#i wonder if he would have backed off if i had said yes or if he was even more of a creep and would have made more advances

[pshbites]

MY FIRST AND LAST ━ pjs

pairing : bf!jisung x gf!reader genre : est relationship, pure fluff warnings : petnames, crying, kissing, jisung is a lil loser umm thats all! synopsis : a series of firsts you've had with your bf jisung wc : 2.1k a/n : muaahahah finally another ncity fic i larb writing for them! if you enjoyed please join my dream taglist !!

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is also always appreciated!!

your first date. before you and jisung started dating you were mutual friends through jaemin. jaemin told you about jisung assuring you that he was a nice guy and since you two were single it wouldn’t hurt to go on a date! so being the good friend you were, you listened and decided to go on that date. it wasn’t like you didn’t know jisung, you guys were both in the same graduation year at your college and had met him a couple times at some of the hangouts jaemin invited you to, what was the harm in going on a date?

the date was a movie and dinner after since jaemin insisted that would be the best way to get to know one another. jaemin also reassured you that jisung was sort of interested in you and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a set up. the entire date jisung was quite different from how he texted you prior, he was sort of shy and awkward. a part of you thought maybe he was nervous but then the other part thought that he just didn’t like you. 

after dinner jisung insisted on walking you home and it was then that he admitted that he was actually so nervous the entire date, that he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to you. “honestly when jaemin told me you said yes i thought i was dreaming.. i mean you’re just so out of my league” he admitted shyly, scratching his neck and looking forward, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. what a cute loser, you thought. “i am so in your league park don’t even.” you replied, elbowing him softly in a playful way. jisung looked down at the sidewalk, cheeks flushed. 

first kiss. after your first date with jisung the two of you went on three more and talked so much over the phone. at some point everyone around you two was convinced that you were dating but of course, you were just two fools who didn’t know that you liked one another. 

“i mean i don’t even think he’s considering these actual dates, you know?” you said, painting your nails next to your roommate, yizhuo, for whatever reason she was convinced that he had the fattest crush on you but you could beg to differ. “he literally said he was so scared to talk to you, if that doesn’t scream into you i don’t know what does” she sighed out, crossing her arms and sinking further into the couch. you sighed and threw your head back in frustration, why couldn’t he just tell you how he felt?

“i just have no idea how to say it you know, besides there’s no point she does not like me” jisung groaned out, making both jaemin and chenle eye one another. chenle rolled his eyes and sighed, “you take this one” he waved off at jaemin who sighed as well. “if she wasn’t into you do you really think she would’ve gone on like five dates with you?” he looked at jisung who only frowned slightly. “i don’t know! maybe she’s just being nice” he said, pacing around the room once more which made chenle even more frustrated. jisung had been going on for about an hour now and he was tired of it. “dude if you really wanna know her apartment isn’t like far from here, just go” chenle replied, scrolling through his phone mindlessly. 

if chenle were looking at jisung he would see that something clearly was put in his mind, “you’re right..” he mumbled. before jaemin and chenle knew it, jisung was putting on his shoes and grabbing his coat, heading out the door. “dude it’s raining!” chenle shouted, making jisung shake his head, “i’ll be fine!” jisung was indeed not fine because after running to your apartment he was sure there was water in his socks. it didn't help that it was cold outside so his bones were quite frozen. 

in the middle of your conversation you and yizhuo heard frantic knocking on the front door. “what the hell..” you mumbled, glancing at the door then yizhuo. she sank further into the couch and shook her head, “you get it! you’re already standing up” she pointed and you sighed at her childishness. you walked over to the door, opening it to reveal jisung, drenched from head to toe. he seemed out of breath, like he had ran here. 

“oh my god jisung come in” was all you could say as he came in, still shivering. luckily you still had a towel hanging so you draped it over, patting his hair dry, then his face. as you held his face, he looked in your eyes, trying to build up the confidence to say something. you glanced over to the couch, yizhuo was long gone and probably ran to her room.

 “i’ll get you-“ 

“do you like me” 

you looked back to jisungs eyes, staring into them. “i..” you breathed out, unable to find words. “i really like you and i know you probably just don’t feel the same way but we could just be friends-“ “shut up park” you mumbled, leaning in to kiss him. his lips reciprocated, moving against yours. his lips were cold, yet still soft, the same with his hands as they found your waist, pulling you closer. you smiled softly as you pulled back, jisung wearing that same cute smile he always does. 

