#cadence academy
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cadenceacademy1 · 9 months ago
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Fashion Designing Institute In Nagpur
Cadence Academy is the premier fashion designing institute in Nagpur, offering a comprehensive range of courses to give students the skills and knowledge.
Click To Know More: Fashion Designing Institute In Nagpur
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regalfairytaleacademy · 2 days ago
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"I know what am I doing. I won't let everyone down! Must make this events perfect. But how? "
-- Cadence's Rose Hostess Suit
➽──────────────❥
Voicelines and groovy card are below.
Voicelines
🎼 - "Yes? This is Cadence's speaking. What?! There's an incident? On my way!"
🎼 - "This is my first time to wear this kind of clothes for this event. It seems pretty expensive, because of the fabric texture."
🎼 - "Huh? ... That's odd. If White Rose truly love Scarlett Rose, why won't he give a handmade present to confess her?"
🎼 - "I have to say that White Rose's family life have many strict rules. Of course, I can't blame those rich family, if they really have these striction."
🎼 - "Really?! What a coincidence that Scarlett Rose Hostess have same life experience like me, though I'm interest to the story of the White Rose Host the most."
🎼 - "Charisse asked me to be the leader today. Of course, I have become the dorm warden, but I have never been so in this event. Still I have to motivate myself like how I used to."
🎼 - "As I went to check what Lizzie and Seraphine doing, they did very well for treat their guests."
🎼 - "About Seraphine, ... she constantly had finished her schedule that quickly. Even cupcakes she and Dulcie baked from the kitchen were excellent to make more guests to come. "
🎼 - "As for Lizzie...I don't know. I'm just a little worried about her because I don't see her if she really had took a break."
➽──────────────❥
Groovy Card
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"Since this piano needs the angelic magic of White Rose Host to play, then I can too! Today I will recreate this magic and spread this melody around the school."
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cadencewishes · 3 months ago
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I'll keep you, my dirty little secret
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weirdo09 · 2 years ago
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klaus hargreeves moodboard
requested by: @lielie-ray <3
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fuckblast · 1 year ago
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I need some examples of things Mordecai and rigby from regular show might say to each other
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dwuerch-blog · 2 years ago
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Being In-Sync with my Commander
Yesterday, Memorial Day, I embraced living in a country where freedom still reigns! I expressed my gratitude for living in this great land of the free and home of the brave. All was calm and all was bright after a very busy week and weekend with my family. I’ll admit my “solitary confinement” felt wonderful! That confinement lasted long enough and, even after I had been on the elliptical…
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delicatebarness · 3 months ago
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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: At Velmythria Academy, among creatures much larger and more powerful than yourself, you unexpectedly cross paths with the imposing werewolf– Bucky Barnes. Leaving you questioning the rules of the realm.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Forbidden Relationships | Size Difference | Tension | Societal Restrictions | Small Physical Contact
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1507
𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭: Ko-FI | Instagram | Personal Blog | Pinterest
𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚��𝐭𝐞𝐫
𝐀/𝐍: I'm back, babies! - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - Bethiee x
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧: @nash-dara | @bvckys-doll | @minamin210 | @nerd-without-a-cause | @bo0mccc | @curlycow01 | @bucky-baby-barnes | @sebastians-love | @pattiemac1 | @mystery122577-blog | @bejeweledcowboyy | @waywardalpacaoctopus | @asha-rahiro | @calwitch | @w0nd3rlnd | @sidraaaaaaaaa | @buckycuddles | @chimchoom | @danzer8705 | @foulpersonahandsvoid | @mcira | @queergalpal97 | @bucky-baby-barnes
𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes
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The hallways were crowded, and students rushed to their next classes. You were lost in your thoughts as you rounded a corner, and before you knew it, your path collided with something large, and solid– Bucky Barnes. 
     Your shoulder barely grazed his large forearm, but the impact felt like you walked into a wall. The wolf never glanced down, no acknowledgment of the collision at all. Bucky kept walking, long strides carried him through the crowd. It was as if he was a boulder in a river, the sea of students parted without a second thought. 
     Involuntarily, your wings fluttered, and heat rose to your cheeks. You stood frozen for a second– had he not noticed you? Before you could process the small event, two familiar voices broke through the rush of the hallways. 
     “Hey, you okay?” Your best friend's voice, Wanda, was warm yet a little breathless as she skidded to a stop beside you. 
     A formidable witch, Wanda’s long, brunette hair was threaded with strands of shimmering red chaos magic. Fluttering around her ankles, her cloak's soft, deep red fabric was imbued with protective runes that had a slight glow with every move. There was always a sense of subtle humming of power around her. Her emerald-green eyes scanned your face with concern, they were sharp with a sight only a witch could possess. 
     “Y-yeah, I’m fine. It was just–” Even though your heart pounded, a little too fast, you waved off their concern. Sneaking another glance over your shoulder, you noticed Bucky had now disappeared from the crowd. “It’s nothing.”
     Frowning slightly, Wanda’s gaze followed yours, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. “Nothing, huh?” she said, her tone soft but probing as if she could sense the shift in the air. “You don’t look like it was nothing.” 
     Another voice joined the conversation before you could respond.
     “Pfft, werewolves,” Steve’s voice, lilting with the cadence of the ocean, waved from your right. He weaved through the crowd, his blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes shimmering as he sidled up next to you and Wanda. “They’re all like that– zero spatial awareness. Just barrel through life without a care in the world.” 
     A faint sheen of water still carried against his skin, and you could smell the salt on him. Iridescent scales clung to his skin, sparkling under the hallway lights, peeking from under his enchanted tailored jacket. His fisk-like tail had already shifted into his legs.
     With a quick glance between you and Wanda, Steve’s smirk widened as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You practically bounced off Barnes.”
     Huffing, you felt a bit embarrassed that your friends had witnessed the whole thing. “I barely grazed him,” you muttered, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed the casual tone you tried to maintain.
     “It’s typical, really,” Wanda said, shaking her head. “Werewolves tend to have the sensitivity of a brick wall.” 
     “Yeah,” Steve added with a scoff, “and Barnes is the biggest brick wall of them all.” 
     While Wanda and Steve went back and forth, your mind wandered back to the subtle touch. Had he not felt anything at all? Yeah, you might be small compared to him, but surely he felt some sort of impact– or was he simply choosing to ignore it?
     Students began to rush with even more urgency around you as the bell rang– signaling the end of the passing period and the start of the next class. The three of you exchange a knowing look before hurrying along to your separate destinations. 
     Later that day, you entered your last class– History of Velmythria Creatures. There was a low hum, buzzing with voices, and other languages. Glancing toward the back of the classroom, you noticed Bucky sitting as massive and unbothered as ever, scrubbing something on a sheet of parchment. You slipped into your usual seat, heart still racing, unsettled from your earlier encounter with the wolf. He was completely absorbed in whatever he was writing, seemingly not noticing your small form once again.
     The professor stood at the front of the room, and she wasted no time. Her voice was rich, commanding, and effortlessly cutting through the murmur of conversations– A dark gleam of wisdom within her eyes. 
     “All right, settle down. The discussion today is regarding your upcoming assignment, and trust me, this is not your typical assignment. For this project, you will be paired with a student of a different species from your own.” 
     The room fell eerily quiet, curious glances darting around the room. 
     “The purpose,” the professor continued, “is to gain a deeper understanding of the cultures, traditions, and perspectives of the other species here at the Academy. You and your partner will be required to fully immerse into the other’s world– learning about their customs, history, strengths, and weaknesses. Then, you will be expected to present your findings to the class by the end of the term.” 
     The words hung in the air heavily, and you could sense the tension rippling through the room as the other students exchanged uncertain glances. Diving into another species’ world wasn’t a custom of the realm, many families were shocked to find out that they still allowed multi-species education. The Storm family, mostly your blood-faerie father– Lloyd, also had these beliefs. 
     With a flick of her wrist, there was a summon of a large, enchanted chalk hoovering to the front of the room. It glowed with a faint ancient magic. Moving with purpose, the chalk began scratching across the surface of a board with an almost musical sound. 
     “Shortly, all the pairings will be revealed,” the professor announced, a grin subtly playing on her lips. “The chalk will list your names and species. Pay attention.” 
     The chalk wrote the names of the students in a neat, flowing script, each pair listing alongside their species. There was a collective breath held as name after name appeared on the board. 
     As the chalk continued, your heart rate quickened. It felt like an eternity waiting, but then, you saw it. 
     James Barnes - Werewolf
     Your stomach dropped, and you blinked while staring at the board. There it was– clear as day. Your name, along with your ‘faerie’ title, beside his. A storm brewed within you, yet the room didn’t notice. Surely, you thought, this was just a bad joke. You were barely over five feet, how were you supposed to “immerse yourself” in his world? His kind? He was a towering wall of pure muscle and raw power, just the thought of having the smallest interaction with him again was overwhelming.
     “Each pair will spend time together outside of class,” the professor continued in her instructions, “observe each other’s behaviors, ask questions, and learn. Delve into things that make your partner’s species unique. Look past the facts and figures, truly understand the why behind the actions, the beliefs, and their place in the realm.” 
     Her words barely registered as you stole a glance toward Bucky. His body language was as relaxed as ever, blissfully unaware of the anxiety building in your chest. 
     “By the end of the term,” the professor proceeded, “ you will present a joint presentation, with a full report. Complete it with your findings and experiences. Also, this will be a significant portion of your end-of-year grade. I suggest you take it seriously.” 
     With a clap of hands together, the professor stopped the enchanted chalk moving. “That’s all for today. You may begin your research with your partner immediately. Good luck… you’ll need it.” 
     The sound of conversation and shuffling paper erupted throughout the classroom, yet you stayed frozen in your seat, staring at the board. You willed the names to disappear. Your trance only broke upon hearing the scrape of Bucky’s chair against the floor. 
     Swallowing hard, you felt the weight crashing down on you. Werewolves–especially alpha wolves–weren’t exactly known for warmth or willingness to engage. How were you going to approach this project?
     Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Bucky stood and in a brief moment, his gaze met yours. There was no expression on his face as his eyes flickered between you and the board where your names pair together. No surprise, no frustration. He was calm, with that same collected demeanor. 
     Before turning to leave the classroom, he gave you a slight nod, nothing more. His footsteps were heavy and unhurried as he walked out. It was as if a hex had been broken around you, and the rest of the students returned to life around you, your breath finally returning. 
     “Well,” Steve said as he suddenly appeared at your side, the blue in his eyes gleaming, “looks like you’re in for an interesting time.” 
     Smirking, Wanda joined him. “Yeah, this is going to be… fascinating.” 
     Still staring at the door, you kept your gaze on where Bucky had disappeared, a tight knot forming in your chest. You exhaled, almost silently, feeling the weight of what was ahead of you. This was going to be more difficult than you ever could have anticipated, by far.
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𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
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shelikesorchids-archive · 1 year ago
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CADENCE: Part One
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Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Audio Erotica Reader
Summary: Matt can't wait to get home to listen to your latest audio. He's a loyal subscriber, and you get him worked up like no one else does.
Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. Mutual masturbation (sort of), pillow humping, dirty talk, some light sacrilege. You know, THE GOOD GOOD. Reminder that you are responsible for what you see once you click "Read More".
Author's Note: I would like to thank the Academy (@bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms and @souliebird) for enabling this. Edited, but not beta read, we die like Ray Nadeem (RIP). ENJOY!
Divider by @saradika
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Matt was sitting at his desk going over a deposition when his phone buzzed with a new notification. He had been waiting for word on something specific, so he switched his headphones from his laptop to his phone to see what it was. As soon as he heard the source of the notification, he slammed his laptop shut and started packing up his things to leave. Foggy heard the commotion from his office and came to check on Matt to make sure everything was okay. 
“Hey, buddy. You okay?” 
“Yeah, Fog. Just feeling a headache coming on. The seasons are changing and you know how that messes with me,” Matt replied as he stuffed his laptop in his bag. 
“You want me to walk with you?”
“No, it’s okay, Fog. I can make it just fine.” 
“Alright, buddy. But text me when you get home. You know I worry about you and your headaches,” Foggy called out as Matt walked out the door. 
“I know, Foggy. But I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, buddy!” 
—--------------------------------------------------
Matt walked home as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to break into a full on sprint. Once he made it to his building, he dashed up the stairs two at a time, and threw off his jacket as soon as he shut his door behind him. He furiously loosened his tie as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and used the voice command to open up the notification once again. This time when he opened it, he was met with the sound of your voice. 
“Hey baby, I missed you. Did you miss me?” 
Your smooth and sugary voice went straight to his cock, so he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, stepping out of them on his living room floor. He palmed over the bulge in his black boxers and pulled off his tie before going to work unbuttoning his shirt as your voice continued to play through his phone.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I even had to excuse myself from a meeting to go touch myself in the bathroom, but I wished it was your hand. You know just what to do to make me feel good.” 
Matt was so caught up in your voice that it took him a moment to realize he was now half naked in his living room, right on display in front of the window. Truthfully, he didn’t care if the neighbors saw him, but he grabbed his phone and went into his bedroom. He placed his phone on the nightstand, shed his boxers, and climbed under his silk sheets. 
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out as he slowly stroked his cock while you continued to talk. 
“Am I turning you on, baby? I can see you’re getting awfully worked up in those dress pants. I’m getting pretty wet, myself. You’re so fucking hot. You wanna watch while I rub my clit?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Make those pretty noises for me,” he replied as if you were in the room with him.
You let out a moan as you rubbed your clit, and Matt swore he could hear how wet you were. He started stroking his cock faster and you moaned louder. 
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”
“Yes, come for me, sweetheart. Fucking scream for me.” 
“But I wanna come with your cock inside me, so I’ll wait for you. I want you to feel me, and I want to feel you. Let’s come together, baby.” 
Suddenly his hand wasn’t good enough anymore, so he sat up in the bed and stuffed one of his pillows between his thighs to straddle it. The cool silk of the pillowcase felt like heaven against his achingly hard cock that was dripping with precum and begging for release. He started counting the Hail Mary’s he was going to have to say later for this depraved act in his head, but in the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to care. 
“You’re so big, baby. Do you think you’ll fit?”
“I’ll go slow, sweetheart, I promise. We can make it fit.” 
Matt rolled his hips against the pillow at the same time you let out another moan, and he grabbed onto his headboard for leverage. 
“You feel so good, filling me up so perfectly. Fuck me, baby” 
“You feel good too. I’ll go slow at first. I want to feel you.” 
“You’re not gonna hurt me, I can handle it. Just fuck me, baby. Please.” 
“How can I say no when you asked so nicely?” he purred. 
He quickened his pace as you continued making soft sounds of pleasure. He should be ashamed of what he’s doing: fucking his pillow while listening to audio porn and responding back to you as if you could hear him. But, he didn’t care. Once he accidentally discovered erotic audios, he couldn’t get enough, and you were his favorite creator. Your voice was like a drug to him, and he was always jonesing for another hit. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually fuck you instead of his pillow, but he would have to settle for this for now. 
“Oh, fuck I’m so close. I’m gonna come baby. Are you gonna come too?” 
“Fuck. Yeah, sweetheart I’m gonna come.” 
“Come inside me.”
You let out a guttural, almost feral moan, and Matt screamed in tandem with you. His thrusts became more erratic, sweat was beading on his forehead, and he was white knuckling the headboard. He was getting closer with every sound you made, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. 
“Oh, OH F-FUCK.” 
“Yes, sweetheart. Oh yes, oh FUCK.” 
His chest heaved, his breathing was ragged, and his hips stuttered into the pillow as he came hard. He collapsed backward onto the mattress, a thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. “Shit,” he breathed out as he ran one of his hands down his face. 
“Did you like that? Be sure to subscribe for more, and don’t be shy about leaving me a comment! Until next time, audiophiles…”
After a few minutes, Matt sat up and reached for his phone to close the app. He knew that pillowcase was ruined, but that could wait. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. As much as he loved your voice, and how turned on he got by it, he longed to have you in his bed so he could hold you afterwards, and maybe even join him in the shower. 
When he was done washing the post-coital sweat off his body, he dried off and put on a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants, threw the defiled pillowcase in the trash, and sat down to leave you a comment on your latest audio that he got off to. He set his phone back on his nightstand, laid down in bed, and allowed his mind to wander about how you actually felt and how your skin smelled. Maybe one day he could find someone with a voice as gorgeous as yours. 
—-----------------------------------------------
The “CLOSED” sign had long since been displayed in the door of the coffee shop, and you were finally done with your closing duties for the evening. Your boss said you were free to go, so you grabbed your bag and your jacket, said your goodbyes, and headed out to your shoebox of an apartment. You loved living in New York City, but it was expensive, and just being a barista didn’t pay the bills. No one knew about your “side hustle”, and you liked it that way. It was oddly empowering to you that you were a caffeine peddler by day, but you used your voice to get people off by night. It was perfect because you could have fun living out your own fantasies, but no one knew your face. 
After scarfing down the take out you picked up on your way home, you sat down to check the notifications on your latest audio post. There were always lots of comments to sift through, but there was one username in particular that commented on every single audio you posted, and you always looked forward to their comments. 
As you scrolled through the comments, you finally saw the one you were looking for: “rllygdlwyr commented: So hot as always, sweetheart. I ruined a silk pillowcase with this one. May have to start buying them in bulk if you keep this up.” 
You laughed and bit your lip at the comment. Normally, subscribers calling you pet names would creep you out, but this one was loyal, and they pretty much paid for your take out habit with their subscription and their tips. As much as you hated to admit it, they kind of kept you going.
Once you were done checking your account and responding to comments, you took a shower, put on some slinky lingerie, and pulled out your favorite toys to make a new audio. According to their username, they were most likely a lawyer, so tonight you decided to try a little roleplay. 
“I’m afraid I’m guilty, but is there anything I can do to lessen my sentence? I heard you’re a really good lawyer.” 
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ywpd-translations · 3 months ago
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Ride 792: Witness
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Pag 1
1: I told you before, too
2: I believed I'd get to see Mountain King's race!!
You're kidding!
It's a cheering message written with chalk on the road!!
You wrote this in a hurry?
3: Anytime now, they'll come here soon!
We can see Manami-kun running from the first day!
Amazing, a serious battle between those two...
4: “History” needs “someone who sees it”
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Pag 2
1: “A witness of the history”!!
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Pag 3
1: They passed the 2km left point and it seems that now the mountain stage is narrowed down to them two
It narrowed down!
They're coming!
I'm so excited!
2: It's quite a long wait
3: I was looking forward to it during last year's second day's mountain stage
4: And before that, during winter, I purposely organized a race between you two, but in the end it didn't count because of the snow
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Pag 4
1: Right now Hakone Academy's Manami is ahead
Sohoku's Onoda is following
Manami
2: Four-eyes
3: You bet your whole soul for this climbing race
4: You finally did it
Congratulations
5: You really chose this mountain on the first day ad your fight's place, huh?
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Pag 5
1: And I, Toudou Jinpachi, Mountain's God, will make sure to see it with my own eyes!!
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Pag 6
1: After this curve, the wind's direction will change!!
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Pag 7
1: The trees are becoming lower!!
5: Ah-
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Pag 8
3: The wind's direction will chamge!?
After this!?
4: You noticed
But it's already
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Pag 9
1: too late!!
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Pag 10
1: Manami-kun did a full acceleration in curve!?
2: Sooooo
3: reeeee!!
4: Spread....
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Pag 11
1: your wings to the maximum!!
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Pag 12
1: Hakogaku's Manami did a super acceleration!!
The distance between him and Mountain King-
What a strange acceleration!!
What was that just now?
Did he ride the wind?
2: -is spreading!!
3: I saw a pair of huge wings on his back!
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Pag 13
2: Me too
3: 1700m left!!
Mountain King noticed the timing of Manami's acceleration, but was too late and is being left behind
Mountain King, do your best!!
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Pag 14
1: Amazing, Manami-kun
He read the right place to attack...!!
2: His back is becoming smaller
3: He got stronger since last year
4: And even since that time he came on the Minegayama!!
5: For an instant, when Manami-kun accelerated, I saw “wings”....
6: and they looked three times bigger!!
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Pag 15
4: You're amazing
5: Manami-kun!!
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Pag 16
2: Huh
Mountain King was.... smiling... !?
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Pag 17
1: Hum hum hum ♪
I've prepared too
Hum hum hum ♪
2: The anime I highly recommend, “Love Hime”... this year started its third season!!
Hum hum huum ♪
3: Yes ♪
“Love Him third season” opening song
4: Mitarashi in the afternoon ♪ It's a common story ♪ The princess has kinako* and brown sugar syrup ♪
“Morning princess scramble”
*(NdT.: roasted soybean flour)
5: What's going on with Mountain King...
He's saying something... he's speaking to himself!?
He's humming a song!?
6: Somehow his pressure suddenly grew!!
7: We met a long time ago ♪ you extended your knees and looked up ♪
I listened carefully to it and watched the PV
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Pag 18
1: Definitely rise!! Love Hime ♪
'Cause you're the princess ♪
And I memorized both the lyrics and the melody!!
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Pag 19
1: Look at Mountain King... what's with that cadence...
2: While singing...
3: he accelerated and went!!
4: I'm breathing hard... my legs hurt... but
5: Manami-kun...!!
6: During the training camp on our first year
I couldn't catch up to you
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Pag 20
1: I always feel like I'm chasing you like this
2: Your cool white bike
Your figure from behind, running so happy and confidently
3: I've always been fascinated by your attitude
4: So.... wa... it
I still want to catch up to you
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Pag 21
1: Wait, Manami-kun!!
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shanastoryteller · 2 years ago
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Happy Valentine’s Day grandma! There’re too many amazing options, so dealer’s choice?
Spock has an older brother.
He’s a teenager when Spock is born and by the time he’s taking his first cautious steps, he no longer lives at home. Sybok graduates the head of his class and flies through the Science Academy with similar ease and for almost as long as Spock has had memories, Sybok has been talking about his thesis.
It’s topic changes often enough that Spock’s stopped keeping track.
