#and I think over the years even that has waned a bit

[wherenymphsroam]

I READ DAD BOD LEON AND LIKE JDFKD imagine praising him and getting him all flustered and needy and just 😭 he is such a hottie I NEED HIM sorry im just a lil feral abt him

GRAHHHH YES !!!!

cw: leon finally in his retirement era ??? (probably not canon but we can only hope), chubby leon, older leon, body worship, very light scent thing, a messy blowjob, he’s insecure at first the poor thing, uhhhh not proofread <3

w/c: 1.5k

like, leon is sooooo relieved when he’s (somehow) allowed to retire. genuinely probably just passes out for a good couple of days, drowsy and catching up on years of sleep he missed for a month or so. takes things day by day, waning contentedly through different hobbies, interests, just trying to like…. find his personality back after basically becoming the governments dog for the most of his adult life.

and some things really like … don’t click at first.

that he’s not nearly as active without the physically demanding day to day. the mission every other month or so that sheds him of all his bodies resources, the ones that basically force upon him that consistently low body fat percentage. sure, he still works out because at this point, it’s weird Not To after putting in so much physical work for so long.

but he’s older now, his metabolism has changed. commercial gyms don’t exactly offer the same amount of intensity that his body is so used to having to work through. and naturally, parts of him grow complacent. he eats more, rightfully so. actually has the time to go out to eat on a consistent basis, and doordash is viewed as a god sent app.

he doesn’t really notice the pounds that have crept up on him until suddenly his favorite pair of jeans doesn’t need a belt to keep them up anymore. it’s when he tucks in his shirt for a more upscale night out that he realizes his button down is more fitted against him than maybe it was the last time he dug out his nicer clothes.

but once he realizes it, he shies away from it, avoids changing in front of mirrors. and when he starts refusing to change in front of you that you notice.

sure, leon was always attractive in your eyes. but it was never the muscles, the trim ‘v’ of his waistline that kept you around. you loved him, genuinely so. and to have him around more often, able to revel in some of the domestic things you couldn’t exactly soak up when he was still an agent? it’s like heaven on earth with him.

so when you notice the slight increase in his weight — the softness that begins to pad his strong biceps when he wraps his arms around you from behind, the extra bit you’re able to hold onto when you hug him — you don’t point it out. it’s welcomed, has you touching him a bit more than maybe necessary nowadays.

the first time he abruptly turns around when you walk in while he was changing, you don’t question it. it’s when he starts to dim the lights before the two of you topple onto the bed in a passionate display that you grow suspicious. your last straw is plucked when he starts coming to bed with a shirt on. an oversized one at that. he had never worn shirts to bed before, always complained about the materials feeling against him becoming irritating throughout the night.

he tries to deny when you first confront him. plays off the way the newfound pliant skin of his sides swells out over the top of his jeans waistband. shakes his head and makes a face at you, even goes so far as to roll his eyes when you reason with him, pointing out his recent ‘preference’ of keeping the lights lower when you fuck.

“I think you’re imagining this, sweetheart. I’m still sexy,” he reasons cheekily, trying to distract you with his cheesy nature.

“I didn’t say you’re not sexy,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely still sexy. I’m just saying you look sexy with the extra bit on you,” you hum, leaning against the bedroom door.

it takes Leon a second, trying to allow ‘sexiness’ and ‘weight’ to coexist in his head. at least not in terms of himself. he loved women, all shapes and bodies and weights included. it was a no brainer to say that yes, your logic that sexiness could coexist with more weight was correct. but on him…? he’s Leon Kennedy. he’s not fat.

“Nor am I saying you’re fat, not by a long shot,” you continue, knowing all too well what that look on his face meant. the one he wore when he was thinking too hard about something.

he tries not to flinch when your hands reach out, capturing his sides. tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape when he realizes how much more sensitive the skin there is now with the extra weight. but the pounding of his heart and heat emanating off his body tells you all you need to know. so you continue.

you’re unashamed in how you explore how pliant his sides are now, in how you trace along where the firm cut lines of his abs formerly were. gently pinching and filling your fingers with the extra skin that lies over his lower abdomen, flattening your palm over the swell there and letting it fill your palm. his breath hitches, hands twitching at his sides, itching to slide your hands off him. he yearns to step out of your grasp, but knows that’ll be too telling. so he lets you continue, let’s you have your fun.

the button of his jeans pops audibly, and it’s clear that maybe he’s gonna have to let his favorite pair go pretty soon. but that’s okay. it’s obvious how okay it is when you slide his shirt up, up, up and out of the way. when your lips finds his sternum, trailing up and down its length before moving on to his pecs. silently appreciating how they’ve swelled a bit, how the hair that scatters across his skin has seemingly spread more. you tuck your nose in, inhaling him appreciatively when you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, start to shimmy the denim down.

and oh god, you’re slowly lowering yourself, letting your lips ghost over his stomach now. you’ve grown sloppier, greedier in how you lick up the salt of his skin, bite into and suck at the pliant flesh. as if a fever had overcome you.

and really, that’s not all that far fetched of an idea. it was like you were seeing him naked for the first time all over again. except he’s softer, warmer… easier to paw and play with. responsive when your hands knead at his sides, his pecs. breathless and panting when he realizes his nipples are more sensitive for some reason when you drag the pads of your thumbs over them.

he could’ve gone bright pink when you ask him to strip completely. in front of the mirror no less. but he obliges, although begrudgingly. maybe a bit more hesitantly when you roll your desk chair over in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, instructing him to sit down. but that dissolves when you settle on your knees in front of it, as if sweetening the deal.

he doesn’t expect you to be so …. eager when you finally get yours hands on him. but fuck does he look good. softened thighs spread, the perfect mix between strong and soft in front of you. his soft cock, laid oh so prettily between them, ever so full balls nestled there. you really can’t help how quickly you find yourself burying your face into him, breathing him in and mouthing at his thighs.

your hands are greedy, so very greedy in how you grab at him. his thighs, the stomach that’s started to rest on them. his pecs you reach up to paw at when you realize they’ve started to create a crease between his chest and his stomach from below.

and at first, he doesn’t believe you when you tell him he looks even better like this. that if anything, you prefer him like this. doesn’t want to hear it when you try to coax him into repeating affirmations about himself, keeps his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

but of course, he’s a weak man. you’re sat on your knees between his spread thighs, your ass practically begging to be ogled in those jeans.

and that’s what he focuses on at first. tries not to notice how you have to tilt your head slightly when you take him in your mouth, how you have to hold his tummy when you suck him off to keep it from inhabiting how far down you can get on his length. but as the heat in his body grows, as you get sloppier with spit dribbling down your chin, he has no choice but to look down at you.

and at that point, he can’t find it in him to care about the swell of his lower abdomen. he isn’t very worried about how much more space his thighs take up on the chair when you dip one of his balls into your mouth, licking and warming and soaking them in your feverish attempt to make him feel how sexy he is to you.

but by the time he’s coming ropes onto your pretty face, he finally gives in. finally obliges you fully and admits that maybe… maybe he was still sexy as fuck. maybe he did look better, healthier with the retirement weight on him.

#GRRRRRRRUFF EUFF #RUFF RUFF AWOOOOO #howling at the moon rn #chubby Leon is so important to me #chubby leon #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #someone push him into retirement already please #late night stroll.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. #fairies. 𐦍 #yaps. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚

[moonbeamwritings]

haikyuu boys and little moments of joy .*･｡ﾟ

↳ ft. nishinoya, bokuto, kuroo, and atsumu

NISHINOYA calls to you from the end of the freezer aisle, the freezer door propped open with his hip as he clutches what appears to be a small box in his hands. When you come up on his left side, he fixes you with what you can only describe as a face-splitting grin. His eyes sparkle as he holds the box of mango popsicles out to you. "They have them! These are my favorite." You remember the box all too well; it's one that had sat in your freezer for three, maybe four, days max before the popsicles disappeared entirely. "I thought they stopped carrying them! I'm getting them." Yuu's excitement is contagious, and you find a smile of your own working its way onto your face. As he drops not one, but two boxes of the frozen treat into your shopping cart and starts to push it again, his joy refusing to wane, you loop your arm through his and squish your cheek into his shoulder.

BOKUTO starts pulling clothes from the dryer and plopping them into your laundry bin to be folded. And as a bundle of socks makes its journey to the basket, a stray purple one jumps from the pile, but before it can hit the floor, Koutarou catches it with his foot. His eyes immediately shoot to meet yours, disbelief clouding his features for only a moment before his slacked jaw is morphing into a grin so wide it squishes his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. You catch a glimpse of his sweet dimples and your heart catches in your chest. "Baby, did you see that!? That was awesome!" You grin back, adding to his excitement by gushing about how cool it was and that you can't believe he just did it. He beams under your attention, his smile so bright you feel like you need to squint to view it properly. With unrestrained joy, he kicks the sock up and catches it in his hand. "I'm on a roll!"

KUROO stands before you in your shared bedroom, a new outfit adorning his body. He'd been so eager to share it with you after his trip to the store that he could hardly contain himself, pulling you up from the couch and down to your bedroom mere seconds after coming through the front door. The outfit is simple but sleek — a soft black sweater and perfectly-tailored black slacks. He lifts his arms a bit and does a little spin, a proud smile evident on his features when he turns back to face you. "Well," he starts, eagerly, "what do you think? Do you like them?" Before you can even respond, you watch as his eyes shift to grin at himself in the mirror. "I was thinking of wearing it with that white collared shirt you bought me underneath and those nice dress shoes I bought last year." He's so pleased with it that it makes him, and his new outfit, all the more handsome. You tell him as much, and his excitement only mounts, pulling you in to pepper kisses all over your cheeks.

ATSUMU's eyes widen as soon as the song starts. You could recognize the opening beats of it anywhere — a song Atsumu has proudly proclaimed is his favorite almost every time you've heard it. And this time, like all the others, he cranks the dial on the radio and shifts his eyes away from the road for only a moment to tell you with a cute grin, "Ahh, I love this song!" He sings along, bobbing his head to the beat and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before reaching across the center console to tap the beat against your thigh. You're so wrapped up in his excitement that you can't help but join in, singing along with both Atsumu and the radio. The action leads to an impromptu, and very passionate, karaoke session — one that leaves you both with an ache in your cheeks from smiling.

#i might do another one of these its just so cute to think about #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya yuu imagine #bokuto x reader #bokuto imagine #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou imagine #kuroo x reader #kuroo imagine #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou imagine #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagine #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #hq x reader #hq imagine

[bookofbonbon]

the fool who thought he could kill his wife - aemond targaryen.

Pairing/s: Aemond Targaryen x Reader; Aegon Targaryen x Reader (slight).

Warnings: cheating. mentions of character death & murder.

Summary: based on this request but, I took it one step further as usual lol

Word Count: 1774.

A/N: This is my first time writing in this style - I quite like it. The final line is one of my absolute favourites from the movie 'Troy'. I wasn't going to write this request but, it got stuck in my head.

You didn’t notice until it was too late.

Too caught up in the midst of war to notice that slowly, slowly, your dear husband Aemond’s affections toward you began to wane.

You had chalked it all up to changes caused by the war.

The shorter trips at home in turn for longer trips around the Realm.

His avoidance of you when he was home.

The lack of intimacy.

The change in his scent.

The constant arguments.

Then came the attempt on your life and when you told, Aemond… he did not even show the tiniest bit of emotion toward you.

Neither seeking to comfort you or pursue the one who attempted to murder you.

It was then that you knew that these were not changes caused by the war at all but, it was easier to believe that they were when you had no proof.

Until supper one night, when Aegon's drunken stupor finally opened the door to answers you were looking for.

“Aemond has been gone for some time,” Alicent worried aloud, turning toward you. “Have you heard word from him, my dear?”

“I am afraid not,” you shake your head, eyes downcast in false despair.

Truthfully, you could care less of Aemond’s whereabouts or if he had sent word to you or not.

Alicent however, places an anxious hand to her neck and, swallows thickly so, you continue with your performance and place a comforting hand over her other one.

“But he is in the Stormlands after all, my Queen. You know how the weather does not bode well for the ravens.”

“The Stormlands?” Aegon drunkenly burps. “Aemond’s not in the Stormlands. He’s been overseeing our war effort in the Riverlands for the better part of the past year.”

The threads that hold you together threaten to snap but it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

So, you play a lustful game with Aegon, the only one who could give you the full truth behind the answers you seeked.

More giggling, less eye rolling.

More indulging him in his love for the cup, less scolding him for it.

Stolen looks, lingering touches, kisses on the cheek that grew nearer and nearer to one another’s lips and wanton glances from across the room.

Until finally, finally, finally… he innocently invites you to his quarters under the guise of wanting to go over battle strategy with you before your trip to the North but, with the true intention of bedding you.

It was easy from there.

Aegon longed only for women and wine and so, you used both of those things to your advantage – plying him with glass after glass and drawing him in with your body.

Allowing his hands to wonder over every curve and dip of your figure.

His hand cupping your cheek, lips brushing against yours and then you pull away.