“does this mean we’re dating?” he breathed out and you nodded, laughing. “yes park, we’re dating.”

first time sleeping over. you and jisung had been dating for about 3 months, it was safe to say everything was smooth sailing. your friends are always sick of you two but that’s just because you loved kissing his pretty lips. yizhuo was especially tired right now because she had to stay in her room while you and jisung watched a movie in the living room. as the ending credits rolled you looked over to jisung who was sound asleep next to you, poor boy. before he came over he had said he was up all day for some labs he had to do but he still insisted on coming over to watch this movie with you. 

you patted his cheek softly, waking him up. he looked around confused then looked at you and frowned slightly. “i fell asleep didn’t i?” he sighed and you nodded, “it’s okay, you were tired don’t worry” you smiled softly, patting his head. the two of you sat like this for a couple seconds until you broke the silence. “you could.. sleep over. you’re too tired to go home” 

immediately jisungs cheeks flushed and you felt yourself melting a little. “uh.. yeah okay..” he cleared his throat, standing up to rub his palms on his sweatpants. “cmon” you smiled, leading him to the way to your bedroom. as the two of you walked in jisung shut the door behind you two, watching as you got into your bed, leaving space for him. jisung stood there awkwardly for a couple seconds and you sighed. “grow up park we’ve cuddled on the couch” you smiled, heart melting at his nervousness 

“yeah yeah..” he mumbled, walking over and slipping under the covers with you. he laid down, turning to face you. you smiled at his rosy cheeks. “hi” you breathed out, eyes not leaving his. “hi” he mumbled back, making you smile even more. you scooted closer to him and nuzzled your face in his chest. jisung hesitated before holding you closer in his arms. “night park” you muttered, making jisung smile softly. he rested his chin on the top of your head, “night baby.”

first time crying in front of the other. for the past week or so, you’ve been distant with jisung. there was no specific reason it was just because sometimes you have those days and strong people can’t always be okay. you didn’t want to burden jisung with this so here you sat, in a booth full of your friends, grilling meat and talking. you picked at the food on your plate and set your chopsticks down. 

jisung noticed and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “you tired?” he spoke, softly. you leaned back a little and looked in his eyes, full of worry. “yeah a little” a lie. he nodded and looked to everyone, “me and yn are heading out guys” he said, grabbing your hand so the two of you could leave. everyone said their goodbyes and you two left the restaurant. 

you found yourself telling jisung everything to the point where you thought you were burdening him. which is why you didn’t choose to tell him how stressed you had been lately. in hindsight it was the worst decision ever but you thought you were doing a good thing. the walk to his apartment was short and silent. as you two entered his apartment he helped you talk off your coat and hang it for you. 

jisung knew something was up, he knew you lied to him in the restaurant but he didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends because he believed it was a conversation the two of you should have alone. “i’m gonna go use the bathroom” you said, not looking at him. “wait” jisung stood in front of you, blocking your way. 

he looked down at you and frowned slightly. “did i do something wrong?” he breathed out and you furrowed your brows looking up at him. “what?” “you’ve just been so distant and i thought maybe today things would be fine and i guess not..” hearing him say those words broke your heart, he thought you were mad at him. the two of you stood in silence, jisungs eyes searching yours. 

the silence was only broken when you started crying. “hey hey hey..” jisung mumbled, pulling you into his arms. “i’m sorry i just i was so stressed out and i didn’t want to bother you” you spoke through broken sobs, jisung stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head. “you could never bother me, baby, don't think that,” he said, holding back tears of his own. how could he have let you think that way?

you pulled back and he wiped the tears off your cheeks, holding your face in his hands. his own eyes slightly glassy. “your problems are my problems and that’s how it’ll always be from now on, okay?” he spoke, looking into your eyes and you nodded, sniffling softly. “now cmon let’s get you something to eat” he smiled, grabbing your hand in his and leading you to his kitchen. 

first time saying i love you. the night before you and jisung celebrated your one year, it was everything you could’ve dreamed of. he took you to a nice fancy restaurant, then desert afterwards and finally you ended the night off with a walk around the city park. throughout the night only one thing was on your mind, you loved him. 

you loved every detail of him, how he lights up your day with his presence, how his nose scrunches when he smiles. everything. you knew deep down you did but last night sort of solidified it for you. you turned in bed to face him, fast asleep, making you smile softly.  

you pushed some of the hair off of his face, making his nose twitch a little. his eyes opened to see you, making him instantly smile. “good morning baby” he said, voice a bit raspy. “morning park” you smiled back, letting him pull you into his chest. his hand rested on your back, drawing small shapes. 

