#Bad Boys in Kilts

[coollovebibliophilethings]

Night Watch by Donna Kauffman

Title: Night WatchAuthor: Donna KauffmanSeries: Chisholm Brothers #3In: Bad Boys in Kilts (Donna Kauffman)Rating Out of 5: 4.5 (Amazing, but not quite perfect)My Bookshelves: Contemporary, Contemporary romance, Scottish romancePace: MediumFormat: NovellaYear: 2006 Tristan is just all round yummy. I mean, a literal shepherd who is built, paints and lives on his own? There is something so…

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Academy! Coryo x Academy!Reader,

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus is a warning in and of itself. Smut, p in v, tittie sucking, tittie fucking, cum licking, groping, cussing, first time, just the tip is NEVER just the tip, Obsessed!Coryo, Big Breasted!Reader, Pervy!Coryo, Virgin!Coriolanus, Virgin!Reader, Shy!Reader

When you hit puberty you begin developing breasts faster than your peers. When the other girls are in training bras you're wearing an underwire. And then when everyone hit high school at the Academy, well they're in cute little demi-bras and Lacey bralettes while you're in full coverage/support bras. You have a drawer full of underwires, front closures, etc. Yes, your bras are cute too, but unlike the other girls at the Academy you have to go to a special bra/lingerie shop that specializes in products for large breasted women.

Your mother was shocked that you're so busty since she's on the smaller side. Your older brother, Rein, was so afraid that you'd be taken advantage of or find yourself in trouble with boys because of having big boobs at such a young age. He more of less big boob shamed you (which you learned after dating your boyfriend wasn't cool) and convinced you to wear larger/baggy shirts to hide the size of your boobs.

So for years you listened to your brother and wore larger shirts. Underneath your shirts you always had a strappy tank or a cami on over your bra, to work as an undershirt/barrier between your skin and the larger, baggy shirts you always wore.

One day, when you're in your senior year literature class, you feel like you're being watched. As if somebody's breathing down your neck. You look over your shoulder, trying to catch whoever��s staring you down in the act, only to see your classmate with his head buried in his book.

Coriolanus Snow.

You've known him since kindergarten. He's best friends with Sejanus Plinth. You're friends with both of them, but it's not like you hang out with them alot. Or actually it's not like you hang out with Coriolanus a lot. You hang out with Sej. In fact your mother encourages it. But you think that's cause his family's filthy rich.

You just brush off your feelings as silly, as being paranoid. The boy with a halo of light golden curls wasn't leering at you, he had his prominent nose in his copy of The Crucible. He was the top of your class; very serious and studious.

Of course he's engrossed in his book. The same book you and the rest of the class are reading.

It's about the Salem Witch Trials thousands of years ago in a New England colony of North America during the Pre-Panem times. The book's actually a screen play by a famous writer- Arthur Miller. Your teacher says that there's a film too; that once the class has finished reading the book, testing on it, and writing the thesis on it, then the class will watch the movie.

Oh, you can't wait for that.

You go back to reading your book, causing Coriolanus to let out a tiny breath he didn't even know he was holding. The top student was, in fact, staring at you like you hung the moon and stars. Truth be told, he stares at you in the few classes you share.

Coriolanus always sits behind you, looking at you longingly. He's known you for at least 12 years now, but it wasn't until this year that he realized he needs you.

Biblically!

Coriolanus is enthralled by you. There's just something about you, he can't quite put his finger on it, that makes his cock twitch and his balls tingle. His palms go sweaty and his mouth waters. He can't look at you without getting hard.

Hell, he's thankful for the godforsaken kilt that's apart of the Academy uniform otherwise he'd have visible wet spots (cum stains) on the crotch of his pants. Yes, he cums just by staring at you and fantasizing about all the things he wants to do with you.

God, how he wants to fuck your pussy for bad. You're such a smart, sweet girl and he's got a dark desire to fuck you dumb. He also wants to fuck your throat until your vocal chords are shit to hell. Damn, he wouldn't mind tearing up your ass either.

And of course, he wants to eat your cunt. He also wants to suck on your titties. Coriolanus will never admit it, but he's a boob guy. Bigger the boobiea the better.

But that's the only thing about you that puzzles him. Your boobs. He can't get a good estimate on their size by looking at you because you always wear baggy and loose shirts.

Coriolanus often imagined what your tits look like underneath your light blue uniform shirt. He hopes that one day he gets the chance to find out.

Almost being caught staring at you was what Coriolanus needed to give him the courage to approach you. He's been staring at you like a creep since Fall and it's now late Spring, so it's time to make his intentions known.

Coriolanus’ icy blue eyes look at you from over his book as he hatches a plan to get you to go out with him. He knows that you're friends with Sejanus and that the big bear of a boy has a crush on you, so he needs to make his move fast.

Maybe after class?

Yes, Coriolanus decides he'll approach you after class.

You're packing your stuff up in your Academy issued leather satchel whenever a shadow falls over you. You look at, curious to see who's casting a shadow over you, only to see Coriolanus’ tall form towering over you.

“Hi, Coriolanus.” You smile, closing your satchel.

“Please, Y/N, call me Coryo.” The handsome blonde boy insists with a smile.

“Okay, Coryo.” You agree to use the nickname while slinging the satchel over your shoulder. “So?...”

“I was wondering, my darling, if you, perhaps, would like to eat lunch with me?”

“Are you asking me out on a date to the mess hall for lunch?”

“Yes?” Coryo smiled, sounding nervous.

You thought it was so cute how Coriolanus Snow, who's usually so composed and confident, was a bundle of nerves asking you on a lunch date. His cheeks were flushed and the tips of his ears were pink.

“Okay, let's go.” You tell him, smiling happily.

And that's the moment that Coryo snagged you up as his girl.

You've been with Coryo for a couple of months now and the boy's eager to get into your panties. So eager that if he doesn't fuck you soon then he's going to explode and die. Well, not really just metaphorically, but still…If he doesn't get to stick his desperate over horny, pervy big cock into your tight virgin cunt he's going to lose his mind.

And it's not like his sanity's that stable to begin with. He's already a bit obsessive with you.

The 10th Hunger Games is fastly approaching and nobody really gives a shit. There's commercials for it on CapitolTV, but people’s grown bored of it. It'll be airing in about 3 weeks, starting with the reaping on July 4th.

And of course in your social studies class you're learning about the reason for the games- again. The Academy teaches it every year. It's overkill really. Of course, your teacher assigned a group project about the good of the games, blah blah blah. You could care less, but of course your boyfriend volunteers to be your partner for the project.

And he cares.

Not about the games, but the grade that the project on the good of the games can grant the two of you.

So, that's how you find yourself in your bedroom on your bed books scattered around and a poster board on the floor one afternoon after school. Your mother's staying the week with her boyfriend, trying to fuck and marry her way out of living paycheck to paycheck, so you're home alone with Coryo.

Which is why your project supplies are scattered all over and Coryo's got you in his lap, tongue shoved down your throat as he kisses you like a starving man that's just been given his first meal in years.

You've kissed Coryo before a few times since you've been dating, but nothing like this. Nothing were you're all alone with no one to interrupt you, where you have the freedom to maul each other's faces off while breathlessly melding your lips together and rocking your lower bodies together.

Coryo hasn't been able to cop a feel of your boobs yet, since you've never been alone for too long or always had the fear of somebody walking into the room on you. But now, since you've got your apartment all to yourselves for a few days, your boyfriend with the light golden blonde curls is finally able to fondle your tits. Unknown to him, you're very busty.

And unknown to you, Coryo's a simple man with simple tastes when it comes to a woman's body. He's a classic T&A man.

He loves himself some good old tits and ass. And the bigger the titties the better.

Coryo's mouth pulls away from yours, leaving a messy trail of spit hanging between your kiss swollen lips. As you pant, trying to catch your breath, your boyfriend's leaving sloppy open mouth kisses along your jawline and down your neck. You feel warmth pooling between your legs and let out a little mewl, but then your eyes go wide as you feel Coriolanus' large hands each grab at one of your large breasts.

Coryo smiled into the crook of your neck as he realizes that you're hiding some big ole boobies underneath your loose fitting uniform shirt. Fuck, he squeezes your big boobs again while lifting his head up. A wide, manic grin spreads over Coryo's face. “You're hiding some big titties under this baggy shirt, huh, baby?”

“Coryo…” You sigh, feeling a bit embarrassed, while trying to squirm away from him.

“What's wrong, Y/N?” Coryo asks, feeling a bit rejected as you try to push him away. “I thought we were having a good time fucking around?”

“We were but then…” You trail off, only to wave a hand in front of your big boobs.

Coriolanus’ brow knitted and his nose twitched slightly in disbelief. “What? You mean you're embarrassed that I grabbed your perfect, squeezable tits?”

“It's embarrassing to be 18 and have boobs bigger then some grown women, Coryo. It's-” You began to explain why you're self conscious about your big breath only for him to, oh so eloquently (not) interrupt you with, “That's bullshit, Y/N.”

You blinked at him, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

“I like titties; ass too, and believe me the bigger the better.” Your boyfriend, who’s usually so prim and proper, bluntly tells you.

“Yea?” You ask a bit thickly, feeling all of your nerves fluttering in your stomach like butterflies.

“Yea.” Coryo nods, a lopsided grin on his lush lips. “How ‘bout you show me what's underneath your shirt? Hmm?” He suggests, waggling his brows.

“Okay.” You nod, causing your boyfriend to quickly unbutton your shirt.

