#prompt fill

[touchofhemlocktea]

You know, I have ideals...

Poker Night at the House of Mysteries

John threw back another shot, the world spinning for a fraction of a second as his demon blood ate through the fresh alcohol. Old Lucy's lips quirked in amusement. The fae lord of the blood forest, yes Connie would continue calling him Lord Blood to annoy him, stood for a second to stretch. The puppet body eldritch-name-he-couldn't-pronounce, lord Bill, on his left, glanced around.

Another Hand Connie? Everyone?

John was considering his answer when a chill went through his spine. Everyone at the table suddenly looked very worried, swiftly collecting their winnings in their own ways, as the temperature dropped bitingly fast. The air filled with the taste of death energy as a figure stepped through the veil of reality.

The figure was deceptively young looking, its power drowning out the auras of the already powerful figures in the room. Androgynous, yet somehow familiar, elvish features scanned the assembled figures, finally resting its infinite green eyes on John. Power spiked suffocatingly thick as a forcibly blank face whispered,

John Constantine, step forward and greet your new master.

A lot of things clicked very quickly as he struggled against his own body's obedience, belatedly realizing that his guests had fled. John felt the invisible collar tugging at his soul, pulling him at the figures feet.

What do you wa-

John coughed heavily as an invisible weight choked him into silence, locking his mouth closed. He glared at his new owner, bracing himself for whatever they might have planned.

Do you know who I am, John Constantine?

The figure laughed, seemingly satisfied at his futile struggle to not answer.

M-M-Master...

A silent tug at the bond had him removing and placing his neatly folded shirt in the Masters waiting hand. He couldn't suppress a spike of real fear at what the being was planning, but he wasn't forced to go further.

He watched in silence as infinite green pooled in the Masters hands, shaping and crystalizing into a blade. After a moment of consideration, John was compelled to clear the abandoned poker table, laying face down.

The blade rests on his exposed back. The concentrated death energy is uncomfortably fueled by honed rage. The blade sizzles like acid as it sinks into his paralyzed body.

It feels like hours. Each intricate line carved into his skin sinks into his soul, infusing him with the foreign energies and adding another link to the invisible chains that have been solidifying since the being appeared.

The final line scars over as the Sigal Brand burns itself into his very soul, permanently locking in the Master's ownership for even Magic themselves to sense for the rest of John's existence.

Father, sleep now, you'll need your strength. We're just getting started.

John is barely allowed to feel shock and confusion as unconsciousness takes him.

The MANY Bloodlines of Constantine

Those Constantine is Danny's dad and sold his kid soul because he thought he'd actually never have one and Danny is now the Ghost King so his soul claims are invalid AUs but learns he's not Constantine only kid (after a while Constantine honestly 100% thought he'd never have kids and never bothered with a 1st born clause when making deals, maybe some annoyed deity or powerful magic user made Constantine think he can't have kids anymore just to get back at the conman) and now doing everything in his Kingly power to save his half-siblings (can be other teens from other shows or movies or cartoons etc etc) because Danny is the oldest of them and really really wants to punch his biodad for making such a huge mess he has to deal with but Danny does get to meet and protect his younger Half-siblings.

Then comes the day he's celebrating one of his half-sibs birthday with all the others when he's suddenly summoned out of the blue and meets not just the Justice League but his, and his half-sibs, no good soul selling biodad.

Hello rightly placed aggression.... Once he takes care of that powerful evil spirit that's attacking earth first of course.

[qveerthe0ry]

hi ml <33 i saw that you have a previous req and have been busy as of late -good luck by the way!!- so no pressure AT ALL, but i was wondering if you would be interested in writing small dick dieter bravo…

specifically small dick dieter bravo -who is getting his back blown out by reader- trying to grind against the bedsheets, stoned beyond belief, but his ass is too high in the air and his cock won’t reach…

essentially nonsensical smut i’m so sorry ❤️

Nonsensical smut you say??? Small Dick Dieter you say??? You've come to the right place, my friend 💕 (obligatory sorry that it took me months to fill this prompt lol)

Little Mess - Dieter Bravo x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1,380 Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: gender neutral use of 'daddy', reader has a 'cock' but not specified if it's flesh or silicone, drug use, restraints, slight humiliation kink, ass eating, anal sex, cum play

It starts out as these things usually do, a slow and lazy exploration.

You each take an edible and then smoke a little spliff just to get the ball rolling. 

As the burning in your lungs dissipates into that familiar fuzzy warmth, Dieter kisses you all soft and needy as he does. He touches you like you’re one of his canvasses, aimless but purposeful all at once. 

Once your clothes come off, his warm body leaves the crook of your own to lean over his nightstand. He snorts something off of the tiny key to his chastity cage— not that you’re using it now, it’s just there amongst the chaos of his side table. God only knows what the powdery substance is, but you’ve learned you’re better off not asking.

His pupils expand and contract in front of your eyes, and then he gets sloppy with it. He licks into your mouth, moves down to suckle any skin within reach, humps your leg like he’s in heat. 

He gets frantic as the time passes and it makes you pin him to the bed, use your stern voice that makes his eyes go wide as saucers and his breath all stuttery. 

You tease his cock, small, so small. You run your fingertip up the underside of it, gather the insane amount of pre-cum that’s trickled from his slit. Two inches of red, angry hardness, twitching anytime you touch it, breathe next to it, look at it. 

You lick into his greedy asshole as your thumb and forefinger wrap around his skinny cock, just holding there, appreciating the way it jerks and bobs in your grasp as you eat him out. That’s when you notice your edible starting to kick in, not so strong, you only took a fraction of what Dieter took. 

That’s also when he starts to get insatiable. He’s begging you, whining and whimpering until you slick up your cock and split him on it. 

And then he’s out of his mind, hopped up on at least a hundred milligrams of THC and whatever the fuck he’s snorted. You tie his wrists to the bed, for his sake or for yours, you don’t even know anymore. 

He arches his back like a whore for you, presenting his ass to you like a gift. His small prick barely visible where it dangles between his legs, drooling and pulsing. He begs for your cock, and you pound into him like you know he wants, spreading his asscheeks wide open so you can watch the way he takes you.

For a while it’s just the sounds of your hips slamming into him, and his pitiful noises, and labored breathing.

“Please, please, daddy– fuck!”

His voice tapers off into a pathetic little whimper and your nails dig harder into the meat of his ass. 

“What, Dee? What is it?”

You like to tease him– love it, actually, even more so because you know he loves it too. 

“I wanna come.”

You make a cooing noise at the back of your throat. 

“You do? Why don’t you come for me, baby boy?”

His noise of frustration only makes you fuck into him harder, to hear the way it cuts off at every brutal thrust inside is greedy hole. 

He whines again, begging, and you slow to lean down and lick the sweat from his spine. 

“Answer me. Be good.”

“I can’t– I can’t reach.”

You hum, press a few kisses to the red marks you’ve left on his back. His hands are secured to his lavish headboard, but you know that’s not what he means. 

“Of course you can’t reach, I’ve got you all tied up. Why don’t you hump the mattress like a pup?”

