instead of Spencer opening up their text thread and messaging him directly for the first time since he fucked everything up. Still, he gets up, moving himself out from under Damien's hand, which is retracted out of his way. "You okay?" Damien asks, his voice far too gentle. Shayne forces a smile, nearto gritting his teeth from the effort of it. From the raise of Damien's eyebrows, the effort is most definitely wasted.

"I'm fine, man. Just tired. I'll head that way," he says, making that forced smile softer. He doesn't know why he's trying. Damien has always known when something was going on with him. It doesn't help that Damien was his first phone call when everything went down, his violent sobs moving Damien to be waiting at Shayne's apartment when he was finally able to calm himself enough to drive home. It was a casual thing. It shouldn't have hurt as bad as it did. We do not want the same things. Spencer had been so sure of it, so convicted, as if Shayne's feelings for him were plastered across the wall, bold font. Even when he had tried to argue his case, he could tell that Spencer just wanted him to go. To let it go. To let them go. To admit that there was never a them in the first place.

"Text me if you need me, okay? I've gotta leave for my thing, but I'm around for you. You know that," Damien says, pulling Shayne out of his head with that and a quick kiss to his temple. He gives Shayne one of those significant looks before he's heading out and a genuine smile pulls across Shayne's face for perhaps the first time all day. Not to be the allistic best friend, but quirks he's always fondly thought of as just Damien are apparently autistic traits (revelation to both of them, really) and his fondness for them has not waned in the slightest. That's his best fucking friend.

He's distracting himself. It's on purpose.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," he says as he ducks into the meeting room, directing an awkward smile to the entire room. Spencer is looking at him, eyebrows raised and eyes hard behind his glasses.

"Glad you finally decided to show up. Back to my thing-" Spencer continues like he hadn't missed a beat, such a clear dismissal that it pangs in Shayne's chest. He's not sure what would have been ideal for Spencer to do there, though. Interrupt the meeting to get Shayne back up to speed? Fuck no. Maybe it's that he covets what he used to have: that easy rapport with Spencer, access to his dumbest one liners and wittiest quips, front row seats to the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs at his own jokes. It's his fault. He made it weird. He did too much. This isn't Spencer's fault.

Take accountability for your actions. Follow the lead of the person you fucked up with. Be willing to earn their trust again. He doesn't know if he could be more willing, but it doesn't seem like Spencer is open to opening back up that door.

"Shayne?" Spencer calls, pulling Shayne out of his thoughts succinctly. Shayne clears his throat, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, yeah. Got, uh. Got lost in thought," he stutters, not quite making eye contact with Spencer but coming closer than he has in a few days. Spencer hums, looking to everyone else in the room as if to commiserate with them. He puts his hand up beside his mouth and speaks then at full volume. Everybody loves a bit.

"This guy never listens when I talk, can you believe him?" he says. It shouldn't even bother Shayne. In fact, he had thought he would enjoy it if Spencer made fun of him again. Guess it's different when he doesn't feel like he's in on the joke. It is not that serious. So why does Shayne feel like he's about to start tearing up?

"I'm, um. I don't think I'm going to be of any use and I don't want to slow you guys down, so I'm just gonna head out," he says, smiling even though he knows it doesn't reach his eyes. He hears Spencer say his name but he's already out of the door, and down the hall by the time he hears it the second time. He stops in his tracks anyway. He never was good at taking the easy way out.

"Shayne," Spencer says again, quieter this time. Clearing his throat, Shayne turns around. Spencer is frowning at him. Despite everything, that little frown takes Shayne's guard right down. He's missed the warmth of Spencer's concern. "What's wrong with you?" Spencer says, and the guard goes right back up like it never came down in the first place. Be safe or be happy? Shayne doesn't know that either are in the cards for today.

"Nothing. Tired. Can I go?" he says shortly, brusquely. Spencer furrows his brow.

"Yeah, man? How the fuck would I stop you?" he says, still giving Shayne that analytical look like Shayne is a problem to solve. He clears his throat again.

"Cool," he says, turning back around and heading down the hallway again. Spencer isn't quiet in following behind Shayne, so he's almost expecting it when a hand closes on his elbow.

"Dude, what is your fucking problem?" Spencer asks, spinning Shayne around with more strength than Shayne knew he had. He pictures a wall between Spencer and his feelings. It's so much harder to be hurt when every soft spot about you is covered in stone. They never tell you how hard it is to be loved like that. Hurt is an ugly thing pacing the cage of his ribs, festering as it has been for the past month, and Shayne doesn't know how much longer he can keep making it smaller and making it smaller and making it smaller before the pressure of it kills him, his grief diamond hard and shiny. Sparkling.

"Why the fuck do you care, Spencer?" he asks flatly, steam shooting out the pressure valve as he moves out from under Spencer's hand, frowning. Spencer has the audacity to look like Shayne has said something out of pocket, as if there's a reason he should think Spencer cares what his fucking problem is. Like there's a reason he should think Spencer even cares if he's okay.

"We were in the middle of a meeting," Spencer says, even this protestation a little weak. Shayne closes his eyes for a second, breathing out through his nose deeply. Composing himself. Putting the pieces of armor back together.

"I know, and I'm sorry that I won't be able to be present, but you all should continue without me. They're waiting for you," he says diplomatically, pulling the public persona back together even if he is off camera. Spencer makes a face at him, his confusion plain.

"Who cares? They'll wait," he says, which is likely true. There's an hour booked out for this meeting despite everyone attending being aware of the fact that it would only take maybe forty minutes, if Spencer was slow about it. That's always how it is when Spencer is conducting a meeting. He gets nervous or excited or just Spencer and he starts talking a little too fast, running through trains of thought like he never has to change stations to get from place to place. Still, he's not sure why Spencer is protesting so much. Shayne's giving them both an out here.

"Why?" he asks, unable to just keep the question to himself even if he'd rather be anywhere else. If he texts Courtney, they'll almost definitely be willing to pick up whatever slack he'd be leaving by peeling out of the parking lot right now. Instead, it feels like he's frozen to this spot, caught in this moment.

"Because I want to know what your fucking problem is."

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, Spencer," he begs, steeling his voice in the hopes that it sounds like something different from what it is, but to himself he can admit: it's begging. Spencer narrows his eyes and catches Shayne by the wrist, pulling him into an unused office and staring him down.

"Are you that mad that I'm not gonna fuck you anymore? We want different things, Shayne. I'm trying to protect us both," he insists; it's the same thing he said then. It's so fucking corny. Breaking it off with someone and saying you're doing it to protect them. From what? Just admit that you don't want it. He just wants Spencer back. Even if it's just as a friend. Still, he's not even nearly mentally collected enough to start this conversation, let alone end it, so he might as well cut it off now. The hurt turns to vitriol in his throat and he casts it out, bitter and rotten.

"Sure, Spencer. We'll call what I am mad. Like when I called what we had a relationship, and how you refer to it as fucking. I'm gonna head out," he repeats, ducking out of the office and making his way down the hall much faster than before. He hates that little part of himself that wishes Spencer would follow this time too. He makes it all the way to his car without interruption. He texts Courtney. He drives home.

In the coming weeks, it's more Shayne avoiding Spencer than it is the other way around. At least, according to Damien, that's the case. While Shayne is ducking out of rooms when he hears Spencer down the hall and taking his lunch at his desk so that he doesn't run into Spencer when neither of them are on the clock, Spencer is apparently looking for Shayne now. He doesn't ask all the time, of course, but Damien says they don't talk for more than a few minutes before Spencer asks where he is, how he is. Every time Damien tells him about it, that little bit of excitement ("He likes me, he cares about me, he wants to know how I am," bullshit) hits Shayne hard enough to make him nauseous, or maybe that's just the self disgust. He wants to be over this more than he's ever wanted to be over anything.

He wishes Damien was here. Everybody always seems to think it's him acting as a social buffer for Damien, but really, that shit is reciprocal as fuck. Even a thread of discomfort on Shayne's face, Damien is making excuses and flashing sweet smiles, charming enough that no one even thinks to get pissed off. Even when Shayne is the social buffer, it never feels like he does it so smoothly, so naturally. Years and years of acting, and all it's done is make him more comfortable in front of a camera than he is without one. It's easier when there's an audience to play to; he already knows he doesn't play well to this one.

He hates that he's not good at being alone with Spencer anymore. He hates that this feels like a skill he'd have to relearn.

Courtney had invited him out, said Tommy was coming too. Tommy apparently invited Spencer. Court said they didn't know, and it was all very sudden. He doesn't blame Tommy. Tommy doesn't even know. Probably? Oh god. Shayne definitely hasn't told him, but Spencer is closer with Tommy anyway, and he's already told Courtney he'd stay. If he walked out on them now, when Tommy and Spencer are supposed to arrive in the next five minutes? Never gonna fly. He sits next to her reluctantly, resignedly. He's nursing what may be the worst beer of all time, but Courtney ordered it for him to cheer him up, so he'll pretend to like it for as long as it takes to finish it. He didn't come here to get drunk anyway. He came here so Courtney and Damien would stop giving him that you can talk to me look, tiptoeing around him like Spencer broke his fucking heart or some shit like that.

Even if it's true, they shouldn't say it.

It's like he can feel it when Spencer walks in the room, his gaze pulled to the door just as Spencer crosses the threshold of it. Fuck, he looks good. He's wearing one of his stupid little button-ups, jeans that are just a little too long for him, the same boots he always wears. And yet, Shayne doesn't know if he could take his eyes off of him if he tried. He can't even make himself try.

He's grateful when Courtney grabs his arm, refocusing his attention on them. They raise an eyebrow.