“you sleep well?” you looked up at him, him nodding and rested his chin on your head. “could sleep a little more” he mumbled, making you smile. “you can’t park, you have class at noon” you replied, jisung only groaning aloud in response. “just ten more minutes..” he muttered, holding you closer if possible. 

you two laid in that position for a couple more minutes until you leaned back a little to look up at him properly. you stared in his eyes and smiled softly, cupping his cheek. “i-“ “i love you” jisung breathed out. you stared back, shocked but a little proud? you didn’t think he’d have the guts to say it first. “you beat me to it” you mumbled, making him smile. “not gonna say it back baby?” he teased, leaned in to kiss your face all over. 

you giggled at his acts, feeling ticklish as his hands roamed your body to find your most ticklish spots. “i love you too park stop it!” you spoke through giggles making jisung laugh with you. he stopped to look at you, your flushed cheeks and lips that were pouted oh so softly. all he wanted to do was kiss you. and that he did. jisung always kissed you like his life depended on it and that wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. 

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[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi, I read your review of Eddie teaching his shy girlfriend how to kiss and it made me think about how sweet and patient he would be with her when they took their relationship a step further. I wasn't the one who requested the first review, but I was wondering if you could write a second part.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) fingering, grinding

part one

Eddie opens the door to the hotel room that he payed for the two of you to stay the night in. You had discussed taking your relationship to at length and you decided that you were finally ready.

He wants this night to be perfect for you. Someone’s first time should be special, especially in his mind. His wasn’t so he wants to be as kind and gentle as possible, repeatedly telling you how well you’re doing, how pretty you look.

You’re nervous, he can tell. You’re constantly wringing your hands and biting down on your bottom lip as your eyes dart around the room. Eddie’s wondering now if maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should just take you home.

“This is a nice room,” you tell him as you sit down on the edge of the bed, setting your duffle bag at your feet. “You didn’t have to get a hotel room for this, Eddie.”

“Do you not like it? Is it too much?” Now he’s nervous and you hate that he’s overthinking it. He’s done something so nice for you and it kills you that he think he’s fucked to.

“No, no,” you shake your head as you take his hands in yours, pulling him towards you so he’ll sit next to you. “I love it. This is so sweet. I’m sorry. I’m just…nervous.” You’re wringing your hands again and Eddie takes them in his, pressing a gentle kiss to them.

“And you have every right to be. This is a whole new thing that you’re not used to. But I’m gonna be so gentle, gonna show you just how much I love you.” His honey eyes are boring into yours and you swear that your heart stops for a second.

He loves you. And he said it with so much meaning, as if it was something he had thought about it for a long time.

“You love me?” You ask, your eyes lighting up and the two of you are now smiling like idiots.

“More than you’ll ever know. Now come here.” He gestures for you to lean in so you and his hands rest on your hips while yours wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips and he smiles as he pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling his waist. His hands move higher up your back as he lets you take the lead, your tongue dipping into his mouth.

This is safe, comfortable. You’ve done this now more times than you can count. These exact movements in this exact position and you can always tell that Eddie has been holding back as you often feel his erection against you.

But this time you’re not going to ignore it when it inevitably happens. You’re finally going to go all the way and Eddie is the only person you’d want to do it with. He’s nothing but sweet and gentle and he loves you. He loves you.

Eddie moans into your moan and you’re getting wetter as your make out session progresses. You feel him underneath you and need to something about it, something that doesn’t require you to take your clothes off just yet.

You try your best to grind against him but you don’t think you’re doing it right as Eddie laughs into your mouth. It’s more because he thinks you’re cute and not because he’s making fun of you. He would never do that. His hands move down to your waist, moving you back and forth so that you’re grinding against him the right way.