Your voice is low, careful to toe the line of teasing and humiliation, a line that Dieter loves to tap dance across. One wrong move and he’ll be a diva for the next 24 hours, insistent you make it up to him for hurting his feelings. 

He whimpers, and his hips jerk down enough that your cock slips out of him. 

“Tsk tsk, Dee, I thought you wanted my cock?”

“I do! Put it back, ‘m sorry, please.�� 

You manhandle his hips up again so his ass is presented to you. He curses under his breath and clenches his fists around the slats in his headboard. 

You spit on his hole, red and gaped from fucking him the way he begged you for it, as rough and as hard as possible. You watch it flutter and you grin, wicked and evil before you slam back into him. 

He squirms under you, makes pathetic little noises and thrashes around. At first he tries to yank his hands from the restraints, then he tries to squeeze his thighs together to gather some friction. 

It’s all fruitless. You grip his hips so tight you know they’ll be purple later and you grind into him until you hear a sob bubble up out of his chest. 

“PLEASE, please, please god please let me come.”

You only fuck him harder and listen to his babbling, until his words make no sense and and he starts sniffling through his tears. 

“You think you’ve earned it?”

He nods frantically and arches his ass back into you. 

“Uh-huh, yes daddy. I’ve been so good, I’ll do anything, just let me— please.”

You yank yourself out of him. He whines and whimpers but doesn’t move his hips. He must really want to come. You reach up and untie his hands, and then you pull him back into your lap. 

He wriggles on top of you, desperately bucking his hips until he gets your dick inside of him again and fully seats himself. 

The satisfied sigh he lets out is cute more than anything. His sweaty back sticks to your front, and you kiss his shoulder blade before you reach around to take him in your hand. 

He’s so small. He fits in your palm, perfectly hidden when you wrap your hand around him. It makes it that much easier to slick him up with his pre-cum since there isn’t that much of him. 

He’s so hard that you can nearly feel how much he’s aching, and his dick jerks in your grasp when you start stroking him. 

“If you wanna come so bad, bounce on it yourself.”

His breath hitches but he obeys immediately, lifting up then slamming back down on your prick. You know he loves this, performing for you, taking from you, being good for you. 

His head lolls back to rest on your shoulder. You arch your neck to look at him and he’s gorgeous like this, all dazed and stoned and blissful. You tell him so and he tries to hide from you, but you just grab his chin with your free hand and force him to let you look. 

Your other hand slips from his cock every time he slams down on you, so little and slippery it’s hard to hold onto. He lets out a frustrated grunt ever time it does, so you humor him. Sliding it down even farther, you tighten your grip, squeezing the pulsing head.

You know he’s so close. He’s holding his breath now, his eyes all slammed shut and his teeth sinking harder and harder into his plush bottom lip. All it takes is sucking a mark into his pulse point to send him over the edge. He grinds down into you and gasps and then he’s filling your hand, spilling all over his tiny cock until he’s spent. 

You stroke his chest as he comes down, and hold him in your hand as he gets soft and limp and even smaller. You make to move once his breathing finally evens out, but he whines and only wiggles closer into your lap.

“Don’t go.”

You chuckle but you give him this one, rolling you both into your sides to spoon up behind him and stay snug inside.

He tilts his head to look back at you with his heavy lids and glassy, bloodshot eyes. He’s such a pretty mess. You tell him this as you rub his own spend onto his tummy. 

He doesn’t argue, seems to even agree as he steals a kiss from your lips. 

[touchofhemlocktea]

Inspiration and part one here

Drown me in my sins like I deserve

The House of Mysteries has become a labyrinth, no longer answering John's commands.

You have been claimed and changed. I own you and everything that you once claimed was yours.

John loses track of time as withdrawals wreck his body.

You will not escape this punishment as you have others. You will no longer drink or take any drug recreationally. You will face what you have done.

A piece of him practically screams through the Bond to just kill him already.

You will not die without my release. You will not end save by my power.

Compulsion drags John back to the innocent looking tablet. It lights up at his touch, spiking him with pain, as he's forced to start reading through the files again.

43 children

25 ended

5-no 7 now yet to be born

Some of them have a lot of information. Images, names, their other parents, dates of birth and death, copies of the contracts that had been used to claim them, and their personal testimonials of what happened to them stab him to his very soul.

Others are distressingly empty of information, the only evidence they existed at all being the broken potential family bonds among their existing kin.

Some of his kids were enough like him to get powerful, to rise above their owners and carve out their own places of power in the realms they had been taken too and been absorbed by. He feels a bit of twisted pride in that. At least his inheritance had done some good.

A lot of them had been relegated into the care of a place of healing in the realms, still recovering from the damage that had been done to them by John's many enemies. He secretly hoped they would be given the privilege of taking their pound of flesh.

Many had simply been consumed after their owners grew bored of them. A sharp spike of rage is consumed by his stewing guilt.

You will face everything you have done. You will face each of us one by one. As for your ultimate fate Father, that decision is mine and mine alone.

[stiltonbasket]

Shen Yuan should transmigrate as Qiu Haitang! He *could* break himself and SJ out of the horrible Qiu household, but Qiu Haitang showing up “early” only to kidnap SQQ’s littlest disciple would also be funny.

"Why are you here?" Shen Qingqiu asks flatly, as he leaves the bamboo house with Ming Fan in tow.

"I heard that you took on a new disciple," says the woman before him.

Qiu Haitang does not meet his eyes. She has not looked him in the eye for the better part of twenty years—not since that first murder on the road, when she came to bring him a basket of food and found Shen Qingqiu and Wu Yanzi with blood still dripping from their hands—but even so, her avoidance of him has never grown easier to bear.

"I did," Shen Qingqiu replies. "What of it?"

"I told you not to," Qiu Haitang says, her hands curling into fists. "That—Li Haoran was to be the last. You promised me."

"Ning Yingying wanted a shidi."

"I don't give a damn what Ning Yingying wanted," she says sharply. "You swore you would never take in another boy."

Silence.

"If I go into the house," Qiu Haitang continues, her voice deceptively calm, "tell me, Shen Jiu—what will I find?"

At this, Ming Fan steps forward and stretches out his hands in supplication. "Shiniang—"

"Be silent," she snaps. "Your shifu is a lost cause, and that can't be helped; but if Disciple Ming cannot learn from his mistakes, then you don't need to speak in front of me. Did you even think of coming to fetch me when you saw that he had picked up another little shidi to bully?"

With that, Qiu Haitang snorts and sweeps past him into the bamboo house, where Luo Binghe is still kneeling in the middle of the front room with tea trickling down his tearstained cheeks.

"There, don't cry," Shen Qingqiu hears her whisper. "You didn't do anything wrong. Can you look up so that jiejie can dry your face?"

"Shizun—shizun told me to kneel," the little wretch in the house replies, half-sobbing. "It's this lowly one's fault. I offended him, so of course this disciple should stay here and reflect."

"You didn't offend anyone," Qiu Haitang says gently. "He has a terrible temper, and he never learned how to control it. It's not your fault."

"But—!"

Qiu Haitang hushes Luo Binghe again, after which Shen Qingqiu hears nothing further: for at that moment, his wife seemed to have recalled the existence of the bamboo house's privacy wards—but later that evening, she returns to house with a sheaf of papers and flings them down on Shen Qingqiu's desk.