But as soon as he pushes your open shirt over your shoulders he's signing in frustration. Tilting his head and giving you a sideways look, he dryly asks, “Why're you wearing another shirt for?”

“I always wear a cami over my bra. It's a barrier between my skin and the loose fitting shirt; it also slims down the bulk of my boobs.” Was the explanation You gave your stumped boyfriend.

“Well, I don't think that you need to do that anymore, Y/N. And, darling, I also think that you need to wear shirts that actually fit you.” Coryo tells you his honest opinion while grabbing the hem of your strappy camisole, he pulls it up. You raised your arms, letting him pull it up over your head. Tossing it over his shoulder, he licked his lips as he saw your big boobs threatening to spill out of your bra. “Let's free these puppies, shall we, baby?” He rhetorically asked, icy eyes gleaming with joy.

You nod and unhook your bra for him. As soon as you finish taking off your simple, but supportive bra, your boyfriend's on you like a magnet. His hands are grabbing and jiggling your large breasts while he burries his face in your cleavage.

Coryo feels like he died and went to Elysium as he sucks and nips the the sides of your boobs, where your cleavage is. Oh gods, how he loves your big ol’ boobies. Being face first in them turns him on, makes him harder than he's ever been in his entire life.

Coryo pays your big breasts lots and lots of attention. He sucks, kisses, and nips them all over before alternating sucking and pinching your nipples. He massages, gropes, jiggles, and fondles your big tits. He even takes his shirt off and makes you ride his thigh while your chests are pressed together.

Fuck, he just loves the feel of your perfectly big titties.

You're laying on your bed, legs spread wide open as Coryo fucks you with just the tip of his cock. Because just the tip doesn't count. It's not real sex if it doesn't go all the way in.

At first the two of you agreed to mutual.masterbation sitting across from each other on your bed. But then with how horny and pervy your boyfriend is, that turned into you two practically inches away from each other with him saying that the tip of his cock would feel so good in your cunt. That you could rub your clit and get off while he could jack off and get off.

At first you were iffy about it, saying that you've never done anything like that before. But he assured you that if you didn't like it then he'd stop.

Well, as it turns out you really liked it and he didn't stop.

“Coryo, your tip feels so good.” You mewl, rubbing your clit as you were trying to satisfy that itch you needed to scratch, that tingling feeling twitching deep inside of your wet cunt.

“Fuck, baby.” Coryo half groaned, pumping his shaft while lightly thrusting the tip of his cock in and out of your juicy wet cunt. His large cock’s red and angry with arousal. If he doesn't fuck you, really fuck you balls deep, then he's going to go completely insane.

Not like he isn't already halfway to looney tunes town already, but still…

“Baby, please, just let me slide my cock all the way in. Let me fuck you; make us both feel so good.”

“But I don't have the birth control implant; were too young for an accident.”

“How bout after you cum I pull out and tittie fuck you; cum all over ‘em big ol’ titties I love.” Coryo suggested while bucking his hips a tiny bit harder; making his tip slide a little bit deeper into your slippery wet cunt. A cunt that wants to greedily suck his cock inside of her warm, wet depths.

“Okay.” You nod. “But you have to promise to pull out and cum my tits, Coryo.”

“I will, baby. I promise, I will “ Coryo quickly swears before slamming his hips into yours and sliding his cock past your barrier and into the tight, hot, wet canal of your virgin cunt.

Or should he say no longer virginal cunt. Just like his 8 inch cock's no longer a virgin cock. Oh, how he loves the fact that he's finally fucking you after so long.

Coryo, having never fucked anyone before (just his fist and he's desperately humped his pillow a few times while fantasizing about you too, but he'll never admit) was a bit jumpy and all over the place with his movements. His thrusts were uneven and all too buckled. You were feeling desperate for some kind of relief so you start canting your hips up, chasing your high. A high that you desperately need.

Your hips rising up to meet his grounded your boyfriend's thrusts, gave him a guide on how to pace himself. Well, how to pace himself as best as he could cause he still wasn't really slowing down or something out of his motions.

It's only his first time (yours too) so it's going to take a couple more times of exploring each other to get more comfortable with fucking. He's a horny teenager after all.

Seeing your big tits bouncing around as he fucking you desperately into the mattress had Coryo in a trance. Goddamn, how he loves watching your big boobies jiggling around. The sounds of them smacking against your skin was like music to his ears.

The platinum blonde with a halo of curls dipped his head down and began sucking on one of your nipples while squeezing and smacking your other boob with his large hand. His free forearm was bracing the mattress, keeping him balanced and upright as he frantically fucked you like a bitch in heat.

Oh god how your tight pussy felt so good around his cock. And playing with your big titties as he rutted against you was.the icing on the cake.

The feeling of his large cock sliding in and out of your cunt, slamming into your special spongy spot, paired with the feeling your his mouth and his hands on your boobs had you nearing your peek. One on your hands was on his shoulder, nails digging into the skin; sure to leave marke, while the other was between your legs rubbing your clit.

“I'm so close, Coryo.” You whine, causing him to pull his mouth off of your boob with a loud pop.

‘Let me play with your pussy, baby.” He tells you, batting your hand away from your pussy only to replace it with his own. As his thumb quickly rubs fast circles against your clit, he fucks you fast while ordering, “Fondle your titties for me, baby.”

So, as he continues to pound you fast and desperately, you play with your nipples and grab at your big boobs- just like Coryo told you too.

Suddenly, the feeling of everything’s too much and the dam breaks. White hot pleasure shoots thru you as you let out a mix of curses and Coryo's name.

Coriolanus groans as he feels you soak his dick. The feeling is heaven. It feels so good. He continues to fuck into you until your panting and coming down from your high, then he's quickly pulling out of you and scrambling to straddle your chest.

“Y/N, hold your tits together so I can fuck the space between them.” Your boyfriend instructs you, causing you to quickly do as you're told. He quickly positions his dick in your cleavage only to start bucking his hips back and forth.

A throaty moan fell from his throat as he held onto your headboard, looking down at the sight of his cock slipping between your big breasts. “Oh, fuck…that's so hot…” Coryo chokes out in a deep moan. He watched his cock slip in and out, in and out of the tight space you made for him between your perfect breasts by holding them together.

And suddenly, with a final thrust,.his balls are twitching and he's emptying out rope after rope of hot, thick, cum on your boobs.

You stop holding your boobs as Coryo carefully stops straddling your chest and takes his place next to you on the bed. You thought that he was going to reach over to grab some tissues from your bedside table, but he didn't. Instead, Coryo used his tongue to clean the thick, pearly cum off of your boobs.

Yes!

Your boyfriend's so obsessed with your big titties that he licked them clean.

That shocked you.

And then after your big boobies are clean, Coryo kisses you passionately. You can taste the slight saltiness of his cum on his tongue as he slips it into your mouth. It's a very erotic kiss, to say the least.

When you break apart for air, Coryo gives you a satisfied smirk. Pulling you into his chest as he lays back in your bed, he tells you, “That was perfect, baby.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tells you, “We need to get you some shirts that show off my beloved big boobies better. How can I go back to not seeing them on display after what we've just done?”

“I’ll talk to the Academy’s uniform department, get a couple of new shirts in my right size.” You tell Coryo, causing him to smile like a kid in a candy store.

Your project for your social studies class was half-assed and you had to skip your lunch period to work on it in the library since you spent the entire week meant to work on it fucking Coryo. But it all worked out. You and Coryo ended up getting an A+ on the project. You and Coryo also had lots of fun fucking each other and learning each other's bodies.

But one thing that never changed is how obsessed Coryo is about your large breasts. He's so obsessed with them that he'll just cuddle with you and rest his head on them. Something that freaks out your mutual friend, Sejanus Plinth, when he witnesses it at school during lunch and break periods.

But what can you can say? Coryo’s obsessed with your big boobs, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Especially when the mentoring project comes around…

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 x wedding

People said I write to much angst so here tooth rotting fluff for you.

Legally, you were already married to John for a few months. Unfortunately, it wasn’t allowed to marry multiple people. You understood where that rule came from, but it still hurt knowing you could only be legally John's spouse and not marry all four of your breathtaking men. So, when each of them proposed to you in their own unique way, how could you say no? Maybe you wouldn’t be legally married, but at least at heart, and that’s all that counts.

They organized most of the wedding themselves with the help of your Pinterest board. You were glad you didn’t need to plan all of this yourself, unlike your less fortunate friends whose husbands couldn’t even tell them what they wanted for dinner.

And now you were here, fiddling with your wedding dress in front of the big mirror. Your dad stayed by your side, holding back his tears. He didn’t understand at first—his kid in a relationship with four scary men (he couldn’t even threaten them properly, though he still tried; Simon and Price even had the decency to act scared, even though they knew your dad couldn’t do a thing). But he came to terms with it fast. He loved you, after all, and saw how well they treated you.

The wedding wasn’t too crowded. Johnny’s family took up the most space, surprisingly accepting the relationship of their son despite their strong Catholic beliefs. Kyle’s moms sat in the crowd, John’s sister with her husband and your now nephews, and Simon’s neighbor who always gave him something proper to eat when his dad starved him again. Nik, Kate and her wife, Alex, Farah, Alejandro, and Rudy were all there, and of course, all your loved ones.

Your dad walked you down the aisle, and it didn’t surprise you to see Simon and John shedding tears. Everyone thought it would be Johnny and Kyle, but you knew your boys too well. They all looked so breathtaking: Johnny with his kilt, Kyle with his tuxedo and the small peony in the pocket (of course he was the best dressed), John with his suit and vest, and Simon’s cream suit fitting perfectly with his blonde hair.