“I cannot,” you croak, false tears springing to your eyes. “I- Aemond is my husband. He is your brother, and he is out there fighting for us and protecting us. Loyal and dutiful and I-I am here being a-a… a whore.”

You allow your tears to fall most dramatically from your eyes, a harrowing sob falling from your lips.

Aegon scratches at his head, annoyed by your sudden outburst but, still hopeful of a pleasure filled night so, he brings you into his arms and wipes at your tears; the faint outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Oh, my dear, sweet, sister. The true picture of loyalty and duty toward a husband who does not do you the same kindness,” he tuts, thinking out loud.

You sniff sadly, lips pouty and eyes shining innocently as you stare up at Aegon, baiting him.

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, voice wobbling.

Aegon studies you for a moment, thinking about how pretty your lips would look wrapped around his cock.

Thinking about how your thoughts of Aemond were now preventing your pretty lips from being wrapped around his cock so, in his lusty, wine filled daze Aegon confesses Aemond’s sins.

Of the bastard Alys Rivers of House Strong with whom Aemond now lay with, taking her up as not just his whore but, his lover.

"A witch," Aegon tells you.

A witch who had been aiding them in their war effort for she could see what had not yet happened but was certain to come.

A witch who Aemond plotted with to rid you of life.

Aegon only confirms what you already know but, still it hurts to hear and so, you spend the rest of the night weeping into an irate Aegon’s chest as he holds you in awkward comfort.

He was hoping to get his cock wet not his shirt.

-

The next morning you are gone. Taken to the skies on the back of your dragon Vermithor.

Those in King’s Landing assuming you had left for your assignment in the North but, only going so far as Dragonstone.

Aegon unsuspecting and forgetting of the words he had spoken to you the night before.

-

“Rhaenyra,” you bow your head to your niece.

“Daemon,” you turn your nose up at your cousin.

“I should slice you from the opening of your cunt to the opening of your mouth for even showing your face here,” he hisses at you.

“You should but, you won’t,” you shrug.

Your arrogance provokes Daemon forward until Rhaenyra's hand wraps itself around his bicep.

“And you won’t because you know I can help you,” you finish.

“In what world would you think that I would want your help after your husband murdered my son?” Rhaenyra seethes, tears lining her eyes.

“A world plunged into war and forcing those of us who stand to gain nothing from it to take sides,” you bite back coldly. “I can help you win.”

“Why help us win if you stand to gain nothing from it?” Daemon studies you, slowly connecting the dots. “What has our foolish nephew done that turns you away from him?”

“My dear husband conspires to have me killed with a witch by the name Rivers. A bastard of House Strong. I’m sure the irony of who Aemond has taken to whore is not lost on either of you.”

“So, you do stand to gain something from it,” Rhaenyra looks at you smugly. “Her head.”

“You are sorely mistaken, niece,” you chuckle darkly. “It is not the head of Aemond’s whore that I want but, the head of Aemond himself.”

-

You lie in wait, perched atop of a mountain as Vermithor bristles beneath you.

You instructed Daemon on what to do – Aemond saw Daemon as the biggest threat to Aegon’s throne and so, you knew he would respond to a challenge issued only by Daemon.

His unwavering need to constantly prove that he was the better, that he was the best had always been his downfall and now he would pay for it with blood.

The undeniable flapping of wings that could only belong to a dragon bigger than your own reaches your ears; signalling the arrival of Vhagar and her rider and with that you take to the skies.

Vhagar glides through the sky, Aemond’s keen eye searching for the lithe red dragon of his opponent as he calls out taunts in High Valyrian; completely caught off guard by the colossal spew of fire that engulfs him and Vhagar.

A thunderous roar spills from the she-dragon but, it’s cut short when she’s suddenly attacked relentlessly over and over again by a barrel of bronze hurtling into her, sharp teeth, fiery breath, and large claws ripping into the older dragon in a loud clash above the God’s eye.

Aemond desperately clings to Vhagar’s reign, trying to regain control of Vhagar to steer her from where the onslaught of attacks had come from.

He only just manages, hair whipping around wildly as Aemond searches the sky frantically. Shock becoming him when his gaze settles on the Bronze Fury that emerges from above the clouds – the Bronze Fury that was sired to his dear wife.

Aemond freezes, the icy glare you level him with telling him everything he needed to know and before, he can realise what’s happening, Vermithor locks his jaw around Vhagar’s neck.

The older dragon too slow and too injured to counter Vermithor’s attacks as the Bronze Fury rips out the she-dragon's neck, sending her spiralling into the water below with a tidal wave splash.

-

Aemond emerges from the water with a sharp gasp, taking in mouthfuls of air.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, giving you the strength to drag Aemond’s battered body across the wet sand, your hand fisted in an ironclad grip around the neck of his armour as you use up the last ounce of your strength to heave his body against a nearby rock.

Aemond stares at you from his position, each breath burning his lungs.

“How, how,” Aemond pants, violet eye piercing into your own.

“Aegon,” you answer, kneeling beside him. “He has only taste for women and wine so, I am sure you can imagine how easy it was to withdraw the answers I needed from him.”

“I do not under- understand. Alys- Alys only saw Daem-”

You tut disapprovingly at Aemond, pulling a necklace from beneath your armour, the blood red eye-shaped pendant swinging back and forth.

“Protection from her wandering eyes. No matter how far or clearly your beloved Alys could see into the future, she could have never foreseen me,” you brush silvery strands from his head, gripping his chin between your fingers.

“The Targaryen bloodline is rooted deeply in fire and blood magic, dear husband. You might have done better to remember that if your mother had bothered to keep to the traditions of our House whose sigil you wear so brazenly on your chest and name you call your own.”

Aemond glares at you with the hatred of a thousand burning suns. He should've killed you himself.

“But, not for long,” you pull the Catspaw Dagger from the sheath holstered to your side, dragging the tip along the side of his face.

“I will not beg you for my life,” Aemond spits through gritted teeth.

“But you will beg me for your death,” you smile saccharinely. “For when I am done with you, you won’t have eyes tonight; you won’t have ears or a tongue. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all the dead will know. This is Aemond. The fool who thought he could kill his wife.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond x alys

[liyawritesss]

ᴡᴇ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Miles Morales [Spider-Man] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: When there’s question of how the two of you should come public with your relationship, Miles has an idea. Despite it being quite cheesy, it’s one of the sweetest gestures he’s ever done for you.

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it

A/N: ‘lovin’ so hard’ by becky g came on so randomly and when i tell you the whiplash i got cuz i aint heard that song in YEARS…so proud of becky she’s doing her shit and i love her sm…needa get back into her catalog real bad

Song Suggestion: "Lovin' do Hard" by Becky G, "Sunflower" by Swae-Lee & Post Malone, "I Wanna Be Down" by Brandy, "Comfortable" by H.E.R.

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

“I got a question.”

It was ten forty five on a Thursday night, and like any other night, you wind down the evening with a daily FaceTime call with you boyfriend of four months - Miles Morales.

In the four month time frame that you and Miles have been together, you’ve learned that the boy had a lot of questions to ask about you. It was endearing, really, how the extent of his curiosity knew no bounds. He had questions about everything, from the different hairstyles you wore, to the classes you were taking, to what you aspired to be as an adult. More often than not, he would ask them in a cute, almost childlike voice, with big doe eyes and an awaiting look of inquiry, and because he was just so polite about it, you always gave in.

“You got a question?” You repeat, glancing up to your phone, looking at the boy on your screen. You’d been busy with homework at your desk to pay him much attention, which, now that you think about it, could have been the catalyst for one of his questions. You’d only been on call for an hour, but you did tend to get reeled in to your work pretty easily. Miles was no stranger to this, so while he tried his best to not bother you, his attention span was waning thin, and he wanted to talk with you as much as he could before he had to go out on patrol.

Hence why he was dressed in his spiderman suit, no mask, but with gray sweats hanging off his torso and the faint sound of Biggie Smalls playing in the background as a way to hype him up for the next few hours of swinging around Brooklyn. He loved being Spiderman, but it had been an exceptionally long day, and knew he would not survive his patrols without some sort of pick me up - which is why he was more than happy when you called him for your nightly FaceTimes.

“Yeah, I gots a question,” he begins, albeit a bit dramatically, with his arms folded over his chest and a pout on his lips as if he were sad about something, which garnered your attention even more, “and it’s very important, y’know, so yo’ homework gotta share you for a minute!”

“Miles,” your voice goes, a soft scoff leaving your lips as they spread into a grin at his behavior, “what is it, baby?”

There’s a bit of a stutter that runs through his body at the pet name. He’s growing familiar with it, sure, but the tingle that rings through his bones has him questioning is it just his sheepishness or was he so down bad for you that you’ve influenced the enhancement of his spider-senses.

“That sweater’s lookin’ mighty comfortable,” he starts, and you can feel your eyes begin to roll at the game he starts, “wonder who you got it from, hm?”

Granted, you didn’t know you grabbed his sweater - the same one he’s always left over your house by conveniently ‘forgetting’ it when he left. It was a noticeable red zip-up that faintly smelled of sage and cinnamon, which was a comfort on cold days and stormy nights when Miles couldn’t be there for you in person. He’d ‘given’ it to you before the two of you started dating, and you’ve claimed it to be one of your most prized possessions generally, but especially from him.

“Boy, please,” you muse, lips spreading wide with a grin once more, “I’m not doin’ this with you tonight.”

“I’m just saying!” The brown-skinned boy exclaims. “I just find it funny how it’s cool for you to have my stuff, but I ain’t got nun’ of yours!”

While Miles was possibly the most emotionally intelligent boy you knew (which you’ve definitely thanked Mr. and Ms. Morales when you met them, both as Miles’ friend and as his lover), he loved to not be direct with what he really wanted sometimes. He feigned victimhood for the giggles he loved to hear from you, even though both of you knew what he wanted in the grander scheme of things. This instance was no different.

“Why you gotta be so dramatic,” you laugh at him, his lopsided grin making an appearance on his lips, “if you wanted one of mine you could’ve just said that, dork.”

“No!” Miles says rather quickly, which catches you off guard and earns him a puzzled look, eyebrows furrowed together at his behavior.

“No?”

“N-No.”

“So…you don’t want one of my hoodies? Even though we wear the same size and everything?”

Miles bit his lip in anticipation, his chest rising and falling with his deep intake of air through his nose. The boy scrunched his nose, a habit of his you’ve come to understand as him preparing himself to go out on a limb, which only confused you more.

“Your- uh…your scrunchie.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at his confession. “My…scrunchie?”

“Yeah, y’know,” he stairs to move his hand around, motioning towards his hair, “the things you put in your hair? That somehow don’t go against dress code, even though I always get talked to about my shoes for some reason.”

“To be fair, you got some loud ass shoes.” You respond, a short laugh breaking its way through your lips despite you trying to hide it. The pout that graced Miles’ face didn’t help with you regulating it, either.

“Okay, okay, fine!” You eventually say after regaining your composure, and before Miles goes to threaten to hang up the phone on you. “I’ll bring the jar tomorrow and you can choose which one you want, how does that sound?”

Miles nods vigorously through your phone screen, and you could tell by the little twinkle in his eye that he’s absolutely ecstatic about the proposition.

“This is…a lot of scrunchies.”

It’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when Miles watches you dump the jar of scrunchies onto the lunch table, eyes growing wide when you seem to pull out more than what looks like the jar can actually hold. There’s a little pile of varying colors, styles and sizes that’s built itself onto the table, and Miles has to admit that the task at hand seems a bit overwhelming now that it’s actually before him.

Granted, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen you wear the same scrunchie twice, but had he known your collection was this big, he’d just asked you to pick one out for him. How could he possibly choose now?

“How many do you even have?”

“I don’t know, I stopped counting after sixth grade-”

But Miles is already sifting through the pile, pulling out ones that immediately catch his attention. He has a concentrated look in his eyes - he’s taking the task very seriously, and it’s honestly adorable to you how deep into this whole exchange he was.

You took note of some of the ones Miles has already pulled out - a ribbed-fabric beige one, a group of satin ones varying in shades of blue, and ironically black and red colored one that he continuously eyes every now and then, and a silk sake green one that just so happens to be your favorite. Miles finds out the reason why the second he touches it, being soothed by the silk fabric under his fingertips.

“You want that one?” You ask him, to which Miles glances up at you from across the table, seemingly embarrassed by his entrancement of the hair ornament.

“It’s your favorite, though, right?” He responds. “I don’t wanna take it if it’s your fav-”

“-and I think that’s the perfect reason why you should take it.”

You say it as you begin to stuff the remaining scrunchies back into the jar, handfuls of the bunches slipping into the glass container with ease as you spoke again, “It’s the one I use most frequently. Meaning it smells like me more. Meaning that there’s more of a ‘me’ touch to it, so that you won’t be as lonely.”

It takes a second, but when your words register in Miles’ head, you can almost feel the heat that begins to creep up his neck from the affectionate words you spoke to him.