When he’s younger, it would be inaccurate to say that Sybok is around often, but he is around. His brother visits home to pilfer texts from the family library and to have short, tense conversations with their father but he will ask Spock about his studies and always inclines his head to Spock’s mother, something that many Vulcans will not do, so he thinks that means that Sybok loves them.
After he gets into a fight at school, Sybok doesn’t visit anymore.
Spock accepts it as something else that his emotional outburst has cost him and refuses to let the tears fall no matter the pressure building behind his eyes.
Books still disappear and reappear from the library, so he knows that Sybok is still coming over, it’s only when Spock isn’t home. Eventually he starts appearing again, and he still has those horrible tense conversations with their father and nods at his mother, but he no longer lingers to ask Spock about his studies.
The fact that it hurts so much is just a sign that he needs to focus on his control.
When Spock is fifteen, Sybok leaves Vulcan.
He tells himself he doesn’t see his brother often enough for it to matter. It s the truth and yet it feels like a lie.
Spock doesn’t mean to overhear a conversation that isn’t meant for him. But it his mother speaking, and Sybok, and he’s never observed them to exchange anything but greetings and farewells.
“-don’t have to do this. I know you want distance, but-”
“I’ve already tried the other side of the planet,” he says dryly, speaking with an oddly Terran cadence to his words. “The problem is he can still comm me and send his friends to look at me disapprovingly.”
“He’s concerned,” she says.
Sybok laughs. Spock startles, nearly giving himself away, but forces stillness and silence.
“I don’t want to overstep,” his mother says softly, “I know it’s not my place-”
“Amanda, please,” he scoffs. “This is your home, you’re my father’s wife, and you’re my brother’s mother. How can you overstep? You can’t speak freely anywhere else on this planet, of course you can speak freely with me.”
There’s a long silence. Spock wants so badly to peek around the corner, but if he does then they’ll know he’s there.
“He wants you to be happy,” his mother says. “I do too.”
Sybok sighs, but it sounds a lot nicer than his laugh had. “He wants me quiet. It’s bad enough that he’d decided I’m a bad influence on Spock, at this rate he’s doing to decided I’m a bad influence for all of Vulcan and kick me off the planet myself. I’m just speeding up the process.”
Father thinks that Sybok is a bad influence? Why would he –
“That incident was not your fault,” his mother says sharply.
Oh.
“Father was probably right, actually,” he admits. “If I’d been allowed to talk to Spock after, I would have told him it was a job well done. There’s fire in our blood, Amanda. Rage is the most Vulcan emotion there is.”
Spock blinks. That’s nothing he’s heard before.
“It’s things like this that make your father worried,” she sighs.
He laughs again, gentler this time. “It’s fine. I’m going to go to a nice remote planet with all my books and work on my thesis and this one is far enough that even Father won’t be able to bother me.”
“But Tarsus IV?” she asks. “It’s barely colonized, and it has terrible ion storms, and their agriculture is still developing! It’ll be difficult for you to keep to a Vulcan diet!”
There’s another silence, then Sybok says, “My mother never worried over me. She did not find it logical to waste the energy and mental capabilities on events she could not control.” Another pause. “It’s nice that you do, Amanda.”
“Oh, Sybok.” His mother sniffs. “You’re my husband’s son and my son’s brother. You’re my family too. Please be careful and let me know if you need anything at all. We’ll be waiting for you to come home.”
“I believe you will, at least,” he says, and then before his mother can respond, continues, “Live long and prosper, Amanda.”
She sighs again. “Live long and prosper, Sybok.”
Spock forces his racing heart calm. He hopes his brother returns home soon.
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cadenceacademy1 · 9 months ago
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Fashion Designing College In Nagpur
Cadence Academy, the top Fashion Designing college in Nagpur offers the best courses, & experienced faculty to ensure you get the highest quality of education.
Click Here To Know More: Fashion Designing College In Nagpur
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regalfairytaleacademy · 8 months ago
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Twst x OM! Crossover
I draw these months ago, after I can't stop thinking about them if they wearing demon form from the dating game Obey Me!
The outfits isn't same as the original characters' one, those are took the inspire from the Pinterest I search, though the demon horns are match.
Below is the reasons and their full pictures.
Cadence = Lucifer
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Likes music, especially classical and pop rock 🎶
Talented at playing music instruments, like piano and violin 🎹🎻
Takes a role of the leader, presenting as a stern person to the members of the house.
Have a soft spot and care about person they cares, though being strict.
Lost the person they loved (Lucifer lost his sister after the Celestial Wars; Cadence lost her mother since at the elementary school).
Always being obey and loyal towards the people who threaten cares; Diavolo and Calliope.
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Rozebelle = Satan
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Shown to be aggressive towards people, when under the rage.
Composed and kind to anyone.
Nerds and rebels!!
Loves books 📚 and color of green💚
Animals, especially cats!!
Middle of the order, with siblings (Rozebelle has 2 brothers and 2 sisters, while Satan has 6 brothers).
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midnightsummer-glow · 3 months ago
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A Connection Across Worlds
Leviathan x reader
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You’ve always loved multiplayer games. Something about the shared camaraderie of players scattered across the world, working together to defeat monsters or solve puzzles, made the experience richer. For years, you’ve been playing the same game—a fantasy MMORPG with intricate mechanics and sprawling lore. The one constant in all your game sessions is your online friend, Leviathan, or “Levi” as you know him. Despite never meeting in person, you’ve built a strong connection with him. He’s quirky, a little shy, but when you’re online together, he’s also one of the most loyal and skilled players you’ve ever met. You’ve been online friends for almost three years now, spending hours in Discord voice calls while you traverse dungeons, engage in PvP, or simply chat about the game.
Your real life has always felt ordinary in comparison, but all that changes the day you receive a letter—a very strange, ornate letter—inviting you to participate in an exchange program at the Royal Academy of Diavolo. You’re hesitant at first, unsure of how real the letter even is, but something in the back of your mind urges you to accept.
The day you arrive at the House of Lamentation, the grand mansion where you’ll be staying, you’re overwhelmed. It feels like a dream—demons are real, and not only that, they seem to know a lot about you. Lucifer, the eldest brother, welcomes you with a cold politeness, while the others introduce themselves in varying degrees of warmth or disinterest. But there’s one name that catches your attention: Leviathan, the third eldest.
The moment Leviathan shuffles into the room, nervously fidgeting with his hands and mumbling under his breath, something clicks in your mind. His appearance—a lanky, blue-haired demon wearing an anime-themed hoodie—stirs a sense of familiarity, but it isn’t until you hear his voice that it all falls into place.
“Y-You’re the new human, right?” Levi mumbles, avoiding direct eye contact. “I-I mean, whatever, it’s not like I care or anything… I’m just… checking if you’re real… that’s all.”
Your eyes widen as recognition dawns. That stammer, the nervous cadence… could it really be?
“Levi?” you ask cautiously.
His eyes dart up, wide and panicked. “H-How do you know my name? I didn’t even introduce myself yet!”
You smile, disbelief mixing with excitement. “Wait… Levi… It’s me! Y/N? From the game?”
Levi’s face freezes in shock, his yellow-orange eyes locking onto yours. He blinks a few times before shaking his head as if trying to wake himself from a dream.
“N-No way… No freaking way… Y/N? From Celestial Crusaders? The one I’ve been playing with for three years? You’re the human in the exchange program?!”
You nod, still processing the sheer absurdity of it all. “Yeah… I think we’ve been online friends this whole time.”
There’s a long pause as both of you try to wrap your minds around the coincidence. Then, suddenly, Levi lets out a loud squeak, his hands flying to his face as he tries to cover his embarrassment.
“NOOOOO, this can’t be happening! Y-You mean the person I’ve been talking to for years… the one who knows all my embarrassing moments in the game… is standing right here?!” He sinks to the floor dramatically, covering his head. “This is the worst thing ever… No, wait, maybe it’s the best thing ever? I don’t know! I’m conflicted!!”
You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, even though you’re just as stunned. “Honestly, I can’t believe it either. We’ve been friends for so long, and now here we are.”
He peeks up at you through his fingers, still sitting on the floor, his face flushed. “I-I guess it’s kinda cool. I mean, it’s not like I was obsessing over this or anything… But maybe this isn’t so bad…”
You smile softly, leaning against the doorframe. “I guess we’re going to have a lot more time to game together now, huh?”
Levi stands, still flustered but slowly starting to calm down. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Y-Yeah… I guess so. But, uh, maybe not in front of everyone… You know, I don’t want them to think I’m getting all soft or anything.”
You laugh again. It’s strange how natural this feels. After years of gaming together, the idea of finally meeting face to face (or rather, face to demon) feels oddly comforting.
Later that evening, you and Levi find yourselves in his room, surrounded by posters of anime characters and shelves lined with limited-edition figurines. The room is dimly lit by the glow of multiple computer screens, the familiar hum of gaming equipment filling the air. It feels just like your usual Discord calls, except now you’re physically in the same space.
You boot up Celestial Crusaders on Levi’s secondary computer while he logs in on his main rig. There’s a comfortable silence between you, something born of years of playing together. Once you’re both logged into the game, the familiar interface fills the screen, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve done this a thousand times before, but now, it feels different.
As you slip on your headset and settle into the chair, you catch Levi sneaking a glance at you.
“You ready?” you ask, smiling.
He fidgets with his controller but nods. “Y-Yeah. Let’s just… let’s do this. We’ve got that raid to finish.”
You both log into the voice chat in-game, and for a while, it feels like old times. You’re running through a dungeon, communicating through strategy and banter, Levi’s high-pitched yelps of excitement or frustration filling your headset, though now you can hear the real-life version too.
“Watch out, Y/N! That’s a mob spawn!” Levi shouts.
You dodge just in time, grinning. “Got it, thanks!”
After a particularly tough boss fight, the two of you pause to catch your breath. Levi leans back in his chair, sighing deeply.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “It’s like… every time we played together before, I used to wonder what it’d be like to meet you in real life. And now… well, here you are.”
You glance over at him, surprised by the vulnerable admission. “Yeah, I get that. It’s kind of surreal. I never thought I’d actually meet my favorite gaming buddy in person, let alone in another world.”
He blushes at the word “favorite,” his eyes darting away from yours. “Y-Yeah, well… I guess it’s kinda cool having you here. I mean, if anyone’s gonna survive this crazy demon school with me, it’s you.”
You laugh. “Let’s just hope I don’t get eaten by demons before the semester’s over.”
“Don’t joke about that! This place is dangerous! But… if anything happens, I’ll protect you. I’ve got your back. Just like in the game.”
You smile at his sincerity. “I know, Levi. I’ve always known.”
Months Pass: A Deepening Bond
Over the next few months, you and Levi spend most of your free time together. Whether it’s gaming in his room, watching his favorite anime, or simply hanging out in the RAD library, you grow closer. The rest of the demon brothers notice how inseparable you two have become, and they often tease Levi about it, much to his embarrassment. But he doesn’t seem to mind as much as you expected.
One evening, after a particularly long day of classes, you and Levi retreat to his room again. As you both settle in, the familiar sound of Discord’s notification chime fills the air—a sound that has become almost nostalgic. Levi smiles as he adjusts his headset.