"Sign these," she tells him.

Shen Qingqiu glances at the first page in bemusement. "What are they?"

"Dissolution papers for Luo Binghe's discipleship. What else?" Qiu Haitang's lip curls. "From now on, I'll be his Shizun instead."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Did Yue Qingyuan give you these? He approved when I asked for that little beast, you know."

"He must have thought you'd wait at least a week before doing something to the child," Haitang says coldly. "I told him that he could either give Binghe to me or send him to Bai Zhan; and he was determined to save face for you, so he chose me."

And then, when Shen Qingqiu does not reply:

"Sign them, Shen Jiu. You don't want to know what I'll do to you otherwise."

At this, Shen Qingqiu picks up a brush and signs his name at the bottom of the dissolution form: for the last time he and Qiu Haitang fought in earnest, she fed him a cursed tonic that had him babbling in tongues before a hundred-odd dignitaries at Huan Hua.

"Thank you," she bites out: and with that, she turns on her heel and blows out of the bamboo house like a gust of chill wind.

Not for the first time, Shen Qingqiu finds himself wishing that he had left Qiu Haitang behind at the Qiu estate when he fled with Wu Yanzi. But her father and brother were dead, and she believed that she was betrothed to him; and when he saw her great brown eyes staring at him through the flames of her home, some power beyond Shen Qingqiu's own had prevented him from turning his back on her.

She was not meant to accept when I offered to take responsibility for her, he thinks dully, watching through the open window as his wife strides towards the women's compound on the other side of the mountain. She hated me then, and she hates me now—so what was it all for?

Shen Qingqiu has pondered upon that question night and day since he and Qiu Haitang first bowed to one another, not long after his instatement as Qing Jing's head disciple; and he is no nearer to the answer by the morning he is widowed, nearly a decade later.

What point was there in saving her? he wonders, as a grown Luo Binghe weeps in the streets of Hua Yue with Qiu Haitang's still body cradled to his breast. Would it not have been better for her to die after the first betrayal, rather than live to be betrayed twice?

"Why are you all just standing there?" he hears Ming Fan roar. "That's our Shiniang! What are you afraid of? At most, that white-eyed wolf she raised will just beat us all to death!"

"Leave it."

Ming Fan stares at Shen Qingqiu in dismay, his eyes so swollen with tears that he scarcely seems able to see through them. "What is Shizun saying? What do you mean, leave her? She's our only Shiniang—she's your wife!"

Shen Qingqiu gazes at the cooling corpse in Luo Binghe's arms for a little while longer; and then, at length, he turns away.

"Your Shiniang's end was of her own making, Ming Fan," Shen Qingqiu says, already starting towards the group of screeching cultivators trapped behind the wards at the other end of the street.

"Shen-furen has made her bed. Let her lie in it."

[mynameisjag]

Prompt by: @shiwalkers-ineffability

DpxDc snarky danny lives in Gotham and is just trying to get a degree but keeps almost getting adopted by various members of the Justice League

“Listen, I’m not like 12 or whatever age you think I am, I am an adult that is going to his class at college, I am near graduation and would like to focus more on that then whatever issue it is you have with me.”

To be fair to Dick, the guy in front of him really did look like a middle schooler…a middle schooler that just came out of a package store with a bag filled with various types of alcohol.

The face glaring up at him still had baby fat, voice still at that young age, a little on the too thin side but not unhealthy yet…he looked like he just got back from the playground. How and why did the store owner sell him alcohol?

“I can see it in your face, it’s the same one all those other heroes had when they ran into me, I have an I.D., I have a job, I fucking pay taxes, I do not need help or supervision. Fuck off.”

And the guy was moving, short legs stomping away.

“Wait, hold on, I still have questions!”

There was a sigh and the kid turned around to stare at him, “What? I do not need the furry brigade busting into my apartment, so get what you want to ask out of the way. Fucking worse then red underwear guy back in Metropolis.”

“You mean Superman?”

“I don’t care what his name is, he thought I was a lost kid and took me to the precinct to call my parents. Got laughed at is all what happened.”

“What’s with all the alcohol?”

“College student, just aced an extremely hard and taxing test and me and some friends are celebrating and it was my turn to do the alcohol run and before you continue on with this, yes, the guy checked my ID, I’m old enough by several years. Just do your weird stalker thing and look me up.”

“Right, ‘weird stalker thing?,’”

“You are not and won’t be the last “hero” to make this mistake.”

Nightwing just smiled and tapped on his communicator, “Hey, Oracle-“

“-Tell Danny I said hi and leave him alone, this is a Babydoll situation.”

“Oh, um, Oracle says hi…”

“Glad she remembers me from the last couple of times, so tell her hello and goodbye, I’m on a schedule.”, and with that Danny was storming off.

“Oof, this happen a lot, O?”

“You have no idea.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Short DPXDC prompt #2, from @stealingyourbones.

“It’ll be good for you!” Dick threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he beamed his way through Gotham U’s campus.

“I could have done this online. They have virtual degrees. I could have hacked my way into one.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get the authentic experience!”

The group arrived at the dorm building, one of many, and Damian gave it a dubious once over.

“If this is authentic, I refuse to be a part of the locals.” Damian quietly remarked, before peering cautiously at Dick. “I have obtained my degrees. I do not need this experience.”

“It’s really not that bad, guys.”

“How would you know? You went to Blüdhaven for college.” Tim retorted with the voice of a young man resigned to despair. “You lived off campus and your door pin was Zitka’s birthday, month first then date second.”

“… Tim, why the fuck do you know that.”

“When I knocked on your door, that was just common courtesy. I didn’t actually need you to open it. I could have opened it myself.”

Dick’s smile brightens even further, with the light of an LED bulb instead of his usual sun, and places a hand on Tim’s head. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re careless sometimes, you know that?” Tim groused. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just get this over with. I can’t believe I’m going to have a roommate.”

“It’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, you can always swap roomies. We have enough pull to have that happen.”

“Doubtlessly.” Damian said. “This campus barely passes the bar of acceptability. Why is the campus like this. Why is it incorporated into the city.”

Tim smirked. Even though Damian spoke with formal language only found in the highest of echelons of society, Jon’s influence was beginning to make itself known. Good for him, the little shit. Privately, Tim thought the presence of a Kryptonian brought out the better sides of a bat. God knows Kon did, for him.

“Okay, enough whining you two! Let’s get Tim settled in.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the gut and kept walking into the building as his big brother wheezed dramatically. Damian rolled his eyes- he’s seen Nightwing take harder hits than Drake’s pointy elbows and walk it off- and followed. Unbeknownst to them, Dick all but beamed with joy at their solidarity. His plan was working.

——

Tim settled into the dorm, disgruntled at the small and uncomfortable twin mattress. The dorm smelt of faint mildew, had at least ten safety code violations, and had ventilation that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the last fear gas attack. The vent thing honestly might explain the state of Gotham U’s students and their proclivities to become supervillains. Tim is more tempted to go into villainy than ever before with these conditions.

That is, until his roomie walked in.

Step 1) reboot brain.