The bell rings, signifying the end of the free period. Miles takes no time in slipping the hair ornament around his wrist while he bids you farewell. As you depart for the second half of your classes for the day, Miles can’t help but fiddle with the object around his wrist as his own classes drone on. 

You were right, he thinks, he definitely doesn’t feel lonely with the presence of your scrunchie with him. 

#black reader #black tumblr #black spiderman #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman itsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman btsv #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x black!reader #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spiderverse #miles morales spider man #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #1610!miles #1610!miles morales x reader

[planet-marz1]

Tangled Triumphs

Summary: Joel learns how to do Sarah's hair Relationship: Joel and Sarah Word Count: ~800

Tags/Warnings: no warnings! just lots of fluff here :)

A/N: just some cute little joel & sarah cuteness i've been working on for a bit! tysm to @pascalpvnk for beta reading!!

beautiful dividers by @/saradika-graphics

| main masterlist | ao3 link | follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

The soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over Joel's small apartment. Toys scattered, and crayon drawings adorned the walls, painting a vivid picture of life with a spirited four-year-old named Sarah. Today, he’s facing a new frontier: the art of styling Sarah's wild, curly hair.

In the heart of the apartment, the kitchen table bore witness to the unfolding saga. Joel, armed with an array of hair tools and a laptop playing a tutorial, stared intently at the screen. Sarah, a ball of energy in her favorite princess dress, twirled around, giggling.

"Daddy, look at me!" she called, her curly crown dancing with each twirl.

"In just a minute, sweetheart," Joel replied, his gaze shifting between the laptop and the intimidating hairbrush in his hand.

Transitioning to the bathroom, Joel and Sarah stood before the mirror. Joel, with a gentle touch, spritzed Sarah's hair with water, creating a halo of droplets around her head.

"It's cold, Daddy!" Sarah protested, her enthusiasm momentarily dampened.

"I know, darling. It's part of the process," Joel reassured, glancing at the online tutorial for guidance.

Joel attempted to detangle the curls with a wide-tooth comb. Sarah stood in front of the mirror, her curls seemingly possessing a life of their own, evading Joel's efforts.

"Daddy, it's pulling!" Sarah whined, her patience waning.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Just a bit more," Joel said, beads of frustration forming on his forehead.

The bathroom became a battleground as Joel grappled with knots and tangles. Sarah squirmed, the process proving more challenging than anticipated.

"Can we play something else?" Sarah pleaded.

"Just a little longer, princess. We're almost there," Joel reassured, beads of sweat forming on his temples.

Returning to the kitchen, Joel embarked on the styling phase, attempting to replicate the hairstylist's intricate twists and turns. Sarah's patience dwindled, and she fidgeted, making Joel's task even more intricate.

"Daddy, I wanna go play!" Sarah insisted, tugging at Joel's sleeve.

"Just a moment, sweetheart. We're almost finished," Joel said, determination etched on his face.

In the kitchen, amidst the remnants of detangling spray and hairbrushes, Joel made a decision. "Alright, sweetheart, how about we go on a little adventure?"

Sarah's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Adventure? Where are we going?"

"To the store," Joel declared, scooping up Sarah into his arms. "We're going to find the perfect things for your beautiful hair."

The fluorescent lights of the store illuminated rows of hair care products. Joel, pushing a cart with Sarah seated in the front, navigating towards the hair care section, a world of colorful bottles and promising labels. Sarah, nestled in the cart, scanned the shelves with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"Okay, sweetheart, we need something that will make your curls happy. What do you think?" Joel asked, examining the array of products.

"Maybe that one!" Sarah pointed to a bottle with a picture of cheerful curls on it. 

Joel hesitated, reading the fine print. "Hmm, let's see."

As he tried to decipher the mysterious language of hair care ingredients, Sarah giggled, her small hands reaching for another bottle.

"No, Daddy, this one! It has sparkles!" she insisted, pointing to a bottle that promised an extra touch of magic.

Joel chuckled, appreciating his daughter's keen eye. "Sparkles it is, then. A touch of magic for those beautiful curls."

Next, they ventured into the accessories aisle, a paradise of colors and shapes. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of butterfly clips, hair bands, and ribbons.

"Look, Daddy! Butterflies!" she exclaimed.

Joel chuckled, appreciating the simplicity of his daughter's joy. "Butterflies it is, then! Pick out your favorites, sweetheart."

Sarah carefully selected a handful of butterfly clips in different colors, her eyes shining with delight. Each choice felt like a treasure unearthed in their quest for the perfect adornments. Joel watched, a sense of pride welling up as his daughter made her choices.

Back home, with their newfound treasures, Joel and Sarah settled in the living room. Armed with the chosen hair care product and the butterfly clips, Joel embarked on the next part of their quest.

"Now, let's try this magic potion first," Joel said, spraying the detangling spray.

As the mist settled on Sarah's curls, Joel gently worked his way through the tangles. Each stroke of the comb was a small victory, the detangling spray making the curls more manageable. Sarah, now more patient, sat with anticipation, her eyes fixed on the transformation.

"And for the finishing touch..." Joel added the butterfly clips.

Sarah beamed as the colorful butterfly clips were delicately placed, turning her curls into a whimsical masterpiece. Each clip held a story, a choice made with joy and excitement.

"Look, Daddy! I'm a butterfly princess!" she exclaimed.

"You sure are, sweetheart. A butterfly princess with the most beautiful curls in the world," Joel said, smiling.

tag list: @pertinentpostmortem @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @bastardmandennis @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery @beskarandblasters @amanitacowboy @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @pedrodascal @sweetercalypso @ilovepedro @cool-iguana @alwaysmicado @lovers-liability @futuraa-free @morgaussy @pedritoferg @spookykoolkat @wethairjoel @chronically-ghosted @buckyispunk @pattwtf @morning-star-joy @elvinaa @tinycozycomfort @magpiepills @pr0ximamidnight @joelscurls @janaispunk @5oh5 @farmerlarrry @maximoff-forevermore @atinylittlepain @joeldjarin @spookyxsam @honey-dip-24 @hiroikegawa @mcira @mrsmando @hyzer34 @limerence4u @sin-djarin @reddedmiller @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa @kajashe @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

pls lmk if you want to be removed from the tag list!

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au

[chiefduckgarden]

Begin again

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Based on Taylor Swift's Begin Again.

Summary: You gave up on love after your most recent break up, until you meet a certain brunette that makes your heart skip once more.

Wanings (?) : past toxic relationship, fluff.

- C'mon Y/N, it's gonna be fun! You're my best friend, you can't miss my birthday party - the voice of your best friend, Natasha, could be heard from the speaker of your phone.

You sighed. She've been trying to convince you to go to her party for almost 30 minutes now.

- I know Nat, and I'm sorry, it's just that I have a lot of work to finish - you said, not taking your gaze off from the computer in front of you.

- Tony is coming too, I'm sure he'll understand, and besides, what you're doing it's extra work you ask Tony to do, there's no need for you to finish it now, you already delivered your regular work.

You looked at the phone like Natasha could see your stare. Of course she knew it was extra work, you told her about it the last time you two talked.

- Natasha... - you said almost in a whisper, not thinking in any other better excuse.

- Y/N, i know it's been hard, but you can't keep drowning yourself in work, life it's not over and you need to stop isolating your life from the rest of the world... -

- I don't think I'm ready - you said - I don't want to ruin your party with my sad mood.

- You could never, everybody wants yo see you, we're the life of the party in every reunion Y/N.

- I know, but that was different... I am different now.

She huffed, pissed.

- Aghh I hate what she did to you, she never liked you to hang out with me... She made you a shell of yourself.

Your breath hitched at her words.

- I'm sorry, I didn't meant to say that, but you know I'm not angry at you... I'm angry at her - she paused for a second - Please, I want my bestie here - the redhead tried again.

You bit your lower lip, thinking for a few seconds.

You breathed deep in, containing the tears, only wanting for her to stop saying those things.

- Okay, I'll be there - you gave in before thinking more about it - I'll see you tomorrow Nat.

Your friend laughed happily in the other side.

- Yes! I'll se you...

You didn't heard the rest, you just hang up. The memories from the past haunting you down again.

- I'm just saying I don't like the way you are when you're with Natasha, all the effusive and noisy personality doesn't fit you... - she said one night when you were getting ready for a night out with your friends.

- But she's my best friend, I want you to meet her and get along - you told her.

- No way, you can go out all you want but don't drag me into this, I'm not going - she said with a disgusting tone.

You sighed.

- You shouldn't go either, it's better when you're not in that fastidious party mood Natasha puts you in, and you know I'm not a fan of you wearing high heels...

You frowned looking down at your pair of high heels asking to yourself what was wrong with them, but she got closer to you and hugged you from behind.

- Stay, I want you here too - she said, kissing your cheek.

You didn't say anything, just nodded.

- Okay, let me... - you let out a breath, disappointed - Let me change my dress and we can stay here.

She smiled happy, she had you in the palm of her hand.

- That's the girl I like - she said.

Against your own will, you changed your night outfit and sent a message to your friends apologizing for not going. But at the moment, you preferred to make your girlfriend happy, even if you weren't.

Audrey Anderson was your girlfriend over a year and a half. Since the moment you met her you put yourself into certain changes in order to make her like you more.

You stopped listening to some kind of music cause Audrey said she didn't understand it, even if there was nothing to understand.

Your clothes choices adjusted to the style she said it looked better in you, even if you felt weird about yourself, or if you wanted to try something new.

No matter how hard you tried, she always had something to say to make herself happier about you.

You used to please her cause you thought that was what love was about: make sacrifices for the other. You really liked her in the beginning and you were willing to make anything to make your relationship work.

Your friends noticed your change of demanour immediately and instantly began to hate your relationship, even hate your girlfriend herself. They were worried about you cause they felt you were losing yourself because of her. The toxic relationship you were in was like a black hole: it seemed impossible for them to drag you out.

That's the same reason she induced you to see them less a less everytime until the point you only saw them once or twice a month.

You noticed your changes too but you couldn't do anything, you wanted Aubrey, and she wanted you too.

Or at least that's what you thought.

Five months ago you started to notice changes in her. It started with her coming home later than she usually did, and when you asked her about it she only said she was working late or she went to have a drink with her friends.

Then it was really late when she came home. Almost 1 pm, the last time before your break up. Your friends told you to stop being so easy on her and confront the situation, but when you did it everything went down hill for your relationship.

Long story short, she was cheating on you, and you discovered it through her massages. And even when you caught her red handed she screamed at you for checking her phone behind her back, and called you an "obsessive toxic crazy girlfriend".

She blamed her cheating on your "behavior" and didn't even said sorry to you.

Now, you were trying to bounce back from that toxic situation she got you in. Your friends helped you a lot, but a break up it's never easy, and you've found yourself still crying from time to time.

You felt stupid. Why were you still grieving that relationship when she cheated on you? Even if one day she comes back saying sorry, you shouldn't forgive her.

But Audrey got deep inside your brain and sometimes you wonder if it was actually your fault. That's how love works, right? Maybe she failed, but it could've still worked if you solved that issue and just move forward.

You shook your head and closed your laptop desesperatly. All the what if's were driving you crazy.

That's how you found yourself knocking Natasha's door. It's been longer than five minutes and nobody has open the door yet.

You were about to call Natasha to tell her you were outside when someone interrupts you.

- You know, Natasha never hears her front door - a feminine voice tells you.

You turn around and you lose your breath for a few seconds. A (really gorgeous) brunette walks into Natasha's porch.

- I'm Wanda, Wanda Maximoff, I'm Nat's friend from work - she introduces herself with a smile.

You smile shyly too.

- I'm Y/N, Nat's friend from college - you say.

She nods politely.

- A pleasure Y/N, how long have you been knocking?

- A few minutes now, but you're right, Natasha doesn't hear anything.

She giggles and pull her phone off from her purse.

- Let me give her call.

You only nod again and some minutes later your redheaded friend is opening the door for the two of you.

- Wanda! Thanks for coming, it's so nice to see you! - Nat says hugging the girl.

- Nat! Happy birthday! - the brunette replied, hugging her back - I brought you a present, I hope you like it... - she said handing the gift to her.

- Ohh thank you so much! You didn't have to give me anything but thank you! - Nat said, now looking at your- Seems like you found our dear Y/N - she told Wanda, opening her arms for you to hug her.

Slightly smiling you accepted the affection.

- Happy birthday - you say in whisper, almost only for her to hear.

- It's nice to see you, you look good. How are you feeling?

You sigh.

- I'm better.

She smiles.

- You look better.

- Thanks - you say.

Natasha looks at you for some seconds before looking back at Wanda, who was watching the whole interaction.

- Let's go, everyone it's in the backyard, we have food and drinks.

You follow her and the evening goes smoothly. Reconnecting with your friends felt good; you experienced a happiness you hadn't felt in a long time. Everyone was delighted to see you, and though no one said it out loud, everyone was glad that you ended your relationship with Audrey.