The vows were absolutely beautiful. Each of them wrote some personal words for you, and you couldn’t hold back your tears. You gave each of them their kiss, and now you weren’t married by law, but in front of all your loved ones, and that was more than enough.

You fought for dominance against John while cutting the cake, and to no one’s surprise, your hands were on top of his, making your family laugh.

Kyle got the privilege of having the first dance with you, spinning you around like no one was watching.

Johnny was delighted that he had the tradition of removing your garter. Oh, how proud he was, moving his head between your dress and coming back with it between his lips (he definitely didn’t say hi to his favorite place under your dress). You were blushing like hell while everyone was just laughing—typical Johnny.

You tossed the bouquet and Alex caught it, smiling cheekily towards Farah.

You talked with Simon about which tradition he felt comfortable with, and he thought carrying you over the threshold to keep bad ghosts away was fitting.

You always thought it was a lie what everyone said, but this really was the most beautiful day of your life.

A/N: Im sorry if some tradition confuse you I only know German, Turkish and Russian weddings, tried my best tho.

If I could draw I would include better inspiration so you get Pinterest pictures for their fits.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Look, This is gonna be one of those things that sounds bad until you read the whole story. Please don't read the title and go to 'yta' without reading.

AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

Look, My brother ISNT trans. He likes to wear kilts and sew, Which is what kind of started all of this. My brother is NOT trans, He loves being a boy (trust me, I can hear him enjoying being a boy in his room all the time. Theres no way he'd wanna chop it off(I mean this as a joke I don't actually know how the surgery works), He's told me multiple times that being told by others what he likes is 'feminine' and 'girly' upsets him because he's proud of being a boy and doesn't like being called a girl. Its not because he hates girls or thinks less of them, He just does not like being called the wrong gender which I'm sure you want to be called the correct gender too.)

Anyways lets begin. I (16F) am my little brothers (15M) best friend, Basically. We grew up together and do everything together, Including sewing. I liked it when I was younger, And eventually convinced him to try it as well. He loved it, And we love just sitting together and making random crap we usually end up selling at our yearly garage sale. (Our mom makes us sell all our unneeded crap every year, But we aren't complaining when we make like $100 for it, Mom and dad even help us figure out what we actually wanna keep (we sometimes see old things and go 'Oh I could never get rid of this' and then throw it away))

Sorry for the rambling, But you'll see why some of this is important to know.

Basically, We were getting our shit together for the garage sale, And invited over a mutual friend of ours, Who I'll call uhhh Ley (16F). Shes kind of obsessed with the LGBTQ and loves to help people 'realize' they're gay or trans or non-binary. By this I mean she'll literally bully people she 'knows' is gay or trans by always telling them they are and spreading rumors about them saying they are. The way she 'knows' these things are from gut feelings. I thought maybe she needed friends who would be honest with her and tell her gently that it needed to stop. She stopped being so bad with it and we even convinced her to admit to the rumors she started being fake. We've known her for around 3 years now, And she's stopped doing it as aggressively for 2 of those years. She still makes jabs and 'jokes' saying things like "Oh thats so girly, Are you sure you're not trans?" and "Oh thats such a boy thing to do, Are you a lesbian?", Both quotes she's said to me and my brother less than a week ago. I am straight and cis, So is my brother. We have nothing against the lgbt, We just aren't apart of it. We support the lgbtq as much as possible (with my part time job I like to donate some of my paycheck towards point of pride so people who need the surgeries or binders can get them), And are very open about supporting them.

While we were cleaning out my brothers room and finding stuff to throw into the 'sell' box (we like to do precleaning before our parents help us, It makes everything faster and less work on the people trying to help), And Ley found my brothers kilt. She did a long exaggerated gasp, Looking at my brother.

"So, How long have you been trans? Why didn't you tell me?? I knew it the whole time!"

My brother tried to explain that it was a kilt for men, And he wasn't trans, But she kept interrupting him saying crap like 'you don't have to lie I know now' and 'Its nothing to be embarrassed about, I knew ever since you started to sew'. The last straw for me was when she continued not listening to him and started to ask about how he was gonna come out as school. I yelled at her to get out, That neither of us were gay, Neither of us are trans, And neither of us are apart of any of the lgbtq. We are allies and nothing more. She tried to argue that he had a 'skirt' which OBVIOUSLY meant he was trans, I basically screamed at her that she was a stupid know it all who made everyone who wasn't apart of the lgbtq's life hell because she made sure everyone knew them as someone they arent (I know, I shouldn't of brought up 2 years in the past) and that I was tired of her trying to force everyone to be in the LGBTQ when its just not realistic. Not everyone is gay or trans, Some people are cis and straight. She started crying and left, We haven't spoken in a few days but I think I'm justified. I'm tired of living my life being told I'm something I'm not, I'm tired of seeing it happen to my brother too.

My brother later thanked me for standing up for him, Telling me it made him really upset when she said those things. To cheer him up we watched his favorite movies and I made him his favorite dinner (mom and dad both work day jobs so we both make lunch and dinner)

And for those who are gonna say that allies are apart of the LGBTQ I strongly believe the A is for aro/ace. Being an ally isn't a gender or sexuality

(unless people identify using ally/allyself of course or whatever it is, I'm not quite sure how neos work or whatever but I love to see how creative people get with it and am happy it gives people who don't identify with any of the normalized(? Idk the correct term but yknow the man woman and nb) genders a chance to be who they actually are)

Extra info on why I think I could be the asshole: I feel like we might've been able to explain it if we got her to shut up for a minute, But she kept talking over us. I feel like I went too far by insulting her, And I feel like I might be TA because she's also autistic (so is my brother though, And I have ADHD).

Why I think I'm NTA: My brother is really quiet and doesn't really defend himself often. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and is 'easy' to talk over (soft spoken, Quiet talking voice and nonconfrontational) which is why I believe I had to step in in his place, And I don't believe I did anything wrong defending my brother and making her stop calling him what hes not.

Anyways. AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

To see later: PINK PANTHER

What are these acronyms?

[jesswriteswrongs]

After School Special

Fandom: Shameless USA

Characters: Lip Gallagher x Female Northside!Reader

Summary: Reader and Lip return to her house after school, but Reader’s mom comes home early and has a lot to say

Warnings: body shaming, discussion of food, discussion of exercise, discussion of weight

A/N: Readers mom reads like Emily Gilmore because I’ve been binge watching Gilmore Girls

It was mid-October and you had no idea how Lip survived without a coat, when you were dreading pulling your hand out of your pocket to unlock the door. Once you were both inside the warmth of your house you lead Lip upstairs to your room. “Wanna help me with my literature homework?” You asked him, putting your backpack on the floor and hanging up your coat.

“I do love you in that uniform…” he replied, sitting on your bed. You never thought that the kilt, sweater vest, blazer and saddle shoes were particularly attractive, but Lip always seemed to think so.

“Really?” You asked, straddling his lap.

“Mmm…” He replied, pushing your blazer off your shoulders “Southside bad boy corrupts private school girl? It’s like something from a romance novel.” You let your blazer fall to the floor. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do-“ You interrupted Lip’s recitation of Shakespeare by clapping your hand over his mouth, hearing the front door open and close.

“Shit! My mom’s home early.” You whispered.

“Y/N!” Your mom shouted. You put your finger to your lips to signal Lip to be quiet, and climbed off his lap. You headed downstairs to see what she wanted.

“Hi Mom.” You said nonchalantly.

“Y/N! How long have you been home?” She asked, looking you up and down. You squirmed under her gaze.

“Just a few minutes, I was just about to start my homework.” She frowned.

“Hm… well, remember your sister is coming home from Yale this weekend.”

“Yes, Mom.” You replied monotonously.

“How’s your application to Princeton going?”

“I don't need to apply until next year.”

“Yes, darling, but Princeton will look closely at your junior year. Extracurriculars are important.” She placed her handbag on the bureau, paying more attention to the wood grain than to you.

“Mom, I’m already president of the Model United Nations and VP of the astronomical society.”

“Yes, but you’ll need more. Your sister was captain of the swim team, president of the key club, class president and valedictorian.”

“Mom, I’m not Laura.” You sighed, playing with your sleeve cuffs

“Don’t I know it.” Your mother retorted. She looked you up and down once more. “You’re looking fat. I’ll tell Maria to skip the after school snack, you can wait until dinner, and you’ll be taking salad for lunch for the rest of the week. Your father and I pay for the gym, you should use it.”

“Yes, Mom.” You said once more. “Can I go back to my homework now?” Your mother literally looked down her nose at you before she spoke.

“Fine. But I expect you to be exercising after dinner.” You nodded, fisting your hands inside your sleeves and wiling the tears not to fall. You quickly turned and ran back up the stairs, shutting yourself in your bedroom, back against the door, before you let the tears fall. You had completely forgotten Lip was waiting for you in there.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly.

“How much of that did you hear?” Your voice was low and quiet, almost trembling.

“Enough.” Lip replied. He opened his arms. “Everything she said is total bullshit. You’re not anywhere near fat, and you’re going to get into Princeton.” You allowed yourself to be hugged and comforted by Lip, tears falling on to the blue shirt you loved on him. “And if your mom really wants you to get some exercise I can think of an exercise regiment that she’ll hate.” You laughed wetly, before wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

“This is why I prefer your house.” You said quietly.

“What, too loud to think with the police turning up anytime they want?” Lip chuckled. You rested your temple against his shoulder.