"You gonna be okay? I'm not gonna make you stay here if you're not gonna be okay, dude," she says, words perhaps a little casual for the burning in his chest, but the sentiment appreciated all the same. Courtney has no idea that it's sentiments like that one that will keep Shayne in his seat, beer in his hand, for as long as she's worried about him. Court and Damien care about him so much. The least he can do is try to be okay for them.

"I'll be fine, Courtney. Don't worry," he says; Courtney meets Tommy's gaze from across the room, communicating silently for a moment before Courtney nods.

"We're finding a booth. Tommy and Spencer are ordering, then they'll come find us," Courtney says; Shayne just shrugs, following their lead. They end up choosing a table with high seats instead of a booth, picked for its distance from the nearest other patrons. Spencer and Tommy follow sooner than he expects, setting a tray of drinks on the table before claiming their seats. Courtney and Shayne are sitting next to each other, and Tommy takes the seat across from Courtney, so that leaves Shayne avoiding eye contact with Spencer fucking Agnew. He gives Tommy a lackluster smile, even the pantomime of his happiness water thin and washed out like this. The smile Tommy hands back to him is gentled, a little worried, but Tommy recovers quickly, sliding into a grin and passing Courtney a shot.

"This has been one hell of a week, babe. You deserve this," he says, grabbing another shot for himself, "And so do I." Courtney taps the table three times and they down their shots at the same time, their strange synchronicity bringing a smile to Shayne's face. There are four more shots on the tray, as well as Spencer's drink, likely a light soda but they use opaque cups here so who could tell, and a few fruity cocktails. Tommy likes to try specials when the bars in town have them, kitschy little gimmick cocktails and twists on old classics, anything that sounds fun. It's something Shayne admires about Tommy, his ability to step outside of his comfort zone. Speaking of which. Tommy and Courtney both stand, about to make their first pass over the dance floor. Their tenacity is admirable. Courtney goes immediately, but Tommy stays behind a moment, leaning on the chair he just vacated to support him while he speaks.

"Either one of you, feel free to grab a shot or a drink, but don't feel pressured either, okay? I only ordered as much as Courtney and I could drink ourselves if you're not feeling it, Shayne," Tommy says, addressing Shayne directly as everyone and their mother knows Spencer's not gonna get into any of what's available. He gives Tommy a grin and bear it kind of smile, waving him off when he pauses, brows drawn together. Tommy hesitates, but ultimately follows after Courtney, seeming to be able to spot her on the floor even when it just looks like a sea of people to Shayne. It's possible that he's just looking out at the crowd, after Courtney, after Tommy, because he doesn't want to look at the person right in front of him. He doesn't know how to start. They sit silently for a long time, neither of them leaving but neither of them speaking either, awkward tension an overbearing weight compared to the past frivolity of their interactions.

Something about that tips him over the edge of it, falling from that fear directly into resignation; he just wants it to be over. He just wants to know where the fuck he stands. He just wants to have an adult conversation about this instead of feeling like he's walking on eggshells in his own head trying to avoid the stovetop burn of this, the sting of hurt that he hasn't been able to make himself let go of. He wants to feel normal, and nothing has been normal since they broke things off, and he misses his fucking friend and he wishes they were talking about this. Talking about things is a two way street. Somebody has to start the conversation, though. Somebody has to be brave.

Tipping his bottle to take one last sip, Shayne fortifies himself.

"Can I say something?" he asks, unwilling to just ambush Spencer in public like this, but needing to know where the lines are anyway. Spencer heaves a heavy sigh but looks at Shayne for the first time all night, nodding and seeming to steel himself. “I have no idea what happened with us but even if you don’t want to date me, I still loved being your friend, and I’d like to go back to that,” Shayne rushes out all at once, not letting himself leave any of it out. Spencer is still looking at him, but his brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed, his head tilted. Is it really that crazy of an idea? They were good as friends. They were happy, even. Before Shayne fucked everything up.

"Even if I don't what," Spencer says, his tone so flat that it doesn't really seem like a question. Shayne presses his lips together, unable to stomach the fact that the thought of it is apparently so outlandish that it had never even occurred to Spencer. He forces a calming breath out through his nose, forcing the hurt down into his stomach, leaching the cold from around his heart. Still, he stands. He doesn't want to do this anymore.

"I'll see you at work, Spencer," he says, final, but not final enough to leave Spencer with the idea that things won't be okay come Monday. Because no matter how hurt Shayne is, if Spencer wants to be okay, they'll be okay. If he doesn't, they won't. He doesn't know when he became so resigned to this. He turns around, but he doesn't even get a pace away from the table before Spencer's catching him by the shoulder, desperate fingertips digging into his collarbone. He stops. He turns. He looks at Spencer. He waits. Spencer is looking at him askance, as if Shayne should know what he's trying to say here. He shakes off the hand on his shoulder. Spencer goes with it, hand dropping to grab at Shayne's shirt, pulling him closer. Not expecting it, Shayne stumbles and follows the motion, lets himself be pulled close enough to stand between Spencer's knees. What?

"I didn't know that dating you was an option," Spencer says, pulling Shayne in to kiss him on the mouth, hard and claiming and not tentative at all, like they had never broken it off in the first place. Given his givens, Shayne thinks it's fair that it takes him a second to register what Spencer even said. He pulls back when he does, breathing hard and cupping Spencer's face between his hands. Overwhelmed. Both of Spencer's hands are balled in the fabric of his shirt.

"What?" he asks, a little too overwhelmed to articulate what he's asking better. Spencer kisses him again before answering, licking into Shayne's mouth. There's more desperation in it than either of them were aware they had to give. You always think the sexual tension is going to go away after the first good fuck, the first time you have sex and you really feel like you're reaching your full potential together. Spencer is kissing him like he's trying to climb inside of Shayne's mouth, knees closed around Shayne's hips, still pulling him in as if Shayne is going anywhere. Which, actually. He breaks the kiss and holds himself back from Spencer, not letting the other man try to distract him enough to let this go. The way Spencer whines, put out, is almost enough to make him go right back to it. Almost. "What?" he repeats. He's sure the desperation to know, to understand, is written all across his face.

"I didn't know that dating you was an option," Spencer repeats, his shoulders dropping. Hope flickers flame hot in Shayne's chest.

"You wanted dating me to be an option, though?" he asks, unable to crush that pathetic thing in him, that need to know everything in extremely explicit terms, just to make sure he's wanted. Spencer makes a frustrated noise, one of his hands unclenching from Shayne's shirt to slide up and grab Shayne's jaw, grip gentle, sure, but firm. He's holding Shayne in place, making sure he's looking at him. He doesn't know that he would be able to look away anyway.

"Yes, Shayne. God, dude. You're- you're everything. You're my everything. Of course I wanna fucking date you," Spencer says, his thumb sweeping over Shayne's skin, stroking his face. Oh. Shayne swallows around the lump in his throat, willing himself not to tear up. Everything. He leans forward, kissing Spencer carefully, gently, as if for the first time. Doubt still crawls in, insecurity as good a home for it as any.

"But you were okay," he says, frowning. Spencer's head tilts to the side, silent question communicated when Shayne can actually make himself look Spencer in the eye. "When you broke up- when you called it off. You were acting totally normal. Well, except not talking to me. That part sucked." He shrugs a shoulder, gaze darting across Spencer's face. He feels like he needs to memorize every feature of him this close, every flit and fancy of expression in case he loses this again.

"Broke up. You- you were serious. About us being in a relationship," Spencer says, muted horror taking over his features. Unable to make himself lie, Shayne nods. "I did a really shitty thing, didn't I?" he asks, though from his tone, he's already come to the conclusion of that thought by himself. Shayne looks down; it's not like he can say it didn't hurt. It's not like he can that in some ways it didn't shatter him like glass, shards falling to the ground. Spencer tilts his face up, studying him briefly. "I'm so sorry, dude," he says, pulling Shayne in for a hug not just with arms around his shoulders but knees closing around his hips as well. Tucking his nose into Spencer's throat, Shayne shudders as the scent of him hits for the first time in months. He can link his forearms behind Spencer's back when they're this close, an impulse he's always pushed down because it felt restrictive, but with Spencer holding on in such a way that it would be easier to pick Spencer up than to extricate himself from this embrace, he's a little braver than he's been in the past.

"I've really fucking missed you, Spencer," he admits, his voice breaking. Spencer hugs him closer like he's trying to pull Shayne into his chest. He's tearing up again, and swear to fucking God, he's cried more in the past couple of months than he has in the past couple of years. It hasn't been pretty. Spencer's hands are careful as he starts carding his fingers through Shayne's hair, gentler maybe than they've ever been with each other. He's not sure how long he stands between Spencer's thighs with his nose tucked against Spencer's skin, but it's likely more than is socially acceptable. When he tries to pull away, though, Spencer gives a protesting noise.

"I just got you back, dude, give me a minute," he says, his voice a low murmur against Shayne's throat that makes him shiver. He drops a kiss on Shayne's skin, not in any kind of suggestive manner, but like he just wants to feel Shayne beneath his mouth. Shayne chuckles, dropping a kiss on Spencer as well.

"We could get out of here," he says, no mind for the implication before it's already dropped out of his mouth. "Not that I think just because you would be okay with dating, then you obviously want to sleep with me, it's just-" Spencer laughs outright, interrupting Shayne by pulling back a little, leaning down to kiss him.

"We need to talk more, buddy," he says, peppering kisses on Shayne's mouth. It's overwhelming is what it is. Still, Shayne raises an eyebrow, a silent request for elaboration. Spencer sighs. "I wouldn't be okay with dating you. I would be fucking ecstatic to date you. I would be honored. It's really shitty that I made you feel like that was anything less than the truth. I want to do better. Treat you better. Actually act like we're dating instead of just bitterly pining for you while having you in my bed twice a week. I like you, like. An embarrassing amount, dude. I don't ever wanna hurt you like that again." That word, hurt, it makes it sound so serious. Already, Shayne's mind is putting it behind him, moving around the obstacle and running full tilt into trying to milk as much happiness from this as possible.