“Ready for another dungeon run?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s an undertone of excitement.
You grin and nod, booting up the game. “Of course. Let’s show these demons what we’re made of.”
The raid progresses as usual, but as you’re nearing the final boss, you notice Levi has gone unusually quiet.
“Levi?” you ask, glancing over at him. His face is focused, but there’s a nervous energy in the air. “You okay?”
He fidgets with the edge of his hoodie. “Y/N, there’s… something I’ve been meaning to say.”
You pause the game, sensing the shift in tone. “What’s up?”
He doesn’t look at you directly, instead keeping his eyes glued to his screen. “It’s just… well, these past few months have been… really great. I-I mean, not just because we’re in this weird demon world or anything, but because… because you’re here.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.
“I know we’ve been friends for years online, but having you here in person… it’s different. I don’t know how to explain it, but… I’m really glad you’re here. Like, really glad.”
You feel warmth spread through your chest. Levi, in his awkward, roundabout way, is trying to tell you something important. You smile softly, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm.
“I’m really glad I’m here too, Levi. I’ve always felt like we had something special, even when we were just online friends. But now, it’s… different
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evangelineiiimoscovia · 7 months ago
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First colouring attempt! Kaiser's wings are white and gold (as a treat for me) but he made the terrible decision of dyeing them and the dye is shitty so his feathers are constantly falling off. I wanted to make his wings dark blue on the inside and his outer feathers naturally white like those Adonis blue butterflies but that stroke of genius arrived too late so I'll fix that in the future haha.
His hooves are supposed to look like tiaras and his cutie mark is actually just the rose, he tattooed the vines because he's extra like that. Since the dye already comes in the wings I decided his hair was just naturally that colour and it wouldn't look too out of place in the MLP verse, unlike the dyed feathers which aside from Cadence and Flurry Heart no-one has that type of bicoloured wings.
He's a genius from the wonder bolts academy, the fastest of his roster. He's one of the few ponies capable of creating a sonic rainboom (or whatever a boom with his colouring would be called). He competes against Rainbow Dash for the most rainbooms, Rainbow Dash doesn't even know who he is.
I lost my magenta marker so Ness will have to wait. I might doodle some fun comics about them
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scrollonso · 4 months ago
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Before — 4 out of ? (last part)
Marc leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the telemetry in front of him. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow on the screens that displayed endless rows of data: throttle percentages, brake pressures, lap times.
Normally, this was where Marc found solace — in the precision, in the control. The data was supposed to make sense, to provide answers. But today, it was just noise. Just meaningless numbers and lines that blurred together, his mind refusing to process any of it.
He had managed to push through practice, forcing himself to focus on the track, on the bike beneath him, even though his heart wasn’t in it. The adrenaline of the session had carried him through, numbing the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. But now, sitting alone in the garage, the silence was deafening. The tension from two weeks ago still weighed on him, a heavy, invisible force that pressed down on his shoulders and made it hard to breathe.
Marc glanced at the door of the garage, half-expecting Marco to walk in at any moment. But he knew better. Marco was next door, in the VR46 garage with Valentino. Marc hadn’t see him yet, and a part of him was grateful for that. He didn’t want to see him, not after everything that had happened. It was easier this way — or so he kept telling himself. Easier to avoid the confrontation, to pretend that nothing had changed. But deep down, Marc knew it was a lie. Avoidance didn’t erase the memories. It didn’t make the guilt of goinh down on Marco in the same bed he slept next to Gemma in go away.
He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him as he tried to focus on the telemetry again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Marco standing at his door, bruised and broken, asking for comfort that Marc had ultimately pushed away. That Marc had sworn he'd give him. Sworn he'd be different than Valentino. It was foolish, thinking he was better than the older Italian man. Valentino's love was the only kind he'd ever known. He didn't know how to give Marco the softness he so deeply craved.
From the thin wall separating their garages, Marc could hear faint voices seeping through the cracks. Valentino’s unmistakable tone drifted in first, that easy, confident cadence laced with amusement as he laughed at something Bez had said. The sound was light, casual, but it gnawed at Marc in a way he couldn't ignore. His gut twisted, an all-too-familiar mix of jealousy and regret creeping up on him like an unwanted shadow.
Marc gritted his teeth, trying to push it down, trying to focus on the telemetry in front of him, but the noise from the other side of the wall was relentless. It filled the silence of his own garage, drowning out any hope of distraction. He clenched his jaw and turned his attention back to the screen, desperately clinging to the numbers, the data, anything to anchor him in the present and away from the memories that threatened to surface.
But then, cutting through Valentino's laughter, he heard it — Marco’s voice. Low, tense, with an edge that made Marc's heart skip a beat. It wasn't like the playful tone he usually associated with Marco in the paddock, where he bantered with the other academy riders and the teams mechanics. No, this was different. More serious. More strained. The sound of it sent an involuntary shiver down Marc’s spine, his body betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain.
He leaned forward in his chair, instinctively straining to hear more, to catch even a fragment of what Marco was saying. It was a ridiculous impulse, he knew that. Eavesdropping wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t make the past two weeks any less painful, but he couldn’t help himself. Marco was so close — just on the other side of that thin wall — and yet he felt a million miles away. That wall might as well have been a fortress for all the good it did Marc.
The familiar ache settled in his chest, that gnawing emptiness that had taken root ever since Marco had left his room that night in Silverstone. And now, hearing Marco's voice, his Marco's voice, knowing he was right there with Valentino, only made it worse.
Marc’s fingers dug into the edge of the seat below him, the metal biting into his skin as a surge of jealousy flared up inside him. He could hear Valentino’s voice so clearly now, the way he laughed and encouraged Marco, and it twisted something deep in Marc’s gut. He hated it. Hated that Valentino was the one there with Marco, the one offering him comfort and support.
It should have been him. Marc clenched his jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it was impossible. He was the one who understood Marco’s pain, who knew what it was like to carry the weight of the crashes, the injuries, and the pressure to keep going despite it all. Ok, sure Valentino understood all of that, too, but he was the one who had held Marco when he was vulnerable, who had seen the cracks beneath his confident exterior. And now, Valentino was swooping in, offering the comfort that Marc had denied Marco two weeks ago.
The sound of Valentino’s voice grated on his nerves, each word a reminder of how much he had been hurt by the man who now sat just on the other side of the wall. Valentino had been everything to him once — mentor, lover, rival — and the way things had ended between them had left scars that still hadn’t healed. Marc had been crushed by Valentino’s coldness, by the way he had been discarded when things got tough. And now, to see Valentino playing the supportive figure for Marco… it was too much.
Marc’s grip tightened on the desk, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t stand the thought of Valentino anywhere near Marco, not after everything that had happened between them. He couldn't stand the thought of Vale manipulating a handful of riders just because he knew he could. They didn't deserve that. Marco didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be hurt the way Marc had been.
But at the same time, Marc knew that he had pushed Marco away. He had been the one to tell him to go to Pecco, to find comfort elsewhere. And now, here he was, wishing he could take it all back. Wishing he could be the one by Marco’s side, reassuring him, holding him the way he had that night. But he had made his choice. He had drawn the line, and now he had to live with the consequences.
Through the thin wall, Valentino’s voice cut through again, this time softer, more intimate. “You’re doing great, Bez. Just keep pushing. You’ll get it.”
Marc’s stomach churned at the words. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to picture Valentino kneeling before the younger man, hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. It brought back too many memories, too much pain. He wanted to be the one telling Marco he was doing great, that he would get through this. But he wasn’t. And now, Valentino was filling that role, the same way he had once done for Marc before everything fell apart.
Marc exhaled sharply, trying to shove the emotions down, trying to focus on anything but the voices coming through the wall. But it was no use. All he could think about was Marco, and the fact that Valentino was the one offering him comfort, the way he had once offered it to Marc before leaving him behind.
In the next room, Marco forced a smile as he nodded along to Valentino’s words. He could feel Marc’s presence, even though they were separated by a wall. He saw the Gresini colours through the cracks, heard the quiet Catalan from the other side, heard that name. He wished it was Alex sharing a wall with him, leaning against the same cutout of drywall as him, it would hurt less if that was the case. Every laugh from Valentino stung, every word of encouragement felt like salt in a wound he couldn’t quite heal. But he kept his head down, pretending that everything was fine. Pretending that Marc’s rejection hadn’t left him feeling more alone than ever.
Valentino clapped a hand on Marco’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “Don’t let it get to you, Bez. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think.”
Marco offered a weak smile in return. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.”
The words felt hollow in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Especially with Marc just on the other side of the wall.
In Marc’s garage, he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, his elbows digging into the tacky leather of his suit. The weight of his own guilt pressed down on him like a vice, making it hard to breathe. Gemma had stopped by earlier, offering him soft words of encouragement, but her presence hadn’t lifted the oppressive cloud hanging over him. If anything, it had only made things worse. She had looked at him with so much concern, so much love, and all Marc could think about was how undeserving he was of any of it.
He didn’t deserve her kindness, her loyalty — not when he was still so tangled up in thoughts of Marco. Not when every time he looked at her, all he could see was the betrayal in her eyes if she ever found out what he had done. He had cheated on her with another rider, and no amount of excuses could erase that. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how far he had fallen.
Marc clenched his fists, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. He could hear the murmur of voices through the thin wall separating his garage from VR46, muffled but unmistakable. Marco’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation, softer this time, almost as if he were talking to himself.
“I’m trying, Vale. I really am.”
The quiet desperation in Marco’s voice pierced through Marc’s defenses, driving a sharp ache into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the words lingered, wrapping around him like chains. He knew what it was like to try so hard, to push through the pain and the doubt, only to feel like it was never enough. He knew how much Marco was struggling, both physically and emotionally, and it tore at him that he couldn’t do anything about it.
He wanted to reach out, to tell Marco that he understood, that he knew exactly what it was like to fight against your own body and mind. He wanted to tell him that he was trying too, that every day was a battle just to keep going. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The line had already been drawn, and he couldn’t cross it now, no matter how much he wanted to.
So instead, he sat there, listening to Marco’s voice through the wall, every word cutting into him like a knife. He could hear Valentino’s low, reassuring tone, could imagine the way the older man was probably looking at Marco right now, offering him the kind of comfort that Marc had refused to give. It twisted something deep inside him, a bitter mix of jealousy and regret that he couldn’t shake.
Why had it come to this? Why was Valentino the one Marco turned to now? After everything that had happened between them, Marc didn’t want Valentino anywhere near Marco. He didn’t trust him, didn’t believe for a second that Valentino wouldn’t end up hurting Marco the same way he had hurt him all those years ago. Marc had been in Marco’s shoes once, desperate for validation, for affection, and Valentino had taken that and twisted it into something painful, something damaging. The scars from that time still lingered, buried deep beneath the surface, but they were there. And Marc didn’t want Marco to go through the same thing.
But what choice did he have? He had pushed Marco away, told him to find comfort elsewhere. And now, that comfort was coming from the one person Marc didn’t want involved. The one person who had left him broken and alone.
Marc’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, the pressure grounding him, keeping him from spiraling too far into his own thoughts. He couldn’t let himself go there, couldn’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now, not when everything was so precariously balanced. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it, no matter how much it hurt.