Once you get the hang of it, you take the lead as your lips find his again, his cock getting even harder underneath you as he moans into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his.

“Do you want to take another step?” He asks, pulling back to look at you, his hands moving up and down your back.

“Yes please,” you beg, getting wetter by the second.

“Can I take off your dress?” His eyes are searching your face for any sign of hesitance but he doesn't see it. But he still waits for you to respond.

“Yes.” You nod, trying to not seem too excited.

His hand moves up to the zipper on the back of your dress and he pulls it down slowly. Your eyes stay on him as he pushes it down to your waist, your pretty, lacy bra now on full display. One hands stays on your him while his other one moves up, his fingers grazing the lace with a feather light touch.

Eddie presses his lips to yours once again as he slowly picks you up, your lips continuing to move together as he carries you over to the left side of the bed. He pulls the cover back with one of his hands and helps you into it. You look so pretty and he can't wait to show just how pretty he think you are.

He gets in the bed with you, pulling the blankets over your bodies so that you're cover. He notices that you've slipped off your dress and that it's now crumpled up by the side of the bed.

"Can I remove these?" He asks, his fingers looping through the waistband on your panties."

"Yes please," you nod and he slips them off with ease and tosses them on top of your dress then looks up at you, silently asking permission to move onto the next stop.

"I-I'm gonna stretch you out, okay? Wanna make sure you're ready for me." You nod, knowing exactly what he means. You've read lots of smutty book so you know exactly what to expect.

"Okay," you nod. His fingers make their way inside you, pumping as slow as possible to get you used to the feeling. This is like nothing you've ever experienced before. You clutch his shoulders as his fingers move in and out, already feeling a moan in the back of your throat. You don't know why you're so afraid to let it out. It's a normal thing to do in this situation and you're sure that Eddie would love to hear it.

"So good," you finally moan and if just his fingers are making you feel this way, you can't help but wonder what he'll feel like inside you.

"That's a pretty sound," he compliments as his lips find yours again. "Wanna make it for me again?"

"Mhm," is all you're able to get out and his fingers move just a little faster and you moan even louder. He's imagined this so many times but the sounds you're making are much prettier than he's been thinking.

"Oh," you moan again and even though Eddie's desperate to see just how much you can take, he decides against it. Maybe after you've done this a couple of times. He's still determined to make this a gentle first time for you. Soft and sweet just like you.

"I think I'm ready," you tell him as your fingers dig into his shoulders.

His continues to kiss you, taking your hands and guiding them to the bottom of his shirt. Your fingers latch onto it and you pull it up and over his head, tossing it to the side as he takes off his pants, followed by his underwear.

In the blink of an eye, he's undressed and putting on a condom that seemed to appear out of thin air. He then looks down at you, that lovesick smile on his face. He wouldn't want to be anywhere else with anyone else. And it warms his heart that he's the only person you'd want to take this step with. He's nothing but honored.

His lips find yours once again as his hands slide underneath you, unhooking your bra with ease before letting it slide to the floor with all of your other clothes.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he sighs as he looks as your naked chest, then his eyes snap up to your face and your arms wrap around his neck, pulling you down to him for what seems like your millionth kiss of the night, but neither of you mind. You could easily do this for hours and have.

"Tonight is all about you, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips before pulling away and you whine at his absence. "Greedy," he chuckles. "Just let me say this then you can have all of the kisses you want."

"Fine."

"If I do something you don't like or you want to stop at any point, don't hesitate to let me know, okay? On the opposite end, feel free to make as much noise as you want. It's actually encouraged. I-it's important to me that you enjoy yourself."

"Thank you for saying all of that. That makes me feel a lot better."

"Good," he nods, happy that he made you feel less nervous about the whole thing.

"Now kissy?" You pucker your lips and Eddie rolls his eyes at you before giving in.

"Give me your hands first," he instructs and you give them to him before he laces your fingers together before lying them against the bed. He then places himself on top of you, his lips capturing yours as his tongue slides into your mouth. You moan at the sensation just like you always do and Eddie's getting harder by the second.

He slowly slides inside you and you wince at the sensation, but as soon as thrusts, the pain lessens just a little. The whole thing feels odd, foreign, but you have to admit that you're starting to understand why people are doing it all the time.