"Is that a yes to getting out of here?" he asks, pitching his voice low just because he knows it'll make Spencer laugh. It does exactly as designed, bringing a smile to Shayne's face as well before he backs away a little. Spencer actually lets him go this time, though his expression makes it quite clear what his real thoughts are on the matter. Stifling preemptive laughter, Shayne takes Spencer's hand in his, kissing the back of it and offering his arm for Spencer to use as a crutch when he slides off the high seat.

"You're going to be that boyfriend, aren't you?" Spencer asks, setting his hand on Shayne's forearm and actually getting up in the manner proposed. Shayne, trying not to react visibly to the thrill he gets at the idea of being Spencer's boyfriend, grabs Spencer by the belt loops, pulling him closer just to lean into his space.

"And what boyfriend is that?" he asks, amused flirtation coating his voice. Spencer grabs onto the lapels of his jacket, holding Shayne in his orbit. Shayne doesn't know if he's ever understood the tide so well.

"Chivalrous and shit. Guy who treats me right. The guy you wanna take home to your mom," Spencer explains, shrugging a shoulder as if this is all a very easy conclusion to reach and he's not sure why he's having to explain this to Shayne himself. As if that's just something that people say. Maybe it's growing up in a military family, but he's never felt quite good enough to be brought home to the parents. It's never been something so openly refuted. His face is getting red, he can tell, but it's not so embarrassing this close to Spencer's face. He leans down to kiss him again, careful, sweet. Spencer breaks it off with a smile and a roll of his eyes, shoving at Shayne's chest half heartedly. "You're only proving my point, you know," he says, and Shayne wants to kiss him again, so he does. Because he can. He can have this. He doesn't want to leave Tommy and Courtney's drinks unattended, though, so he pauses, leaning against the table. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"I don't wanna leave their drinks unattended, alcohol is expensive," Shayne says, wrinkling his nose. He wants to leave with Spencer, yeah, but he's not gonna be trusted to watch somebody's drinks and leave. Spencer grins, sitting back down and patting the seat that was taken by Tommy previously.

"I'll text Courtney, because you know Tommy isn't gonna check his phone, and we'll wait til one of them comes back, okay?" he proposes, to which Shayne nods gratefully. Anxiety would eat at him all night if they just left without seeing Courtney or Tommy anyway. Losing someone while they're out always freaks him out, though. He sits down in Tommy's seat, turning toward Spencer to face him instead of the table. Spencer follows his lead, their knees in an every-other arrangement, denim against denim. It's so fucking nice just to have Spencer in his space again, beneath his hands. He wants to trace over every piece and part of Spencer, afraid of the things his hands might have forgotten. Spencer laces their fingers together on his lap, staring down at their hands in a way that makes it quite obvious he's only staring to avoid something else. Not knowing what to say and not wanting to interrupt this much more comfortable silence with something trivial, Shayne runs the conversation back through his head, matches it up with pieces of others.

"When you said we didn't want the same things... you thought I didn't want you," he says, piecing together this conclusion while speaking it aloud. Spencer's gaze snaps up to his, the unique, wild eyed look of being caught for something you never thought anyone would notice. Shayne squeezes his fingers, heart squeezing in his chest. "Spencer," he says, letting his hand go to cup his face again. Shayne couldn't tell you what song is playing, how many people are here, whether anyone else is close, his entire focus is narrowed down to this right here. The idea that Spencer fucking Agnew has been walking this earth under the impression that Shayne doesn't want him all the time, the idea that Spencer didn't know he's the only thing Shayne wants.

"Don't make a big deal of it, dude," he says, eyes darting to the floor. Shayne tilts his face up, about to kiss him again, when a hand claps down on his shoulder. Fucking Christ. It's just Courtney.

"Oh my god," they say, eyebrows raised and grin huge on their face. Shayne leans down against Spencer's shoulder, intimately aware of the fact that he's about to be roasted til he dies. "Finally!" they continue, "Fuck, I'm glad you guys got your shit together. It was getting sad. On both sides."

"Wait-" both he and Spencer say at once, sitting up to fully look at Courtney. Shayne looks at Spencer again, gaze shooting back and forth before he realizes.

"You told Courtney too, didn't you?"

"Too?"

"Too! Tommy, Damien and I have been trying to work this out forever," they say, loose lipped from the drink and shot through with laughter.

"Wait, you told Damien?" Spencer asks, not directed at Shayne but at Courtney. Why would Courtney need to- oh, did they tell Damien about Spencer's feelings, that's what they're talking about. Actually, Shayne wants to know that too. He's really fucking pleased with how it turned out, so he can't fault Courtney for meddling, but that is like. A little bit not cool. Courtney rolls her eyes.

"No, Spencer, Damien's eyes told Damien," she says, tone making it very clear that this should have been obvious. Spencer goes a flattering shade of pink, the spread of it disappearing beneath his shirt, and isn't that something he'd like to revisit.

"I didn't want to leave without making sure one of you guys had eyes on your drinks. Be safe, call me if you need anything, try not to need anything," Shayne rushes out quickly, kissing Courtney on the top of her head before taking Spencer by the hand and heading for the door. An excited trill Shayne honestly thinks he would recognize anywhere pierces through the sound of the music as Tommy walks into their path. He looks like the cat that got the fucking cream.

"Tommy, I love you, I haven't gotten laid in months, see you Monday," Spencer says, picking up the slack where Shayne had slowed down at Tommy's approach. Tommy laughs, loud and bright, and Shayne doesn't have to look to know that Spencer is grinning too. They make it out the door but don't let go of each other's hands, fingers staying laced and comfortable. Being able to feel Spencer there at the end of his fingertips settles some part of Shayne that he didn't know had been ruffled with the rest of it, something clingy and warmed by the connection, something insecure and small being fed for the first time in a while. He doesn't realize he's being led until they get to Spencer's car, looking over to find his companion looking as if he's bracing for an argument. Anxiety coils in Shayne's gut.

"I know you've only had one beer, but. Let me drive?" Spencer requests, leaning against his driver's side door trepidatiously. The release of tension is profound.

"Sure, Courtney and I ubered," Shayne says easily, crossing to the passenger side. When they're both settled in their seats, buckled, Spencer backs out of his parking space, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, Tommy ubered too, but I knew I'd still be able to drive, so. Anyway. My place or yours?" he asks, immediately cringing at how classic that line is. Shayne snorts, which can't have been attractive, but Spencer smiles at him anyway, ducking his head.

"Mine? If that's cool?" Shayne asks, unable to kill that tiny bit of fear that this isn't going to go in his favor, at which point he'd rather be at his own apartment than someone else's, even if someone else is Spencer. Spencer hums and turns out of the parking lot. He hasn't been to Shayne's apartment since their whole thing. Oh fuck. He hasn't cleaned his apartment in weeks. He can't help himself, so everything is relatively organized and nothing is gross, but like. There are dishes. Laundry in places where laundry should not be. Spencer reaches for him across the gear shift.

"Quit freaking out, I've seen you do way more embarrassing things on Games than having a messy living room," he says, tangling their fingers. Shayne rolls his eyes. "Talk or something, dude. I'll level with you, I'm trying very hard not to freak out. Not like in a bad way but in a like I thought I'd never have this again way, and I need you to just. Talk. Or whatever."

"Does talking about the last couple of months count as distraction talking, or is it too related?"

"Depends? I guess?"

"Well I mean.... you haven't gotten laid in months? Hung up, Spencer?" Shayne asks, shooting for teasing and landing somewhere between that and flirtation. Spencer breaks into a grin, openly relieved to be in less serious territory.

"Yeah, dude. Down completely bad. Tommy and Courtney kept throwing me little surprise parties in my own apartment like I didn't know it was an excuse to look for-" Spencer cuts himself off, abruptly going vividly red.

"Look for?" Shayne asks, halfways between curiosity and concern. Stopped at a red light, Spencer puts his head down on the wheel for a second.

"I write songs. With, like, big emotions, I just sit down and write a song. Get it out and get it over with and move on, you know? So, like. They were checking the trash, like I saw both of them do it. They're not subtle," Spencer says, shrugging as he lets off the break, hitting the gas when the light turns green. "I get it, like. I was acting weird. I would have been like that with either of them. It's just weird to be on the receiving end of."

"Weird to have someone care?" Shayne asks, familiar with that particular struggle. Spencer hums affirmatively. "Do you always throw them away? The songs?" he clarifies, stroking his thumb across Spencer's. Spencer clears his throat, squeezing Shayne's hand briefly. He squeezes back.

"Not always, I guess. If it's not, like, completely shit, sometimes I'll leave it in the notebook."

"There's a notebook?"

"Hey, don't make it sound like a thing. It's not a thing."

"I think it might be a thing, dude."

"Babe, you can just ask me if I write songs about you," Spencer says, shooting Shayne a grin. Shayne raises an eyebrow.

"Babe?" he asks, watching with delight as Spencer's face goes pink. Affection burns hot in Shayne's chest. "You really like me, don't you?" he says, halfway to wonder and not really a question at all. Spencer likes him. He writes songs about him and talks to Tommy and Courtney about him and he turns a sweet, rosy pink when called out on it.

"Yeah, man," Spencer says with a weak laugh, squeezing Shayne's hand in his own. Shayne lifts their connected hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Spencer's hand. Spencer sputters, clearing his throat, but doesn't make any move to take his hand back, so Shayne isn't worried about overstepping.