“Yeah but it’s family. You may not have much but you love each other, and most of the time you even like each other.” Lip laughed at that. “You’re not competing against each other or trying to outdo each other’s achievements. Everything Laura does I have to be the same or better, whether I want to or not.” Lip seemed to think about that for a moment.

“I guess you’re right.” He said after a moment of silence. “We’re dysfunctional, sure, but I’d do anything for my family. Our achievements are what they are. Shit, I’ll be the first Gallagher to finish high school. Plus, Fiona likes you a lot more than she’s liked my other girlfriends.” You ran your thumb over his shirt collar.

“It’s refreshing. Fiona thinks it’s great when I get a C, Debbie likes when I bring my art homework, it feels safe.” You said quietly.

“Even with Carl running around?” Lip asked

“Even with Carl running around.” You laughed, and kissed him. “I’m totally serious though, my literature homework is due tomorrow.”

“Hmmm, can I be your reward afterwards?” Lip asked.

“Can we go to your house tomorrow?” Lip smiled and nodded. You smiled back and climbed off his lap, grabbing your book and sitting back on his lap.

“What are you doing, Y/N? I thought you were doing homework?” You grinned wickedly at Lip.

“You really want to wait until after?”

[wild-joker-out-pleasures]

🎀 Skirts for Joker Out 🎀

The recent posts about skirts made me decide to create this. Why not let ALL FIVE BOYS join in on the fun and joys of wearing a skirt? Feel the breeze? The freedom? Equal opportunity is never a bad thing after all, isn’t it? 🤭

Thus, I have taken it upon myself to choose fitting skirt styles for each of the lads, based on what I think would suit each of them! 🎀

Bojan Cvjetićanin 💓

Very out there, very flirty and attention-grabbing miniskirts with standout details and more than a few dashes of coquette. Chiffon, fringe, sequins, little bows. His fearlessness and outgoing personality would really shine, and the short lengths ensure that this short king would look as tall as possible. 🤭 Swishy and twirly silhouettes also allow him to shake those hips and twerk.

Kris Guštin 🤍

That ass certainly doesn’t lie. Kris could rock long and short skirts alike, and with those long legs. Soft, delicate fabrics that drape beautifully complement his Greek god-like beauty. A sheer long skirt with a slit would suit him particularly well. He is well-suited to both pretty princess styles with dainty details and cute bows, and high-fashion runway-esque silhouettes that hug that peach of his and would make every jaw in the room drop.

Jan Peteh 🖤

Dark and intense Jan is a natural fit for equally dark, edgy and alternative skirt styles. Black leather, dark lace and mesh, as well as some bondage and lingerie elements such as buckles, straps and hardware, complement his black cat nature and his natural sensual energy. Of course, one cannot leave out the classic red and black plaid kilt-style miniskirt a la Vivienne Westwood, a staple in alternative fashion that just screams Jan.

If any of you know the manga and anime "Nana"...Jan is 100% Nana Osaki coded, both in appearance and personality.

Jure Maček 🩵

Sunny and chaotic Jure is all about showing skin, and a natural fit for Y2K sensibilities, the shorter the better. Playful, youthful denim and summery mini lengths are particularly good styles for him, rips and distressed details optional. When he's feeling especially fancy, a bold feather mini is a particularly good fit, in its unconventional and unexpected chaos...that Jure would absolutely pull off. 😆

Nace Jordan 💜

Nace is the epitome of a lovely fall day. He suits so many autumn-inspired styles in earthy tones of brown, orange, warm purple and muted green, touched with varying degrees of coziness, and both soft and tough details. Naturally, that extends to skirts. From fairy grunge maxi skirts, to "sexy nerd" dark academia style, to army green minis (he has nice thighs, of course I wouldn't deny anyone those thighs)...he can carry them all beautifully!

Thank you for your time, and LONG LIVE SKIRTS! 🖤

[auckie]

Neil gaiman is such a fucking hack. All he does is ride off Terry pratchets coattails, gets. I really hate the word cuck but idk how else to describe the Amanda Palmer situation. Cucked by women and regurgitates that into flat one dimensional characters. Queer baits and panders to trashy online YA level drivel types. He’s the definition of the word fandom. If men like his garbage they’re always the kind of guy who has a beard and lets you know he has a beard. He probably owns a kilt despite not being remotely Scottish. Funko pop owner for sure, has a mini tardis and probably that dr who scarf. A pentagram tattoo, maybe some runes.

And like. Neil gaiman is a capable writer do not get me wrong. But his idea of creative writing is theorizing about how the afterlife is all bureaucracy bc that’s never been done by a bitter atheist. It’s always secularly Christian too isn’t it? I mean i guess that’s what he knows.

So im saying this knowing that he’s not solely responsible for it, really, and having read the comics and not enjoyed them at all but continued to have done so out of some weird sense of obligation, I’m very angry to admit that I’m enjoying the stupid Netflix production of dead boy detectives. It is absolutely a mishmash of other similar cw-type shows, but that’s just the thing. I eat that shit up. Riverdale, Sabrina, teen dramas with obnoxious editing and low brow production value. I even liked the second season of good omens despite like, hating a solid 40% of the secondary character and plot direction. It’s sorta like eating little Debbie cakes yknow? Or binging reality tv.

DBDA is better than all that, like it’s a crust above but it’s wrapped in the trappings of really shitty things, and whenever it manages to be a bit better it’ll sink a smidge lower by referencing its ilk or doing exactly what you’d expect of it.

Whenever I see the ‘two skinny whitish boys with obvious sexual tension and an annoying women in the middle’ I stop and ask myself— does this writer have a track record of making the same dynamic.

An obnoxious woman is not a bad thing. She can be a good thing even, but if she’s a mirror image of a million other toxic characters that indicates two things: projection, or a formula. Especially when paired between two male characters that clearly interact in ways that urge the audience to say ‘they should kiss!’

Then she becomes an obstacle. It’s rare for a character in this role to rise above the narrative, and even rarer for authors to try and write one capable of that.

A lot of fans will see people hating on her and cry ‘misogyny!’ Instead of asking why she was written, and why hundreds of other past iterations and future clones of her continue to be written. A similar character is the empty lesbian who stands in both popular media and fanfiction to prove that the author is not just obsessing over gay men and throws a bone to the supposed lesbian audience as well.

And then you have the flat poc or other LBT, sometimes disabled characters who serve to act as a tick mark off a checklist. It’s lazy, it’s annoying. But that’s a whole different can of vaguely related worms

[isagrimorie]

Dear Kathryn, One day you will become an adult. A sexual adult. A fearless performer. And an unabashed lover of your own body. But it won’t happen overnight. You will grow up the only daughter in a family of beautiful and dysfunctional boys. You will attend an all-girls Catholic school and wear a little bride’s dress to marry Jesus at your First Communion. You will find your husband, Jesus, to be very attractive. In the third grade, when you and your friends are walking home from school, a grown man will flash you. You’ll all laugh as it’s happening, but then burst into hysterical tears. When you go to your friend’s house and play “marriage,” you’ll always play the husband. That way you get to be the one with the dick. At 13 you will draw a picture of yourself in pencil in your diary. (You will keep a diary because you will have a need to put your thoughts down, to express your innermost everything.) You will point out all the physical negatives: your pointy boobs, zits, huge nose, stringy hair. So much of your shame will come from your physical self—and your relationships with other girls. You will have friends who betray you at every turn, and that betrayal will feel so real and deep and physical. When you get your period, one friend will be so jealous that she will convince you (and a bunch of other people) that you got it only because you fell on the bar of a boy’s bike. In high school you will learn how to compartmentalize your sexuality, how to put a lid on it. Though you won’t actually touch anyone else until the summer after senior year, you’ll be a chronic masturbator. It will be a deep, weird secret that is also awesome and private and yours. The first time you will feel sexy will be in college. You will wear a black leotard, a tartan kilt, Doc Martens boots, and a headband, and people will start looking at you differently. And you will admit to yourself: This doesn’t feel bad. Still, you will spend so much time feeling messy. You will spend so much time comparing yourself with others and trying to be articulate, knowing that you’re smarter than the words coming out of your mouth, that you are smarter than the guy you’re obsessed with.

Read More

(hat tip to: twitter user sckberry)

[mydaddywiki]

Ian Blackford

Physique: Husky Build Height: 5′ 8″ (1.73 m)

Ian Blackford (born 14 May 1961-) is a Scottish politician who served as Leader of the Scottish National Party (SNP) in the House of Commons from 2017 to 2022. He has been the Member of Parliament (MP) for Ross, Skye and Lochaber since 2015. Originally from Edinburgh, he previously worked as an investment banker and has been involved in various business ventures since. He was the national treasurer of the SNP from 1999 to 2000.

There's just something about this guy that has me excusing myself to go to the bathroom for a quick release. Obviously, the English accent is a big factor as well as his chubby frame. But I think what got me most of all was Blackford in a kilt. What? I love a man in a kilt.

Oh snap. Recently, he ‘dumped’ his wife after almost 24 years together just weeks after the pair returned from a trip to France, where they were hoping to buy a holiday home. He spent £300 from their joint bank account on sexy lingerie and jewelry for his new girlfriend who he stole from her husband. Now that's straight pimpin. And I love that. What? Everyone loves a bad boy.

[eiraeths]

quotes from the tv show supernatural, but make it the 141

———

Ghost: You wanna tell me what's goin' on in that freaky head of yours?

Soap: Ghost…

Ghost: No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man; it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?

———

Soap: So what, all of this never keeps you up at night? [Ghost shakes his head] Never. You're never afraid?