While most of your friends were there, your mind couldn't help but think about the beautiful green-eyed girl you met at the entrance. Wanda kept her distance, mostly chatting with the few work friends of Nat's that she knew. Occasionally, you discreetly searched for her with your gaze, only to find that she was already looking at you. In those moments, you felt your cheeks turn red instantly, and you turned away, pretending you weren't looking at her. She didn't turn away and just smiled sweetly at you.

After the cake, when some people had already left, Wanda and you helped Natasha pick up some chairs and wash a few dishes so she wouldn't have to do it alone. Wanda was a sweet girl, and you couldn't help but smile just being near her.

- She was the first one to talk to me that first day, Natasha has always been really good to me, I was so lucky to become her friend - Wanda was sharing the story of how she met Natasha on her first day at work.

- I know, ever since high school, Natasha has always been like that. I was too introverted; I couldn't even look people in the eye - you recalled with a laugh - But she was kind, and she gave me the confidence to open up more. Thanks to her, I met my other friends.

You continued chatting with Wanda for a few more minutes until your friend Maria came to say goodbye to you.

- It was really great to see you - she said, giving you a hug - I'm glad you're back, Y/N, truly. You know we're all here for you - You gave her a half-smile before nodding - I love you, and I want you to be happy.

You didn't quite know how to react. People were congratulating you as if your past self had been absent or on a journey, as if they only now felt that their friend was back.

And that only made you feel worse. You could only ask yourself, "How did I let someone change me so much?"

Wanda, who had been analyzing your interactions that night, was uncertain about how to get closer to you. From the moment she met you at the door, she felt drawn to you. But you were reserved, and although she hadn't had the chance to talk to you much, she wanted to get to know you. She just wasn't exactly sure how to proceed to ask you out.

So, before the party ended, Wanda approached Natasha to ask about you. She was hoping for a short, perhaps even vague, response.

"She's just a bit shy"

"She's somewhat reserved."

Nothing prepared Wanda for the story that Nat told her. She didn't go into too many details since it was your private life, and she was essentially a stranger to you, but she provided the general context: you had a girlfriend who wasn't good for you. Wanda shared with Natasha that she had planned to ask you out.

After all that Nat had told her, Wanda was sure she would advise against it, maybe suggesting that you needed space or that it wasn't the right time for you to start a new relationship. However, Nat just looked at her with a small smile.

- I knew you two would get along - she said - Go ahead and ask her out. She might not say yes on the first try, but it would be good for Y/N to go out with someone like you. You're a good person, Wanda, and I trust that even if it doesn't turn into something serious, you wouldn't hurt Y/N in any way.

Minutes later, as you were saying goodbye to your friends, Wanda took advantage of the brief interaction to ask for your phone number.

- I just want to get to know you better - she said - If you're interested, we could grab coffee or have a meal together.

You hesitated for a few seconds. You glanced to your right and noticed that Nat was watching you and Wanda not so discreetly, hiding a small smile while pretending to sip from her glass.

- You don't have to say yes, I understand if you... - Wanda was trying to ease you out of the awkward situation, but your brain spoke before you could process what you would say.

- No, it's okay, I'd like to get to know you too - you replied with a smile, accepting Wanda's phone to enter your number.

As you lay in your bed at home, you thought about the interaction with Wanda. She was beautiful, you knew that very well. From the moment you met her, you noticed how lovely and kind she was. The brief conversation you had with her revealed she had a good sense of humor and that, in fact, you had several things in common. You knew that if you went to that coffee date, you would have a good time.

But something you couldn't shake off was this feeling that she would be the one to get bored with you, that she would realize you were dull and leave after the first date. Audrey always said it: she found you boring, no one would go out with you more than twice without realizing you didn't have much to offer, but you were pretty, and that was enough for her. But perhaps it wouldn't be enough for Wanda.

The sound of your phone snapped you out of your reverie. You looked at your phone and saw that an unknown number had sent you a message:

W: "Hey, it's Wanda. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

You unconsciously smiled and added her number to your contacts before responding:

Y: "Hi, I got home a few minutes ago. Have you arrived yet?"

W: "Yes, thank you for asking"

W: "So… about that coffee… when are you free?"

You took a few moments to think about your response. You weren't entirely sure if you wanted to go. Wanda seemed like an amazing girl, and you didn't want to waste her time.

Y:"Yeah, about that…"

W: "We can cancel it if you want. I don't want to pressure you into going if you're not comfortable"

You thought about saying that it would be better to cancel, that maybe you weren't looking to get to know anyone at the moment. But you didn't want that. You liked Wanda, and you were eager to get to know her. You gathered your courage and typed your response before you could second-guess yourself.

Y: "No, I don't want to cancel, it's just that I can't meet up until Wednesday. Is that okay for you?"

Her response arrived within seconds.

W: "Of course, see you on Wednesday"

You smiled and agreed on the coffee shop where you would meet. It was a place near your workplace and close to a park where Wanda mentioned she liked to go running on weekends.

When Wednesday finally arrived, you couldn't stop thinking about Wanda. You had been texting since that night, and with each conversation, you discovered how compatible you were. You couldn't believe you had so much in common with someone. It only heightened your nerves to a hundred percent for your date.

With Audrey, you didn't used to go on many dates. After she asked you to be her girlfriend, she stopped making an effort to make a good impression. The only times you went out, on your anniversary or something similar, the experience wasn't great. Audrey was always late, but she asked you to arrive early so you wouldn't lose the reservation. You would sit alone until she felt like showing up, and then she would only talk about her own things and issues. There was no space for you to share about your day or your work. In the end, you would pay the bill, and she would rush ahead to leave as quickly as possible.

After many failed dates, you stopped asking her out, even for special occasions. You didn't want to deal with the headache that came with going out with her.

That morning, you walked to the café where you would meet Wanda. Habit had you mentally preparing for her to arrive late, forcing you to wait for a while. But when you entered the establishment, you were greeted by the delicious smell of coffee and Wanda, waving to you from a table.

Seeing her there on time took you by surprise. You weren't used to that. You approached her with a smile, and Wanda got up from her chair to greet you.

- Hi, how are you? - she asked.

- Hi, I'm good, thanks. How about you? - you responded.

- I'm doing great, thanks for coming - she said, smiling.

Wanda approached the chair you were going to sit in and courteously pulled it out for you. It seemed like the simplest thing in the world. Basic courtesy. But the kind gesture melted your heart. Wanda took her seat again, not even noticing how nice the gesture was for you. But you did.

After placing your orders, you started making small talk. Wanda didn't want to push you into discussing more personal topics, but you felt quite comfortable with the conversation.

Gradually, you start sharing more about yourself. You tell Wanda about your job, your hobbies, which university you attended, how you met Nat, and discuss your interests. She listens attentively, contributing to the conversation when she feels it's appropriate.

But after a while, you pause, realizing that you've only been talking about yourself, and you worry that Wanda might be getting bored of hearing about your mundane life. You awkwardly apologize, but she reassures you that everything is fine.

- You're really interesting, Y/N - she said with a smile - Tell me more, seriously.

For a moment, you hesitated, but you saw the sincerity in her eyes, and that gave you the confidence to continue.

You shared stories about you and Nat in college. The story of your first party had her laughing a lot. It seemed strange to you that she thought you were so funny, but she was tossing her head back in laughter like a little kid. Audrey never told you that you were funny.

After a while, Wanda began to speak. That's when you discovered she wasn't from America but had migrated with her family from Sokovia, a country in Eastern Europe, when she was very young. You listened attentively, fascinated by her country's culture. She told you about her brother Pietro, her parents, and her job as a literature teacher at a local high school.

Soon, you discovered that she was just as much of an Adele fan as you were. You told her about all the albums you owned and the concerts you had been able to attend. Surprisingly, she had been present at some of those concerts, and both of you found it amusing to think that you might have crossed paths much earlier.

- Wow, you're the first person I've met with as many Adele records as me - she said, laughing.

You had seen her laugh throughout the date, but that smile she gave you when talking about Adele filled your stomach with a thousand butterflies. You wanted to make her laugh like that forever.

After nearly two hours, both of you had to leave. Wanda had to make it to her afternoon classes. You took out your wallet to pay, but she stopped you.

- No, please, I invited you, I'll pay - she said.

You insisted on at least paying for what you had consumed, but she flatly refused.

You exited the café and were ready to say goodbye, but Wanda asked where your car was. When you indicated that you had parked a block away, she started walking with you.

On the way, you thought about how different Wanda was from Audrey. Your ex-girlfriend would never have walked you to your car. Wanda was so lovely that you felt like you didn't deserve her. She was too good for you. You were about to tell her this, about Audrey and yourself, and how you didn't think you were ready for someone as amazing as her.

But Wanda kept the conversation going, picking up on a topic you had discussed during the date.

- Do you remember the movies I told you my family likes watch during Christmas? - she asked - They're going to screen one of them at a local cinema near my place. Would you like to go see it with me? It's next Saturday - she said, a little nervous about suggesting a second date.

Yes, you were about to mention Audrey, but no… you preferred to talk about those Christmas movies.

You told her it was a great idea, and she agreed to pick you up from your house. Audrey left your mind for the first time in months, and finally, you felt that the past was truly behind you.

You and Wanda said goodbye with a hug that made your heart race a thousand beats per minute. You got into your car and smiled as you watched Wanda walk to hers.

For the past eight months, you had been thinking that love wasn't for you. Audrey had made you feel so bad that you thought it was the end of the line for you. You believed that without Audrey, no one would love you again. You thought that love only was meant to brake you, made you feel like you were burning from the inside, and then just end. For months, you believed that you wouldn't love anyone again, you avoided meeting people to avoid the pain of seeing them go. But you met Wanda, and she made your heart feel alive again. You realized it wasn't over.

That Wednesday, in that café, you watched it beginning again.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #marvel #wandavision #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen fanfic #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #lizzie olsen x you #wanda imagine #lizzie olsen fanfic #lizzie olsen x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #wanda x reader

[aihoshiino]

chapter 146 thoughts

This chapter (and thus this chapter review) contains discussion of abuse, suicidal ideation and CSA, so if you're not in the headspace for that, skip this one and I'll see you next time.

we are so oshi no back

After last chapter left me fighting for my life to come up with literally anything to say about it, this was one of those chapters where I ended up having more and more to say about it the more I turned it over in my head. It still feels a bit disjointed and has that same issue of ripping through the events of the movie way too fucking fast that the arc as a whole has been having lately but this chapter was such a breath of fresh air I can't bring myself to care.

The chapter itself is more or less split in two, with one half dedicated to 15 Year Lie's in-universe events and the other focusing a bit on Aqua and Kana for, tbh, the first time in way too long. Admittedly, my enthusiasm for 15YL has waned given the reveal of just how much of it is completely made up but like. I'm still gonna over analyze this stuff. Sunk cost fallacy, don't fail me now!!!!

I joke, but the 15YL section of this chapter was legitimately bone chilling. That barrage of cuts following Uehara's attack on Airi…. fuuuuuuuck, man.

Airi herself is pure fucking poison this chapter too and I mean it in the best way. I continue to be incredibly impressed with how OnK understands the motivations of a person like Airi what her abuse of Hikaru is really about. When discussing this in 141, Miyako points out just how often victims of abuse can themselves go on to perpetuate their own pain out of a need to try and regain their dignity, but I think what Airi seeks in her abuse of Hikaru is control. We see how often she wields her power over him while pretending that he has as much agency as she does in their """relationship""" and it's repeated here, too; she throws the results of her own sexual abuse of him in his face as a way of permanently chaining the two of them together, all while tearing down his worth as a person as if to 'prove' he deserves to be trapped in her grasp. I've said before that Akasaka is unsettlingly good at writing toxic mothers but I think Airi has made it pretty clear that Akasaka understands and is thus excellent at writing abuse and abusers in general, and for someone like me who counts that as one of their favourite Themes (tm) in fiction, I feel quite well fed.

The abuse Airi hurls at him is also interesting from a perspective of paralleling Hikaru even further with Ai. We saw snippets of this in 140, of Hikaru characterizing himself as someone desperately trying to construct a version of himself that can be loved by others the same way Ai creates 'Ai of B-Komachi', a version of herself who can give and receive love in the way she thinks her authentic self is unable to. Airi puts this into more explicit words; Hikaru must construct this fake version of himself because there is no 'real' him and thus, he is inherently unlovable. Jesus Christ.

Knowing those words were swimming around in his head, it makes the HKAI scene that follows even more of a gutpunch than it already is. It's the most wonderful kind of miscommunication tragedy - with their respective traumas, there is basically no other way a talk like that could have gone and yet it's agonizing to see it play out. Ai's innocent cruelty in the face of Hikaru's pain and her suffocating smile… the worst part is, while I completely understand why this was so shattering for Hikaru, it's impossible to miss that this was, in a way, an expression of love from Ai; it was honesty, an admission of vulnerability. She herself even says she doesn't want to lie to him. But to Hikaru, what else could that have sounded like but a confirmation of his most godawful fear?

that said. the timeline here is very confusing. this seems to imply hkai were still dating all the way up to the murder-suicide, which seemed to be just before the dome concert but did the breakup really seem that recent during their phone call?? this whole timeline is penised beyond repair.