The more he thrusts into you, the more you get addicted to the feeling, moaning whenever you feel the need to, the sounds you're both making and your labored breaths mixing together in the air.

His hair is hanging down above you and his face is sweaty and he lets out moans of his own. He looks so hot and you can't believe that he's yours. That he paid for a hotel room and one that was far enough away from everyone so no one would hear the two of you. He's been nothing but a gentleman your entire relationship and you hope he sticks around forever. Knowing Eddie and how wrapped around your finger he is, you're certain that he will.

"Just like that," you tell him as he hits just the right spot to make you see stars.

"Yeah?" He asks. "Like this?" He hits it again and you feel like you're going to black out but you don't dare ask him to stop.

"God, yes," you moan and he continues, doing it again and again as your hands hold onto his for dear life, making his skin turn even more white. You're close you, you can feel it.

"Taking me so well," he compliments and you think you're going to be fully melted by the end of the night because of his sweet words. "Maybe next time I'll let you have the whole thing," he winks.

"Eddie," you whine. "I think I'm gonna-" and right on cue, an orgasm courses through you, your back arching as you do so, your boyfriend's name passing through your lips as he gets one last thrust in before your back hits mattress, Eddie following you as he pulls out.

He disposes of the condom and lies with his head on your chest, his hands moving up and down your bare hips as he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin to lull you into a much needed sleep.

"You did so good," he tells you, pressing a kiss to the spot right between your breasts. "Did you have a good time?"

"So much fun," you slur, feeling sleep taking over your body.

It's the best first time you could have ever asked for. Eddie was an absolute gentleman and you didn't expect any different. You wonder if you ask nicely then maybe you can have your second in the morning. Since he's never able to say no to you, you think you'll take the chance. He does love you after all.

[kingofthecotas]

lion's den | ao3

marc at the 100km race in 2026 | 3.4k

i have. compressed the timeline. for narrative reasons 

----

Luca catches him just before they pile out of the house, towards the changing room and the bike shed. It’s not difficult for him: Marc has been hovering, peripheral, all morning. Pecco tried his best to pull him into a conversation, but Bezzecchi turned cold and Valentino appeared from the kitchen and that was that.

Marc fixes the unsure set of his face the second he realises he’s being observed instead of politely ignored. The smile is enough to convince most people—it usually is. 

“You know…” Luca visibly picks through his words before he says them. “You don’t have to forgive him.”

Marc tries not to allow the smile to falter. 

“If you are doing this for Pecco—that is kind of you. But you do not have to forgive him.”

“I think…” And Marc tilts his head, calculating what he can afford to reveal. Luca—he likes Luca, has always found him reasonable. “Too late for that, maybe.” 

Luca’s eyes flicker for a heartbeat, too quick for him to catch even if the rest of his expression is perfectly controlled. Surprise. Marc had surprised him. 

Marc clearly isn’t as fucking obvious as he thinks he is. 

“Well, just …” Luca shrugs, looks him up and down. “It’s good you are here.”

“Good for Ducati?” Marc says, twisting Pecco’s words just enough that they sound mocking. 

“Good for Ducati. Good for the cameras, of course.” Maybe Luca—he doesn’t have blinders on, perhaps, the way Bezzecchi does. Knows Valentino, knows what he does, and loves him anyway. “Come on.”

The moment they step outside, there’s a phone in Marc’s face, wielded by someone in a VR46 hat. Good for the cameras. Good for Valentino.

He huffs out a breath that coils in the air, hangs like smoke, before following Luca to the changing rooms with something sickening in his chest, in his stomach. 

——

Pecco had suggested it first, after a particularly friendly debrief; he’d charged off into the Italian afternoon by three seconds, and Marc chased but decided the championship was close enough that twenty points was better than gravel. Things had stopped being fraught after Qatar—bizarrely, since Pecco had heard Marc behind him and locked the brakes, leaving Marc with nowhere to go but over his teammate’s sliding rear tyre. Gravel trap, Pecco helping him to his feet—and genuine shock when Marc accepted his apology without question. He’d watched Marc for an hour like he expected him to snap, before seemingly deciding he was safe. 

So things had been fine. And Pecco had been fine. So when Pecco won in Misano, clawed some points back, and suggested Tavullia—Marc had laughed. Good joke.