Through the wall, he could hear Marco’s voice again, quieter now, like he was struggling to keep it together. Marc’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, the urge to get up, to go to him, almost overwhelming. But he stayed where he was, forcing himself to remain still, to do nothing. Because that’s all he could do now — nothing.
Marco leaned back in the chair in the corner of the garage, his legs bouncing with nervous energy. He stared at his phone, willing Alessandro to respond. His mind was racing, and the weight of everything he was carrying felt too heavy.
"Ale," he typed out, his fingers moving faster than he could think.
"ALESSANDRO."
"Pls come back."
"Sto impazzendo."
Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Marco bit down on his lip, glancing up at the team bustling around him, seemingly oblivious to the storm inside him. He needed Alessandro here. Alessandro was the only one who knew. The only one he could talk to about… Marc.
Finally, his phone buzzed with a reply.
"omw 🤙"
Marco let out a shaky breath, his body sagging in relief. Alessandro would understand. He always did. He was the only one that could.
A few minutes later, Alessandro appeared in the doorway, his face immediately softening when he saw the look on Marco’s face. He walked over quickly, concern etched in his features.
"Hey, what’s going on?" Alessandro asked, his voice low as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Marco, the garage emptier now, safer without Vale lingering since he had found his way to the Ducati garage by now.
Marco looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. "It’s… him," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
Alessandro sighed softly, leaning in closer to hear him better. "What about him?"
Marco took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I heard him. Through the wall. I know he’s there, Ale. And I can’t stop thinking about him."
Alessandro frowned, glancing at the wall Marco had mentioned. "Did he say anything?"
"No… not really. But… he’s there. And it’s just…" Marco trailed off, his voice catching in his throat. "It’s stupid. You know?"
Alessandro nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Yeah, I know."
Marco swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I keep trying to move on. To focus on racing, on the team, on anything else. But every time I hear his voice, it’s like everything comes rushing back. Everything that happened between us. Especially last time."
Alessandro leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he listened. He had been there when things had fallen apart between Marco and Marc. He had seen the aftermath, the pain that Marco had tried so hard to hide from everyone else. And he had been the one Marco had confided in when it all became too much.
"What do you want to do about it?" Alessandro asked gently, his voice calm and steady.
Marco shook his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. "I don’t know. I want to talk to him, but I can’t. Not after everything. It’s just… too much. And then there’s Vale, and… I don’t know what to do, Ale. I feel like I’m losing my mind."
Alessandro reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Marco’s shoulder. "You’re not losing your mind, Marco. You’re just dealing with a lot right now. But you’ve got me, hm? I’m here. Whatever you need."
Marco looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and despair. "Thanks, Ale. I don’t know what I’d do without you."
Alessandro gave him a small smile, squeezing his shoulder. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Take it one step at a time. And if you need to talk to him… maybe that’s something you’ll do when you’re ready. But don’t push yourself too hard."
Marco nodded, though the uncertainty still lingered in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to face Marc again. But for now, having Alessandro by his side was enough.
But don’t push yourself too hard.
Don’t push yourself too hard.
Marco soaked in Alessandro's words, or at least he tried to. He didn't care once he stood up from his chair and left the garage, shamelessly wandering to catch even the slightest glimpse of Marc.
Marc didn't notice Marco at first. He was too absorbed in the numbers on the screen, trying desperately to find solace in the familiarity of his data. But something tugged at the corner of his consciousness, a familiar presence that he couldn't ignore. He looked up, and there, standing in the doorway of his garage, was Marco.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the buzzing of the lights and the hum of the paddock fading into the background. Marco looked at him, his eyes shadowed with an emotion Marc couldn’t quite place — anger, hurt, maybe even regret. Marc’s breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in weeks, he felt completely exposed, as though Marco could see right through him.
Just as he processed the other mans presence he turned around, caught off guard by the sight of Ale filming the sunset.
All he could do was smile and look away. Fuck. Knowing him, this was going to be posted and everyone would see him acting a fool. Looking at Marc. Looking for Marc.
The day had dragged on with a suffocating heaviness that clung to the atmosphere of the paddock. The tension in the air was palpable, and Marco had tried to lose himself in the routine of race preparation, but his mind was elsewhere. Despite Alessandro's comforting words, Marco couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was spiraling out of his control.
It was late afternoon when Marco finally stepped out of the back of the garage. The sun had almost set, casting long shadows across the tarmac and bathing everything in a golden hue. The cool breeze offered little comfort as he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.
As he rounded the corner, he froze. Marc was standing just a few feet away, having stepped out of his own garage at the exact same moment. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Marc looked as tormented as Marco felt. His usually sharp, confident gaze was clouded with guilt and something else — something that made Marco’s heart clench painfully in his chest. They stood there, neither of them saying a word, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions.
Finally, Marco couldn’t take it anymore. "Marc," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the paddock. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, didn’t know how to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding this, couldn’t keep letting the silence fester.
Marc took a hesitant step forward, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he should. "Marco," he replied, his voice rough and strained. "I—" He stopped, his expression twisting with frustration and regret. "I’m sorry," he finally said, the words spilling out in a rush. "For everything. For pushing you away, for… for everything I did."
Marco swallowed hard, the apology hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had wanted to hear those words, but now that he had, they felt hollow, empty. "Why now, Marc?" he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. "Why are you sorry now, after everything? Before the race?"
Marc’s face fell, and he looked away, unable to meet Marco’s gaze. "Because I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was scared of how much I felt, scared of losing control. We slept together, Marco. I have a girlfrienf and I continue to come crawling back to you." He whispred, as though he was full of shame. He should be, Marco thought. Though he knew he didn't mean it. "I hurt you because of it. I didn’t want to admit how much you meant to me, how much you still do."
Marco’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. He had dreamed of hearing Marc say those words, but now that they were out in the open, they didn’t bring the relief he had expected. Instead, they only deepened the ache inside him.
The tension between them was unbearable, the air thick with everything they weren’t saying. Marc's apology hung in the space between them, raw and full of regret. Marco’s heart pounded in his chest, torn between the pain he felt and the pull he could never fully escape.
“Marc…” Marco whispered again, his voice wavering as he tried to hold onto his resolve. But something in Marc’s eyes, the depth of his guilt, the vulnerability he so rarely showed, shattered the last of Marco’s defenses.
Before either of them could think, before the weight of their words could push them further apart, Marco stepped forward. His hands found their way to Marc’s face, cupping his jaw with a tenderness that belied the turmoil inside him, a tenderness that Marc never dared to think about giving Marco. He saw Marc’s breath hitch, his eyes wide with surprise and something deeper, something they both had been avoiding for too long.
And then, Marco kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle; it was fierce, desperate, like trying to hold on to something slipping away. Marc responded instantly, his hands gripping Marco’s waist as he pulled him closer, closing the distance that had kept them apart for so long. The kiss was messy, full of pent-up emotions, a mixture of anger, sadness, and the undeniable love that neither of them could deny any longer.
Marco could feel Marc trembling against him, could feel the way Marc was pouring everything into this one moment, as if trying to make up for all the hurt with a single kiss. He kissed back with the same intensity, letting himself get lost in the sensation, in the taste of Marc that he had missed so much.
For a fleeting moment, it was just them, lost in a world where nothing else existed. The noise of the paddock faded into the background, drowned out by the rush of blood in their ears and the rapid beating of their hearts. The world outside the garage — the spectators, the cameras, the relentless demands of the race — ceased to matter. In that kiss, the pain, the misunderstandings, and the mistakes that had plagued them melted away, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection they had began to share.
They clung to each other as if trying to capture something they had both feared was gone forever. Marc’s grip tightened on Marco’s waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of Marco’s shirt as if afraid to let go. He poured everything he had into that kiss, desperate to convey the feelings he could never quite articulate, the feelings he'd never dare to articulate. Not with Gemma still determined to stay by his side. The love that had always been there despite everything. Despite Marco's hurt. Despite Marc's hesitance to love another man in fear that he would hurt him how Vale had all those years ago. Marco responded with equal intensity, his hands trembling as they cradled Marc’s face, holding him close as if he could anchor himself in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
But as the kiss deepened, as Marc’s lips moved against his with a need that bordered on frantic, Marco felt something else rising within him — something cold and sharp that pierced through the warmth of their embrace. The tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and with them came the cruel reminder of the reality they couldn’t escape. The weight of everything unsaid, of every moment of doubt, of every wound they had inflicted on each other, came crashing down on him with a force that stole his breath.
He pulled back suddenly, gasping for air as if he had been drowning and only now resurfaced. His forehead rested against Marc’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, and Marco struggled to steady himself, to hold on to the fragile moment before it shattered completely. “Marc…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words trembling on the edge of a sob. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, each one a testament to the depth of his pain. “This… this doesn’t fix anything.”
Marc’s eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto Marco’s as if searching for something — anything — that would tell him they still had a chance. His hands, which had been holding Marco so tightly, softened their grip but didn’t let go. He was afraid, Marco realized, afraid that if he did, this fragile connection between them would break forever. “I know,” Marc said, his voice hoarse and heavy with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “But I needed you to know… I still need you, Marco. Please.”
The plea in Marc’s voice cut through Marco’s heart like a knife, and he had to close his eyes against the flood of emotions threatening to pull him under. The tears came faster now, spilling down his cheeks unchecked. He knew Marc meant every word, knew that Marc’s need for him was as real and as powerful as his own feelings. But he also knew that words and desperate kisses couldn’t undo the damage that had been done. They couldn’t erase the betrayal, the lies, the hurt that had driven them apart in the first place.
Yet, in that moment, with the echo of Marc’s lips still lingering on his, Marco allowed himself to believe, if only for a fleeting heartbeat, that maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. It was a dangerous, fragile hope, one that wavered like a candle flame in the wind, threatening to be snuffed out by the harsh realities of their past. But still, it flickered, offering a glimmer of warmth in the cold uncertainty that surrounded them. Despite the hurt, the betrayal, and the countless times they had torn each other apart, Marco wanted to believe that the love they shared — something that had always been so raw, so intense — might still be strong enough to mend the fractures that time and pain had wrought between them.
The memory of their kiss lingered like a bittersweet melody, playing over and over in Marco’s mind, making it hard to think of anything else. It was the taste of what they could be, of the connection that had always drawn them together no matter how far they strayed. But as much as he wanted to cling to that hope, as much as he yearned to believe that they could find their way back to each other, the fear was still there, dark and insistent. It whispered doubts into his mind, reminding him of every time they had tried and failed, of every promise that had been broken. The fear that this fragile sliver of possibility might only lead to more heartache loomed large, casting a long shadow over the hope that flickered in his heart.
Marc seemed to sense the hesitation, the conflict that warred within Marco, and his hands tightened their hold just slightly, as if by sheer force of will he could keep Marco from slipping away. The desperation in his eyes had softened into something more tender, more pleading, as if he understood the weight of the decision Marco was wrestling with. “Let me take you back,” Marc whispered, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet intensity that spoke of how much this meant to him. “I’ll get us a hotel. Please, Marco.”