Holy shit, his roomie was HOT.

Step 2) notice all the weird things his roomie all showed unconsciously. Too graceful. Walking carefully, like how Kon does sometimes when he’s remembering to be careful with his fragile surroundings. Meta? Too sharp teeth.

Wait. Sharp teeth?

“Uh, hi. I’m Danny. You must be my roommate. Tim, right?” The guy, Danny, had a deep voice. And too sharp teeth. Because he smiled. It was a damn nice smile.

Step 3) bi panic. DID TIM MENTION HE WAS HOT??

“Uh. Hi. Yeah, I’m Tim.”

“Cool. What’re you majoring in?”

“Forensic Analysis. You?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. “Cool, I’m just gonna set my stuff down.”

“You’re not from here, right?” Tim asked and promptly flushed when an amused smile gets thrown his way.

“The accent give it away?”

“Yeah. Uh. You want a tour, man?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

——

It was flashes of things.

“Oh. I don’t go anywhere without my thermos.” Danny smiled, patting the dented thing. Except, Tim’s never seen him drink from it.

Or:

“Oh, woah. Food’s not attacking me.” And the thing is, Danny actually looked apprehensive before poking at the cafeteria food.

What??

And a month passes before Tim realizes he’s one hundred percent absolutely fucked.

Because it’s one thing if it’s an extremely attractive dork with brains and humor.

It’s an entirely different thing if the extremely attractive dork with brains and humor was a complete and total mystery. Tim is an absolute sucker for mysteries. It’s even more attractive than smacking him in the face with a brick!

“Hey, Tim?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tim screamed at himself. He’s dated like fifteen different people! Why the hell is he so awkward with Danny?

(Tim was always awkward. He has that autistic rizz.)

“Tell me more about blood splatters?” Danny asked with a hopeful smile. Tim folded like wet paper. (It helps that he knows a lot- too much- about analyzing blood splatters.)

——

Outside of their window, Nightwing cackled to himself. It was worth using the Wayne name to get Tim the most interesting college kid Dick could find as a roommate. Who said Tim had the market corner on stalking anyways?

Nightwing flipped off of the roof, all but skipping home.

Robin, his patrol partner for the night, grimaced. For all Richard was his favorite, the man unsettled him at times.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Do it for the Plot

~

I like the idea of Tim and Danny meeting and just clocking each other as little shits TM.

Just causing chaos to everyone in a way that can't really be traced back to them like 'Who? Me? I was busy doing all of these other things I have no idea how I would do that?'

Danny helps Tim get revenge on the bats for all the shit he's had to put up with and being absolute trolls about the whole thing *chefs kiss*

~

Tim&Danny dragging Ra's body

Damian: "Wha-?"

T&D: "No one will ever believe you"

Danny makes them go invisible

~

Bats: "Where ya going Tim?"

Tim holding back a cackle:" Oh, it's my anniversary so it's date night!"

Bats: "Anniversary?! We didn't know you were getting serious with someone?"

Tim: "Serious? He's my husband of course I'm serious about him"

Bats: "Wait hold on-!"

Tim: "Gotta go! Can't be late I have to make sure the babysitter has everything they'll need."

Bats: "BABYSITTER!?"

Tim: "Bye bye~!"

(They planned all of it including their 'fake marriage', Danny went back in time with the help of CW who is a troll at heart, and made the legal changes including Dan and Dani as their kids (their de-aged) otherwise someone (Oracle) would have eventually realized that the license is fake. So they went back in time and made it legitimately real)

~

Danny being Ghost King means that Tim is now also royalty

Tim walking up to John Constantine:" I have your entire soul"

and then just turning around and leaving

John very much felt the very strong Death Energy claiming Tim: "I don't want to be sober right now"

~

Earth about to be taken over for the 5th time that year by higher beings

Tim walking up late with coffee in his hand: "Leave or I'll call my husband"

Higher Beings very much not wanting to mess with the High King of the Infinite Realms: ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ

~

The Phantom family relaxing with cucumbers on their eyes and face masks: "Did you hear something?"

The Bats & Everyone else:

~

Just an Idea

[zillabean]

From a twitter prompt that suggested a Mads version of the Anthony Hopkins scene where Hannibal rescues Clarice -- I LOVE this idea so much! ❤️ Dark savior Hannibal is one of my favorite tropes. 😍❤️ From this prompt: https://x.com/SASarahsunshine/status/1847053683529326888

[whattamanza]

“eddie sketches while buck is asleep next to him with a book in his hands. they’re both on the sofa”

this is a prompt fill for the Artists for LAFD event hosted by @/artistsforlafd on twitter/x, submitted by @buckslasagna! thank you for donating! (the event is now closed, but you can still donate to a good cause!)

[starsfic]

The Desire to Move

I saw @kyri45's newest Shadowpeach Bio Parents part and I got inspired. Spoilers for the AU.

Qi Xiaotian had been having a regular day.

At least, the new form of "regular." He would check on the mountain to make sure all the monkeys were doing okay. He would get paperwork from Heaven- he was surprised that he even got a "job" from them, but he did it even if it was boring. He would run deliveries. He would go on dates with Red, hang out with Long Xiaojiao, and spend time with his parents. He would have sessions with the therapist Sandy introduced to him.

Every weekend, he would check on his bio parents and his baby sibling.

There was no visible change each time. Xiaotian tried to not let it push him into despair. He had to be patient. It had only been a few months.

This morning, he woke on his own. He yawned, scratching his neck absentmindedly. He glanced out the window. The sun was only just beginning to rise, the sun revealing strips of pink and orange. His hands twitched with the desire to draw it.

Instead, he laid there.

He wasn't sure why he didn't move. The desire to get up itched at him. However, he didn't move, not even to grab his phone and scroll social media. Instead, he watched the sun slowly rise.

His ears twitched as a soft swoosh hit his ears.

He would have assumed it was a soft breeze, whistling outside, if something didn't land on his stomach a second later.

Xiaotian grunted, raising his head in time to see familiar purple magic disappear. "What the-"

The sight of a baby monkey made him freeze.

The baby had an annoyed expression that eerily resembled the few times he had seen Wukong get annoyed. Their face mask resembled Macaque's mask, save for a slash across the nose. Their bangs resembled Wukong's like their expression, save for the way the fur fell almost like a bob. They held eye contact with familiar eyes, finally looking away to curl up on his stomach like a cat. When they were settled, they closed their eyes, the annoyed expression smoothing into a soft little smile.

Love hit Xiaotian like a rock. Or a stone monkey.

"H...hi..." he whispered, reaching out to stroke their fur. His baby sibling softly leaned into the touch, their curl relaxing slightly. He had no idea how they had even shadow-portalled here, but Xiaotian didn't care. "I...I'm so happy to meet you."

The desire to move had left him.

He was more than happy to stay here until his sibling was satisfied with their nap...

Or their parents came looking.

[capseycartwright]

nudging into the crook of your partner's neck 🥺🥺

It had been a long shift. It had been a long week, if Buck was being entirely honest, but it had been a particularly long day. That was the thing, about firefighting – it had long, long days. It had started with a structure fire that had lasted for 12 of their 24, and after that, it had been call, after call, dinner a hurried UberEats order, Bobby’s ingredients left in the fridge for their next shift. As much as Buck loved being a firefighter, he hated shifts like this one – felt the tiredness deep in his bones.