A quiet settles over them with them both pink cheeked, pointedly looking anywhere but each other. Spencer can pretend he's fully focused on the road, but Shayne pulls out his phone to serve as distraction for himself. He snorts as soon as he wakes his screen, a text from Damien reading Don't do anything I wouldn't do reading across the top notification. Rolling his eyes, he types in response Dames, I'm planning on having sex with Spencer. Immediately, three dots pop up followed very quickly by Peace was never an option. Shayne looks up after typing a quick fuck you, looking over to find Spencer looking amused, eyebrows raised but eyes on the road.

"Something funny?" he asks, flicking on his turn signal. Only a few minutes til they reach his place. Holy shit.

"Apparently Damien has been informed of the success of their plan," Shayne says with a little bit of put on grandiosity. Spencer snorts, but then he hums. Shayne hums back a questioning noise.

"If Damien was in on this, why do you think he wasn't like. Present?" Spencer contemplates in that Spencer way where he's mostly just thinking aloud and not really expecting an answer. Unfortunately, Shayne is pretty sure he knows this one.

"Because Damien knows that if he was there, I would have hidden behind him. And he would have covered for me because that's what we do. I wouldn't have said anything," Shayne says, cringing at the idea of his own realistic assessment of how that situation would have played through. Spencer hums, nodding his head.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I don't think I'd have said anything at all ever, so you're braver than any U.S. Marine for that, my guy," he says, still nodding to himself as if this is the most sensical thing that has ever been said. God, he loves this idiot. He doesn't realize he's quiet and staring until Spencer cuts eyes at him, raising an eyebrow. He squeezes Spencer's hand.

"'s worth it, you know," he says, "being brave." Spencer parks in Shayne's guest space probably a little faster than would fly in a driver's ed class, but Shayne's not a fucking cop and even if he was, he doesn't know that anybody could remember to say something about it with Spencer's tongue in his mouth. Spencer unbuckles both of their seatbelts and slips his hand directly up the back of Shayne's shirt, solid on his lower back.

"You make me fucking crazy, dude," Spencer says, pressing the words into his mouth with teeth biting into his bottom lip. Shayne makes a noise equal parts laughter and overwhelm, dragging himself away from Spencer by opening his door, nearly rolling out of it in his haste. The soundtrack of Spencer's laughter cracks through the quiet as Shayne gets steady on his feet, walking around the car to open Spencer's door. The look Spencer gives him, pleasant bemusement or confused amusement maybe, is priceless as he offers him his hand.

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be that boyfriend, I might as well go ahead and get a head start," he says, shithead grin wide. Spencer rolls his eyes but he takes Shayne's hand anyway, letting himself be pulled all the way up to Shayne's apartment.

His back hits the door maybe a second and a half after the lock clicks shut behind them. Spencer's hands are up his shirt, greedy in touching everything that's been unavailable to him, bold in rediscovering territory. Not exactly satiated either, Shayne flips them around, pressing Spencer against the door and up it a little, catching the back of Spencer's thigh in his hand. Spencer gives a pleased hum, wrapping his arms around Shayne's neck and pulling a little. Used to this kind of wordless communication from Spencer if not all others, Shayne hooks his other hand behind Spencer's other knee, lifting him to put his legs around Shayne's waist. Would fucking Spencer against the wall count as a day's cardio? Questions for a different day. For the first time, he actually lets himself imagine waking up with Spencer. Sleepy sex with the morning sun hanging low in the sky still, sharing a shower so they won't be late. His mouth goes soft against Spencer's, kisses becoming slower and more languid as he presses Spencer's shoulders back against the wood.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Spencer says impatiently. Shayne grins, kissing him a few times in short, quick bursts.

"You're the one who asked me to pick you up," he reminds him. Spencer makes a skeptical noise.

"Well, actually-" 

"Do not buzz me on a technicality right now, Spencer," Shayne murmurs into his partner's neck, kissing his way down Spencer's throat.

"I might stop making fun of you if I was otherwise occupied..." Spencer says, his contemplative tone broken by a high gasp when Shayne bites down on his skin.

"Now, we both know that's not true," Shayne says, but he puts Spencer down anyway, taking him by the hand. Once they reach his bedroom door, however, Spencer releases his hand, turning to face him. Shayne raises an eyebrow but Spencer just grabs his other hand, backing up til Spencer's falling back on the bed, settling before he's pulling Shayne with him, on top of him, on his hands and knees with Spencer's thighs splayed around his hips. Shayne loses his shirt pretty quickly thereafter, thrown somewhere across the room in the mad scramble of kissing and touching and stripping off clothes to be as close as possible. They spend a silent second just looking at one another, taking in the sights. There are so many things he wants here, so many things he wants to give to Spencer and take from Spencer, and Shayne couldn't choose with a gun to his fucking head.

"Do you. How do you want to do this?" he asks, confidence waning now that they're actually here in his bedroom with Spencer's hands on his skin. Spencer's hands are heavy on his biceps, squeezing just a little bit like he's weighing them in his grip. He looks up at Shayne with this sweet kind of wildness, like a jar full of fireflies, light and alive and so incredibly precious. He can't help leaning down to kiss him. Spencer smiles against his mouth, biting down on Shayne's bottom lip.

"I want you in me, Shayne. I wanna feel you," he says, making Shayne's heart stutter in his chest. They've done it both ways, but he's always been somewhat under the impression that Spencer liked the other way around more. He was always quieter, his typical talkative-during-sex nature dulled by what Shayne had always assumed was a slight discomfort.

"Are you sure?" he asks, concern coloring his tone. Spencer closes his eyes, taking one of those long blinks that always means he's about to admit something he finds embarrassing. Fondness for him lights Shayne up from the inside out, so thick in his head that it feels like he should be seeing everything in washed out pink.

"I like it. Bottoming. I like it a lot," Spencer says, like admitting that he enjoys sex is something that he should be ashamed of. It's not about sex, though, is it? It's about the vulnerability of penetration, the construction of masculinity as a lack of vulnerability. Stepping back from the psychological lens, something that Shayne can only do so much to tune out, the words hit Shayne and his brow furrows, trying to figure it out in his head. Spencer sighs, opening his eyes. "Ask," he says, and Shayne nods.

"You're always quieter when I fuck you, though," he says, the question clear even if he doesn't exactly ask it. Spencer pulls him down to kiss him briefly, almost like he's gathering bravery in the press of their lips.

"I didn't want to make it a thing, but I get uh. I get overwhelmed. When you're in me. It always feels so good," Spencer answers, his face burning a brilliant red. Already hard, Shayne's cock twitches at that fucking word. Good. He wants to make Spencer feel good. He wants to be good.

"Can I eat you out?" he asks, kissing a trail down Spencer's neck. Spencer gasps, grip on Shayne going tight for a moment before he actively loosens it. He wants to make Spencer hold onto him like that all night, so lost in what Shayne does to him that he can't even keep up his usual color commentary. Even if he does want Spencer to talk during. Hard to admit the things he'd like him to say, though. Spencer's fingers slip into Shayne's hair and tug just a little, the pain of it so electrifying it hardly feels fair to just call it pain. Spencer uses that grip to guide him downwards, to hip level where Shayne hooks his fingers in the waistband of Spencer's underwear, raising an eyebrow in question. The pull he gets in return is communicative enough in that it pulls an embarrassing noise from Shayne's throat, flushing down to his chest as he pulls the garment down, tossing them off the bed to be found eventually. Sliding back between Spencer's knees, he gives Spencer one last look up, one last time to tell him no beforehand. Spencer's hand slips into his hair again, blunt nails digging in just a little. Shayne pushes into it, relishing the feeling.

"Yes, Shayne. I'm yours, do whatever you want," Spencer says, enough to make Shayne's head go a little fuzzy before he even starts. He holds Spencer's thighs open with a hand on the inside of each, lowering to his chest before he licks into Spencer's hole without preamble. The noise Spencer makes is high pitched and Shayne wants to make him make more like it, so he keeps up that energy, swirling his tongue and moving his hands to grip at Spencer's hips, sliding Spencer's thighs over his shoulders. "Fucking hell, so good, Shayne. So good," Spencer stutters, already overwhelmed from the tone of his voice. The words themselves have Shayne hips twitching, thrusting into the sheets and bringing more embarrassing noises out with it. Spencer laughs deep in his throat, pleasure mixed with pleasure. He sounds fucking incredible.

"You like that, huh, babe? You want me to tell you how good you are, how good you're making me feel?" Spencer asks, breathless. Breathless would be an accurate word to describe Shayne with as well, but that's mostly because eating someone out and being so fucking turned on you're groaning like you've been stabbed uses up the lung capacity a little. That laughter bounces off the walls again and Shayne feels drunk on it, drunk on being exactly where he wants to be. Making Spencer feel good. There's more he could be doing, though.

"Pass me the lube? Same place it always is," he asks shortly, not with any malice but just unable to string any more words together in a satisfactory manner. Everything feels that gentle kind of foggy and Spencer is pushing back his hair, stroking over his scalp. Spencer tries to hand him the lube, but Shayne is sinking his teeth into his thigh, sucking a mark into his skin. If Shayne weren't actively holding him down, the little rolls of Spencer's hips would likely be full on thrusts. He sinks his teeth in a little deeper before pulling off, just to be sure to leave a mark. Spencer's dropped the lube by now, so Shayne has to find it in the sheets, kissing Spencer's thighs while coating his fingers til they're dripping.

"Start with two. I want you," Spencer says, the command in his voice enough to send a shiver down Shayne's spine. Figuring that Spencer probably knows what he can and can't handle, Shayne follows that command, circling his fingers over Spencer's rim before pushing inside, steady and slow. Spencer's head falls back against the pillows, his groan loud and a bit higher pitched with Shayne's fingers pressing deeper and deeper. "Fuck, Shayne. I love your hands. God, fuck, right fucking there," he pants, pressing down onto Shayne's hand. Saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of Spencer riding his fingers, Shayne meets him thrust for thrust, rubbing over his prostate with purpose. Spencer's hand clenches in his hair hard enough to pull him back a little. Shayne's vision gets a little fuzzier.

