#srry

[kraigistrider]

dude idk hi to like the one person that will see this ♥️

[bakllori]

The question about 07 eyes color is very hard for me. On one hand I rlly like the ideas I've come up with it, but on the other hand it's litteraly a meme with blue eyed ppl

[rediablos]

More noelle and spamton

[bezmozglost]

I know that everyone has already done this, but still

[apr3sentsometh1ng]

Blond and brunette idiot duos are personally one of my absolute favorite genres

[nweo-wn]

Omg wait what do we do if Damian has been my son the same amount as you. LIKE WHAT DO WE SO IF I LIKE HIM (like is a weak word) JUST AS MUCH AS YOU. WHO GETS CUSTODY

you can get visitation every other month and thats FINAL!!!! 😾😾

[bugslibraryy]

Ok I need to get the thought out of my head and I will be putting this into a fic but my truth is that the Mexico top and LA blowjob guys both were smoking the same brand of cigarettes Ilya smokes and Shane lies to himself that it’s a coincidence but the smell had drawn him in- he knows it had, because he knew it so well, from ilyas clothes- the jumper he’d left at Shane’s once on accident as he’d rushed to get into his uber on time (he’d left it on Shane’s couch, hanging over the back of it. Shane had folded it neatly and placed it in his guest room, when he’d sat on the couch the next morning the cushions had smelt like smoke and cologne and Shane had gotten a little hard, at that).

He knew it from the smell he left on the sheets he stripped, the few times Ilya had come to him smelling like he’d put out the last one right by the door. (and Shane used to worry, a little his gut would twist when Ilya smelt of smoke so strongly because he only smoked now when he couldn’t help himself. He seemed to make the effort when he knew he’d be seeing Shane to taste of nicotine gum not cigarettes so when he did- but it was t Shane’s business. He wasn’t Shane’s to worry about. He never asked. He complained less, about the smell, about the taste because if he was honest with himself he didn’t care, not really, the taste couldn’t win out over the need for Ilya, to kiss him, taste him). Shane even knew what the stupid box looked like, the brand, seen them in Ilyas home, in his duffle bag, poking out of his pocket.

And fuck he’d been missing Ilya (sex he told himself he’d been missing the sex) and he’s out and he’s had a few drinks- both times because he doesn’t know how to let himself have that otherwise- let himself have what he wants not when he doesn’t have Ilya pulling him into it, hands and mouth and so sure in how he touches Shane that he can’t talk himself out of the way he needs it, wants it- Ilya knows how to make him be for what he wants. With strangers he doesn’t even know how to ask. (He’d thought of the second time with Ilya, How he’d pinned Shane under his chest and realised he was scared, how Shane had been, so scared heart hammering like a caught animal under Ilya but he hadn’t been nervous, he hadn’t been anxious. He hadn’t been unsure- he’d wanted, he’d felt scared but he’d felt safe.

Shane doesn’t know how to get there with people he doesn’t know how to connect not like everyone else seems to. Causal sex had never seemed like an option for him, not for a lack of wanting but more a total lack of understanding of how to obtain it- how to want it, how to find that in someone. So he’s tipsy and he wants and he misses and he’s thinking about how Ilya holds him, in to his chest, down into the bed, with a half over his jaw, his throat, the back of his neck how he grips and pulls and tastes and pries Shane open in all the ways he can and Shane needs it, so badly he feels like a thread is unspooling in his chest with how badly. And then he smells it, (ilya) the smoke, and it’s easier, easier to convince himself it’s familiar when they taste like him. Easy to close his eyes and pretend it’ll be the same, that it’s the same. Better.

He swallows down the LA guy with the taste of smoke in his mouth and it’s fine, it’s fine but he’s there in his body and on his knees and he’s there the whole way through, aware of himself. The guy lights up another smoke after and Shane stays while he smokes it, wrinkles his nose and hates it the way it lingers, makes his throat burn a little and doesn’t think of the how Ilya would only ever push smoke out of his mouth away from Shane the few times he’d smoked after they fucked. He stays and lets the smoke cling to his hair and shirt and jacket and tries not to think about how different it is.

The Mexico top he thinks might be what he needed, someone big like Ilya, strong, maybe Shane just has a type. He’d been smoking as he danced, an outdoor dancefloor in the hot summer air. The smell of it strong when he’d made eye contact with him. It had made shane hungry, low in his stomach like a craving, and he’d wanted him, wanted to kiss him, he was handsome, had a sweet wolfish grin. But then it’s the same, it’s good, it’s fine. He’s right there the whole time, aware of himself. He cums (his eyes pinched closed, the guys chain pressing into the back of Shane’s neck, his hand strong in Shane’s hair and his exhales smell of cigarettes and it’s enough, it’s enough to take the shape of what he really wants) but it’s empty after, it’s not Ilya, and he’s left cold and with a headache from the tobacco kissed into his mouth. He brushes his teeth twice until the taste is completely gone and it doesn’t feel hopeless not like it did when he slept with girls. It’s almost worse in the way it feels incomplete, like it’s a playback of a memory, cheapened by time. He feels broken, like he when when he couldn’t get hard with girls, but in a way he has no name for. It feels even lonelier somehow.