Fifteen minutes.

They just had to survive fifteen more minutes until their shift change.

If he sat down, Buck wasn’t sure he’d ever peel himself off that firehouse couch, so he stayed standing. It was easier.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he noticed Eddie approaching. His boyfriend – and it had been a few weeks now, but Buck still wasn’t used to that, being able to call Eddie his – looked dead tired, his eyes heavy with the need for sleep as he shuffled across the firehouse loft.

“Hey, honey,” Buck greeted softly, enjoying the way Eddie’s cheeks got a little pinker, at the petname. That was the joy, of being in the early stages of a new relationship – Buck was testing things out. It was fun.

“Mm,” Eddie made an agreeable noise, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” Buck agreed. This, the way Eddie was so affectionate, had been one of the best surprises of them starting to date – Buck hadn’t expected Eddie to crave touch, quite so much, but he did. They kept things mostly professional, at work, but with thirteen minutes to go until the end of their shift, Buck was not going to refuse an armful of Eddie.

“When we go home, can we just go straight to bed?”

Home.

When Eddie and Chris had come back from Texas, Buck hadn’t moved out, and that probably should have been a good indicator of where things were headed – and now, six weeks, a love confession or two, and several arguments about which sets of furniture to keep, they were officially living together in that perfect, sunny home on South Bedford.

“Definitely,” Buck agreed, and laughed, as Eddie nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck, Eddie’s arms slung loosely around Buck’s waist. “You really are tired, huh?”

Eddie nodded, the faint scratch of the beginnings of stubble rubbing roughly at his neck. He didn’t say anything, but he tightened his grip on Buck’s waist.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Eddie’s head, Buck tightened his own grip. He loved this – loved getting to hold Eddie like this. When he’d realised that he was in love with Eddie, he’d spent months trying to bury the feeling, convincing himself that Eddie would never feel the same, that he could never crave this, never have this, never get to have Eddie in his arms like this – so, sue him for indulging himself, even if they were at work.

Buck didn’t even realise he was swaying, slightly, until Hen arrived, a fond look on her face. “It looks like he’s asleep standing up,” she teased, her voice low.

Eddie’s breath was low, and even, a telltale sign he was definitely asleep. It was one of Eddie’s more impressive skills – his ability to sleep anywhere, even standing up. He probably had the army, to thank for that.

“He might be,” Buck grinned, holding Eddie a little tighter.

“’M awake,” Eddie mumbled, not moving his face from where it was nestled in the crook of Buck’s shoulder. “Just resting my eyes. You’re very comfortable.”

Buck snorted. “Thank you, baby.”

“You two are cavity inducing,” Hen teased good-naturedly.

Buck knew.

He was fine with it.

(Eddie was too.)

send me a physical intimacy prompt

[cautious-soup]

Things I think aliens would find cute/endearing about humans Part 1

Sleeping

Alien 1: Dude look at it

Alien 2: Leave me alone

Alien 1: But look it what it's doing

Human: *asleep in break room*

Alien 2:

Alien 2: Is it dead?

Alien 1: I thought it was but no. I checked and... it just...does that. It bundles itself up and then plays dead. Sometimes it makes noises, ugh I can't take it.

Alien 2: How long is it gonna do that for?

Alien 1: A while. My theory is that since their brains have almost as much processing power as ours, their fragile bodies can't handle all of the stress, so they have to do that. Isn't it the cutest?

Alien 2: All I'm thinking is that I'm glad we don't have to waste our time doing whatever that is. Imagine how far behind we'd be.

Alien 1: But it's so cute. Sometimes they even change their clothes for it. They put on soft things, then lay on a bigger, softer thing--

Alien 2: Oh my god shut up

Alien 1: And when they start to wanna do it they open their mouths super wide and--

Human, woken up: Hey, what the fuck are you two doing

Alien 2: *walks away*

Alien 1: *bombards human with questions*

Part 2

[p1nkshield]

Danny tried to inject a little more mirth into his laugh as he appeared in front of the group of young heroes, hoping to shock them a bit.

“Hell-”

“RAAGH!”

Superboy launched himself at their assumed enemy. Or he thought he did. Instead he was grabbed out of the air, spun about like a dance partner and thrown into the running path of his speedster teammate.

“Hold on! Return to sender please! Honestly, I didn’t even get to finish my monologue! You could’ve gotten some good information from that!”

Danny feigned a pout as he floated to the ground, purposefully letting aquaman’s little protege get the jump on him.

Water rushed over his legs and froze him in place.

“Very good! But didn’t you notice the chill in the air? I’m something of an ice mage myself.”

Danny began to manipulate the ice to break out rather than faze through it, taking note of Artemis aiming an arrow at his chest.

She had a clear shot but Danny couldn’t wait for her to take it without being obvious. So he turned his attention to the heavy hitters. Star and Supes.

Robin felt like he was a puppy being shown the pair of shoes he just chewed up. If he could have face palmed at Superboy’s hotheaded decision to jump right into battle he would have. He cringed as poor Wally was taken out by the kryptonian turned projectile. Star looked as if she didn’t know what to do or when to jump in. It seemed she wouldn’t have to wonder much longer.

Robin watched as the villain launched towards her hurling orbs of energy at her as he complained.

“Ugh green. You’re all green.” He said as he turned to grab a hurtling superboy by the face this time and throwing him into the path of the freshly recovered kid flash again.

“Have a nice trip.”

He looked so very bored as he quipped, dodging Star’s attempts to return fire.

Okay Danny was actually getting tired. He heard an arrow fire. Finally. He caught it and looked smugly at the archer. It exploded with containment foam. Clever.

“Oh this is embarrassing. Being caught by baby heroes who look like they’ve got midterms tomorrow!” He said as the foam solidified. He continued to prattle on about this, that and the other, taking note of the distinct looks of annoyance on each teen’s face. He was about to hint at the whereabouts of their missing teammate but once again Superboy told him to shut up as he tried to punch his lights out. Oh! That was a bad idea. Danny decided to play along, rolling his face with the punch so the kid wouldn’t hurt his hand.

Robin looked hopeful as he watched his teammates render their attacker unconscious. Until his face fell. Ice was creeping up the mass of foam and he couldn’t warn his team. He desperately promised the universe that was never gonna take coms for granted again if his team made it out of this.

The foam exploded into shards that turned into restraints that stuck his teammates to the walls.

“Gosh I was kidding. You really thought you won? Cute.” He checked his phone, and gasped nearly dropping it. “Oh my cookies are almost done baking! I’ve gotta jet! Your restraints will melt in two hours and your little bird is upstairs enjoying the show. Buh bye!” He blew some green powder into Superboy’s face knocking him out before he could break out and disappeared.

Great. He has kryptonite. Fantastic.

After such a thorough embarrassment the group of teens skulked their way back to the nearest zeta station, beaming back to their base.

“I think this is the worst mission we’ve done man!” Wally complained as he limped off the zeta beam platform.