The art in this chapter in general is incredibly good but something in particular I want to highlight is how much and how often Aqua-as-Hikaru looks like Ai in these panels. I can't put my finger on what it is, but that similarity always makes me feel so warm and sad whenever I see it. For as much as he struggles with his relationship to her, Aqua really is his mother's son through and through.

and. man. what even is there to say about that scene in the rain and everything that follows. I was't sure if the murder/suicide was going to be featured in the movie but even the brief snippet of it that we got and that barrage of scene titles and Kamiki's silent scream… whoof. shit like this makes me really hope we get to see mengo illustrate a horror manga someday because i think she would absolutely kill it.

We cut back to reality to see Aqua reading the script and in perhaps the most interesting swerve in this chapter, we see that he has once again reverted to his double black hoshigans. And uh, am I going to sound like a terrible person if I say I'm really glad for this? LOL.

Obviously I would rather Aqua not be experiencing Suicidal Ideation (Bass Boosted) 24/7, but it's kind of a relief to see that one single conversation wasn't enough to totally shake Aqua out of that headspace. I've talked a lot about how frustrating I find it that 'Ruby finds out Aqua is Gorou' is treated as the finale to her black hoshigan arc and every ongoing thread, internal and external, attached to it was dropped like a rock with no further interrogation. It robbed Ruby of the opportunity for some really important growth and, imo, was just shitty for Kana and Memcho who were treated extremely poorly by her and got no apology for it. I was really worried this would be the case for Aqua as well and that his own dip into that rancid headspace would end on a wet fart which would really sting given just how little insight we've gotten into him this arc. But this chapter makes it clear that while some cracks have started to form in his armor, he's not in the clear just yet.

i mean, even if he was permanently back to one white star, aqua is such a little freak regardless………………………….

What this means in the long term is a little hard to pin down, both because we've had so little insight into Aqua's headspace this arc and because the exact nature of black hoshigan as a symbol has always been a little Calvinballed, but in this context and for Aqua specifically, I think we can read this as his conviction in the messy endgame of his revenge play being shaken up. I, personally, have been reading the black hoshigan as of late as an expression of the sort of futureless despair that can become suicidal ideation, at least for Aqua; since immediately after Ai's death, we have gotten incredibly strong hints that Aqua is suicidal, his guilt-fueled desire to die and his desperate want to experience a happy future at war within him. He more or less explicitly says as such in 106, expressing that this break in their relationship is necessary for Ruby to be able to live on 'after he's gone' - which strongly implies that Aqua's revenge play is intended to end with his death.

Knowing that Ruby is Sarina wasn't quite enough to shake his conviction, but their talk in 143 was. I do think Ruby just giving him some straightforward affirmation was a good starting point but I also can't help but wonder, with the context that his white stars were not indicative of a permanent change, if hearing just how deeply Ruby still relies on 'Gorou's' presence in her life struck a nerve for him. Paraphrasing her from 143, she straight up says Gorou is the one who gives her life meaning. And if that's how it is, what exactly will happen if he's gone again..?

Obviously this is all still speculation because even when I am begging on hand and knee Akasaka is refusing to give us Aqua introspection but at this point I have to make a guess at SOMETHING if i am going to say anything remotely coherent about aqua in this arc, so

ANYWAY!! AQUA AND KANA HAVING A NORMAL ASS CONVERSATION FOR THE FIRST TIME IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG!!! Ngl, it did give me a bit of a chuckle to see Kana voice the question of whether Aqua was getting too immersed in his role, given that people were accusing her of that back during the first round of the RBKN conflict.

I was also really surprised to see Aqua just outright say that yeah, he is at least flirting with suicidal ideation. Like - that's the first time he's said that out loud, to anybody??? In 143 he voices the less damning but still not great sentiment that he feels guilty for being alive but this is to my knowledge the first time Aqua has expressed his suicidal ideation out loud, let alone to anyone else. And… fuck, man! That's an absolutely terrifying thing to hear a friend say. No wonder Kana reacts like she does.

Because of my powers of Claire-voyance (read: basic pattern recognition and being in fandoms for 15+ years), I'm pretty sure people are going to be Very Mean to Kana about the way she chooses to respond to Aqua here but honestly? Not only did this tough love response feel very IC for her, but the clumsiness of it felt very honest to me. I think a lot of people in fandom lately just want characters to talk like fucking therapists all the time and have the Correct And Unproblematic Response to… well, situations like this. But Kana is an 18 year old girl who has her own share of issues and her friend she knows is dealing with his own huge amount of baggage just casually dropped an "i wanna kms" on her. All things considered, I think she handles it surprisingly well.

Because like… look at what Kana really says to Aqua here. She gives him some of their usual banter to diffuse the tension but then makes herself very clear: she does not want Aqua to hurt himself and makes him promise that he won't. It's clumsy and rough in the way Kana often is, but I think the important part - her sincere care for Aqua as her friend - really does shine through.

also cute that other people caught: Kana squishing Aqua's face seems to be an intentional callback to one of their on-stage interactions in Tokyo Blade, right down to Aqua making a identical scrunchyface to Kana. Extremely cute. I love it when Aqua is cute <3

Kana also being a person able to shake Aqua out of his black hoshigans also leans into something I've been hoping is going to pay off for a while now; the idea that Aqua's salvation is not going to come from any one, singular character but from the many different people who Aqua has built relationships with coming together when he needs them to support him. One of the things OnK has continually highlighted is the way isolation and lacking support systems warp and damage people's mental health and I think it would play excellently into that theme to have Aqua's support net, so to speak, to be wide enough to catch him no matter where he falls.

the product placement was very stupid but i did laugh pretty hard at it and then immediately go buy myself some potato chips so i guess it worked. genius mangaka aka akasaka.

All jokes aside, the note their talk ended off on was so lovely too. Aqua being honest enough to admit that being with Kana is fun and Kana getting all dokidoki and then quietly admitting she feels the same when she's alone… cute! But more than that, it highlights something about the AQKN dynamic I think is really important, regardless of whether their relationship is romantic, platonic, in laws, mlm/wlw hostility or whatever else; Kana is his friend and he can just be a normal boy and have normal fun with her without any ulterior motives. It's something Aqua doesn't really have in any of his other relationships so getting a reminder of that and what it means to Aqua was really good.

honestly i think i am just so starved of nice things happening to my son that seeing him opening up to one of his friends and admitting he has fun (HIS LAUGH!!!!!!) was like a shot of heavenly ambrosia for me. please can hoshino aqua have just one nice day.

OR UH… BASED ON THAT LAST PAGE…. PROBABLY NOT ANYTIME SOON….!!!

this is what i mean about this chapter giving me 5000000 things to talk about. kamiki is TALKING TO RUBY IN THE FLESH FOR THE FIRST TIME and i almost completely forgor.

why is he dressed like a dad about to take her out on a fishing trip, though

Ruby looks unusually solemn while she's praying, which is interesting. She's been pretty bright and high energy since 141ish so I'm curious what has her looking so comparatively dour. She's praying at a shrine, too, which means there's probably something on her mind. Nik (@akane-kurokawa) theorized that she's anxious about the upcoming scenes in the movie (LIKE, YOU KNOW, HER MOM'S DEATH) and until we get further insight on that, that's what I'm gonna assume too.

putting aside how Shrimptresting it is that Kamiki turned up out of nowhere like that, I can't help but note a certain horrible parallel between Uehara meeting young Hikaru in the rain with a black umbrella and Kamiki doing the same for his daughter…

cannot wait for that entire talk to get offscreened. lol.

break next week……………………………

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers #chapter reviews #csa mention

[bettyfrommars]

hi loves

a wee announcement/bit of reflection below the cut

nothing heavy, just some thoughts & updates

First of all, I want to say I love this fandom so much. Truly I do. It has carried me though possibly the hardest, loneliest year of my life (and this ol' girl has been though some dark times). I've made friendships here that I hope to cherish for the rest of my life.

I came into fanfiction in October of last year, after not writing anything substantial for almost a decade. My dear friend at the time said she was looking for a specific Eddie Munson story, so I wrote it for her. I wrote it in first person because I didn't even understand how "reader perspective" was a thing, that's how wet behind the ears I was to this world. My friend, on the other hand, is a well-versed fic reader, and I distinctly remember messaging her like, "okay, what the hell is a Y/N??"

I spent that entire dark, cold winter writing and passing it to her in parts like notes in a classroom. The rush of getting back to something I loved so deeply after so much time away turned me into a monster. I lived and breathed that story. We sent endless messages back and forth every day about what each character would do next, imagining ourselves in that world, with Eddie. We made playlists, we cried. We screamed and giggled and kicked our feet when they finally kissed. We mourned the loss when it ended and moped around a bit before going back to read it all over again. Some 40k words and four months later I realized, holy shit, I think I write fanfiction now?

In a way, fanfiction saved my life. It brought me back to a part of myself I had buried, a part of me that worried it might never see the light of day again. It came crawling out of the ground, gasping for air like, "you better stretch your fingers bitch because I have a lot to say."

In April, I started posting here when the fandom was notably beginning to wane, but I was happy to see there were so many still going hard for our man. I kinda creeped in, like a little scuttling crab, and was grateful to find that a handful of you embraced me.

Long story short, I am NOT leaving, not at all. I know the tone is there, but that is not what this is, lmao. I will hopefully keep this blog for as long as you will have me. I plan to finish writing I'm on Fire and Death Becomes Us, as well as maybe another bit for gargoyle!Eddie, and nightmare!Eddie, but the other series I've started (or planned to start) will stay on hiatus for a while, possibly forever. I will continue to post blurbs and hc's and whatnot, but I won't be committing to any new series or long fics.

My masterlists will remain intact for the time being for those who want to enjoy what is there. That being said, The Nightmare Factory and Stop the World and Melt with You, might be taken down in the future only because I plan to re-work them into original stories. I have a second non-fandom blog in the works that is dedicated to monsters, nightmares, and magic realism, and I will let those who are interested know about it when the time comes.

Mostly, I wanted to let you know that, even if you notice some changes, I will continue to persist with "My 2 Joe's" delulu era, possibly until the earth swallows me up. I am no longer taking requests, but my asks will always be open for thots, blurbs, obsessions, etc. You know how much I love hearing from you.

That's all really. Perhaps this is simply one of those "end of year" thought dumps, but I also wanted to say a heartfelt Thank You to those who continue to support me, enjoy my work, and share it. My Ride or Die monsterfuckers and biker Eddie enthusiasts. My nightmare Eddie dreamers, my Twilight Zone Eddie pineapple heads. My gargoyle Eddie romantics who cheer on our Stone Boy, and my Hybrid Steve lovers who leave their windows open at night. My True Blood friends who appreciate a vampire Eddie who is nothing like Bill Compton. My darlings, my fellow rebel rousers and misfits, my friends.

This is a very symbiotic relationship, and I could not/would not do this without you ❤️

#Betty thoughts #delulu for life

[raine-kai]

Luffy and the Limitations of Reality

Today I finally got the time to watch the Gear 5th fight episodes, and I had some thoughts. (Well. It's less that I had time, and more that I was paying no attention to anything else because my brain was full of One Piece so I decided to embrace it.)

First off, SEVEN EPISODES??? Wow they really milked it 😂 I don't remember how many chapters it was but seven would be almost a whole volume and I don't think it was that. (Yes, I know, old news that the anime will milk these things for all they're worth, but still.)

Secondly and most of all, though, I want to talk about what Gear 5th, and Luffy's use of it, tells us about him.

Luffy is excellent at working out clever ways to fight opponents, even when it seems impossible, and training himself up to impossible lengths, using everything he has at his disposal.

But Gear 5th is a little bit different in that it's literally world-bending. The fact that he could use it more or less instantly could be the fruit communicating to him via their compatibility...or it could be that Luffy is always pushing the boundaries of reality in his mind.

While it could easily be a bit of both, Luffy's comment that he can do everything he wanted suggests to me that it's more of the latter.

This means, to me, that Luffy has always felt a little bit caged inside his own head, trapped by the boundaries of reality and physics. That Gear 5th to him is breaking free of these trivial cages that have always limited him, and allowed him to have the time of his life.

There's something that resonates with me about that, feeling trapped in your mind and discovering an outlet through imagination and joy that cut through and reshape a dark, serious world.

One Piece is full of metaphors and references and I'm sure we've barely scratched the surface of what Sun God Nika means, and who Joy Boy was.

But I feel there is something momentous about having Luffy be so good at using his Nika powers, with very little learning curve. Something that suggests an enormity about how he fights all systems that limit him all the time, including physics and reality itself.

He's always done silly things in battle—the first examples that come to mind are the time he tried to eat Crocodile and water Luffy and gomu gomu no boh—and Gear 5th harkens back to those with Kaido demanding that Luffy take the fight seriously. But things like grabbing lightning or peeling up the ground? Luffy has these extremely wacky ideas and as soon as he sees that he can make the ground change form to suit him, he immediately starts playing with that.