The words hung in the air between them, filled with a mix of hope, longing, and a deep-seated need for something that had always felt just out of reach. Whether or not Marc’s offer was just about finding a place to be alone together, Marco didn't care.
But as Marco stood there, looking into Marc’s eyes, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing uncertainty that gripped him. Could they really start over? Could they just pick it up where they left off and pretend like the hurt had never happened? The fear of repeating their mistakes, of falling into the same destructive patterns, weighed heavily on Marco’s chest. Yet, despite it all, there was something in Marc’s voice, in the way he looked at Marco with such unwavering determination, that made it hard to say no.
Marco searched Marc’s eyes, feeling the weight of the choice before him. The pull between them was undeniable, stronger than the pain, stronger than the doubts that plagued his mind. And despite everything, despite the voice in his head warning him of the risks, Marco found himself nodding, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Marc to see.
Marc’s expression softened with relief, his breath escaping in a shuddering exhale as if he’d been holding it all this time. “Thank you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over Marco’s cheek. There was no need for more words; they both understood what this meant.
Marc reached out, taking Marco’s hand in his, their fingers intertwining naturally as if they belonged together. With one last glance around to ensure no one else was watching, Marc led him away from the garages, their pace quickening as they moved out of sight. They walked side by side, neither speaking, but the silence between them was comfortable, laden with the unspoken understanding that they were heading toward something they both needed—somewhere they could be alone, where the weight of the outside world couldn’t reach them.
The drive to the hotel was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Marco’s mind raced, his thoughts a jumble of emotions — anticipation, fear, hope. He kept his gaze focused on the road ahead, but every so often, he’d glance over at Marc, catching the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. It was clear that Marc was just as nervous, just as uncertain about what came next, but there was also a quiet resolve in his expression, a determination that gave Marco a sliver of comfort.
They arrived at the hotel, a discreet place on the outskirts of town, far from prying eyes. Marc parked the car, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The gravity of what they were about to do settled over them, heavy and palpable. Then, without a word, Marc got out of the car, walking around to open Marco’s door. He extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Marco took it, allowing Marc to help him out. Their fingers remained laced together as they made their way inside.
Marc handled the check-in quickly, keeping his voice low as he spoke to the receptionist. Marco stood a little behind him, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in the surroundings. Everything felt surreal, like they were in a bubble removed from reality, where the usual rules didn’t apply.
When Marc returned with the key, he offered Marco a small, reassuring smile before leading him toward the elevators. They stood close together as the doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the elevator the only sound between them. Marc’s hand found its way back to Marco’s, squeezing it gently as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.
The room they entered was simple, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the privacy, the sense of sanctuary it offered. Marc closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the room. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, both searching for the right thing to say, but words seemed inadequate.
Finally, Marc took a step closer, his hand cupping Marco’s face as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. It wasn’t rushed or desperate like before, but slow, careful, as if Marc was savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of Marco’s lips against his. Marco’s eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed back, the tension in his body slowly easing as he let himself be pulled into the warmth of Marc’s embrace.
They moved together, Marco’s hands finding their way to Marc’s shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become uncertain. The kiss deepened, but this time there was no urgency, no need to prove anything — just a quiet, shared understanding that whatever came next, they would face it together.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little unsteady, Marc rested his forehead against Marco’s, their breaths mingling in the space between them. “Stay with me tonight,” Marc whispered, his voice low, laced with a vulnerability that Marco hadn’t heard from him before.
Marco nodded, unable to find his voice, but the answer was clear in the way he tightened his hold on Marc.
Marc’s eyes softened at Marco’s silent agreement, and for a moment, all the tension between them seemed to dissipate. He let out a shaky breath, pressing a gentle kiss to Marco’s temple before pulling back slightly to look at him, really look at him. The uncertainty in Marco’s eyes was still there, but there was also something else — something that gave Marc hope.
Slowly, Marc led Marco to the bed, their hands still entwined. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamps casting a warm, intimate light over the space. Marc sat down first, pulling Marco down beside him. They sat there, side by side, their shoulders touching, both of them acutely aware of how close they were, yet neither making a move to close the remaining distance.
Marc turned his head slightly, his eyes searching Marco's face, lingering on the curve of his lips. There was a quiet tension between them, an unspoken understanding that had been building for so long. Marc's breath hitched as he lifted a hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from Marco's face, his fingers lingering on Marco's cheek, the touch light, almost hesitant.
Marco leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidded as he let out a shaky breath. The air between them felt charged, electric, and Marc could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the intensity of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He knew what he wanted — what they both wanted — but still, he hesitated, as if waiting for Marco to make the first move.
Marco, feeling the weight of Marc's gaze, finally turned to face him fully, his lips parting slightly as he met Marc's eyes. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the world around them fading away until it was just the two of them, alone in the quiet of the room.
Then, almost as if drawn together by an invisible force, Marc leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against Marco's in a tentative, searching kiss. Marco responded immediately, a soft sound escaping his throat as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.
The world seemed to slow down as their mouths moved together, lips and tongues exploring each other with a mix of tenderness and hunger. Marc's hand slid to the back of Marco's neck, pulling him closer, while Marco's hands found their way to Marc's chest, clutching at his shirt as if to ground himself in the moment.
The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as if they were both trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments they had held back. Marc's hand tangled in Marco's hair, tilting his head back to gain better access as he kissed him deeper, their breaths mingling, hearts racing.
Marco wants to bite him.
He doesn’t — he feigns smugness instead, a confidence he doesn’t have right now as their lips part, his body feels like it’s about to crumble under Marc's touch. He grabs the headboard behind Marc with both hands, one arm on each side of Marc's head — it’s either this, or his hands will start wandering, touching and grabbing and exploring because they have seen each other naked, but Marco wants everything. He wants to swallow Marc in the physical and metaphorical sense, he wants Marc to be his and also a part of him at the same time, he wants Marc in his mouth and down his throat and around his neck.
Marc lifts a hand and grazes the fingertips on Marco’s cheekbone to move some tendrils of hair that have escaped his fluro yellow claw clip, of course it's the vr46 colour, which he then tucks behind Marco’s ear. Marc looks at him like he knows that Marco would splay himself open for him - does he know? Marco wants to tell him, but he fears he’ll run - and Marco feels that gaze right in the middle of his sternum.
“I know I might fail,” Marc rests his hand on Marco's cheek now and Marco's grin freezes on his face, “But do I have permission to try?”
Fuck.
Marco doesn’t even know why Marc is asking— well, he does know, and it’s because Marc is being way too fucking nice, and will keep asking for consent until his throat is dry, and god if that isn’t so fucking sexy of him. Marco swallows and nods frantically, suddenly unable to make a sound — but he knows what Marc is going to want from him, so he takes a deep breath to ready himself for the demand.
“Words, lindo.”
Marco only has one word, and that’s “fuck” yelled out loudly for an hour straight ideally — but he’s ready, so he clears his throat to answer.
“Yes, please.”
Marc smiles contentedly. “Good boy. Come here?” He says in a low tone, sliding his fingers along Marco's cheek and then under Marco's ears until he can gently hook them behind Marco's neck to pull him into a kiss.
And what a kiss, Marco thinks when he leans down for it, bracing himself by wrapping his arms around Marc's shoulders.
Marc always kisses him like he’s delicate, like he’s the most succulent of meals, like he wants all of him and at the same time wants to make sure he’s kept safe. One hand on Marco's cheek and the other on his thigh, Marc holds him through the kiss as if Marco was even thinking of going anywhere.
Marc's kisses almost make Marco think Marc would want to keep him.
Marco pushes the thought away by deepening the kiss and tightening the hold of his arms around Marc's shoulders, using them to push himself against Marc's chest and also give Marc's crotch a little rub with his own. It can’t hurt, can it?, to make Marc feel how much Marco wants him at all times, including right now when all he had to do was have Marco sit in his lap and Marco is desperately hard in his sweatpants.
Marc's fingers dig into Marco's skin in all the spots Marc is touching him — Marco feels them on his jaw and right behind his knee. He drinks the little “mmhh” that Marc releases in the middle of the kiss like it’s ambrosia, he can almost physically feel it fill up his mouth and slide down his throat, leaving fire in its wake. And Marco would burn, he would do it gladly if only Marc asked him to — but Marc doesn’t ask. He'd never dare to beg for anything. Never again. Instead, he pulls back from the kiss just a little, leaving Marco's lips open and wanting.
“You need to learn how to slow down, darling.” Marc whispers, lifting a hand to rub his whole palm on Marco's forehead to brush more strands of hair back. He’s smirking, still, and Marco can’t help but huff out a little laugh in response. He’s been caught red-handed, but this is not news for either of them: they’ve known each other long enough for it not to be a big revelation — he’s the one who wants things and wants them right now, Marc is the patient soul who reins him in. Except, this whole dynamic has gained a whole new layer now that one of the things Marco is allowing himself to want is Marc himself. It has made Marco more demanding, and Marc more firm.
And Marco loves it.
“You know me, amore. I haven’t slowed down one day in my entire life.” Marco grins, cupping Marc's jaw with one hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb on Marc's lips. Marc purses them to kiss Marco's finger, and Marco's eyelids and chest and stomach flutter.
“I know.” Marc nods, resting both hands on Marco's sides. He rubs them up and down until Marco's team shirt lifts up enough for him to slide under it and press his fingers into the softness just above his hips. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way. But I wonder—” Marc inhales sharply, furrowing his brows in the exaggerated expression of someone who is concocting the most articulate thought (he’s an absolute loser, Marco adores him), “Is there any way I could perhaps help you do that? Pause, for a moment?”
It’s a twinkle in Marc's eyes, and Marco catches it immediately. His whole body lights up.
“Maybe.” He arches an eyebrow, “You could try. You’re a very resourceful person.”
“Well. I do have something in mind.” Marc sits up, wrapping his arms around Marco's waist and straightening his back up until their faces are incredibly close again. “But I’m going to need you to be a very good boy for me. And some lube.”
It’s a good thing that Marco is being securely held in Marc's lap, because the bout of dizziness he feels all at once almost sends him flying straight to the floor. Fuck, is he actually insane? Marc knows by now the effect he has on him — and the bastard knows how to use it to his advantage too, because why would he call him a ‘good boy’ from that distance, lips that almost touch, breaths that almost combine?
“Gesù. Yes.” Marco breathes out, starting to reluctantly slide a leg off of Marc lap to turn around. “It’s just—”
“Now, now.” Marc grabs him promptly by his hips and Marco stops immediately, eyes fixed on him and his shit-eating grin that Marco wants to bite, “What did I just tell you? You need to settle down.” Marc tells him, and his tone is gentle but doesn’t give Marco any room for complaining. Not that Marco would want to, anyway — he feels his bones melt at the vigorous hold on his sides and at the rumble in Marc's voice, but he still manages to slide back into place and sit where Marco wants him.
“Where is it?” Marc asks him, running his hands over the small of Marco’s back purely because he wants to touch him. Marc has never been the tactile one between them, but Marco's love language is touch — which basically means that he has subjected Marc to his hugs, touches, caresses, to his fidgeting with various edges of various pieces of Marc's clothing until the whole thing rubbed off on Marc, and now every time he runs his hands over Marco's body, his skin goes up in flames.