Kon and Aqualad just squinted, obviously wanting him to shut up.

“What? I can’t say we were ass today? We were! I twisted my ankle on your face Superboy. That’s pretty bad.”

“Robin.”

That shut Wally up real quick.

“Report.” Batman said as the team shuffled into base in various states of disarray.

Robin’s team was lined up behind him just as embarrassed as he was. Robin was beet red as began.

“Our mission did not go as planned.”

Part one

Next part

[five-rivers]

Danny phantom au where Vlad hates BOTH fenton parents for almost killing him?

Vlad stared down at the boy he'd just knocked out. His eyes were working just fine, but his brain didn't want to process what he was seeing.

It couldn't be.

It was.

Danny Fenton was a half ghost. Just like him.

Vlad sank down to the floor, then knelt next to the boy. This was real. This was true. This... this changed everything.

He wasn't alone anymore. He wasn't alone anymore because those two blasted-- chocolate-covered-- those two bumbling morons had done it again! He wasn't alone, and his companion in misery was the son of the ones who had done this to him in the first place.

He was stunned. He was disgusted. He was fascinated.

Which left him a question: What should he do?

He had a plan for this weekend. He'd had a plan. He was going to humiliate Jack and Maddie. Frame them for stealing from him and assaulting him and his guests. It would barely be framing them, at that. They'd stolen his health, his youth, and his humanity. Turning on the portal so carelessly when he was standing there, inspecting it, might as well have been assault.

He had to admit, he hadn't even thought about their children. He'd assumed they'd be more of the same. Arrogant, careless, blind little monsters that would only benefit from spending a few years in government care. Considering the way Jack and Maddie had behaved in college, removing children from their care was nothing less than a public service.

Today, the children had seemed... not like that, exactly. Not like that at all, really, although Vlad had paid them little enough attention beyond keeping up his genial facade. Not like Jack. Not like Maddie. Their own people. An obvious realization in retrospect, but...

A half ghost.

He wasn't sure if he should be delighted or furious. Both emotions certainly existed in his core, warring with one another.

He-- He wanted. He wanted this. Someone who knew. Someone who would understand. He hadn't wanted that person to be related to them, but...

In that moment, he decided. He could work with this.

He would have to scrap his current plants, which was its own kind of pain, but he could work with this. Jack and Maddie... They couldn't be good parents. For goodness' sake, they'd killed their son.

Just like they'd killed Vlad.

He'd have to do some legwork... Get the Fentons to trust him again, get them to put him down as a guardian for their children. Or at least Danny. Then, then he would expose them. For something they'd done or something they hadn't, it hardly mattered.

He'd have to do some legwork to repair his ghost half's poor first impression on Daniel, come to think of it. It shouldn't be too hard - some explanation about how this was his home and how he had reacted to a strange ghost in it should suffice, given how Phantom was rumored to be possessive and territorial over an entire city.

Yes, yes, that would work... He had a few days to put his plan into action. But first... He shouldn't leave the poor boy on the floor like this. He'd catch a cold.

He reached over and slid his arms around Daniel's shoulders and beneath his knees, picking him up easily. He was far too light, even considering his ghostly nature. Did his parents feed him? No, he thought, sneering, Jack and Maddie wouldn't have the time, with all their oh-so-important research in the way.

Now, which of the guest bedrooms had he put the boy in, anyway?

[stiltonbasket]

Short crack Prompt:

Wei Wuxian inherited many things from his mother, but he got his father's hair, thick, long, lustrous and silky. His hair has always been longer than most and darker than midnight. He doesn't want to cut it, but hates it coming onto his face, on his hands on his sword while he's doing anything, THUS, ✨he braids it✨.

It's a long thick braid, reaching below his thighs and sitting on his shoulders without his permission. Whenever he turns around or is sword drilling, it swishes behind him like it has a life of it's own.

Bonus: wwx in braid is many people's gay / straight awakening. Jc and yzh has to keep away suiters (and creeps) behind wwx , cuz he's oblivious to other's crush on him. As he's busy looking at lwj 🙃

"Lan-xiong," Nie Huaisang says one afternoon, while Lan Wangji is trying to meditate in the courtyard behind the Yashi. "There's something you ought to know before the guest disciples get here."

Lan Wangji squints at him.

"What is it?" he says flatly. Knowing Nie Huaisang as he does, he guesses that Huaisang intends to relay some piece of gossip; but as telling tales about others is strictly forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang ought to know better than to attempt such a thing before the clan's Head of Discipline.

"It's about Yunmeng Jiang," Nie Huaisang says.

"What about Yunmeng Jiang?" Lan Wangji has had little to do with the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang, but he doubts that a class of their most talented disciples could cause much trouble at the lectures. "Have Jiang-zongzhu's daughter and her shidimei decided not to come?"

Nie Huaisang waves his fan in dismissal. "Oh, nothing so serious as that. It's only—well, have you heard of Wei Wuxian?"

"Briefly. He is Jiang-zongzhu's head disciple, is he not?"

The aforementioned Wei Wuxian's instatement as head disciple was an occasion of some note in the Jianghu, Lan Wangji remembers. For one thing, Wei Wuxian is not a bloodline member of the clan: though this is not so uncommon amongst the latest generation of head disciples, especially in sects where clan disciples are not the majority. For another, Wei Wuxian was apparently disfavored by his shimu from the day Jiang Fengmian first brought him to Lotus Pier at the age of five—and when the news of his appointment reached Lanling Jin last year, there was a great deal of murmuring about how Yu Ziyuan had taken it.

"He is the head disciple," Nie Huaisang says gravely, "but that is of no importance here. The trouble is—oh, it's just a word, don't look like that—is that Wei-gongzi is a calamitous beauty, and his shidimen wrote to me asking whether the Cloud Recesses would be willing to assist in his protection during the lectures."

He holds out a letter and passes it to Lan Wangji. "Here. Jiang-xiong explained everything."

Much to Lan Wangji's regret, the letter's contents are exactly as Nie Huaisang described them. Apparently, Wei Wuxian—referred to in the letter as da-shixiong, as it had been penned by Jiang Wanyin and his biaodi Yu Zhenhong—is both too handsome for his own good and dangerously charming; and as a result, Jiang Wanyin professes, his shixiong leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.

The last time we visited Lanling—which we would not have done if we had any choice, but the fact of my sister's betrothal ensured that we had precious little say in the matter—five of Jin Zixuan's cousins came to blows at the sight of my shige, each insisting that she and no other would be engaged to him in the future, Jiang Wanyin writes. One of the girls jilted her intended on the spot, vowing that she no longer wished to see him again as long as Wei Wuxian walked the earth; and her intended tore off the yaopei she had gifted him and flung it into the nearest koi pond before declaring that she need not worry about keeping their engagement, for he no longer had any love for her and now wished to bring our da-shixiong into his clan as a bride.

Lan Wangji looks up in dismay. "What?"

"Read on," Nie Huaisang advises grimly. "It gets worse."