"Please," he says, nonsensical when he's the one who's theoretically in a dominant position here. The way Spencer looks down at him, soft eyed and smiling, warms Shayne down to his toes.

"Add another finger, Shayne. Fuck me open," Spencer says, halfway between teasing and soothing, even just the tone enough to send more shocks through his body. When he adds a third finger, Spencer cups Shayne's face in his hands, tracing his thumb over Shayne's bottom lip. Awash in the feeling of this, Shayne drops his mouth open, allowing Spencer's thumb to rest on his tongue. Spencer presses down on his tongue, so Shayne closes his lips around it, sucking gently. He follows it up with a purposeful brush of Spencer's prostate. "You're gonna fucking kill me," Spencer mutters, hand trailing from Shayne's face down to his shoulder, holding on tight as Shayne rubs at him. He's barely giving Spencer a break, sucking marks into his chest as he relishes in making Spencer's voice go up in octave.

"You're so pretty," he says, pressing it into Spencer's skin, taking Spencer's nipple between his teeth. Spencer's nails dig into his collarbone, sending a shiver down Shayne's spine.

"I'm ready, Shayne. Fuck, I'm ready. Come on," he says, pulling Shayne up with his grip on his shoulder. Shayne chuckles and pulls his fingers out, following the direction of Spencer's hands til they're face to face, close enough to kiss. So, Shayne does. Kiss him, that is, or rather, Spencer kisses him, licking into Shayne's mouth again, taking up that space inside of him that has felt so empty in Spencer's absence. He reaches to grab a condom, but Spencer grabs his wrist.

"Condom?" he says, reminding Spencer if nothing else. Spencer brings Shayne's hand to his face, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"Do we- uh. Do we have to?" Spencer asks, visibly cringing at the vulnerability. Shayne furrows his brow.

"Are you sure?"m

"I mean, yeah, if you're cool with it. I got tested before we started- anyway- and I haven't been with anyone but you since. You, um. Obviously I wouldn't be mad because I'm not an asshole but in the interest of the concept of sexual safety-"

Shayne can't help taking pity on him, briefly putting his hand over Spencer's mouth. "I haven't been with anybody else either." Spencer just stares at him for a second, eyes round, before he nods, continues nodding, nods for perhaps a bit too long. Shayne grins, huffing his amusement out through his nose. He trails his nose up Spencer's jaw. "You don't want a condom, then?" he asks, his voice gravelly with arousal. Spencer nods and then shakes his head, confusion furrowing his brow.

"I'm not sure how to answer a don't question, dude, just fuck me," he says, exasperated. Chuckling, Shayne lines himself up obediently, pressing in slowly. Spencer's nails dig into his shoulders and Shayne shudders beneath that attention, a grounding point to anchor himself in the rolling waves trying to crest over his head. He goes slow, because he's not an asshole, but he can admit to being relieved when Spencer tries to hurry him with eager hands. He bottoms out in a single, solid push, sinking into Spencer not just at the point they're connected but all over, tucking his face against his throat as he tries to calm himself down. Spencer's nails scratch gently at his scalp, soothing, and Shayne presses kisses against his collarbones, grateful if nothing else. Spencer's other hand on his lower back, steadying and gentle, sends Shayne chuckling, tucking his face against Spencer once more.

"We're about to have the sappiest missionary sex of all time for a while, aren't we?" he asks, as cognizant of his own desire as he is of the weight of Spencer's hands on his skin. Spencer pulls him up, meeting him in a kiss that is equal parts sweetness and languid desire, sure of itself. He pulls away smiling.

"Well, we've fucked nasty enough times, I figure we have some catching up to do in the sappy bullshit department," Spencer quips, giving him a shorter kiss before he's rocking his hips down, moving Shayne to move. "Doesn't mean we can't hurry things along, though." Shayne laughs but follows directions, pulling out about halfway before rocking his hips, a short thrust enough to brush against Spencer's prostate, based on the noise he makes alone, sweet and high and pretty. He rolls his hips, grinding against it as best he can and dragging a longer moan from Spencer's chest. He bites down on the pale skin beneath his mouth, marking Spencer's shoulder with the imprint of his teeth. Spencer pulls his hair but doesn't protest, instead encouraging him to stay exactly where he is. He fucks into Spencer faster, the tight heat of him too tempting to stay at that slow pace. Spencer digs his heels into Shayne's ass impatiently still, making Shayne pull back a little just to laugh at him, pressing kisses to Spencer's face and eventually his mouth.

"Tell me how you want this," he whispers against Spencer's cheek, the mingling of their breaths warm and so, so intimate. Spencer turns his head just a bit, catching Shayne's lips with his own. He licks into Shayne's mouth like he's got something to say and only this to communicate it, a claim to stake and only this to make it. Shayne, for his part, lets himself be claimed, lets Spencer do whatever the fuck he pleases and goes along with the ride. Spencer puts a hand on his chest.

"Make me feel it. Make me feel you. Wanna feel you for fucking days, dude," Spencer says; heat pools within Shayne, the snap of his hips less purposeful and more instinctual. Spencer's responding laugh turns quickly into a moan, continuing at a low level as Shayne loses himself to this, to obedience and feeling and the biting desire to make Spencer feel good. His thrusts are getting rougher, less controlled, but Spencer doesn't seem bothered by it, in fact still pulling at Shayne, overt in trying to move him to go faster, be rougher, fuck Spencer like he means it. And, well. Who is Shayne to tell him no? Spencer is so tight it feels like Shayne is being pulled in, like the piston of his hips still isn't enough to satisfy either of them. Pulling out makes Spencer whine, hands tight in Shayne's hair and on his shoulder, knees unforgiving around his hips. Shayne presses a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"Let me up," he says, his tone gentle enough to make it clear that nothing is actually wrong, just in want of change. Reluctantly, Spencer releases him, frown making his displeasure clear. Amused, Shayne rolls off the bed and onto his feet, grabbing Spencer by the hips and pulling him to the edge of the bed. Spencer always goes a little breathless when Shayne manhandles him, and this time is no different.

"Woah," he says, legs wrapping around Shayne's hips and dragging him closer. Shayne goes willingly, still standing but pressing into Spencer, now able to get enough force behind fucking into him to make Spencer keen. Both of Spencer's hands wrap around his forearms, grip probably hard enough to bruise, but Shayne is just far gone enough to hope it does.

"Spencer," he groans, wishing he had a better angle to hide his face against Spencer's skin. Spencer looks up at him with a wild grin, the expression quickly dissolving in the torrent of pleasure given by Shayne's relentless assault against his prostate. When Shayne leans down to kiss him, Spencer bites into his mouth, teeth and tongue aggressive in their pursuit of overwhelming Shayne even more than he already is. Shayne pours worship down Spencer's throat, his hips rough, almost mechanical, but his mouth open against Spencer's, recipient. There's always a sort of thought that comes with pleasure like this- if I could do nothing but this- but never before has it felt so potent beneath his skin, the electrifying desire to serve and the fulfillment of that desire in Spencer's moans and eager hands and sweet little whimpers when Shayne thrusts into his prostate just a little too hard.

It's one of those particularly hard thrusts, hard and fast, that has Spencer shooting across his own stomach untouched, bearing down on Shayne's cock. He looks so pretty when he feels so good he can't speak, with his lips pretty and parted and pink and his face flushed red, blush trailing almost down to his nipples. Remembering himself, Shayne starts to pull out, but Spencer's legs around his hips do not loosen, holding him in place.

"Want you to come in me," Spencer says, his voice shaky but sure. Shayne's hips rock, involuntary.

"You sure?" he asks, his hips still moving in micro fractions of inches at a time, unable to stop himself from seeking out that steady pleasure. Spencer squeezes his forearms, pulling at him until Shayne is brought up on the bed with him, kneeling between his knees.

"Please, Shayne, fuck," Spencer says, voice going high and reedy as Shayne brushes over his prostate. Something animalistic in Shayne goes crosseyed at that and he fucks into Spencer hard, holding his hips in hard hands. Spencer is laughing, but the breaths between are high pitched and overwhelmed, the laughter itself aroused and strained. Shayne loses himself again to the motion of it, to the sound and feel and taste of Spencer, eyes closed as he bends close to bite into Spencer's shoulder again, grounding himself. Spencer's hand is on the back of his head, encouraging, when Shayne cums, biting down hard enough that it likely wouldn't take much more for blood to flood his mouth. Spencer pulls his hair and digs his nails into his back and Shayne is afloat in this, lost in it.

It takes a few minutes for Spencer to pull him back down, stroking his fingers through Shayne's hair and holding him against his chest. He's still inside of Spencer, for fuck's sake. Shayne clears his throat, pressing kisses to Spencer's chest. Spencer gives him a pleased hum and tilts his head back, inviting Shayne to trail more kisses up his throat as well. Shayne follows as directed and kisses his way up to Spencer's mouth, kissing him slow and gentle before pulling back with a smile.

"I'm gonna pull out now," he says. Spencer rolls his eyes.

"If you must," he says, though he's smiling as well. Shayne kisses him again and pulls out slowly, not wanting to jolt Spencer too much. Spencer makes a high noise, which is very cute, and Shayne's outright grinning as he goes to his en-suite, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it before bringing it back to the bed. Spencer is amenable to having his own cum cleaned off his chest and stomach, the sweat as well, but protests when Shayne goes to clean between his legs.