“No, I think it would be good,” Pecco said, his smile half-confused and half-polite—but not joking. “Good for the team.”

“Do you?” Because—Jesus, Pecco had been there. He’d been young, yes, but he was there.

“Just—you don’t have to.”

“Sorry,” Marc said. “Not a good idea, I think.”

“Okay,” Pecco said, unconcerned, and that had been that. 

——

Valentino snares him the moment he steps into the outbuilding, blinking at the same wooden walls he’d doomed himself in over a decade ago.

“Marc! Come here, come here, you need to sign.” And he’s being shepherded towards the table, towards the poster and the pens. Leaving his mark, he supposes.

Cameras. Marc smiles. “So I go right in the middle, no?”

Everyone laughs, indulgent, and Valentino even smiles in return before pointing out a spot for him. Marc does as he’s told; he’s walked himself into the lion’s den, so he may as well play before he’s torn to bloody ribbons.

“And the shirts, behind you.” Valentino is close, too close, a hot vein of lightning in the very centre of Marc’s awareness as they move together, entirely at his whim. 

Marc swallows, wonders if he shouldn’t have come. 

Valentino pulls the hem of the shirt, stretches it out taut, even though one of the hovering assistants had held her hand out to do the same thing—Valentino holds it carefully until Marc has finished, then does the same for the next one.

Then, “Allora,” and Marc is forgotten as Valentino turns to entertain, to hold court. 

——

In the end, it was Valentino who had extended the second invitation, the one that Marc felt like he couldn’t refuse. It was magnanimous, the way Valentino reached for him when he won his ninth title, perfectly positioned for the cameras to capture. Summoned, to kneel and kiss the ring: Marc could play the PR game too, and he acquiesced.

And maybe—

He’d been hot and tired from the race; high on victory; dizzy from champagne and the way his palm had burned, even through gloves, when Valentino had locked their hands together so Marc couldn’t pull away. 

But he’d known exactly what he was doing—what both of them were doing—when he said yes. 

——

Pecco watches them both, not nervous but something like it, over the top of Bezzecchi’s head. 

It’s cold, January-cold, a soft mist sitting over the track. Valentino has his hair tucked into a bright yellow hat, talking in a voice that’s clearly meant to be picked up by the ever-present phones. Marc listens, pretends to listen, smiles when he senses he should. 

“Ah,” Enea says at his shoulder, “we will be fine.” Enea—relaxed, easy. Everything is easy for him, even standing in this crowd of strangers. Marc’s selfishly glad he’s here, and quietly grateful to Pecco for orchestrating them being together. 

At the very least, Marc has something like a shield. 

“Better when you get out and practice, yes?” Valentino says. “Get the, ah, get the feel.” He’s being so attentive it’s making Marc itch, caught under the laser-beam of his focus with no escape. 

Marc swallows. Makes himself nod again. The eyes observing him narrow—and Valentino finally finally turns away. 

When Marc looks back at Pecco, he’s still staring. So is Luca. Not concern. Anticipation, maybe. 

“This was a bad idea,” he mutters to Enea, because Enea won’t care—and he doesn’t, letting out a loud laugh.

“Ah, I don’t know. Good for me. I might win this.” 

“We might win this,” Marc retorts, reflex, and Enea laughs again.

Fuck Pecco. It’s helping.

——

Valentino—fuck him—is right. As soon as the flag drops and they roll out for their practice laps, something settles, even on this plain black bike with his number stenciled in red on the front. Unfamiliar beneath his thighs, and yet he settles into it straight away. It takes a couple of laps, that’s all, before he can throw it into a corner and grin when it bites, when the rear tyre slides how he wants it to. Valentino pulls in before he does, perches on his bike to watch Luca with folded arms, but turns his head when Marc trundles down the side chute to the bike shed.

“Feels good?” Enea says, hair a frizzy halo.

“Yeah, good.”

“You hear that, Pecco? He’s going to win!”

“He usually does,” Pecco shoots back, and grins ruefully. It almost sounds like he doesn’t mind.

——

The day moves quickly: cameraphones; qualifying; a Sky crew that Marc tries his best to steer clear of. He knows he’ll be in the background, though, so he sticks close to Enea and Pecco, ignoring Bezzecchi’s glare. Valentino would be annoyed if someone caught Marc on his own, excluded.