Yesterday, he stole a flower from a local bun-girl and went to market with the bloom behind his ear; and later, we received news that the sight of him caused six carriages, nine produce wagons, and two riders on horseback to crash when he stopped to cross the street. He returned home after buying all the ruined produce and helping the women who were bruised in the melee, without the slightest idea that it only occurred because the driver of the first carriage was blinded by the sunlight reflected upon his hair; and the next morning, Fuqin received so many petitioners asking for Wei Wuxian's hand in marriage that he hung a sign at the gates to announce that he would entertain no suitors until after Wei Wuxian comes of age.

"Guanyin in heaven," Lan Wangji hears himself croak, stunned. "How—?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs. "If you ask me, it's the hair."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and looks back down at the letter in disbelief.

Thus, it is my hope that you will inform the second Young Master Lan about the two latest incidents, and impress upon him the importance of restraint in the Lan disciples—and in all the others who will come to study under Lan-laoshi—well before we arrive. (This passage is written in a more graceful hand, likely Yu Zhenhong's.) Our seventh shimei once fell off the pier and into the lake because da-shixiong smiled at her, and no trouble came of it because Lingxi-shimei is a strong swimmer; but if Lan-laoshi's disciples keep falling down the mountain because da-shixiong braided his hair instead of putting it up, someone might truly end up coming to harm.

"This beggars belief," Lan Wangji says doubtfully. "Can one man truly...?"

"I've seen him," Nie Huaisang replies. "And yes. Keep reading."

"'And if it would not be too much trouble,'" Lan Wangji reads aloud, "'please also consult Lan-er-gongzi or Zewu-jun on the subject of da-shixiong's safety.' Safety?"

Nie Huaisang winces. "Wei-xiong is very lovely to look upon," he offers, "and from his dress, it is not always clear that he has the backing of a great sect. Some men do not take well to being told no by a beauty."

"And by some men, you mean the men of Lanling Jin?"

"One never knows where such dangers may come from," Nie Huaisang tells him. "But if you ask me, you ought to keep an eye on the Jins anyway. Apart from Jin Zixuan, I doubt there's a single man in this year's course who doesn't hate Wei Wuxian for enchanting all the Jin girls."

Lan Wangji nods and rises to his feet. "I will handle this matter," he says decisively, turning towards the open door to the Lanshi. "You write back to Jiang-gongzi, and inform him that the Cloud Recesses will be duly prepared for his shige's arrival."

The Lan disciples are prepared accordingly; for over the next week, Lan Wangji orders all the male disciples between fifteen and twenty-five to copy the sect precepts concerning restraint, and ensures that none of the maiden disciples over the age of twelve will have cause to meet Wei Wuxian save for his own sect sisters. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Wei-gongzi is said to be twice as brilliant as he is beautiful: which means that Shufu is easily persuaded to place him in the advanced lectures reserved for disciples who would be hampered by study with the rest of their age-mates. Lan Wangji is the sole male disciple allowed to attend those lectures; so for much of his time at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian's only classmates will be a pair of married women and Lan Wangji himself.

Lan Wangji thinks better of the arrangement three weeks later, when he is carried to the infirmary after meeting Wei Wuxian on the mountain path and falling thirty feet into a copse of trees below.

"I'm so sorry. Lan-er-gongzi, I'm really sorry," Wei Wuxian gasps, gripping Lan Wangji's clenched fists as Xiongzhang and one of the healers set his broken legs at the other end of the bed. "You can hold on as tightly as you like, all right? Zewu-jun is nearly finished."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes tightly.

"What have I done?" he hears Wei Wuxian mutter to himself. "I'm so clumsy. I'll look after you until you're better again, second Young Master, just say the word and I—"

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji feels his brother's fingers twitch against his knee.

"What?"

"Not—not Lan-er-gongzi," Lan Wangji wheezes. "You may call me Lan Zhan."

Wei Wuxian beams at him with tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "You're not angry?"

"No."

His eyes fall shut again, provoking a sound of utter desolation from Wei Wuxian. "Here, I'll take that ribbon off," Wei Wuxian says soothingly, his rough hands stroking Lan Wangji's hot forehead. "Your ears are burning up. You'll feel better as soon as it's gone."

At the foot of the bed, Lan Xichen makes a choking sound: but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.

"Mm," Lan Wangji sighs, smiling. "Thank you, Young Master Wei."

[leashybebes]

Hi! Love your work so much! I have a very vague prompt and it’s just Tommy being emotionally vulnerable with Buck. Idc what about I just need this man in tears please and thanks.

well this got longer than intended! i've skimmed over it but basically banged it out in fifteen minutes bc turns out i also need this man in tears

When the bubble pops six weeks after Tommy walked out of the loft, it's not at all what Buck was expecting. He'd hoped for an 'I'm sorry', an 'I was wrong', an 'I want you back'. In bitter moments, he'd even hoped for Tommy to say something really dickish so Buck could just hate him and get on with his life. Hell, even a random string of letters that Buck could interpret as an accident or an attempt to open the lines of communication depending on his mood.

What he gets is:

I've been going to therapy

Finally, right?

I hate it

And then radio silence for the better part of an hour. Buck is about to tear his hair out. He drafts and doesn't send half a dozen responses. The loft smells of chocolate cake by the time the next message comes through.

Sorry, call.

Tell me to get lost, it's fine. But I was wondering if we could talk. I owe you an explanation.

Buck reads it twice, takes the cake out of the oven to cool. Scrolls back up to read the messages from the start. Later, once the cake is filled with sharp redcurrant jelly and covered in a perhaps overly generous layer of toffee buttercream, he picks up his phone again.

I owe you an explanation is glaring at him.

Yeah you do, he sends back. Come over when your shift is done.

The reply is almost instant:

Thank you. 2 hrs.

Two hours suddenly feels like both not enough time to prepare, and far too much time to tie himself up in knots. He deep cleans the kitchen, makes a shopping list, checks in with Maddie. He doesn't mention that he's going to see Tommy.

Somehow, two hours pass in the blink of an eye and Buck realizes - he has no idea what he's going to say. He's spent the last month and a half trying with everything in him not to call Tommy, and he's just now realizing he has no idea what he would have said if he'd given into the urge. Maybe he just wanted to hear the guy's voice, and now he's about to, and he has no idea what to do with himself.

The knock at the door makes him jolt, and that's it, there's no more time to think. His first thought when he opens the door is that it's not fair that Tommy looks so good. He has no business looking so good. His hair is freshly trimmed, those greys at his temple that admittedly send Buck a little feral sparkling in the low light of the hall, his favorite blue Henley soft and stretched across the bulk of his chest, his eyes - Buck's whole train of thought derails because he looks again and Tommy looks - scared. Sad. Like he's holding back from flinching by the skin of his teeth.

"Hey, Tommy."

"Hi, Evan."

Evan, he notes. Steps back. Waves Tommy inside. Tries not to notice the way Tommy's face crumples a little as he steps over the threshold.

"Never thought I'd be here again," he says.

"Me either," Buck admits. "Well, after the first couple weeks when I - " When I sat around and waited for you to come back and tell me you made a mistake. He bites his tongue. Much as he wants to be real bitchy about this, Tommy looks like he is on the edge, and nothing in Buck wants to make that worse.

"You want a coffee?"