“There’s a small bottle in the smallest pouch of my zaino.” Marco’s voice isn’t even stable right now — it trembles just as his body is doing — but he knows that Marc wants him to be present, and he doesn’t want to let him down.
Luckily his whole being is shaken back into existence the moment Marc's hand on the small of his back slides around his waist so that Marc's arm can hug him, holding Marco against his toned chest with one firm movement; Marco feels Marc's torso lean forward and instinctively wraps his arms around Marc's shoulders to avoid falling backwards, a surprised yelp escaping his lips.
“Marc, cristo—” Marco chuckles as he hugs him, pressing his cheek against Marc's as the man leans over and stretches an arm out to reach the bag.
They’re both laughing now, and Marc's laughter so close to Marco's ears makes Marco's insides feel like they will never be solid again. How could he live without this?
“See? It worked, and you didn’t have to move a muscle.” Marc chirps happily and kisses Marco right under his ear — then on his jaw, on his cheekbone, on the corner of his lips while he sits back again and takes Marco with him. Marco's eyelids flutter closed and he holds Marc's face again, a soft breath breaking against Marc'z lips a few moments before Marc kisses him once more.
It really feels like Marc kisses him because he likes to do it, and Marco lets himself believe it; one hand still splayed open on Marco's back, Marc holds him as he savours Marco, sucking on his bottom lip, taking up all the space that Marco has in his mouth — Marco gives it up gladly — until he breaks the kiss with one of his little moans that make Marco's ears tingle.
“You took my fingers so well last time,” Marc whispers right against Marco's lips, and wow, shit, he’s going straight for it, okay, “Do you want to show me how good you are with my cock?”
At this point, the hold Marco has on Marc's face is more of an anchoring point than something borne of affection, because he feels like he’s going to tumble right off Marc's lap even though he’s securely sitting on it. Who taught him to speak like that?!
“Cazzo, mate—” Marco drops his head forward, eyes closed as if it’s enough to soften the blow of the fucking punch in the chest he just received, “God, yes. I want nothing more. Please.” He remembers, in the haze of the moment, what Marc had told him to do the last time they had found themselves in this situation — he likes it when Marco asks nicely, and Marco is hellbent on not letting him down.
And sure enough, Marc smiles — Marco would fight a thousand wars if it meant he could always see him like this — and he pops the lube open with the flick of a thumb. They don’t even look at the bottle — they only have eyes for each other, with Marc's hand still in the small of Marco's back and Marco's hands delicately resting on the line of Marc's jaw. They stare at each other in what frankly looks like a silent battle for who can hold the most affection for the other in their gaze. Marco hopes it’s a tie. Convinces himself it is.
He shifts his hips back a bit and reaches for the band of Marc's jeans, but Marc tuts, arching his eyebrows. “Ah-ha. Don’t move.” He says, slow and low — and they’re so close that the words roar in Marco's chest. He puts his hand back on Marco's upper arm, finger grazing lightly over the scars litering his skin as he forced himself to keep as still as possible. It’s quite the undertaking for him, as someone who wants to touch, move, get things going. He has no patience and that is especially true when what he wants is right in front of him, but Marc has made it very clear what the rules are, so Marco waits. The last thing he wants is to be kicked aside again.
He waits, but he watches — he watches as Marc wriggles his hips enough to be able to slide his bottoms down. Not all the way, because of course he wouldn’t want Marco to move an inch — but then he takes his cock out, which is already half-hard just by making out with Marco, and he can’t help but feel a tinge of pride at the sight.
“You are so beautiful.” It comes out of Marco before he can even stop it, and his breath hitches a bit at the end of the sentence, but now it’s too late to take it back anyway. They’ve always had words of praise for each other, regardless of the context in which they were said — and yet these words now taste like a brand new thing. Like something that isn’t blooming yet but it’s desperately asking to, something that feels tentative and shy and that maybe Marco should’ve kept for himself, on second thought.
He searches for Marc's gaze in a subtle panic — he needs to know immediately if he has ruined everything, if he has given away too much, if Marc hates him—
He finds Marc's hazel eyes staring straight back at him, and for a moment Marco could swear something flashes in them, just as Marc's eyelids flutter for an instant. His lips part ever so slightly, almost as if Marc would like to say something but he's stopping himself at the last second. his stomach drops a bit, because what is Marc thinking right now? Perhaps that he's not beautiful? That he doesn't deserve the compliment? And he doesn't know how to fix it, he doesn't know how to tell him without breaking the atmosphere of the moment, so Marco holds his face gently, softly, fingertips subtly rubbing the skin under them. You are, you are, you are, one small rub, and then another, then another, you are, you are, you are.
Marc takes a deep breath, slowly, and Marco feels the hand on his back give him a very quick caress. “Nothing, compared to you, tesoro.”
No, no, no, Marco pulls him into a kiss, his thumbs rubbing Marc's cheekbones, you are, you are, you are, and he vaguely registers Marc drizzling the lube on his cock and his own fingers as they kiss, you are beautiful, you are so beautiful, you are the most beautiful, and now one of Marc's hands is wrapping around his waist and ending up on his back and it’s sliding, lower and lower and lower, you are the most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on, and it slips inside Marco's pants and surpasses his boxers, and Marco is still kissing him, there’s no one more beautiful than you, and then the first finger breaches him, and the whimper he lets out into Marc's mouth sounds a lot like his name.
“Si, amor?” Marc murmurs and oh, maybe Marco did say his name.
“I— I want— I need you, Marc, please—”
In a different universe - one where the mere act of looking at Marc doesn’t make Marco want to drop to his knees — Marco would be telling himself to get it together. That the state he’s in after a short makeout session and one mere finger is way too much, that he needs to reel it in — but in this universe, the one where Marc is smiling at him as he adds a second finger, Marco is not holding back.
“You need to be patient, Marco.” Marc's words follow Marco's moan almost in one unified sound — they’re an extension of Marco's noises, Marc fits them in between one whimper and the other like they belong there — and they do, like puzzle pieces perfectly coming together.
Patience, patience — by the time Marc has added a third finger Marco is a writhing, whimpering mess, desperately seeking some sort of relief by attempting to push his hips against Marc's fingers. He can’t, though, because Marc told him not to, he told him to stand still and be patient, and Marco feels like his head is about to explode. He knows why Marc is doing that — he wants Marco to learn to take his time, to not rush things, to wait, but all Marco wants is this beautiful man to be inside him and he is not sure if he’s learning any lessons here.
“Right,” Marc breathes out just as his fingers still, earning a disapproving moan from Marco, “You’re being so very good for me”, Marco squirms ever so slightly as the fingers slide out with ease, “But last time I forgot to ask you something very important and the mistake has been eating at me.”
Marco's brain is way too liquified to even focus properly on Marc's words, but what Marco knows is that there is nothing he would change about their first time. He has been replaying that night over and over in his head, and if Marc asked him what he would change, he wouldn't have an answer.
“What—” Marco swallows, trying to get his words out, “What is it? You were perfect.”
Marc shakes his head. “No, Marco, and I'm sorry. I'm— still learning.”
Marco catches a hint of hesitation in Marc's voice. He doesn't understand why, but if Marc doesn't tell him immediately what the issue is, he's going to go insane.
“I didn't ask you what your safeword is,” Marc sighs, rubbing Marco's side with his other hand. “And I'm so sorry. I should have.”
Leave it to Marc Marquez to apologise for not properly taking care of him. Leave it to Marc Marquez to realize he was far too similar to Valentino. To realise he'd rather die than continue to hurt Marco how Vale had hurt him.
God, Marco could start crying.
“Amore, it's fine, I promise,” Marco tries to reassure him, cupping his jaw with both hands to direct Marc's gaze into his own — and oh, Marc's eyebrows are knotted in the middle, and he's concerned, so very concerned. “I know you wouldn't hurt me—”
“Marco, please, don't brush it off.” Marc's hand on Marco's hips grabs him firmly enough to get Marco's attention, “It's always important to know. I— people— should be asking you, and you should make it known.”
It doesn't feel like Marc is telling him off — rather, this sounds a lot like something he's been reprimanding himself about for days.
“I— I want— I need you to be safe, Marco, please—”
Marco's hands almost scramble to grab Marc's face to pull him in until their foreheads touch.
“I am, I promise, I am.” Marco tells him gently, rubbing circles into Marc's skin with his thumbs.
Marc speaks as if Marco would be able to sleep with anyone else now — as if he could desire someone else the way he desires Marc, viscerally, primordially— and Marco knows it's true that Marc would never hurt him — not physically — but his heart still swells up at the thought that Marc is being so attentive towards him.
Their faces are still close when Marco speaks again.
“Lavender.”
Marc looks up at him. “Mh?”
Marco smiles. “Lavender. My safeword.”
Marc's shoulders relax all at once, his face painted with relief.
“I’m sorry,” He says, low and soft, “I’m trying.”
Marco frowns. Trying what? Marc doesn’t have to try, not with him at least. No one knows Marco more than Marc does, embarrassingly enough, and there is nothing he could do wrong when it comes to dealing with him in Marco's eyes. He could do no wrong. His pedestal was far too high for him to be making lowly mistakes.
But the words are cut off right from Marco's throat when Marc wraps a hand around his own cock, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he slowly strokes it a couple times. It is a vision to behold — this perfect man with this perfect face and these perfect hands and this perfect cock — and Marco's jaw falls open, quite literally. He fears he’s going to start salivating in a moment, and he’s thankful for Marc manoeuvring him to lift himself up just a little while he pulls the elastic of Marco's pants and boxers low enough to leave his ass uncovered.
“Just like that… good boy.” Marc's voice guides Marco as he sits back down, the praise making him feel dizzy — as if the feeling of Marc's cock sliding inside wasn't exhilarating enough.
It fills Marco up, inch by inch, and he feels like he's not taking it fast enough — he wants Marc inside him, and he says it with a whimpering moan as he tries to take him to the hilt. But Marc isn't only dictating Marco's movements with his voice, no — his firm grip on Marco's hip is deciding the speed at which Marco is going, and it's too much and it's not enough.
“Marc—” Marco moans in frustration, receiving a gentle shush and a hand stroking his hair in response.
“It's okay, mi amor. Patience. There's no rush. You're being so good for me.”
Marc's praise stays with him until Marco has taken him to the full length, until he's sitting back down in Marc's lap with a groan and he's full, and Marc is all around him and inside him and outside of him, and he's safe.
“Well done, good boy.” Marc strokes Marco's sides gently with both hands, in stark contrast with Marco's fingers gripping Marc's shoulders for dear life.
He wants to move — he wants to make Marc feel good, to show him what a good boy he is for him — and he tries it, he pushes himself up just slightly, even though it doesn't last long. Marc's hands are promptly back on his hips, keeping him down and still.
“It's alright, darling. Just sit still for a minute. You feel so good around me.” Marc says softly as he's smiling at him, and jesus fuck, does he want him dead? Not only is he talking to him like that, but now he’s stopping him from moving, from allowing Marco to give him what he wants, and Marco whimpers again. He likes Marc so fucking much, and the mere idea that Marc might like him back enough to at least want to do this with him makes him want to scream — fucking god, why is Marc Marquez so hard to understand.