Ghost: [shakes head again] No, not really. [Soap reaches under Ghost’s pillow, pulls out knife] That's not fear. That is precaution.

Soap: Alright, whatever. I'm too tired to argue.

———

Gaz: Are you humming Metallica?

Soap: Calms me down.

Gaz: Look, man, I get you're nervous, alright, but you gotta stay focused.

———

Gaz: Hey, night vision? [Soap switches the camera to night vision mode] Thanks, perfect. [looks at Soap through digital camera's night vision]

Soap: Do I look like Paris Hilton?

———

Soap: [after surveying room full of broken mirrors] Hey, Ghost?

Ghost: Yeah?

Soap: This has gotta be like, what, 600 years bad luck?

———

Soap: Your, uhh, half-caff double vanilla latte's getting cold over here, Francis.

Gaz: Bite me.

———

Gaz: Supposedly died from Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease.

Price: [confused] Huh?

Gaz: Human Mad Cow Disease.

Price: Mad Cow... wasn't that on Oprah?

Gaz: You watch Oprah?

[Price looks embarrassed]

———

Price: How'd you get here?

Gaz: I, uh, stole a car.

Price: [laughs] That's my boy!

———

Soap: [looking around a safehouse, the barrel of a rifle is placed against his back] Oh, God, please let that be a rifle.

Ghost: Nah, I'm just real happy to see you.

———

Ghost: Can I shoot her?

Price: Not in public.

———

Price: Seatbelt.

Soap: What am I, in third grade? A car should drive, not be a little bitch.

———

Gaz: Did you really used to wear a skirt?

Soap: A kilt. I had very athletic calves.

———

Soap: And that's -

Ghost: Dog's blood.

Soap: Do I even want to know where you got that?

Ghost: Probably not.

———

i got to season 5 of quotes revt

[coollovebibliophilethings]

On Tap by Donna Kauffman

Title: On TapAuthor: Donna KauffmanSeries: Chisholm Brothers #2In: Bad Boys in Kilts (Donna Kauffman)Rating Out of 5: 4 (Really good read!)My Bookshelves: Contemporary, Contemporary romance, Scottish romancePace: MediumFormat: NovellaYear: 2006 Daisy was completely gorgeous in Bottoms Up – she was just the kind of woman that I like to read about, supportive of someone when she realises where the…

[tyrannuspitch]

the thing about scottish miku is that scotland is in a really weird position re: national dress where everyone knows men's national dress and it's like the very first thing people all over the world imagine when they think of scotland, but women's traditional dress is several orders of magnitude less popular, less iconic, and less clearly defined. so a lot of people naturally want to use the men's costume to represent Scottishness even when the figure they're putting it on is a hyperfeminine female character. but at the same time, the men's costume is constantly stereotyped as being "women's clothing" and the men who wear it as "crossdressers", which obviously wouldn't be a bad thing if true, but it's NOT true. it's masculine clothing. not feminine. not neutral. strictly and exclusively masculine. and to be honest we've probably doubled down on this to counteract the stereotype, but like. this is the reality of the current situation. suits are men's clothing, but you still see women wearing suits pretty often. men's highland dress, what you think of when you imagine "a kilt"*, is men's clothing and women practically never wear it. i'm pretty sure i've never seen a woman wearing it. maybe in a pipe band? but piping is kind of a boy's club so few women play the pipes anyway. the point is that it's genuinely one of the last vestiges in our culture of women wearing men's clothes that still genuinely reads as crossdressing and i don't think a lot of people understand that. like i almost feel like i'm spreading misinformation / contributing to inaccurate stereotypes if i share a picture of a normally hyperfeminine woman in men's highland dress without a disclaimer. and there's ALSO kind of a stereotype of scottish women as masculine which again isn't inherently a bad thing but i still can't help but think of it. but at the end of the day it's free butch miku isn't it. hell yeah. i love u butch scottish miku

*a kilt is not simply a tartan skirt. but there are also women's kilts. but they're very different. it's complicated okay

[kudouusagi]

My Bucchigiri theory is that it's basically following the theme of the Disney Aladdin, where both Aladdin and Jasmine are trying to put up their own facades and get into trouble trying to be different people. Arajin trying so hard to be a tough, entitled delinquent, while Matakara is trying to be the nice guy with a heart of gold, and it's all coming from their childhood trauma. Which means the second half is about peeling those facades back and revealing who they really are.

Yes I feel the same way. It is very much based on Disney's Aladdin.

Here are some parallels from Disney's Aladdin that I have observed. Keep in mind this is just me guessing and I could be wrong about their intentions lol

Arajin = Aladdin. Obviously. There's not much question about that one.

Senya = Genie. Again, obviously.

kenichirou = the cave of wonders. He shuts himself away in his room and doesn't talk. idk seems kinda cavey lol

The mi (魅) in minatokai can means wonders. The swirly logo of their group is like the clouds behind the cave... he's got things that kinda look like clouds in his outfit.

Matakara = the treasure in the cave of wonders. His name means true treasure.

Zabu = Abu. His design looks similar to Abu and he is the one who accidentally caused the problem between the two groups. Abu in Aladdin was constantly accidentally causing problems.

Komao = magic carpet. He wears a kilt and his hair looks like tassels. very carpet like. He is also noted as being best friends with Zabu.

Abu and the carpet are commonly seen together.

Marito = Sultan. He is the leader of Siguma and he's constantly trying to force people to eat majibobs. It's like the sultan forcing Iago to eat crackers.

Outa = Also Sultan? I feel like they split his character into two people lol. Together they're the "God Kings"

Mahoro = Jasmine. in that she's related to Marito and Arajin's love interest.

Jabashiri = Jafar? His name means running snake and he wants to take over after Marito (the sultan) leaves. I think his character is split with Akutarou, though.

Hagure = Rajah/Iago. I mean look at the tiger on his hat. Totally tiger? Meanwhile, his name means rabbit and I have a feeling he's supposed to be Iago too since he's best friends with Jabashiri lol.

Akutarou = Jafar. He wants to take over both Minato kai and Siguma Squad. He also has a second genie and Jafar becomes a second genie. His name literally means "bad guy" (the pronunciation, the kanji are different) and the name of his group is NG boys and NG usually stands for No Good lol

This is my best guess at this point of the story. If you agree or disagree let me know in the comments or reblogs!

I feel like I could write more about this but I'm tired and giving up at this point lol

[dimlylittorch]

Random Thoughts: Edition 2

random unpopular/irrelevant opinions i think the cod boys would have

(John Price, Simon Ghost Riley, Johnny Soap MacTavish, Kyle Gaz Garrick, König, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Phillip Graves)

My Masterlist🌱

Price:

- cigars are healthier than vapes

- spanking is not a good style of parenting (unpopular bc of his age)

- marriage can be overrated

Ghost:

- black cats are the best cats

- Taylor swift is overrated

- British government is just as wacky as American government

Soap:

- beating up vending machines is acceptable

- i should be allowed to wear kilts wherever i want

- Scotland vs Ireland discourse is top tier entertainment

Gaz:

- being a childless adult is perfectly okay

- pancakes are better than waffles

- squishmallows should be a required gift for every holiday

König:

- German should be offered as a language option in every school

- pixar is better than Disney

- doorways need to be bigger

Alejandro:

- women shouldn’t have to wear bras if they don’t want to, it seems very uncomfortable

- Tex-mex restaurants are overrated

- black cats bring bad luck (him and simon argue often over this)

Rudy:

- chihuahuas are good dogs

- periods should be taught to boys too, they need to understand basic female anatomy

- bring back trains. they were cool

Graves:

- Americans have the best accents

- pineapple belongs on pizza

- i would look good as a brunette

Thanks for reading!! Let me know if you’d like a part 2! Asks and tips are open <3

[mikhailwrites]

The fire in your eyes / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #19 - Uniforms

Military Parades. Everyone hates them. Instead of doing something useful and productive, you need to dress up and march in front of staring crowds. Nobody cares if it’s so hot the road is melting or so cold your eyes are freezing over. However, there might be a silver lining to this one: Johnny fucking MacTavish proudly displaying his Scottish heritage.

I'm writing this at 3AM, terribly sorry if it's even less coherent and has even more mistakes than usual. Btw did you know SAS has its own tartan? Well, now you do.

The door to the rec room opens, Ghost immediately checks them. And has to look away and back again. As if to make sure he’s truly seeing... that. Johnny. In a kilt. Not just the kilt, in fact, the whole getup.

Gaz whistles, eyeing the other Sergeant. “Looking sharp, mate! Got a date? Some pretty bird to impress?”

“Damn right, I do,” Johnny smirks as he momentarily looks at Simon. Oh, he likes to play with fire. But he does look sharp, Gaz is right about that. “But we gotta address the elephant in the room. Ghost in a uniform? What did you bribe him with? And the chest candy, too? Had to be expensive.”

“That would be classified, Sergeant,” Price appears out of nowhere, rivalling Ghost’s namesake. “I hope you boys are ready to make a good impression today.”

“Yes, sir!” they answer him in unison. They don’t have to like parades, but they all understand why they must be at their best.

It all goes smoothly; they’ve rehearsed it, after all, for countless hours. Even the weather takes pity on them and graces the parade with an overcast and reasonable temperature. They march, they do the show, people are applauding, a few are shouting some profanities as if a good portion of the parade doesn’t have a near-death experience. As if they didn’t hear the whistle of a bullet flying way too close to their head.