"Uh. Sure," Tommy says, and it gives Buck the opportunity to turn his back, to breathe. He's achingly aware of Tommy behind him, of the gravity of his presence, the sound of his breathing (a little shaky), the slight creak as he takes a seat. Buck still has the stupid almond milk and the stupid syrup Tommy likes in his stupid candy flavored coffee, has been buying the former on reflex and can't bring himself to use the latter and taste Tommy's kisses without the man himself. He makes the coffee, even cuts Tommy a slice of cake, and dumps them both in front of him.

Tommy blinks down at the cake, up at Buck. "You made that?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "Been getting real into baking since - well, since."

"Oh." Tommy chews on his lip, looks away again.

"Every time I wanna call you, I bake," Buck admits, the words falling into the silence between them with more weight than they deserve given how ridiculous they are, really.

Tommy glances up at him. "Yeah?"

Buck swivels, pulls open the door to his fridge which is still groaning under the weight of saran wrapped loaves and cakes and tupperwares full of cookies.

"That's - that's a lot."

Buck shrugs. "Yeah, well."

The silence is painful. Awkward in a way they've never really been with each other. Buck throws himself down onto the stool opposite Tommy, tries not to think about how this is exactly where they were sitting when - when. From the look on his face, the way Tommy can't meet his eyes, he's thinking the exact same thing. This is - it's the worst, Buck thinks miserably.

"So, therapy, huh?" he blurts out.

Tommy nods, takes a deep breath. "After I left that night, I - I drove to the movie theater."

Buck blinks. That is…not what he was expecting. "Uh…"

"Bought a ticket and everything. Realized on my way in that that's - that's not normal. Nothing I did that night was normal. You - you made me so happy, and I blew that up the second it sounded like maybe you wanted something long-term. That - that's not normal. The way I think about - about relationships, about love, about myself. It's not normal."

Buck feels like he's holding his breath.

"So I went home. Drank a couple of beers. Psyched myself up. Booked an appointment for the next day."

"That's…" Buck doesn't know what to say. "That's quick."

"Yeah. I don't - " Tommy looks away. Buck can't see it, but he can tell that he's bouncing his leg anxiously. "I wanna stop being a fucking - a wrecking ball. I wanna stop hurting people, stop hurting myself, but it feels like it's all I do."

Buck can't bite his tongue quick enough. "You make choices, Tommy."

Tommy nods and shrinks in on himself. "I know that. I do. It doesn't feel like it, but I do. I get scared and I make the worse choice every time because it's easier than being brave, and I tell myself it's the only choice but - it's not. I know that. I do know that. I'm - I'm so fucked up, Evan."

His eyes are swimming with tears and Buck knows he's no better. Everything in him is screaming at him to reach out, but he clenches his hands together under the table to stop himself. This is - this is maybe the most real Tommy's ever been with him, maybe the most real he's seen Tommy be with himself, and Buck doesn't want to interrupt it, even as every part of him wants to gather Tommy up to him and soothe him and promise him everything's okay. Everything's so far from okay. He watches Tommy take a few deep breaths, recognises the pattern and the count from his own therapy sessions.

"My - my dad - you know, he's an asshole. But he wasn't always. He and my mom - they were so in love. I mean, stars in their eyes, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, they adored each other. Even before she died, I didn't - there wasn't space for me in there. And after - I guess I remind him of what he lost. They loved each other, and it hurt me. Abby loved me, and I hurt her. I loved N - Nick, and he h - hurt me. I - "

Tommy clears his throat wetly and looks away while Buck thinks who the fuck is Nick and how do I break his kneecaps?

"You what, Tommy?" he asks instead, and it comes out gently.

"I love you," Tommy says, and Buck pretends he isn't paying attention to the tense, pretends his heart isn't rabbiting inside his chest. "I love you, and I hurt us both and I'm - I'm poison, Evan, I'm nothing but sharp edges but I swear I'm trying not to be and I know it's too late but I'm so - I'm so sorry, I'm so - "

He's fully crying now, trying to hide his face in his hands and Buck can't hold back anymore, closes the space between them and gets his arms around the bulk of Tommy's shoulders where they're shaking.

"Don't," Tommy begs, his whole body tightening, so tense Buck's worried something is going to snap. "Don't - d - don't - I don't deserve - "

"Shh," Buck says, pressing his face into Tommy's hair and stopping himself from making it a kiss at the last second. "I don't care what you think you deserve, just let me hold you, okay? Just let me."

Tommy cries harder, soaking Buck's shirt, and Buck doesn't know how long it goes on for but suddenly Tommy's holding him too, clinging in a way he never has before, in a way that feels desperate and fierce and heartbroken.

"It's okay," Buck promises in spite of himself. He strokes his fingers over the short cropped hairs on the nape of Tommy's neck. "I've got you, it's okay. Just try to breathe, baby, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Baby slips out without any intention on his part, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice, just heaves in a hitching, gulping breath, then another, and another. He shifts in Buck's arms, pulling away and Buck lets him. He doesn't retreat to his own seat though, doesn't feel right to put any distance between them while Tommy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can force the tears back inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, when he's a little calmer. "I've got no right - "

"Stop, okay. Just - stop being so horrible to yourself."

Tommy nods. "Yeah. Working on that. I know - I know it's too late, and I swear I didn't come here with the intention of - of crying all over you and making you feel bad for me. I just - I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and I know that I fucked up real bad. I know - like I said, I know it's too little, too late, but I want you to know I'm working on - on being better."

Buck chews on the inside of his lip clearly for a second too long because Tommy gives a sharp little nod.

"That's all I wanted to say," he says, pushing back from the table and starting to stand. "I'll get out of your - "

"Sit your ass down," Buck says, a little rougher than he intended. Tommy does as he's told, blinking rapidly and Buck pushes away from the table, paces across the kitchen and back again.

"Evan…"

"Shut up. If you keep making decisions for me, I'm gonna - I'm gonna start throwing loaves at your head."

Tommy makes a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and Buck fights back the tiny grin that's tugging at his mouth.

"You - you really think you're this irredeemable asshole that doesn't deserve to be happy, don't you?"

Tommy shrugs, looks away. "If the shoe fits…"

Buck whirls around, yanks open the fridge, grabs the first loaf he sees. "This is coffee and walnut. It's dense. Last warning, jackass."

Tommy's laugh is more distinct this time. "Evan. Okay. Yes, I think that. But I'm - I'm working on not."

"Okay. Okay. So - so work on it." He puts the loaf down. "Work on it, and take me on a date."

Tommy looks like he's being rebooted without warning. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I - "

"Tell me why I can't be serious."

"Because! Because I'm - I'm a mess. I hurt you. I left."

"You came back," Buck counters. "Even if it was only to apologize."

"You deserve better."

"I want you."

"I don't - I don't know when I'll be - better than I am."

"You're better today than the day you left. You're here."

"Evan…"

"Yes or no, Tommy. Take me on a date."

"I - "

"Yes or no."

"Yes. Please, yes."

Buck exhales for what feels like the first time in weeks. "Okay. Okay. That's a start."

He puts the loaf back in the fridge, takes Tommy's coffee away to reheat it, and the whole time he can feel Tommy's eyes on him, watching him like he's something precious.