"Babe, I've gotta clean you up. You'll be so pissed off if you wake up like this," Shayne says, raising his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer sighs, likely knowing he's right but not wanting to admit such a thing.

"But I like it," he says, pink and looking blankly up at the ceiling. Shayne hums and bites his hip, not particularly hard, just for fun. Spencer hums back.

"We can do this whenever you want, you know," Shayne says, dropping kisses where he had just bitten.

"Oh, you do not want to tell me that," Spencer laughs, fingers curling in Shayne's hair. His knees fall open anyway, letting Shayne wipe at the mess of his cum spilling out of Spencer slowly, dripping onto the bed sheets.

"How much of a fucking horndog do you think you are?" he asks, half distracted by the sight of it but still amused. With a final swipe, he tosses the washcloth across the room and into his dirty clothes basket. He does so just in time for Spencer to drag him up to kiss him, gentle but forceful.

"Dude, you've only dealt with don't wanna look too eager Spencer. Now that you know that I'm stupid for you? Don't expect to get much done," he says, grinning and kissing Shayne again, again, again.

"Bring it on."

[bisexualbard-writes]

KimChay prompt. I would really love to see some alternate au where Kittisawat brothers are some rival mafia family (big one to be threat to main family) and Porsche being the head of it. Alongside Chay, who is badass fighter. And then they would kidnap Kim for some ransom/leverage over main family. And Chay would take special interest in pretty Kim. Or he might have been interested in this gorgeous singer for longer time, maybe even stalked him (that would be like darker mafia Chay in canon). And now when Chay finally got Kim and he is very reluctant to let Kim go, he would delay the negotiations etc. Also, I would love to see bottom Kim and top Chay in this one. I would really love to read this from you. Chay is already brave and determined to get what he wants (in canon). It would be intensified by growing up in mafia world (and having obsession with Kim).

I got a little carried away with this one

[vashatxt]

jing yuan x luocha (jingluo) strap worship

anonymous asked: jing yuan x luocha with trans luocha and jing yuan giving him a blow job after a hard day? strap worship is so hot! bonus if you can do role reversal where jing yuan is usually the dom/top :3

jingluo strap worship with trans luocha and desperate dom jing yuan under the cut for you! <3

"mhm. the view sure is different from up here." jing yuan on his knees for him is a pleasant sight.

luocha is usually the one eager to sink to his own, bruised ones, obsessed with every inch of jing yuan’s thick cock, his taste, the way his cum would slide down his throat, coating him in this taste. but he could get used to this.

"you said you had a hard day, didn't you, darling?"

jing yuan is pouting, acting cute and speaking in his sleepy, dazed voice while nuzzling into his crotch, his fingers fumbling to find the elastic of his pants so he can pull them down; only his boxers now separating his lips and luocha’s strap. he's wearing jing yuan’s favorite one, the one that sits so perfectly against his mound that any pressure or movement of the penis would stimulate him; luocha isn't shy of clit play, so to have it involved even while he's being deep throated is the cherry on top of an already rare treat. "i should have bad days more often."

"mhm," jing yuan mumbles against his bulge. probably distracted thinking about the cum tube, the pump in the balls that he could control to cover his hands in slick and use it to spread over the shaft and head. his lips would slip over the lubricant and make lewd popping sounds, his eyes would meet luocha’s as he thrusted and fucked his throat -

"mhm what?" luocha raises his eyebrows, snapping jing yuan out of his daydream.

"you- we should do this. more."

"well, show me then. are you better at sucking my dick than i am at sucking yours?"

fucking hell. jing yuan feels the familiar churn in the pit of his stomach, hot and nauseating and rushing to his cock. "may i?" he breathes, gaze fixed on luocha’s underwear.

"what are you waiting for, hm?"

there's something about how jing yuan looks at the strap with awe, with lust, that makes this the best fucking blowjob luocha could imagine. he starts slow, as always, letting him know he worships him, he wants to take care of him. make him feel good. his fingers find his balls and gently squeeze, getting them ready. he looks at luocha’s cock for a long time, wistful. it's beautiful. just like the rest of him. he makes an o-shape with his thick, pink lips and slips the tip between them, licking around the head. he then pulls away, takes his cock in one hand and tilts his head so he can run his tongue all the way up and down one side, then the other. painstakingly slowly.

always pushing the strap in slightly, making luocha wince with pleasure as his clit begins to register the friction. he knows he'll be soaked when jing yuan finishes. he takes his length into his mouth fully now, not stopping until he's gagging, swallowing luocha; almost balls deep. 

"you so desperately wanna squeeze my balls and make me cum, don't you? taste that slick, choke on me, let me fuck that throat raw?" luocha mocks his previous pout, sticking out his bottom lip. all jing yuan can do is let out a moan; and luocha laughs in response and starts rocking his hips gently.

back and forth. picking up a little speed, then stopping.

tease.

jing yuan rubs his thumb over his balls before pressing in all the way, until he feels a familiar swelling; cock filling with cum. "getting hard for you, am i?" luocha murmurs. "presumptuous."

jing yuan comes up for air. "i can stop."

"yeah, right."

luocha has a point.

jing yuan swishes around the saliva in his mouth, ignoring the pain of his own cock aching and begging for release. he's pathetic, and he can't let luocha know that. 

"come on. swallow me again. i wanna fuck your face."

"fuck," jing yuan curses, and wastes no time in obliging.

"that's a good pup. good little cock whore." luocha tangles a hand in jing yuan's hair, wild and coming loose from his where it had been tied up. his other hand rests on jing yuan's blushing cheek, stroking him tenderly for a second or two, before guiding his index finger towards his lips and slipping it between them, alongside his cock. he needs to feel the warmth of his mouth, the cum leaking out when jing yuan plays with this balls, his spit. "that feels so good, you're doing so good, pup," luocha shushed him, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, losing himself in the feeling. his clit aches. jing yuan's teeth scrape against his finger. god, fuck, luocha's legs are trembling, turning to jelly.

he won't be able to stay upright at this rate, and jing yuan is watching him with that innocent expression, looking up, all flushed and desperate and eager to please. luocha reluctantly slips his finger back out so he can grip onto his hair with both hands now, steadying himself. 

"i'm going to fuck your throat now. and i wanna hear you gag on my cum. pathetic little cock slut, that's all you are, right?"

jing yuan makes a "mh-hm" sound. he knows the drill. he knows what luocha likes. the whimpers, the cries. the struggling against his grip, too tight to escape. being used as nothing but a fleshlight made of live tissue. he squeezes luocha's balls until his cock is full, he can tell by how it stiffens just enough to make it even harder - and more fun - to be face-fucked. when their eyes meet, luocha knows it's his cue. he thrusts, using all his energy for one, two, three long, slow, hard ones, before switching to a faster in-and-out motion, jing yuan already noisy and gagging. "jesus christ, you don't have much of a gag reflex, do you, pup?"

"nnmnm."

"too bad i can't hear you. what if you're telling me to stop?"

"hnn-hmmm-,"

"i don't think you are, somehow." he starts up again. in, out, in out, panting and cussing jing yuan's name - "fuck yes, yes, jing yuan, take it, fucking take it, you - you slut, you perverted cock whore...," -

and jing yuan begins to gag, and luocha doesn't fucking care, loving how the intense thrusts cause his strap to shift back and rub against his still aching clit... jing yuan gags and splutters, and luocha runs out of stamina, but doesn't want to stop; he just slows - and jing yuan keeps eye contact as he tightens his lips around his shaft, still slowly pumping in his mouth, and he sucks; hard, the sound of spit and lube messy and so, so fucking hot; the sucking pushes luocha's load out of his tip and sprays into the back of jing yuan's mouth; it tastes of strawberries and cream, fresh, sweet, addictive.

"fuck, jing yuan--," luocha is trembling again, legs shaking and dizzy, his clit aches and jing yuan's smacking his lips which just makes him want to taste jing yuan's cock next - but also feel his mouth on his pussy, cleaning him up.

"good boy," he says, steadying his voice and petting jing yuan's hair as he releases his mouth, breathing heavily, his head resting against luocha's tummy.

"good day. this is definitely a good day."

[waugh-bao]

‘It wasn’t supposed to end like this’ for Mick/Charlie please. (And sorry in advance if this ends up too angsty for you!)

[kawaiijohn]

Prompts you say? 👀 How about some GrayGhost? 🥺👉👈

Reveal fic to get my brain back in the fanfic game. Let's go

Danny and Valerie have graduated and are dating. Identity reveal!

"So, how long have you known?"

"A while. You're not the most subtle person, and we both know it."

"What gave it away?"

"You keep gear in your backpack. You run off when ghosts show up. You're always looking for exits." A swallow. "There's more but we'd be here all day if I rambled it all off."

"And? What of it?! Ghosts attack every single day- who wouldn't have an ecto gun in their backpack at this poi- nevermind. Fine. You caught me," a sigh, "what are you going to do about it then? Rat me out? Make it so I never have a day of peace in my life ever again? Blackmail me??"

"No! Why would I- Ancients you need better friends if that's where you'd think I'd go with this... What would it accomplish if everyone else knew?"

"Dunno, I can't tell what you're thinking half the time, and we've been dating for two years," a glare, "You're also keeping secrets... but I know better than to pry into it, unlike someone else."

Ouch

"That's part of why I'm talking to you about it! I wanted to air it out between us- you know, like a healthy relationship? How many lies have we told each other because of our secrets? How many times have we bullshitted where we were going or who we were with? Neither of us have clean hands in this, Val."

Valerie finally looks Danny in the eye, her Huntress gear gently folded on the bed with a note placed gently on top-

'I know, talk to you after work. ❤️ Danny'

They'd been together for two years. Moved into the same apartment after graduation to get away from their parents and strike out on their own. Neither wanted to continue their education, not when the books are too expensive and they both had obligations to Amity Park they couldn't leave behind.