Ghost keeps his mind carefully clear. He performs as is expected of him, enjoys the fleeting moments he gets to see Johnny and tries not to count passing minutes. Then there’s a hymn, another march, and, yes, finally, they’re free. He needs a drink, as do the rest of One-Four-One. Drink, and then he gets out of the uniform. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he startles a bit until his brain catches up. God, he hates this.

As Simon nears the pub they had earlier agreed to meet, there is an unusual amount of noise and ruckus coming from inside—the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, shouts and thuds. Ghost tags Price standing a little out of the way, leaning against the wall and smoking one of his usual cigars.

“Someone already managed to start a fight?” Simon asks as he comes closer, mildly impressed.

“Uh-huh,” Price nods. “We did.”

Ghost blinks a few times. Alright, he didn’t see that coming. “What happened?”

“Someone insulted Soap’s kilt and, if I got it right, even went as far as to say something about his mother. And you don’t just insult SAS soldier’s mum, do you?” Price asks a wholly rhetorical question. Ghost only nods, but then he looks around the deserted street.

“So, why aren’t you inside?”

“Plausible deniability. If I go there, I’ll have to clean up the mess and employ some disciplinary measures. You know the drill.”

“Want me to sort it out, sir?”

“Please do.”

That’s the only permission Ghost needs. He takes off the jacket, handing it to Price. He might not like it, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to get his measurements taken again for a new one.

It’s an absolute chaos inside. Luckily, Ghost thrives in chaos. He sweeps the pub from left to right, taking a quick and rough account of the situation. Gaz is to his right; two men are holding him up as the third takes a swing at him. It’s not a bad punch, Gaz’s head jerks to the side, blood from the split lip dripping on his uniform. As the assailant prepares for another swing, Ghost intervenes. This is his teammate right here, the man who’s saved Ghost’s life on numerous occasions.

Ghost moves quickly, sliding behind the man’s back and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him into the overturned table. The two blokes holding Gaz up look at Ghost, then at each other. There’s a hint of recognition. They let Gaz go immediately and try to charge Ghost, both of them at the same time. Not a bad thinking.

Ghost dodges one fist aimed at his stomach and trips the man. The other one lands a hit on Ghost’s kidneys. It hurts, but he’s used to pain. However, before Ghost can react, Gaz is there, kneeing the bloke in the stomach before sucker-punching him. Okay, that’s one-half of the job done.

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost barks out loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Gaz looks around. Numerous fights are going on, as is expected. There’s tension and rivalry between the military branches and the units. This sort of gathering is a powder keg. “I don’t…,” Gaz starts, trying to find their other Sergeant. “Oh….”

Ghost follows Gaz’s gaze, and… yeah. Oh.

Soap is lying on the ground, one guy’s neck held between his thighs while simultaneously doing a proper fist-assisted dentistry on another bloke who’s struggling to crawl away. Johnny looks like a rabid dog.

“You gonna need help with him?” Gaz asks, not making even a single move.

“Nah, get out of here, Price is waiting outside,” Ghost shakes his head, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and tucking the sleeves up.

First, he frees the half-choked bloke before he kicks him further from Johnny. Then he grabs Soap and forces him to his knees, thus letting go of the second guy in the process. Ghost quickly glances at their uniform. Royal Marines. Of course. Ghost almost wants to kick them some more.

Instead, he does the reasonable thing worthy of an officer. He takes Soap and, much to the Sergeant’s protests drags him away. Soap is loud, cursing Ghost in that incomprehensible language of his, but even he isn’t so out of it as to hit Ghost, who also happens to be his commanding officer as well as a partner of sorts.

Ghost pretends not to notice and appreciate the searing heat in Soap’s blue eyes. Johnny doesn’t lose his shit nearly as often as many would think, yet when it does happen, it’s an absolute masterclass of carnage. And Ghost loves it. However, he can’t be thinking with his prick right now. They need to get out before someone with actual power shows up.

The ride back to Hereford is a short and quiet one. They stop at a petrol station and get some ice. Gaz is nursing his split lip and bruised jaw, Soap is pressing a handful of ice on the back of his head, where he claims someone hit him with a chair. He’s bleeding from the shallow cut on his forehead, and his left eye is beginning to swell. He got a thorough beating, but Ghost can’t help but think that he didn’t really save Soap. If anything, he saved those two poor bastards Soap was beating up. The Sergeant would probably eat them alive if someone didn’t stop him.

They get out of the car, Ghost immediately grabbing Soap and dragging him away. Price sighs, and Gaz chuckles.

Ghost is leading them to the barracks, to his room. The door closes, lock clicks in place. Johnny is dirty, bruised and bloody; his uniform is ripped in several places, too. He’s a damn mess, but Ghost has always had some seriously crossed wires. He’s been hard in his trousers for a while, and there’s no way he’s waiting a minute more to do something about it.

“Uh… Listen, LT, I’m sor…,” Soap doesn’t get to finish his apology before Ghost is on him, damn near devouring his mouth while his hand clutches at Soap’s thigh over the thick layers of tartan. Johnny lets out a slightly exasperated laugh as he backs up and falls onto the bed. Ghost follows, never allowing more than an inch of space between them. The new position allows him to reach under the kilt finally. He kneads at Soap’s bare thigh, remembering that he nearly choked a man with it. Fuck!

Ghost quickly undoes his belt and shucks his trousers down under his arse. “Lube,” he growls at Soap because the Sergeant is closer to the nightstand. Johnny does as he’s told, fishing out the bottle and handing it over with the same practised move as if he would hand Ghost a magazine.

“Prep?” Ghost asks, clipped and right down to the business.

“Fuck it, want you in me thirty minutes ago,” Johnny smirks. The fire in his eyes is back now. He didn’t get to rip the Marines apart, but now he might get that anger channelled in a different way.

“Wanted to be in you the moment I saw you in the morning,” Ghost retorts.

“You tell me the sweetest things, Simon. Hurry up!” Soap smiles, licking his lips as he watches Ghost fumble with the lube.

It burns a bit at first, then it hurts a bit more, but Soap is no virgin. Ghost is holding back a great deal, trying to go reasonably slow. Soap groans, but instead of pulling away or making any attempt to stop Ghost, he nudges him closer, whining as he forces himself to take more. Ghost is mesmerised, completely lost in him.

Johnny writhes under him, unable to stay still. Ghost’s prick halfway in is both too much and not enough, and it’s frustrating. Finally, he makes up his mind, hooks his legs behind Ghost’s back and demonstrates just how much strength there really is in his legs.

Ghost gasps and moans, Soap whines, arching his back off the bed, struggling to take a breath for a few seconds. “Christ, Johnny,” Simon wheezes, struggling to control himself and the situation. Scratch that; he doesn’t control the situation at all. Soap does, especially once he adjusts and simply uses Ghost to take what he needs.

Simon doesn’t mind. He would be willing to give this man anything he could desire. Anything at all. Simon would cut out his own cold, cold heart and gift it to him. He would burn down the world. For now, it seems that his cock will suffice.

Soap, for the lack of better words, fucks himself on it, and the kilt, rumpled and tucked up, leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. Johnny shivers as the glistening glans of his hardon rubs against the wool, but Ghost does nothing to help him.

If he did, it would’ve been over way too quickly. Instead, he leverages Soap’s hips, changing the angle significantly. Soap yelps before hissing an ecstatic “Yes!” Soon enough, more words follow. Please and harder are especially frequent, and Ghost does give it to him.

Snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace, he gets a lovely gasp each time he bottoms out. Johnny is clawing at the sheets with one hand and at Ghost’s forearm with the other. Come morning, he will probably look like a wild cat mauled him.

It’s a sweet kind of pain. Johnny will feel him for a few days; it’s only fair Ghost will, too. Simon feels the tension build up inside him; his thrusts are slower but firmer, forcing a breath out of Soap, who looks like half of his mind is wandering elsewhere. Eyes hooded, mouth hanging open, face slack in that special way only a good shag can do.

“’M close,” Ghost warns. Or maybe it’s a promise, what with the way Johnny’s legs hold him tighter, trying to force him deeper. Simon blindly searches around until he finds the lube, pouring a little into his palm before he grips Johnny’s neglected prick. It’s hot and hard, velvety, with prominent veins that make Ghost’s mouth water as he remembers how it feels in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. How Johnny tastes, how his hand in Simon’s hair feels. Simon cries out, a broken sound of utter relief, as he pumps into Soap with each pulse that wrecks his body, coming inside him for what feels like an eternity but is mere seconds.

His hand slacks, but Soap covers it, tightens the grip and continues to fuck into Simon’s fist with quick, erratic thrusts. He’s close, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed with desperation and concentration. Simon moans as Soap rides his oversensitive cock.

Even in his post-orgasmic state, Ghost feels the faint rush of excitement as he watches Soap coming undone and, a few seconds later, actually coming, soiling his uniform, jacket, kilt, shirt, all of it. Ghost lets them both breathe for a few seconds before Johnny lets go of his hand; Simon, in turn, let’s go of Johnny’s cock, and brings his hand to his mouth. Johnny makes a small, helpless noise as he watches Ghost lick the cum off his fingers and palm.

Simon collapses on the bed next to Johnny, exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

“You’re beautiful,” Simon whispers, unable to stop himself.

Soap stares at him for a moment before he snorts. “Aye, damn right I am, what with the black eye, all bloodied and bruised.

“You’re prettiest when you’re bloodied and bruised. And angry, I like you angry,” Ghost continues, his filter completely fried. Johnny would probably tease him about it later, but for now, he can say whatever he wants.