One Piece has always had a huge theme of freedom, and I like that it takes this theme to extremes—freedom even from things like physics which will forever constrain us.

It's redefined the shonen genre, and continues to do so by defying and subverting genre conventions again and again.

I've been a One Piece fan for over twenty years, and most of the long-running stories that I was a fan of twenty years ago have waned in my esteem; yet here is One Piece, still waxing, still growing in its scope and impact. The queer representation that used to be considered questionable has become something largely seen as very positive—not through retconning, but through expanding the in-world representation of non-cis characters. (I still live in dread that one day this will be taken away, but until then....) The story has had its ups and downs, but it always introduces something new to drag me back in.

Today, it's the notion that true freedom means even freedom from physics and the limitations of the material world, and that could so easily be silly...and it IS silly, but in a way that continues to make me invested in the story, and love Luffy ever more.

Kaido keeps telling Luffy to be serious, calling him a child...but he loses. All this time, he's been waiting for Joy Boy, but when he meets him, he ridicules him.

There's something in here too about the power of childish fun, embracing your brain's weirdness, and not minding when people call you names.

But when I put it like that...hasn't that always been ONE PIECE in a nutshell?

#one piece anime #one piece spoilers #gomu gomu no mi #sun god nika #monkey d. luffy #luffy #gear 5th #gear 5 spoilers #one piece meta #meta

[horrorscoupes]

speaking of hush

i know the “hush is a shade” theories are already RIFE on here, but i wanted to suggest my own idea for some variety :] (timestamped as always)

as an avid lover of the sovereigns and all of their shenanigans, there have been a few things gnawing at my thoughts for quite some time:

1. if the sovereigns under the river used the inversion as a feeding frenzy to glean more power than they typically would get from the natural progression of death via the river (“Was this your plan all along? Not to invade—but to feast? How much stronger will this harvest leave you? How long before something greater than Shades breaks loose?” [All Along 30:36]), then why, almost two years later, havent we seen ANYTHING else about that?

2. When Min’ara and E’Laetum are discussing the things that “lie bound in Death” they say this particularly interesting thing: “Their Prima seeks freedom from their prison.” “Give him a new prison instead.” [Held by Ancient Gods 5:29] which, of course, has always been assumed to be referring to one particular sovereign separate from the bunch

obviously this could be way off the mark, and i’m totally game to accept it if i’m wrong here, but i wonder (since they very easily created daemons and then, once rebelled against, experimented on humanity until they created vampires and empowered humans) if during their time in jail under the river, the sovereigns began to create something else. brachium refers to something “greater than” the shades that ravaged the E&E games during the inversion, which leads me to believe he was either talking about the sovereign themselves escaping OR that he referred to something else created by the trapped sovereigns to use kind of like they use shades to carry messages out of death (“Crafted, by what lies beneath the River, made out of the magic they siphon out of the waters. When they first climb back into the realm of the living, they’re weak. Running on pure instinct, draining anyone close to sustain themselves. To build up their strength. If they get enough, they become tangible, like this one. And if they get even more—a lot more, really gorge themselves… they start to actually remember their purpose. To be a messenger. An envoy. A voice, for what lies beneath.” [Blakes Truth 13:30]).

it’s been two years since the wolf/vamp storylines have seen the inversion and still we haven’t heard anything about the re-emergence of the sovereigns, because i really don’t think that the power absorption was solely to start breaking out. obv we don’t know where hush falls on the timeline just yet, but i think the fact that we also don’t know where certain people (project meridian cast, vega, regulus, blake to an extent, etc) were the night of the inversion is ALSO very important and interesting. <- i can talk about how weird and intriguing it is that we haven’t seen anything past inversion for vega and regulus for hours </3

so, if they’re using all the energy for creation rather than destruction it would have been incredibly smart to leave hush core-less. he isn’t a daemon, and without a core he has no threads linking him to aria. this means that not only can his powers be tethered to the metric fuck-ton of power that the sovereigns just absorbed by killing 1500 empowered people, in order to “rift” (idk what to call it. or if he did at all. anyways) he wouldn’t have to pass through the meridian at all.

so if he IS a new creation of the sovereigns forged from their power and energy, then it would make sense that E’Laetum and Min’Ara may want a bite out of him. they are starving and rotting away alone between terra and aria, and he is looking like a snack. which brings me to my second point: do E’laetum and Min’Ara want someone to bring them hush (in this theory a piece of the sovereigns waning power) to tide them over and perhaps lure a sovereign out of death? that’s a little bit of a stretch (and so is my theory linking hush and project meridian), but think that it’s something we could all stand to consider.

ALSO sidenote: i think that hush surfaces after the inversion while D.U.M.P. is still spinning over all of the deaths and distrusting the Chorus, hence why the deaths of several “articulates” (erik tell me what this means NEOW) seem to be going completely ignored/unnoticed. during the aftermath of inversion, D.U.M.P. and the Chorus are not friends, and it would make sense for them to overlook d(a)emon deaths while they’re still trying to decide if the Chorus knew that the inversion was coming

sidenote #2: the spellsong, which i’ve seen people questioning, has been defined as the binding between magic users and magic/daemons and aria/magic users to one another/magic to the world. to Me it seems like a somewhat broad term used to fill spaces, since no one in universe really knows where magic came from in its entirety. daemons use the term most often in canon, describing it as something they can “hear,” hence why i defined it as the binding between magic and the world. (“I can hear them. Every voice in the spellsong going silent. Every emotion being felt inside this… trap.” [Voices Gone Silent 5:08], “Your kind is a part of the Spellsong. Our harmony. And even if time has made some of my people callous, we still feel the loss of any voice, be it demonic or human.” [Comforted by Your Demon 14:15], “Most of the Chorus was… genuinely horrified to hear what had happened. They’d felt those losses. Heard those voices in the Spellsong as they went silent. Our people don’t always get along, yours and mine. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they usually don’t. But there’s a bond there that neither of our people can deny. And in those that I could read, they felt that pain.” [Consoling an Elemental and an Incubus 27:27], and “When you bit into him and he bit into you, your blood met each other’s cores. Each of your spellsongs met a counterpoint.” [You Bond With a Vampire 19:45]) <- these are the ones i found on short notice, i would be beyond thrilled to add more quotes to the collection

this is by no means me trying to shit on other theories, i think it’s so wonderful that we’re all here guessing. stay curious

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted hush #long ass post. sorry

[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."

#ask answered #anonymous #mine #smosh fic #rpf #shayncer #shayne #spencer #spreadsheet fill #prompt filled #hope you like it !! thank you for prompting <3

[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Chapter IV

Only one week left before off-season is finally over - don't know how you're feeling, but I'm ready to see what this years grid is bringing along (especially when the drama pre-season hit pretty hard). Let me know what you think of this chapter and if you want to be tagged in future chapters so you never miss out!

Have fun with this one, see you next week xx

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R III ɞ────

My eyes are fixed on the screen in front of me. My hands are steady on the steering wheel, which almost feels like I'm sitting in a real car. The replica cockpit seat is a little more uncomfortable, but only because the actual sports seats are adapted to the driver's back and this one is just a makeshift one. I don't know what time it is or how long I've been driving virtual tracks in this simulator, but I'm starting to get hungry.

I usually love the days I get to spend at headquarters, but the last two weeks have been beyond strange. I don't seem to be on the same wavelength as my new team yet. Fernando has been the only buffer between us so far and hasn't provided a minute of silence.

I feel lost. Since my first days of training camp at Aston Martin, I've felt like I'm constantly having to cut myself back. It's like I've been transported back to my school days. Once or twice I've dreamed of that time - reliving exams I've completed years ago and either missed or failed.

I don't sleep well, but I'm still here every day at seven o'clock sharp in the morning to fit in a few extra training sessions in both the simulator and the gym before everyone else. Maybe I'm just not admitting to myself that it's easier if I arrive before anyone else is sitting at their desk that I need to talk to. The team seems committed, but I notice that everyone is looking at me a little skeptically. The same questions that have been floating around in the newspapers for weeks and months are open and unhindered on their faces, but I'm not actually being asked any questions.

Sometimes I miss the people from Formula 2. In every phone call with Enzo, in which he enquires about my well-being or simply wants to talk about his latest flirt, I notice how my tense shoulders slump and a laugh escapes me here and there. Then another couple of hours pass before I sneak off to the toilet on the third floor, the one that nobody ever uses because it's on the executive level, and gulp down my lunch while closing my eyes and listening to a podcast over and over again.

I tried to get along with everyone, I really did. But after they only exchanged the bare minimum of words with me in the first week, even though I was only trying to make conversation, my enthusiasm waned a little with each passing day. At some point in week two, I brought home-baked cake, which two days later stood hardened and not a bit poorer in the kitchen in the same place where I had initially placed it.

The first few tests in the simulator always ended the same way: Either with in a virtual pile of tires or so slowly that no further comment on my driving style came except an "Again." As soon as I wanted to sit down at a table in the kitchen, everyone suddenly had to get up or was at the end of their lunch break - the only one who regularly stayed seated or called me over was Fernando. But as he's already in meetings for this week's car launch, I have to endure the emotionless stares on my own.

I don't know why I can't find a rhythm. Neither in the car nor with the people around me. I wouldn't normally describe myself as shy. Especially next to Max, I'm often come across as a ray of sunshine – currently I'm feeling more like a never-ending rain cloud.

I take the last bend and step on the gas on the last straight. Then I look at my time. Faster than in the last few weeks but nowhere near Fernando's recent driving. I exhale. "The virtual setup still feels a bit strange in the right-hand bends," I say and look through the glass front to my left, behind which two colleagues are hiding who have been assigned to observation duty - probably involuntarily. All I get from both is a thumbs-up and a fake smile.

My hands find their way to the harness fasteners and free me. My legs move to stand next to the car as if of their own accord. I look towards the ceiling and blink away a few tears before making my way to my next stop. Physiotherapist here I come.

-

"I miss Enzo," I say after I unbuckle the training tower cables after the last repetition.

"I know, but Sarah's great. I promise," Leonardo replies as he massages my calves. Then again, massage would imply something pleasant - this is true hell. I let out a quick "ow" as he tries to massage a knot.

"I haven't met her yet, maybe I should change that. Do you happen to know when she's due to arrive?"

"Supposedly next week, but you can probably imagine that after her honeymoon she won't be too keen to be physically separated from her husband again." He bends my foot in every possible direction and at the same time tries to work my calf muscles from all sides down to the deepest layer.

"I hope she's more like you. There are already enough people here who don't like me."

Leonardo becomes quiet. I sense that he wants to say something but is holding back. I don't blame him. He has been working for Aston Martin for two years and always talks about how happy he was when he got the job offer. I don't blame him for sticking to his colleagues rather than me. But at least I can talk to him about how I'm feeling at the moment - and sometimes he even sheds some light on things.

The vibration of my cell phone snaps me out of my thoughts. I briefly consider just leaving it and answering it later, but suddenly messages come in every second and I can no longer hold back my curiosity. I stretch to my right and reach for my cell phone. Messages from Enzo.

Have you seen what Mr. Oh-so-perfect just posted?

Below screenshots of Charles Leclerc's Instagram Stories. I'm starting to laugh.

I thought he drives for Formula 1? Like, as a professional? Or is he scared now that Lewis will probably be the new number 1 and steal his spotlight? I quickly type back.

I think it's going to be good music. Have you watched his videos of him playing the piano? I think I fall in love with those hands every time.

Is it possible you can't get that guy from last week out of your head? When did you start stalking Mr. Annoying? Since when is Enzo that interested in the Ferrari driver? Have I missed something?

I'm not stalking. I'm observing. For you.

Thanks, but as long as he's not driving right in front of me on the track and pointing the red back end of his car in my face, I'm not really that interested in him.

Oh, come on! He's cute.

I always thought you had to have talent to be a musician. But nowadays it seems anyone can release new songs. Well, if he goes the way he's producing next season, I don't have much to worry about. I am thinking about that option for a second. A grid without Leclerc? That would be my dream.

You're impossible - you haven't even heard his songs.

No need, thanks :P

A smile creeps onto my lips.

"Is there a friend we don't know about?" Leonardo teases me. I reflexively lock the phone screen and throw my phone back into my bag.

"No, a good friend." I don't want to tell anyone that I'm still in contact with my previous race engineer. I'm still not sure who I can and can't trust here. "Leclerc has apparently released music."

Leonardo laughs. "He's probably trying to build up a second mainstay in case Lewis does become primary driver in 2025."

"You've heard about that too, haven't you? Awesome." I wonder how openly I can speak here, but then discard the idea because I've never been someone who doesn't completely overshare with anyone anyway. "I'm curious to see how his move to Ferrari will play out this season. And especially what it could mean for Fernando."

"Has he spoken to you about it?"

"With me? We've only known each other for what feels like two minutes, I hardly think he's going to reveal his plans to me. But to be honest, I would totally get it. I don't think Mercedes is as bad as everyone thinks."

A moment of silence. Leonardo takes a deep breath, and I almost don't notice that he starts to speak.