"Fenton, what on earth could you possibly tell me that's even remotely similar to my Huntress persona? You aren't cheating on me, right?" Her raises a single brow in question. He wouldn't dare, but if that's the case she knows how to hide a body.

"What?! No!!!" Danny starts laughing hysterically. "I could barely even get a date after knowing you for years! Who in their right mind would want this level of space case unless they already know me?"

"Alright you have a point-"

"Hey! You're my girlfriend you're supposed to be supportive!"

"Not when you've admitted to lying to my face, Fenton! So spill! If it's not cheating, but still involves lying through your damn teeth all the time, then what the hell is it? What is it that you are doing that could possibly even be on a similar level to me being Red Huntress?" She snaps, frustrated tears leaking from her eyes. She was tired and didn't want to dance around the point with him anymore.

"Alright, fine," he sighs nervously. "But you have to promise me you won't freak out or try to beat me to death with your bare hands first."

She's about to roll her eyes in response with a retort but sees how serious he's being.

"Alright. I won't kill you, but not promises on not freaking out." Valerie crosses her arms and sits on the bed to stare at her boyfriend.

"Alright cool." Danny rolls his shoulders in a stretch. "Ancients, I've literally never told anyone this on purpose, it's always been against my will that people see it."

Danny begins to pace through their shared bedroom with a somewhat panicked expression.

"Okay so then don't tell me- show me." Valerie responds. "If the words are too hard, actions speak louder."

Danny stares at her for a moment before swallowing nervously. He gives her a nod and then-

"I'm goin' ghost!"

A flash.

Everything just changes.

She opens her eyes wide in shock, her body tense.

"Uhhhh surprise??" Phantom says with the same awkward smile Danny has when he gives her a gift.

"I can explain..."

And oh how lucky Danny was to have hidden all the ecto weaponry beforehand.

Not because Valerie hated Phantom, but because her boyfriend was such an idiot to keep a secret this important from her for so long.

[kiwiana-writes]

5 fun facts au game!!

henry and pez spend henry’s 25th birthday at a queer bar in nyc (alex has regrettably been sucked into an engagement with his family and is out of town) and henry finds himself making conversation with a stranger at the bar who seems to know him . . . a little too well. he asks henry if he would choose to be anyone else in the world, and henry seriously contemplates it before answering “david”. lo and behold, the next morning, henry finds himself with four paws in david’s body, just in time for alex to arrive home from his trip. henry’s able to somehow communicate who he is to alex, but the more pressing issue is getting his body back! in the meantime, lots of belly rubs and playing pranks on june and nora

The way I WHEEZED reading this. Anon, you should have prompted this for Halloween Huh 🤣

ONE: The worst part of it all, for Henry, is that as David, he sleeps better than he has in years.

TWO: Later, Henry will wonder why Alex was willing to accept the truth so easily; Alex will shrug and say even he's not arrogant enough to think he knows everything about how the world works. And besides, he's always been lowkey suspicious that Pez might have a bit of a handle on the supernatural.

THREE: June and Nora don't figure it out until "David" gets huffy about Pez sitting in Alex's lap. Somehow, David re-enacting multiple David Bowie songs via a series of barks doesn't suspend disbelief.

FOUR: Years of law school prepared Alex for one thing: hyper-specific Google searches. Between that and Nora's tech know-how, they track down the guy who made the switch within twenty-four hours. Turns out the spell would have worn out at the forty-eight hour mark, but Alex really doesn't want to wait that long. He already feels weird about petting... Henry.

FIVE: They never find out what happens to Henry's human body in those twenty-four hours, and Henry isn't sure he wants to know. He does know that after he's back to himself, David is a lot clingier with him for a while.

[Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.]

[tuckersdeslauriers]

Chenford + Tim sees Lucy on a date and turns up at her door.

Lucy doesn't expect Tim to be sitting outside her door when she gets home.

She's not upset about it, exactly, but she doesn't expect it either.

He doesn't notice her right away, so she gives herself a moment to take him in – if she's dealing with a certain type of Tim, she wants to know ahead of time.

He's wearing a pair of jeans with a rip at the cuff that she knows is from getting snagged on a chain-link fence when they'd been walking back to their hotel after a night out in San Antonio, Tim running ahead and trying to rile her up and make her feel better after fucking up in the preliminaries.

For the record: she'd made it through, but by the skin of her teeth after bombing her second-to-last obstacle.

Tim's head is tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed, and the sharp line of his jaw tracing down to the tension in his neck makes Lucy frown.

He looks upset, which she doesn't love.

"Hey," she calls out as she makes her way down the hall, and Tim snaps his head up, raising his brows. "You looking for somebody?"

He offers up a smile and she can feel the relief in it. "Hey," he hops up to his feet, his limbs long, working quickly. "No, no way," he frowns, fake, not reaching his eyes which are still very much smiling back at her. "Just happened to be in the area."

"And, what," she pulls her phone from her back pocket, waving it around as she reaches him, "you couldn't call and see if I was around before I dropped in?"

"I," he scratches at the back of his neck and she squints up at him. "I mean, I figured-,"

"Why are you nervous right now?" Lucy laughs, shoving at his arm before digging through her bag for her keys. Tim mumbles something unintelligible and she unlocks her door, pushing it open and leaning against the frame to block him from following her in. "What's up?"

Tim slides his hands into his pockets, shrugging. "Nothing, nothing," he taps her shin with his foot. "What were you up to?"

"Oh," she waves her hand, "nothing. I mean, you saw me this morning, but after," she shrugs, "I ran errands, I went on a bad date, I grabbed a bottle of wine," she tugs the wine bottle from the top of her bag so he can see it. "You've just...been waiting for me?"

"I only got here," he squints around, then glances down at his watch, "half hour ago, or so. Figured you'd turn up at some point."

"Oh, what," she raises her brows, smirking up at him, "you don't think I'm capable of staying out all night, Tim?"

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "You have training at 5:45," Lucy groans as he continues, "I figured you were a sure thing for sleeping in your own bed."

She huffs, pushing the door open wider and leading Tim into her kitchen. She pulls the bottle of wine out of her bag and puts it on the counter, watching as Tim locks the door and kicks off his shoes. "Besides," he carries on, pulling two wine glasses down from one of her high shelves, "you looked pretty bored on that date, figured you'd need some quality entertainment by the time you got home."

Lucy freezes, her hand still digging into one of her kitchen drawers to pull out her corkscrew. She looks over her shoulder, squinting at him. She thought she'd seen a Tim-looking guy walk by the patio she'd been seated on with her date, John, but she'd shrugged it off and gone back to talking. John had been sweet, had asked her to dinner after they'd gotten to know each other during his first few training sessions at her gym, but he was definitely more of a friend than a flirtation.

Besides, she had Tim if she felt the need to flirt.

She glares at him, turning on her heel and pursing her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. "What were you doing, huh? Spying on me?"

He smirks, shrugging. "I was going to the pet store across the way for Kojo stuff," he offers. "I saw you and they were finishing up a fresh batch of those peanut butter treats he liked, so...I might've grabbed a coffee, scoped it out."

Lucy scoffs, squinting at him. "Spy," she points, shaking her head. "A dirty rotten scoundrel of a spy, Tim, oh my god."

He laughs, his neck going a bit red, and Lucy grabs the corkscrew out of the drawer, bumping it shut with her thigh before making her way over to him. "I'm just saying, you looked bored. Sad, even," he holds up a hand in innocence. "I figured you'd need...reinforcements, or something. I ordered Thai when I got here, should be here soon."

She rolls her eyes, giving him another faux-huff. She's not actually annoyed – she'd planned to call him after pouring herself a glass, anyway – but she thinks he should have to grovel a little. "I had a great time, thank you," she works the corkscrew into the bottle, ignoring the fact that she can feel Tim moving closer.

"You said it was bad," his voice is low, she can feel his breath on her ear. "Don't lie, now, Lucy."

She shivers, shutting her eyes but making sure her hands don't stop moving. "I'm not lying," she mutters. "Back off."

Tim chuckles and she swallows hard, annoyed because this is almost always what proximity to his fucking body does to her and she can't stand it. Whether he's adjusting her grip on the bars while they're training or he's cornering her in her kitchen about some dumb shit he did, he's annoyingly, agonizingly hot. "John's like fifty, you know that right?"

She elbows him in the ribs and Tim groans, but she feels him back away and lets out a laugh. "You're not much off," she smirks over her shoulder. "Now get this open for me, would you? We can talk about how many push-ups you owe me once I've got a full glass of wine in my hand."

Tim rolls his eyes at her, but there's a smile to it that makes her stomach flip as he grabs the corkscrew and gets to work.

[freewayshark]

What about? "I gave a dude your number, he wouldn't stop bothering me, give em' hell," for Buddie? :)

Anonymous said: "I gave a dude your number, he wouldn't stop bothering me, give em' hell," please!

"I gave a dude your number, he wouldn't stop bothering me. Give ’em hell.”

Unfortunately, Eddie had just been attempting to throw back a tequila shot right as Buck had slid into their booth and made that proclamation. Now he chokes on it, tequila burning his throat and making a mess down his chin.

“You did what?” He croaks, dabbing his face with a napkin.

Buck grins, cheeks a warm pink from all the drinks he’s already had. “Stopped at the bar for margaritas,” he explains, nudging Eddie’s towards him. He picks it up and takes a hearty swig, washing the taste of tequila out of his mouth with happier tasting tequila. “And there was this guy!” He gesticulates wildly and knocks over an empty shot glass. “Oops. Anyway, he kept hitting on me so I was like, I’m flattered but I’m here with someone.”