[perseidlion]

Cat and Ghost (39371 words) by perseid_lion Chapters: 15/15 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV), The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Cat King | Thomas/Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland Characters: The Cat King | Thomas, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU), Crystal Palace (DCU), Desire of the Endless, Death of the Endless Additional Tags: Touch-Starved Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne Loves Charles Rowland, the cat king - Freeform, Seduction, Teasing, Flirting, Magic, Touch-Starved, Forehead Touching, Touching, Overstimulation, Guilty Pleasures, Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Dating, Boys Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Case Fic, Secrets, Secret Relationship, Catwin - Freeform, First Time, Non-Graphic Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Minor Crystal Palace/Charles Rowland, Coming Out, First Relationship, Detectives, supernatural mystery, cat king's name is not Thomas in this because it's not canon and I don't think it suits him, Jealousy, Cat's background in this is about 85 percent my own creation, Started off writing a cute story and whups suddenly a lot of plot, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Platonic Soulmates Series: Part 1 of Perseid_Lion's Dead Boy Detectives, Part 1 of The Ballad of Edwin and Cat - Catwin Continity Summary:

A few months after their return to London from Port Townsend, the Cat King shows back up in Edwin’s life. He’s bent on courting Edwin, and has somehow acquired a magical collar that allows them to properly feel each other. Edwin meets him in secret, unsure of whether he’s ready to tell Charles about the relationship.

In the meantime, business at the Dead Boy Detective Agency continues. They receive a case where a woman is trapped between life and death, tethered between the mortal realm and the beyond by a cursed sorcerer.

But there may be more going on than meets the eye, and an Endless pulling strings from the shadows…

---

Part Edwin/Cat courtship, part casefic. Now complete!

Chapter 1

The night was thick with fog and drizzle as the remnants of a storm made its way out of Port Townsend.

Detective Edwin Payne made his way down the dock toward the throne of The Cat King. The large colony of said King’s subjects that milled around kept a wary eye on the ghost detective, but neither spoke nor approached. They did keep a wary eye on him, dozens of furry faces following him as he walked.

Edwin worried the invitation printed on rough stationery between his fingers. The invite had come through Dead Mail from the Cat King himself. He’d debated answering it, but when he’d mentioned it to Charles, he said he’d come along. It was a good opportunity to stock up on a few things from Tragic Mick, whose prices were far better than shops in London for certain items.

Edwin suspected Charles simply missed Port Townsend, or perhaps he didn’t trust the Cat King. Not that he could blame him. The feline spirit was as difficult to pin down in motive and allegiance as the creatures he ruled. That mystery intrigued the scholar in Edwin, even though his abundance of caution told him that he was bad news and likely to get him into trouble.

But, as much as he tried to deny it, Edwin found he missed the attention of the admittedly very attractive Cat King. As a ghost, he didn’t sleep and therefore didn’t dream, but he did find himself daydreaming about a gently predatory smile, split pupils, and bared calves and thighs in kilts and skirts. 

No matter how attracted he was to some other men, the bulk of his affections would always remain with his best mate. Charles had taken his love confession with all the kindness and understanding that had made him fall in love with him in the first place. Things had been…a little awkward since returning to London, but the pile of cases waiting for them had kept them busy. They had grown closer now that the air had cleared, but there was an awkwardness there as well. Charles didn’t say he returned Edwin’s affections, but he hadn’t said he didn’t reciprocate, either. 

Edwin thought it best to give his best mate some time rather than push him for any kind of answer. 

But then, the letter and its intriguing invitation came, sprawled in inky handwriting as if written with a quill and inkwell, which Edwin read again.

I have a surprise for you. You know where to find me.

And then a pawprint dipped in the same ink. 

For a moment, Edwin considered fleeing and finding Charles at Mick’s shop. His curiosity and a newfound surge of confidence after escaping Hell a second time made him straighten up (which, considering his posture was always immaculate, was a feat) and he passed spectrally through the door to the empty warehouse.

The space, which was usually dilapidated, decaying, and full of the scent of fish guts and damp wood, was barely recognizable. It had been transformed with fairy lights and draped fabric. Wooden palettes had been artfully arranged, and the space almost looked…clean. The most obvious new addition was a bed made out of wooden palettes on the platform where the Cat King’s throne normally stood. 

If Edwin still had a heart that beat, it would be thundering in his ears. He swept his eyes around the space. More cats milled in and out of the shadows, but all kept a distance that almost felt…respectful.

“You came.”

Edwin spun around to find the Cat King standing there with a Cheshire grin. 

He was shirtless and bekilted, with a fur-collared long sweeping coat made of what looked like patched-together deer hide. He was short enough that the coat dragged along the floor as he stepped up to Edwin and lifted his chin. 

One corner of the Cat King’s mouth curled up in a half-grin, and for the first time, Edwin noticed that his canines were subtly pointed. 

“I did. I received your invitation,” Edwin held up the piece of paper that he was still holding. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” The Cat King prowled around him, sweeping his slitted yellow eyes up and down Edwin’s body with absolutely no shame or attempt to hide it. “I’ve missed you. How’s London? Damp?”

“We’re in the Pacific Northwest, the absolute gold-standard for damp and rain,” said Edwin as he tugged down the edges of his tweed coat. “London is practically the Sahara by comparison.” 

“Ahh, that’s that English wit. I’ve missed it,” drawled the Cat King. He held up his arms and gestured around. “Well?”

“I like what you’ve done to the place,” said Edwin in a manner that came out far more sarcastic and dry than he’d intended. “Is your home renovation the surprise I’ve come all this way for?”

The Cat King was not a creature to stay still. He kept moving, at first in a circle around Edwin, then forward and back again with slinky steps. “Not quite.”

Edwin opened his mouth to say something, stopped, re-thought it, and then got the words out. He managed to say them confidently despite the sudden bundle of nerves in his stomach. “I’ve been wondering what to call you. The Cat King is quite a mouthful. And Your Majesty seems quite pretentious and unequal.” 

The question seemed to please the spirit, who sauntered back and slinked within Edwin’s personal space. He slid a finger along his collar and gave it a gentle tug. “Well, that seems quite hypocritical for someone whose country is holding onto the monarchy like it’s a liferaft.” He tilted his head, lifted his eyebrows, then said, “Why don’t you just call me Cat?”

“Cat,” said Edwin as he tested the name. He wobbled his head. “All right. Cat it is.” 

Cat sauntered back toward his throne-turned-bed and sat on the end of it, arms splayed out, legs apart. Only the length of his kilt kept the pose from being wholly indecent. His body was an invitation, and Edwin’s name was sprawled on every inch of it. “I won’t bite. Or scratch. Unless you ask me to. Come closer.” 

Edwin took a few mincing steps forward.

Cat looked at him expectantly.

Edwin summoned courage and got closer. He had spent so much of his life and a good chunk of his death denying how he felt about other men. But recent events and confessions and his second brush with Hell had made him face those parts of himself. “I’m…not quite sure why I’m here. Do you have a case?”

Cat slid a box from behind him. It was wooden and engraved and looked quite old. “No, no case. This is strictly a social call. But I think you know that.” He stood up again and stepped down toward Edwin. He opened the box and swung it around for him to see.

Inside was a leather collar that looked quite old but in excellent condition. The leather had been recently conditioned and it was shiny and full of character. It had brass finishes, and in place of studs were a series of white gems. It was also fixed with a small brass bell that tinkled in a deep, almost meditative chime. 

Cat pulled it out and with a wave of his fingers, the box vanished in blue light. He unfastened it and then held it up against his neck expectantly.

Edwin swallowed as he realized Cat was inviting him to fasten it around his neck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but his curiosity burned deep in his gut. Now it was his turn to circle behind his host. He slid the leather strap into its space on the loosest hole.

“Tighter,” purred Cat. 

Edwin, ghostly fingers shaking, did as he was told and fastened it until there was only a finger of space between the collar and Cat’s neck. As he was finishing the job, his fingers brushed the back of his neck. The sensation that trickled up his fingers made him pull back in alarm and stagger to the point where he fell back against the bed. 

Cat spun around, hip cocked, golden eyes full of cat-got-the-canary pleasure. 

“I…I…” Edwin stammered. He looked at his fingers, then at Cat. “I felt you!”

“Neat, isn’t it? Took me forever to source the stones. Then I had them set into this collar. I got that from somewhere else. Felt it needed to be a bit extra. Just for you.” Cat slid his fingers over the gems, then braced his hands on either side of Edwin’s hips and leaned in. He didn’t touch, but it was clear that he was inviting Edwin to do the touching.

Edwin stared in disbelief. Ghosts could interact with the world around them, but they couldn’t feel the world. But when he’d been fastening the collar, he’d felt the warmth of Cat’s skin and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. “How?”

“You’re the detective. You know that just about anything can be found with a little tenacity and the right connections.” Cat shifted forward and the bell sounded again. “Besides…” he sucked air between his teeth. “I felt like I needed to make it up to you. When Esther had you, your friends came to me for help.”

“They mentioned,” said Edwin, who was barely able to contain himself. But he dug deep into his well of English decorum and did his best to school his face and body into one of control. “You turned them down.”

“I…” Cat balled up his fists and punched the ends of the makeshift bed. His temper surged. “She’d just beaten me to death and threatened to do it again. I’ve only got so many lives, you know.” Then he pulled himself back and forced his tone into something softer. “But I gave them information that helped them. That’s got to count for something, right?”

“It does. Not a lot, but there’s a reason I haven’t cut you out. And…why…” Edwin lifted his chin, “...why I’ve come here now. How did you find those gems? They must be magical in nature. Something that taps into another plane, or a simulacra of skin-to-skin touch. It’s utterly fascinating. I haven’t even read of such a thing.”