“Marc, I—” Marco wants to say it, he wants to ask him why and when and why again. Why does Marc take care of him like this, why does he love him and cherish him and touch him in a way no one has ever touched him before, and when will Marc tell him that this is all just for fun, just so they can fool around for a while, and why.
And what's more frustrating out of this whole fucking situation is that Marco is still hellbent on giving Marc all that he can and all that he has, he wants to see Marc lost in the throes of pleasure because of him and his body, he wants Marc to look at him the way he looked at him before his crash — the lump that forms inside Marco's throat is heavy and painful and Marco lets out a choked noise.
“You'll be okay, amor. I promise. Sit still, I'll take care of you.” Marc's words slide across Marco's skin just like Marc's hands are doing, touching and caressing and caring, “Please, let me fix this. I'll make it up to you. I'll never hurt you again, tesoro.”
Deep down, Marco knows that Marc is right — that things are not as dramatic as he’s making them out to be, that they're both adults who aren't even commited to eachother how Marco so deeply wishes they were — but in reality, Marco's hands are itching and his brain is buzzing.
And if it’s because of the thought of that night or because of Marc, Marco doesn’t want to investigate this further either; all he knows is that he’s trying really hard to be good for Marc, to stay still like he’s asking him — and he doesn’t even realise that his hands have slid from Marc's shoulders to his chest and are now holding Marc's shirt in two tight fists. Marco wants Marc to kiss him, he wants Marc to fuck him into the cheap hotel bed, he wants Marc to tell him he loves him— oh fuck, he loves Marc, doesn’t he? Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
The sob leaves his throat before Marco can even notice, and when he does, his hand flies to his mouth to try and stop himself from releasing any more. His eyes are warm and his vision is getting blurry, and— shit, this is a terrible time to start crying. What would Marc think? He is equipped to carry the weight of Marco's emotions - though he wasn't the best as sticking around - but this is a completely different situation they find themselves in.
He’s sitting on Marc's cock, crying over the fact that he's not so different from Eos, the goddess of the dawn. He feels powerless in this love he has for Marc, much like Eos's unrequited feelings for Ares. No matter how hard Eos tries, Ares will always return to Aphrodite. Just as Marc will always go back to Gemma.
“Marco, oh, amor—” Marc's soothing voice reaches him very quickly and so do Marc's hands, cupping his face and drying a tear with the pad of a thumb. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”
Marco knows that he could use the safeword at any point. They have never been in this predicament before, but just by knowing the type of person Marc is, Marco knows he can trust him fully to respect their agreement. He knows that, and for some reason the thought makes him feel much better about his decision.
He shakes his head, uncovering his mouth. “No,” he says, voice quivering, “No, I’m okay. I’m just very overwhelmed.”
Marc strokes rebel strands of hair away from Marco's face with so much care and softness that Marco could genuinely sob about it for a day or two; he knows Marc is trying to calm him down though, and he wants to stop crying before his brain starts telling him he’s ruining everything, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Good job.” Marc whispers, and it takes Marco all his willpower not to whimper in the midst of his own tears, which would be absolutely ridiculous.
“You are doing so well.” The Spanish man continues. Marco decides to keep his eyes closed for a while longer, to focus on Marc's voice and hands stroking his face. “I know it’s hard for you to calm down. But it’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe. No need to be scared right now. I just want to feel you around me for a little while longer. You feel so good. I wish you could stay here forever.”
Marc doesn’t know, but Marco would. Marco would stay there, in his lap, in his hands, for the rest of time if necessary.
He does his best, anyway: he breathes in and out slowly, and soon it feels like Marc is breathing in sync with him — maybe to regulate Marco's breaths, maybe because they just do that, but it helps a lot, and soon Marco calms down fully. It’s like magic.
The sensation of Marc filling him up is still very much there. Marco comes down to Earth with another whimper, his back arching when a little giggle from Marc makes both shake slightly.
“There you are.” Marc coos. Marco finally opens his eyes, his vision still a little blurry, but he’s blushing like a schoolgirl now, because Marc is smiling at him with that smile Marco keeps so close to his heart — the slightly crooked one, with his eyebrows gently bending upwards in the middle like he’s constantly looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.
Marco wants to be that, for him.
“Good boy. See? You did it.”
Marco feels his brain snap into place.
He wraps his arms around Marc's shoulders and pulls him in, slowly, almost lazily, their bodies impossibly closer now and then kisses him. He realises only halfway through opening his lips up for Marc that he didn’t ask for permission, he didn’t say please — but Marc's hands immediately run up his torso, from Marco's hips to his shoulder blades and take Marco's shirt with them; the fabric bunches up in Marc's fists and leaves the lower part of Marco's torso bare.
Without breaking the kiss, Marc keeps Marco's shirt up with one hand, while the other one slides lower and lower until it reaches Marco's entrance, fingertips running over his outstretched rim, right in the spot where their bodies are, statically and frustratingly so, joined together. Marco moans into the kiss, biting down on Marc's lower lip.
“Mh,” Marc smiles, pulling back just a bit, “You really feel so good, you know?” He continues, using his fingers to push onto the underside of his cock so that it sinks even further inside, eliciting a begging moan from Marco.
“You can ask me, now.” Marc smirks.
Marco needs to take a deep breath before speaking. “Ask what?”
“Ask me to fuck you, Marco.”
And it comes out of Marco like a landslide, like something Marco can’t run away from: he pushes his knees into the mattress at Marc's sides, pressing even further against him with a long, drawn out moan as he arches his back, ready to start moving the moment Marc allows him to.
“Amore, please— please, fuck me.”
He thinks Marc is going to grab his hips, to finally allow him to start bouncing up and down like his body is craving to do — instead, Marco feels Marc's arms lock around his waist and, in a moment, he finds himself being lifted up and laid on his back on the bed quicker than his brain can even begin to process.
“Good boy.” Marc growls into Marco's mouth before reclaiming it with the hunger of a man starved; Marco's mouth and body and soul are all for him — they open up for Marc like a blossoming flower, letting the man in as much as Marco is able to handle.
Which — turns out — is more than Marco imagined, because Marc is soon thrusting into him, half-kneeling on the bed, one foot planted on the ground. Marco barely has time to gasp, kick his pants all the way off to wrap his legs around Marc's waist and arms around his shoulders, and then his brain fully disconnects once more; Marc pounds into him like he’s trying to mark him — Marco likes to think that Marc is making him his own, and even if Marc's thrusts mean something else to his friend, to Marco they’re saying mine, yours, mine, yours, mine.
“Oh, tesoro, you feel so good—” Marc pants in Marco's ear and Marco closes his eyes; maybe, if he doesn’t look, he can pretend that Marc is saying this as he lazily wraps his arms around his waist on a warm Sunday morning in their bed in the house they share, pressing himself against Marco's back and leaving a kiss behind the shell of his ear, both of them smelling of sex and fresh sheets, right before Marc gets up to cook breakfast.
And then Marc's cock hits that spot inside Marco that makes him let out a moan that is much louder than the others and arch his back, and Marco really doesn't know if the ringing he hears is from Marc's phone or from his own ears — but it doesn't matter. He tightens the grip of his legs around Marc's hips to get him to go deeper, deeper, deeper, and Marc does — he plants his knee into the duvet and his foot solidly on the floor and shifts his hips forwards just enough to pound into Marco with a relentlessness that makes Marco feel dizzy.
Marc's cheek is still pressed against Marco's when he cups his jaw on the opposite side with a hand; Marco turns his head into the touch, eyes closed, until Marc's thumb grazes his bottom lip. He opens his eyes, then, and without hesitation, he tilts his head forward to take the finger in his mouth, wrapping his lips softly around it. He feels Marc's thrusts stutter and has to do his best not to smirk around Marc's digit, especially because Marc is now lifting his head up to look at the pretty picture in front of him and Marco is not going to miss the opportunity to employ his best doe eyes if he can.
He looks up at Marc, thumb in his mouth, and gives the pad a quick lick before sucking on it. Marc is looking at him like he has never seen anything so beautiful — at least, that’s what Marco makes himself think in order to stay sane — with his lips parted in surprise and a little gasp that escapes them when his eyes land on his finger being enveloped by Marco's supple lips.
“Fuck,” Marc mutters, pushing the thumb deeper — Marco feels it slide across his tongue and thinks about Marc's cock doing the same — “You are so beautiful, amor. I’m so - ah - I’m so lucky I get to have you like this—”
Marc isn’t the lucky one, Marco thinks. Looking up at him, brunette locks falling over his forehead and bouncing to the rhythm of his thrust, mouth agape in the throes of pleasure — Marco wants to tell him. He wants to tell him that he’s pretty sure he loves him, and that he’s sorry if this ruins everything between them, and that it’s fine if Marco doesn’t love him back — it’s not fine, but what else is he going to do? Lose him? Again?
He says nothing, though. He hums around Marc's thumb as his lips hit the base of it and he keeps sucking and licking just as he feels Marc's thrust get faster and more frantic. Marc presses the other four fingers against Marco's jaw and now he’s practically holding his head, and Marco's eyes roll to the back of his head at the thought of Marc handling him that way. He slides one hand away from Marc's side to try and reach his own neglected cock, but Marc is faster, always. He pushes Marco away with his free hand and wraps his own fingers around Marco's erection instead.
“No. Mine.” Marc growls, and Marco would cry again if he wasn’t too busy trying not to come on the spot.
Marco is literally everywhere, he’s inside Marco and around his cock and in his mouth and on top of him and Marco sucks on his finger like it’s the source of the oxygen he needs to live; Marc looks mesmerised and Marco believes him, he believes that Marc loves him back within the confines of the orgasm that is building up inside both of them — that it’s real for a moment, for a brief, intense moment where their bellies tighten and the pressure builds up and their moans almost become one, and Marc is pounding and pounding and pounding and saying Marco's name over and over again — and then Marc comes, and then they both come, and Marc is filling him up and Marco is spilling all over his stomach and Marc's fist, and it’s bliss.
Marco loves him, in the space of their panting breaths. Marco loves him, with their cheeks pressed together once Marc flops forward for a moment. Marco loves him, with his fingers carding through the waves of his hair.
And he imagines that Marc loves him too, with his thumb slipping out of Marco's mouth but his hand still firmly pressed against his face. He imagines that Marc loves him too, with the little sigh of relief when Marco mindlessly and softly scratches his back with his nails, delicate as he can be. He imagines that Marc loves him too, in the little giggle he releases before kissing his neck.
“Did your phone ring?” Marco asks lazily, as if they’ve just woken up from a good night’s sleep.
“Mh,” Marc hums, face still hidden against Marco's neck.
“Want me to leave you alone while you call them back?” Marco asks, Marc only throws but a glance at his phone on the bedside table next to them. He thinks about the idea of leaving, and he feels like things matter a little less.
It can wait.
“No,” He mumbles, turning his head again and wrapping Marc into a hug, closing his eyes so that he can smell him. “I'll stay.”
And he did, for that night. Stayed in bed with Marco, their limbs entertwined the whole night before they had to wake up and return to the paddock. Before Marc had to return Gemma's calls.
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