Eddie’s a little too drunk to not let himself get a little warm and gooey at the notion of Buck turning a guy down because he’s here with him. Even if he’s not with him with him.

“And you ended up giving him my phone number because..?” He prompts when Buck starts sipping his margarita like the story’s over.

“Oh! Because he assumed we’re, like, together, and he said, and I quote, I bet mine’s bigger.”

Eddie makes a face. “What a charmer.”

“Yeah. And then he handed me his phone and told me to put my number in but I put yours instead.”

“Why?”

Buck grins and shrugs. “Thought it’d be funny, I guess? I don’t know. I’m sorry. If he calls you or something you can just block him.”

And of course, Eddie’s phone begins to ring where it’s sitting face up on the table. They both lean over and look at the non-contact number on the screen, an LA area code. Buck’s finger darts forward towards the reject icon, but Eddie beats him to it, answering and putting the phone on speaker.

“Hello,” he says, already smirking.

“Hey hot stuff. It’s Toby, from the bar?” Hot stuff? Eddie wants to gag. Buck actually pretends to.

“Toby! Hey! So this isn’t the guy from the bar, this is actually his boyfriend. But good news for you, we’ve been looking for a third. How do you feel about rubber suits and live goats?” There’s a beep, and the call ends. “Huh. Guess he’s not interested,” Eddie says with a shrug, leaning back in his booth to sip his margarita.

Buck throws his head back and laughs, the sound filling Eddie’s heart with so much love he knows it must be on his face. “Rubber suits and live goats?” He asks when he’s collected himself.

“First thing I thought of,” he admits, and Buck laughs again, but then he quiets down, his expression turning a little more serious.

“And saying you’re my boyfriend? That just the first thing you thought of too?” He asks, his gaze on his margarita while he speaks. But, almost like he can’t help it, his eyes flicker up, catching on Eddie’s.

Eddie’s mouth goes dry. He’s thought about how this might happen a million times. Because at some point it became more of a how, more of a when, rather than an if or a maybe. None of those scenarios had them a little past tipsy at a bar, giggling over a prank call. But he doesn’t think there’s any way this could happen for them that would be wrong.

“I guess it would be the first thing I thought of,” he finally says. “Because I’m always thinking about it.”

The smile returns, spreading slow and warm across Buck’s face. “I’m always thinking about it too,” he admits.

Eddie feels his own smile tugging at his cheeks. “Want me to order an Uber? We can go back to my place. Talk a little bit about the things we’ve both been thinking about.”

Buck’s eyes sparkle. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Send me “married” couple that are just friends prompts!

[minecraftbookshelf]

Vampire pearl or Guardian Cub

VAMPIRE!PEARL!!!! VAMPIRE!PEARL!!!

Part One: Vampire!Pearl with bonus Moth!Mumbo (ft. Unspecified!Grian and Traffic Life mentions) Part Two: Guardian!Cub and bonus Vex!xBCrafted

-

“You are weirdly good at this.” Mumbo says, clearly a little unsettled. Pearl just grins at him, flashing her newly acquired fangs.

“It’s really not that difficult, mate.”

Mumbo wrings his hands together, eyeing her warily. His antennae are shivering and his delicate wings are pinned behind his back, clearer demonstrations of his anxiety than any neon sign could ever be.

Honestly, she feels great. Like she could run for thousands of blocks and not feel tired. Like she could stay awake for days and days and days without effect. Like she could shred someone to pieces with her bare hands. In a way, it reminds her of being the boogeyman.

“Hey, Mumbo. Let’s go stop by my place real quick.”

~

Grian is unaware that he is being hunted until he’s been bowled over and pinned to the ground.

“Hey, Griba!” Pearl beams down at him; smile wide, prominent fangs extended, eyes glowing red.

She’s wearing a familiar red hood and for a moment he wonders if he blacked out and missed a whole lot of something before he sees Mumbo behind her.

Ah.

“Pearl. Mumbo.”

Mumbo waves at him weakly, but Pearl doesn’t let up from where she’s pushing down on his shoulders. “Mumbo said you taste the best, G. So I feel like I should give it a try!”

“Or,” Grian tries to raise his hands placatingly but mostly manages to kind of...wiggle his arms a little bit. “We could not.”

From the way Pearl’s smile widens and becomes sharper, he doesn’t think that was a very convincing argument.

---

“Have you ever considered sponge farming?”

xB lifts his head up from the table to blink, somewhat blearily, at Cub.

“Have I what?”

“Sponge farming,” Cub just looks back at him, completely unphased. “Have you ever considered using your abilities to farm sponges?”

“Have I ever wanted to turn myself into a sponge farm?” xB is proud of how dry he manages to say that. “I can’t say that I ever have.”

Cub just hums thoughtfully and jots down some more notes on the notepad he’d pulled out of xB’s junk chest the instant he’d showed up that morning. “You should, it could potentially be very profitable. You should seriously think about giving it a try this season.”

xB just puts his head back down and sighs.

-

Because I’m me I couldn’t help but make these like, a series/one connected idea. Very vague setting but general story is Shenanigans happen and the hermits find themselves swapping species at random for a day and then remixing and swapping again with someone else etc…

So this can hypothetically go on for as long as I get prompts for it, and repeats are enabled and it can all be one story. (I also have a plan to cover at least some level of like, “different” species for the same hermit)

The Official Prompt List by @ink-ghoul can be found HERE feel free to send asks that aren’t strictly from the list. I might also randomly generate some using my own headcanons just for funsies. (Anon asks welcome, “spamming” the askbox also welcome)

[coiled-dragon]

11 for dracfield hurt/comfort please

So this didn't end up in the hurt/comfort way I thought most of these might, but it's some nice fluff ♥

"No one's looking."

Renfield’s face was a tinge of pink as he watched the girl who had approached him walk off with her friends, clearly discussing her upset at his response. She had invited him to dance, something normally done by a man but sometimes women would approach if they felt bold enough. This one had come with a pair of women, the trio sweet and young with rosy cheeks and bashful lashes… And he had refused.

He’d had to, because he could not dance, something any man of wealth worth his salt would be able to do. It only made him feel more out of place here, the gleaming crystal chandeliers suspended above the glamorous ballroom shining brighter as if to highlight his shame for daring to exist. This was an event for the wealthy, for the opulent, and as much as he adored being here and seeing it for himself, allowed to indulge in a part of society he was not privy to, he was painfully aware that he did not belong.

It felt like eyes had turned on him, that the whispers and chatter of the crowd had suddenly gotten louder. Did they all notice? Did they see now how he stood out? So clearly a man of common birth with no money to his name, brought by someone else as a part of a sick jest. He shrunk back against the wall with his flute of champagne, wishing he could be swallowed up and just disappear for the evening.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, wondering if perhaps someone had altered the staff to escort this clearly lost man out of the party. It was Dracula, his presence a surprise since he’d wandered off some hour ago in search of something to drink. Something besides tall golden glasses of champagne or deep red wines that he outdated by several centuries. The man hadn’t expected his return.

“No one is talking about you, you know,” he said, lips pulling into a smile that felt more mocking than assuring. Renfield shook his head.

“I always feel so out of place,” he admitted, looking at his drink absently. “Don’t even know how to dance…”

Dracula looked surprised, brows coming together as he looked down at his familiar. The pink on his cheeks burned a little brighter at the fact the vampire seemed not to know of his lacking. One more point that was out of his favor, it seemed.

“That’s easy enough to remedy,” Dracula said, raising his head as the musicians started the next song. It was slow and sweeping, Dracula offering a hand. 

Renfield looked at it, puzzled, then looked up to his Master.

“Let me teach you.”

Pink turned scarlet, Renfield using the champagne to put off replying as he downed it. Ladies could dance together, ladies could dance with gentlemen, but two men were… Well, somewhat of a social faux pas in such a public setting.

“No one cares, Renfield,” Dracula said with an impatient sigh, gesturing for him to take his hand. Renfield frowned and put down his empty glass, feeling the warmth of the bubbly alcohol tingling through his fingertips.

He took his hand and let himself be guided to the floor, his chest fluttering all the while. Though he tried not to look, he could feel eyes on them both. Burning holes into him. He was an outcast here, a stranger, why was he even bothering to learn- 

Dracula turned to him and guided Renfield’s hand to his shoulder before placing his own on Renfield’s hip. He felt like his face was so hot it was glowing, focusing on the surprisingly serene face of the vampire to avoid seeking eyes that were watching.

“Just follow my steps, and listen to the music,” his Master said.

At first, all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears, but slowly he began to pick out the instruments as they played. His eyes darted down to watch the vampire’s feet, following with his own until it started to feel somewhat natural. After a few steps, his gaze flickered to the crowd, and eyes looked back, so many eyes that were bright with thoughts he couldn’t read-

He stepped on Dracula’s foot, dropping his head with a mumbled apology as his throat went tight. He couldn’t do this, he needed to just leave. His heart felt like it might simply leap out of his chest if not out his throat.

“Renfield,” Dracula said lowly, continuing to lead the dance. “No one’s looking.”

“They are,” Renfield said in a dismal, bitter way.

“Look at me,” Renfield did as he was told, jaw tight and eyes shining on the verge of tears. “No one else matters. Just me. Look at me, and listen to the music. Surely you can do that?”

Renfield nodded, taking a shaky breath and following his steps. The tightness of his chest loosened, and his shoulders lost their tension, focusing only on his Master and the sways of music. Everyone else was decoration, fixtures on the ballroom floor to add life. It was just them.

“Good boy, Renfield,” His Master praised. Renfield smiled and dipped his head again, watching their feet even though he was getting the hang of it.

“Thank you, Master,” said Renfield, looking back up to the vampire holding his head a little higher.