Cat slid his fingers over the collar, “I’m not sure how it works. I’m sure with that big brain and all those books, you could figure it out. But that doesn’t matter to me. All that matters from my perspective is that it does.” He sat back and reached out to take Edwin’s hand. He sandwiched it between his own and rubbed slowly and gently. When he spoke again, his voice was quite low and intimate. “I thought you deserved to feel something other than pain for the first time in a hundred years.” And then he gently kissed his fingertips while keeping eye contact. 

Edwin closed his eyes to savor the sensation of warm hands and soft lips. When he did, he also realized he was able to feel the heat thrown off by Cat’s body. After a moment of eyes closed, he opened them and stared as he continued to kiss his hand and sandwich it, creating warm currents of sensation that skipped down his arm and through the rest of his spectral body. Slowly, he shifted back to sit more properly on the end of the bed. 

Cat gently nudged Edwin’s knees apart with his legs, then stood between them, gazing down at him with radiant affection. He slowly guided the hand he was holding up to his face. “Go on.”

Fascinated, Edwin set his hand on Cat’s cheek. He slowly caressed, feeling a series of fine hairs that weren’t even visible. His fingertips trickled up to his hairline, then along the side of it. The texture was not human, but instead like the thick fur of a black cat. It had once been more ginger and wavy, but his reincarnation after Esther’s attack had changed it. His other hand then joined the first, cupping Cat’s face. He bent his fingers under and slid them around the curve of his jaw and the planes of his face, picking up all the information his fingers had forgotten they could gather. He could feel a pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. 

“I’ve been missing so much,” said Edwin breathlessly.

Cat rolled his shoulders back and dropped the fur-collared coat off his broad shoulders, putting his fit and lean body on full display. He pressed his thumb against Edwin’s bottom lip, then touched it to his own. He licked the edge of his finger, then slid it along Edwin’s jaw.

The slick of saliva might have seemed a move of pure kink, but what it did was change the temperature of Edwin’s skin, revealing that the collar’s power was affecting them both. 

Edwin found himself deeply overwhelmed. Every part of him, including his scholar’s mind, urged him to explore more directly, to touch Cat and to feel and to be felt. The ache of existing with attraction to other men had been tempered by decades of pain and the barrier between the living and the dead. But now, it came rushing back to him, and for a moment he almost felt alive again. 

“I know. It’s a lot,” Cat lifted his hand and then gently slid his fingers through Edwin’s hair in a soft stroking motion. He trickled gentle touches along his temple, but also occasionally tugged his hair to prove that all levels of sensation were now available to them. “I had to turn in a lot of favours and a fair bit of cash to find this little trinket. But what can I say?” he leaned in and whispered right into Edwin’s ear, “I’m a sucker for good boys.” 

Edwin felt Cat’s breath hot against his ear and heard the long, almost moaned exhale. He looked down at his torso, at the sculpted pecs and abs. He summoned courage and flattened his palm against his chest, pressing firmly, feeling the tension of muscle and the yielding bits of soft flesh. He felt the gentle pulsing of his heartbeat deep in his ribcage. 

Cat lingered near his neck and pressed a soft kiss just below his earlobe. Then he nibbled the ear itself and extended his tongue to slide around the base of it. He kissed again, moving around his jaw, then he cupped his face and looked him in the eye. “I find it’s very sexy to check in on your partner. So…how are you feeling, champ?” 

“Overwhelmed, if I’m being honest,” stammered Edwin. “But you will note that I am still here.” 

“Yes, yes you are,” said Cat as he smiled with feline delight. “You’re being very brave. I commend you.” He slid a hand up his own knee and pulled up the bottom of his kilt, revealing a thigh just as well-muscled as his torso. 

Edwin had a moment of panic a second before Cat’s motions would reveal just what he was packing between his legs. He reached out and grabbed his wrist, then pulled it down, head dipping and breath he didn’t actually need to inhale suddenly ragged in what felt like lungs. It was all suddenly far too real and too powerful. His mind didn’t know how to process the flood of sensations that had been unavailable to him for so long.

“Ah, I see,” said Cat after a moment. “Not quite ready for the unwrapping, are you?” He sighed dramatically. “Fiiine. I can be patient.” He dropped the edge of his kilt and stepped backward. He walked away a few steps, then spun on the spot. “Maybe next time.”

Edwin sat there on the end of the bed, his hair ruffled and his bowtie askew. His whole body was tingling from just being near Cat, and the parts he touched were still exploding with sensation. “I’m sorry, I…I…”

“No no, no need to explain. It’s been a long time for you. I get it.” Cat smiled. “I’ll give you a little time.”

Edwin scrambled to his feet and tried to close the distance between them. Now that he’d touched and felt, he was like a man in the desert who’d forgotten what water tasted like. A drop had hit his tongue and now he was dying of thirst. “Wait. I was just, I needed a moment, that’s all.”

Cat swung around, his kilt’s many pleats flaring out around his legs before slapping heavily against his knees. “This is my fault. I should have started a little bit slower. I’d imagine it’s sort of like jumping into cold water on a hot summer’s day. Too much sensation all at once. Overwhelming. Or so I imagine.” 

Edwin realized then that Cat was toying with him, and he knew the power the collar had given over him. He had realized that the teasing was a form of payback for not returning his affections all those months ago. “Cat. Are you really going to leave it like this?”

Cat looked Edwin over, tapped his foot, then leaned his head back and whuffed in annoyance. “God! Why do you have to be so handsome and adorable and…” he made a face, then bit his fist. He spun around again, then marched with purpose up to Edwin. 

Before Edwin could fully process what was happening, Cat had an exceptionally strong arm wrapped around his waist, and the other braced against his cheek. He pulled him in for a deep, soft kiss and rocked side to side. For all his pent-up feline energy, the kiss was surprisingly sweet. 

Edwin had only kissed Monty, and that was quick and without sensation. In contrast, he tasted Cat, and felt the warmth and wetness of his mouth. He felt his body as they pressed against each other, each muscle flexing and relaxing as he moved and changed positions. It took him a moment to understand the rhythm of a kiss, but then he returned it with absolutely no experience but plenty of enthusiasm. 

Cat pulled back and grinned. His strange eyes glinted in the ambient light, his normally split pupils much more saucer-like. He looked utterly pleased with himself. “Happy now?”

Edwin, who had gotten up the courage to rest his hands against Cat’s hips, nodded. 

“Good.” Cat rested a hand against Edwin’s collarbone, then tweaked his chin. “That’s still all you get for now. I want you to daydream about me. And about what we could do together. I don’t want you rushing into this because you’re all high on new sensations. I want this to be real for you, not just the byproduct of magic.”

“Oh do not worry. It feels quite real to me,” said Edwin in a droll manner.

Cat bit his lip and lifted his chin up at the much taller Edwin. “Still.” He pushed off his chest, bell collar tinkling as he moved. “You know where I’ll be when you’re ready for round two.” 

Edwin reached out toward Cat, trying to catch his shoulder, to feel one more time. But before he could, he disappeared in a ripple of blue energy, leaving him alone in the warehouse with not even cats for company. He stood there for a long moment, mind racing, cataloging the shape and hue of the stones, searching his memory for mentions of similar gems. That academic exercise was a distraction from the powerful feelings Cat’s kiss and his touch had unearthed in him. 

Finally, Edwin smoothed his hair back into place and passed through the wall of the warehouse back onto the docks. He was startled to see the shape of Charles up ahead, who was flipping a coin, backlit by the streetlight. He cut a handsome, lean figure.

“Oi, mate. I was wondering how long you’d be in there for. What did old whiskers want, anyway?” 

“That’s not your business,” said Edwin defensively. He straightened himself once more. “Why are you waiting out here? We were supposed to meet at the remains of Jenny’s shop.” His words were slightly stammered and he was struggling to put himself back into the box where he’d spent so many years.

“All right, all right. No sense getting your knickers in a twist,” said Charles as he held up his hands. “Just thought it might be related to a case, is all.”

“No case,” said Edwin as he marched past Charles. “Let’s get home, shall we? We didn’t pick up any work here, but there are plenty of cases at home that need our attention. I trust your trip to Mick’s was fruitful?”

Charles hefted his infinitely expanding backpack on his shoulder and pointed to it. “Loaded for bear. We should be good for quite a while. Didn’t have a few things on him, but said he’d ask around. So we’ve got a reason to come back later.” His eyebrows lifted as he fell into step beside Edwin. 

Edwin stole a look at Charles’ grinning face. He had to look away immediately, lest his mind go places that would distract him from walking, let alone holding a conversation. “Well. Good. Better to support a small business than to give money to the magic cartels of London after all.”

As enticing and intoxicating as the interaction with the Cat King had been, Edwin couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if one of them wore the gems. Could he feel Charles? Could he caress his cheek? Could he hold him as a storm raged outside? Could they feel the things they missed out on in life with one another? 

The thought had already begun to haunt Edwin, and pierce his guts with guilt. Guilt for wanting more from Charles. Guilt for wanting less from Cat. Guilt for wanting them both for different reasons and in different ways.

As they reached an old mirror tucked into an alleyway ready to be hauled away for trash, Charles cast a look back toward the dock. He caught sight of Cat standing there before he disappeared in a roll of fog. 

“C’mon,” Charles beckoned and held out his hand, part of his body inside the mirror.

Edwin reached out and gripped Charles’ hand. When he did, he felt nothing. 

And everything. 

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