I continue bluntly: "On the other hand, where is Carlos going? I think it's a shame for him. So much work, so much ambition, he was the only one who could at least halfway hold a candle to my brother. But maybe Mercedes is going in a completely new direction? So many questions all buzzing around in my head and somehow I can't talk to anyone about it, so I'm sorry if I'm making you feel too tired."

"Why do you feel that way? That you can't talk to anyone, I mean."

"Difficult subject. But it's been on my mind for a while. Both the Lewis to Ferrari issue and the fact that I'm always being ignored here."

"Emma, can I ask you an honest question?" Leonardo stops massaging my thighs and I sit up. He's looked so tense since our session started - maybe I should suggest he books a massage with his physiotherapist.

"Are you planning to go to Mercedes?"

Silence. I know for a fact that my expression is slipping, and a furrow is forming between my eyebrows. My eyebrows rise as if of their own accord and a neutral "What?" slips past my lips.

"If Toto Wolff called you tomorrow and asked if you would consider driving for Mercedes next year - would you...would you at least think about it?" Now Leonardo looks me in the eye with a serious expression. I shake my head and laugh.

"As if they would ask me."

"Would you?" he asks again with emphasis.

"I guess that's what it comes down to. If my team doesn't want me here, and, no offense, that's the impression I'm getting right now, why wouldn't I move to a structure where they obviously want me?" I haven't thought about the question that much myself - simply because the announcement of Lewis Hamilton's move to Ferrari only became public a week ago and caused quite a stir. I can well imagine that there are some drivers who are keen on the Mercedes seat.

Leonardo thinks about his next words, I can see it on his face. "My question is whether this is simply a stepping stone for you."

My heart stops with this question. I shake my head vigorously. "Oh my God, no, never. I was... I was so happy when it was decided that I could be part of your team. I can learn so much from Fernando and I think it will be good for me to move outside my comfort zone. My previous team was with me for some time, so a breath of fresh air is never a bad thing. At least I think so. If I had hoped for a better deal...", I raise both my hands and bend my index and middle fingers to make quotation marks, "...I would only have had to wait another year. Red Bull kept ringing my doorbell, but I didn't want to be associated with Max all the time. That's why I'm here."

Leonardo exhales, visibly relieved. "Try to be patient with the others. Everyone's been a bit tense since Lewis' transfer was announced, especially with Fernando. Now, everyone is trying to assess you. Whether you take after your father or Max or..."

"...or whether I have my own quirks? I promise, I have them." Suddenly it all makes sense. If the team can't be sure if I'll even be here when they're building the car for next year, then it's only logical not to invest 100% of their energy in something that's already got one foot out the door.

I turn to him and hold out my wrists. He reaches behind him and then presses two tennis balls into my hand - coordination training. I exhale in annoyance.

"If you just be yourself during pre-season testing, everyone will realize that you're an asset to us. I promise." I smile. Then I think of the heat in Bahrain, the left and right turns and the feeling of sitting in our new car for the first time. The sizzling feeling in the air. The smiles, the people, the anticipation. That really weird feeling in my fingers, my breath patterns and my heartbeat, when the first few laps start to feel less overwhelming. This thought puts a smile on my face for the rest of the week that not even the lunch breaks in the women's toilet can wipe away.

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter III] [Chapter V (in progress)] ɞ────

Tags: @cmleitora

#f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #slow burn #f1 imagine #haters to lovers

[spindrifters]

excerpt - ch. 44

It’s half four in the morning when the screaming starts.

Remus is all but dead to the world, a soft bed and duvet wrapped tight, sunk into a deeper sleep than he could have possibly imagined a year ago. Doesn’t matter. He’s awake in a matter of seconds. Old instincts kicking in — that, or just having lived long enough at Sirius’s side to know the way this goes.

A hand over his mouth — and Remus wouldn’t have done that, either, a few months ago, but he understands now that this is what Sirius needs. He rolls over to cover his thrashing body with his own, heart tearing even as he keeps a tight grip, the pressure of the hold as he pulls him in tight. Sirius hasn’t had a nightmare in months — not since Phoenix, not since them. Maybe it was naive to think it, but Remus finds now that he’d more or less assumed they’d waned off with Black Manor and its inhabitants firmly behind them. Apparently he was wrong.

“S’alright,” he hushes him gently, nosing behind his ear even as his hand stays firmly pressed over Sirius’s mouth. They can afford to be a bit louder, here — even without a muffling charm, he knows Mum and Sarah in the next room over wouldn’t much mind. But Sirius is a physical person, with tactile needs. This works better. “C’mon, Pads,” he says, a kiss behind his ear, “wake up. It’s only a nightmare. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

A shudder passes through him, Sirius’s shouts waning into a whimper even in the depths of his dream, and Remus’s heart wants to break.

Fucking hell, when will those people finally leave them alone?

Remus holds him through it, one hand splayed over the erratic beating of Sirius’s heart, until the small cries and panicked mutterings subside and those long, dark lashes flutter open, eyes glazed over and unseeing. He moves his other hand from his mouth, presses a kiss to his temple.

“Moony?” Sirius whispers into the dark, and Remus hates how small he sounds. Sirius is vibrant laughter and untameable rage. There’s nothing small about him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, smooths a hand along a temple each, pushing back sweaty strands of black hair to look into his eyes.

“My mother — ”

“Isn’t here.” There’s a ferocity cutting into the calm there, one Remus hadn’t intended for but fuck it. Sirius — wide eyes and too-fast heartbeat — needs to know. “She isn’t fucking here, Sirius,” he says again, breathing in the thick air between them. “And even if she was, she couldn’t have you. They can’t have you. Know why?”

He breathes, wills his own heart to calm.

“Because she’d have to get through me first.”

The last of the sleep falls from Sirius’s grey eyes, wide fear sharpening to narrow points as the words sink in, and oh. There he is. Some sort of deep anger behind their gaze, and it’s not for Remus. It’s something else, something he barely has time to register before Sirius is surging forward, and it’s the two of them, then, kissing in the dark night. Lips and teeth seeking each other out, and Remus’s hand tightens at the sharp just of his hip, a reminder that yes. We’re still here. We are.

Autumn’s snapped with the turn into October, and for all it’s cold outside it’s cozy here under the patchwork quilt and piled duvets, warmth turning to sweat as they fumble for each other beneath their joggers. Remus buries his promises into Sirius’s mouth, because it’s the truth. Anyone who wants to take Sirius from him — they’ll have to fight him first. Soon, though, the words are mixing, fading into Sirius’s own mutterings of Never again where he sucks at the skin beneath his jaw, ruts beneath him in the dark — Never, never again, I swear it — and Remus doesn’t know what he’s talking about, only he knows the way the promise fills him. The rolling of Sirius’s hips beneath his own, like the layers still between them might not be there at all, an affirmation in every thrust. The heightening in his chest when Sirius’s hands smooth down inside joggers to the swell of his arse, elegant fingers running along fresh silver scars as he grips Remus tighter against himself, that shiver of being alive, and it doesn’t terrify him anymore, this wanting. Not like it used to. This opening of himself, of letting Sirius inside. Because it doesn’t feel like falling anymore.

It feels like being held.

It feels like holding someone in return, knowing what terrible things you’d do before you let each other go.

Sirius smashes a kiss to his forehead, after, breathing hard in the night. A softer kiss, after that, just on the bridge of his nose, and Remus quirks a curious brow.

“It was the library,” he says finally, pulling the heavy quilt back over them both to chase away the cold, and Remus goes still. “My dream. It was about the night we left.”

“Oh.”

Never again.

There doesn’t seem to be much more to say than that. They haven’t really talked about what happened, not since that day on the beach when they finally sorted themselves out. Hasn’t been much reason to, really, and Remus has found a certain sort of freedom in finally focusing on the future for once, rather than dwelling on the past. But the past always has other plans, and it’s never content to leave them alone.

Only then Sirius is rolling onto his side, that ferocious glint returned again behind grey eyes.

“They can’t have you, either, you know,” he says then, and a warm hand snakes its way up under his shirt, fingernails digging in, just lightly, down over where he knows his brand lies.

His breath catches. He hates that fucking thing. He hates it, more than for what it means, more than for how it looks, more than he ever did. He hates how trapped he feels, how it’s the one thing keeping him still bound, a tracker signal sunk into his chest. But it’s the way Sirius is looking at him now, that ever-expanding mass of contradictions held in one face. Fear and love and that terrible Black rage, the one that might send anyone else running fast in the other direction, cold and sharp and honed to a cruel point as it is.

For Remus’s part, he only feels held.

“No one’s ever going to hurt you again,” Sirius says, the promise harsh and sincere and given to the dark night, and Remus can’t help but believe him. “I’ll kill anyone who even thinks it.”

#already posted this chapter but I love this scene and had this in the drafts so here have some vaguely smutty h/c #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #my fic

[andavs]

If eddie just kisses buck on his cheek, he would only realize what he did like 5 mins later and he would go 'oh' just as buck sits there frozen trying to process what just happened

I can see Eddie doing it and not even realizing at all until Buck's acting weird because he's overthinking it. It's natural, it's muscle memory for Eddie.

Mwah for Chris, mwah for Buck, grab his keys, out the door.

Meanwhile, there aren't a lot of people Buck gets cheek kisses from, so he would definitely remember if Eddie was one of them. He isn't. Or he wasn't. Until about ten minutes ago. And Buck has no idea what that means.

Chris either didn't notice or didn't consider it weird enough to comment on, and Buck doesn't want to make it weird if it's actually nothing, so he can't just ask. But he also can't just sit there with a freshly kissed cheek like that didn't just happen in the middle of gluing down big cut out letters for Chris' latest science project.

So because he's in a scientific kind of mood and can't do much more on the actual project layout until Eddie gets back with the tri-fold project board Chris swore he didn't need six hours prior, Buck takes a scientific approach and thinks through the concrete evidence he's gathered over the years.

Obviously Eddie gives Chris cheek kisses (and head kisses, and forehead kisses, and though they've waned as Chris has gotten older, every other kind of dumb, exaggerated kisses in dumb places just to make his son laugh). He gives his abuela cheek kisses, and Pepa. His mom and sisters. They're all family, that makes sense.

Eddie does not give any of the 118 cheek kisses. There's plenty of hugs, but no kisses that Buck has witnessed. Somehow he can't quite picture Eddie planting one on Chim at the end of a shift. Eddie considers the team to be family, and has said as much many times before, but not cheek kiss kind of family.

Buck is part of the 118.

Buck just got a cheek kiss.

Which based on evidence would group him not with the 118, but with the Diaz family.

Which does not bode well for Buck's not-quite-familial feelings towards Eddie.

But. He also clearly remembers a cheek kiss or two for Ana. Who was definitely not grouped in with the Diaz family or the 118 family. She was in her own circle on the Eddie Diaz Venn Diagram of Cheek Kisses, and if Buck was feeling particularly confident, he might say he himself occupied the very center of this diagram where all of these circles overlapped.

Except he's not feeling all that confident, and for all he knows, he actually occupies his own mutant growth off of the 118 circle that only gets cheek kisses because he promised to vacuum up the sand they've already spilled on the floor for this science project. Eddie really hates vacuuming, that's a definite possibility.

He's still staring into space at the dining table when Eddie gets back with the tri-fold project board. He's also sitting there totally alone, because he was so wrapped up in his mental Venn diagrams that he completely missed whenever Chris got bored and went into the kitchen to get a snack.

Eddie doesn't seem to find this weird at all as he bitches about the lady in front of him at the check-out who bought the store's entire stock of bagged fake snow even though it's May, and of course each bag had to be rung up individually. Halfway through, he tosses a pack of Reese's onto the table, even though neither he nor Chris likes them very much. Buck loves Reese's, and Eddie knows this, because he always makes a face when Buck licks the chocolate that gets left behind on the paper cup.

He calls for Chris and pulls his chair a little closer to Buck, and when he sits down their thighs are pressed against each other. Neither of them moves away. They might actually end up even closer together as the three of them work through the evening, and after Chris goes to bed, they finish cleaning up the project debris together. Buck vacuums and Eddie gathers up all the cut up bits of paper.

And when Eddie nods for Buck to follow down the hall to his bedroom instead of setting up the couch like he usually does, Buck starts to think that maybe being the center of the Eddie Diaz Venn Diagram of Cheek Kisses isn't such a long shot after all.

#idk it just kept going

[msmargaretmurry]

I’ve recently got into hockey fics and it’s completely taken over what little brain space I had left. Do you have any recs for a baby new to this wonderful new world? 💕💕

hello friend and welcome to hockey! i’m sure you sent this ask looking for a nice little list of links but unfortunately because of who i am as a person i’m about to give you way more information than you asked for. 

before we dive in: i have a terrible memory when it comes to stuff i’ve read, and i have a pathological lack of bookmarks, and there is a LOT of hockey fic, so despite a fair bit of crowdsourcing from friends this list is obviously by no means exhaustive. there is SO much good stuff out there that isn't linked here. hockey fic to me has always felt like a very choose-your-own adventure fandom, and i want to empower you to choose your own adventure. there is so much hockey fic, there is truly something for everyone, but of course it’s all also subject to personal taste, so please read on for a little smorgasbord from which hopefully you can find some stuff you’ll love.

a very brief history of hrpf

when i say there is a lot of hockey fic, i feel like it is fun context to know that people have been posting hockey fic on the internet for more than 20 years. i have not been reading it for 20 years, so even having many years of this fandom under my belt, i am still building off the hard work of the beautiful weirdos who came before me. a lot of the pre-ao3 stuff has sadly but understandably been lost to time, but if you’re interested at all in seeing a bit of how we got to where we are now, @lovethygoalie has compiled some links here, and he has an nhl fandom history tag with some more fandom history!

hockey fic, due to the nature of the sport and the inexorable march of time, has always kind of happened in waves/cycles of certain players/pairings/teams being popular in the fandom for a little while, then fading away as new players/pairings/teams become the new hot thing. every time there’s a new wave of a popular thing, new people get sucked into the fandom, which creates this very charming-to-me phenomenon where i can often guess the ballpark of when they joined hockey fandom based on who their faves are, what teams they’re into, even what teams/players they’re NOT into, lol. (but obviously there have also always been people shipping rare pairs and medium-popular pairs and rooting for less popular teams and players, too! it’s a big fandom!)

anyway, that’s something i have found super fascinating to observe over the years and also something i wanted to touch on here to explain why there’s going to be some fic recs in here featuring players who you might never see mentioned the current hrpf zeitgeist. some of the players have retired, some of the pairings have simply waned in popularity, some of the teams are just not currently “in” in hockey fandom, but i still think it’s totally worth going back to dig into older stuff in addition to having fun with the current popular narratives and pairings, etc.

but onto the recs!

(it should go without saying, but please heed the tags/warnings on anything linked here! i’m offering these links mostly without commentary, but a lot of it is going to be mature/explicit-rated, some of it will deal with sensitive themes, some if it might have stuff you just don’t care for! not knowing your personal tastes, i tried to curate a selection of various lengths, types, tropes, pairings, teams, etc.)

i saw you just read my behemoth matthew/leon fic, so let’s start with more of that. it’s a popular pairing right now! very fun characters and narratives to work with! here are a few authors whose matthew/leon stuff i definitely recommend across the board (links go to their ao3 pages; there’s no point in linking individual fics because i would just be linking all of them):

bropunzeling

daisysusan

ohtempora

and some short one-shots that i really enjoyed:

if you handed over your body by photovoltaic (mature, 2.7k)

truce by anonymous (explicit, 2.1k)

and i will not come back the same by void_fish (explicit, 4k)

partly crowdsourced from pals, here are additional fic recs for pairings/players/narratives that are varying levels of currently relevant:

Fragments by heartequals (cole caufield/nick suzuki, explicit, 20k)

wait a year by daisysusan (quinn hughes/brady tkachuk, explicit, 16.8k)

cover love’s bruise by addandsubtract (johnny gaudreau/sean monahan, explicit, 8.3k)

don't ever be a stranger by bropunzeling (jamie drysdale/trevor zegras, explicit, 24k)

For the Summer by gigantic (jack hughes/trevor zegras, explicit, 3.5k)

Lionheart by Aliquis (nico hischier/jonas siegenthaler, explicit, 53k)

All Your'n by jvrcus (mathew barzal/anthony beauvillier, teen & up, 13.8k)

let's make it cinematic by kitnita (mathew barzal/anthony beauvillier, explicit, 13.2k)

@grittyreadsfic is a mostly-hockey fic rec blog! they read much more widely than me and definitely have recs for a lot of currently popular pairings not covered here, as well as rarepairs and more niche stuff.

@postoperation compiled a great list of older-ish hockey fic recs that i HIGHLY recommend, and not just because one of mine is included in there. 😂

more older fics, in no particular order; a once again partly-crowdsourced-from-my-friends list of recs:

so collect your scars and wear them well by addandsubtract (connor mcdavid/dylan strome, mature, 26k)

A Month of Sundays by Kelfin (erik johnson/gabe landeskog, mature, 68k)

Friday Night Arrives Without a Suitcase by marycontraire (danny briere/claude giroux, not rated, 14.6k)

Something Old by uraneia (danny briere/claude giroux, explicit, 13.4k)

if courage is a live wire by redheartglow (adam henrique & taylor hall friendship, teen & up, 15.5k)

Like an Explosion by Dark_Eyed_Junco (nic dowd/derek forbort, mature, 4.3k)

Lions in Arms by xihale (alex ovechkin/sidney crosby, mature, 4.7k) 

Hockey at the End of the World by ionthesparrow (jeff carter/mike richards and tyler toffoli/tanner pearson, mature to explicit, a series of five fics totaling 383k)

@deepbutdazzlingdarkness has a washington capitals fic rec list; i haven’t read everything on there but i have liked what i’ve read! [i am very picky about caps fic because a) i’m a snob about local details and b) i can only read so much smut about dudes i might run into at the jeni’s ice cream in tysons corner. but there is some very good stuff. similarly, a rec i haven’t read but it comes from a friend whose writing i deeply admire and whose taste i trust implicitly:

mouth-deep by saintsideways (nicklas backstrom/mike green, explicit, 30k); the reccer says, “it’s a wild time and coated with an absolutely visionary layer of grime I can only aspire to.”]

@bunnymcfoo also has an extensive rec list, much of which i have not read, but definitely worth checking out if you need more!

anyway, sorry if that was too much, but hopefully it is just enough to get you started chasing your own hockey fic bliss. my ask box is open if you have any questions! ❤

#ask #fic rec #hockey for ts

[bitchyglitterfox]

Who The Hell Is Moon Knight? - Moon boys x F!Avenger!Reader

Warnings: talks of the blip, Thanos, Tony, Natasha and Steve's Deaths, crying, brief mention of Jake, sorry if I make a part 2 he will he a bigger part of it. Not beta read!

A/n: ahh finally its done! I've had this one in my notebook ideas for weeks! So glad I finished it finally thanks to my wonderful friend @jupitersmoon167 who helped me co write this when I had hit writers block!

It’s been about a year since everything happened. A year gone without Tony, Natasha and especially Steve. Steve had been the first one to become friends with you when you first joined the Avengers. His leaving hurt you the most since he never gave you a proper goodbye.

You decided it was time for a fresh start, you all scattered really especially with the Sokovia accords having been recently overturned. You want to gather your thoughts and reevaluate what life might lead you too. If you could even call yourself an avenger still or if you would turn towards a life of being a vigilante like those you've heard of in Hell's Kitchen.

London is where your crisis sent you, you'd always wanted to visit but this visit had turned into a few weeks which turned into a permanent residence in London, just a few blocks from the local history museum.

It was a crisp March night when you were walking home from dinner, it was late, none of the buses were running for the rest of the night and you decided it would be better to just walk than spend money on an uber.

You could hear laughing in the distance as you were about to pass a bar.

You grip your purse a little tighter as you begin to pass. You don't want to have to cause a scene here, especially since you just want to lay low.

“Oi, what's a pretty dame like you doing out ‘ere all alone” one of the drunk men asks while stepping out into your path.

You kept your head down, you didn't want to engage with them. Just keep walking and you'll be fine, you tell yourself in your head. You continue walking however you notice that they've begun to follow you close behind.

“Hey! My friend here was talking to you! He deserves a response” another one says as he shoves you into the alley just past the bar.

“Look, I don't want any trouble, I just want to get home. Now if you let me, i'd really appreciate it” You say with you back to the brick wall.

“Well, looks like trouble found you after all, little darling,” the man who first called out to you spoke again, getting close enough for you to smell his alcohol ridden breath. You could feel the blade press closer to your neck, nicking the skin. You can feel the warmth of the blood trickling down your neck.

Your palm is against the brick wall and you can already feel the vines growing around you.

“I really didn't want to have to do this but you've left me no choice,” you begin to bring your hand up when another person joins you in the alley. This one dressed head to toe like a mummy with a cape and hood to match, a golden waning crescent on his chest.

He pulls a blade from his chest and throws it at the one who had just previously had the knife to your throat. The blade hits the knife causing him to drop it. You turn your attention to the other man who is about to hit the man in white. You cause a vine to wrap around his leg and pull, causing him to fall on his back, knocking him out in the process.

You turn to see the man in white knock out the other guy before he walks over to you. Before you have time to think or even wrap the mummy man in a vine he already has you in his arms and he's flying into the night sky.

When your feet touch solid ground once more, you are on a rooftop somewhere. You quickly push yourself out of his arms.

“And who the fuck are you?” you ask, once again bringing out vines from your palms.

He removes his hood and mask to reveal a rather handsome man with chocolate brown eyes.

“Uh Moon Knight?” he raised an eyebrow, shocked and a bit offended you've never heard of them.

“Who the hell is Moon Knight?” You give him a death glare, ready to fight once more when he changes appearances and facial expressions in the blink of an eye, this time he's wearing an all white three piece suit.

“Wait, I know you! You're bloody Mother Nature! You're an Avenger!” Steven says excitedly.

His excitement causes a blush to rise on your cheeks. Who the fuck was this guy seriously.

'Wait, Steven are you saying we saved someone who could have saved themselves?' Marc asks from the headspace.

'And she is gorgeous, and can kick ass? Hermano, ask her on a date.' Jake says coming out to see the ruckus.

“Yeah, so you know that I can kick your ass?” you say as you wrap his legs in vines.

“Wait a minute, time out.” Steven bargains creating the time out symbol with his hands, “Why don't we all just chill the F out.”

You stare at him, confused, before you are able another word he changes his accent back to an american one.

“Look, we don't want to fight you. We are the Avatars of Khonshu. We protect the travelers of the night. We thought you were in need of our help,” He begins to explain, only confusing you more.

“Let me stop you right there, why do you switch accents and keep saying us? Are there more of you so-called avatars?” you say quickly looking around.

“No, we-well I have DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder, and Steven, he’s british. There is one other. His name is Jake, they're both co conscious with me right now,” He explains further, hope is in his eyes, hope that you believe him.

“I see. Okay, well it was swell to meet you,” you begin, bringing the vines from around his legs back to you.

“Marc, Marc Spector,” He sticks out his hand.

You shake it, his grip releases as his costume changes once more to a black and white style and he brings your knuckles to his lips.

“Hola, mi bonita mujer. My name is Jake Lockley,” you raise an eyebrow and the suave man.

“Flattery won’t get you far Lockley,” you smirk.

“Oh i like you,” he says smirking back before his expression changes into a sweet faced one and his costume changing back to the white three piece suit.

“Hello love, I’m Steven Grant. Huge fan of your work,” He gushes, causing a blush to creep up your neck.

You are about to speak again when the cold london breeze passes through you causing you to shiver. Steven is quicke to put his suit’s jacket over your shoulders.

“Would you like to come back to our flat for some tea?" Steven insists.

'Yes Hermano ask her back then we can play the long game' Jake says from inside the head space.

"I almost kicked your ass and you want me to come back home with you for tea? Hmm why not, I don't have friends here. But let me tell you boys. You try anything and I won't hesitate to wrap you up in vines,"

'Oooo I like her so much more now,' Jake smirks

'She sure is something else' Marc replies.

*****

Steven hands you a cup of tea while you sit on their worn couch. Many nights were spent on this couch due to Jake falling asleep watching the Yankees play.

“Thank you,” you took a sip of the tea, “So I guess you are wondering what an Avenger is doing in London?” You say looking up at Steven.

“We are but we don't want to pressure you into telling us darling. I know we just met.” He gives you a gentle smile.

“After Thanos happened, I was lost. I lost a lot of people, I was snapped away, so imagine my frustration and sadness to come back only to lose my family all over again. We all scattered, currently trying to rebuild and I just ran. I haven't had contact with any of them and it became too much too fast." tears fall from your eyes, you cough to try and cover up your tears. Steven surprises you, he wraps you in his arms around you and pulls you into a tight hug.

When the two of you pull away you see a shift in his person, "I-we have baggage too. Not Avenger level baggage but baggage nonetheless," Marc speaks as he pulls back. You can tell there is more but you don't want to push it as you have just met them.

"You could use a friend while your here for however long that may be, and if you ever need a partner or help taking down the bad guys you always have us," he says with a small smile. You return one. You continue drinking your tea as you notice Marc doesn't drink.

"Not a big tea drinker, Spector?" You say over your cup.

He lets out a hearty chuckle, "more of a black coffee drinker," he says finally leaning forward to take a sip of tea grimacing as it hits his tongue, "Yeah definitely prefer coffee."

You nearly choke on your own tea at his reaction. This is what you had missed most after you came back. Hopefully life here in London with a fellow vigilante wouldn't be so bad.

"So why exactly do you dress like a mummy?"

#bitchyglitterfox writes #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel studios #moon knight x fem!reader #marc spector imagine #steven grant x you #steven grant imagines #steven with a v #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x fem!reader