And then—

And they’re lining up on the track, Marc steadying the bike in his hands, not looking at Valentino two spots over who’ll be swapping in the same time he does. The flag drops. Enea sprints.  

Away they go.

——

The bike feels good. Someone kind—Pecco, probably—had made some basic changes to the setup. It feels good, and it’s easy. 

Enea passed the reins over to him from second position, and Bezzecchi slid on his way out of the switch line, so Marc gritted his teeth and just—went. No one in front. A few bikes close behind, so he could throw himself at the apex of every corner, could hit the inside, could let the rear tyre kick out a warning. 

It’s heavy, all of a sudden, a thundercloud rolling in and pressing down—and plenty of people here have blue leathers with bright yellow, but Marc knows. Valentino is behind him. He pushes through the next turn a little harder. 

Corner after corner after corner, Valentino’s bike a growling hum in his ear. Hornet buzzing inside his skull. Marc almost misses the bell to start the final lap; Enea is yelling something as he streaks past that doesn’t carry.

One lap to go. One lap. He’s going to win.

And Valentino is going to look at him like he’s holding a lemon under his tongue, and even the cameras won’t be enough to stop his eyes going cold again, and—

Marc puts his foot down, as if to catch a slide. The crowd noise pitches up. Valentino pushes through on his inside.

The flag waves.

——

Valentino won’t stop glaring at him.

You won, Marc wants to howl, you won, what else do you want? He doesn’t say anything though, accepts his necklace of sausages, and tries to think of the earliest possible opportunity to leave. 

And Luca—Luca keeps glancing in his direction, eyebrows drawn together like he’s concerned, like he can sense his brother’s slow-burning anger beside him on the top step. Spark creeping down a fuse: it’s going to come to a head too soon for Marc to escape.

They let the fireworks off while Enea is pouring champagne down the back of his suit, and Marc yells, twists away, stupid fucking sausages thumping against his chest. When he opens his eyes, shivering, Valentino is still staring.

The fireworks crack. Marc blinks.

——

“This is nice,” Bezzecchi offers across the table. A harmless comment that’s like throwing a stone onto a thinly-frozen pond; the fragile peace shatters.

Everyone else is talking, laughing, eating, and it’s so loud, excruciating, against the tense bubble at the head of the table: Marc, pinned on a bench between Luca and Franky; Valentino, mouth pinched in that awful familiar way. 

“Normally it is just a barbecue,” Pecco tells Marc, gallantly ignoring the heavy silence around them. “Vale is treating us well this year.”

“To celebrate a good race,” Valentino says, voice hard. “The spirit of—competition.”

Marc stares down at his plate. 

“Was it—not a good race?” Luca says mildly. Marc wonders if kicking him is the way to go.

“I expect everyone to give their all on my track.”

“And you think I didn’t,” Marc says, too loud. Enea, further down the table, turns to look. 

Valentino huffs through his nose. “Maybe I expected too much of you.” 

“Okay.” Marc stabs his fork into a piece of salmon. “What did you expect, given that we have spoken, hm, once in the past five years?”

Pecco’s eyes widen, food abandoned as he glances between them. 

And Valentino’s lips twitch, as if to say there you are. That’s what he’d been expecting, because no one can get under Marc’s skin, splinters in nails, the way he can. “I did not expect you to fuck up on the last lap.”

“It’s happened before.” 

“It was a mistake, Vale,” Luca says quietly. 

But Pecco—Pecco stares at Marc. Pecco knows Marc. 

“A stupid mistake.”

Marc sets his jaw, something fluttering in his chest. Lion’s den. “I make mistakes all the time. I am dangerous, no?” 

Valentino ignores that. “Too stupid for you.”

Marc holds his gaze, doesn’t let it slide to the wine glass balanced elegantly in his left hand, until Valentino blinks, takes a sip, rings glinting on long fingers. Pecco exhales, as if released from a spell, and picks up his fork again; it scrapes against the plate, high and piercing, and that’s enough to break whatever hold had Marc bound to his seat. 

“Thank you,” he says, directly to Pecco. “This was nice. I think I will not be invited back.”

Pecco looks at him, then at Luca. “Marc—”

“See you at the team launch.” It’s a miracle Marc extricates himself from the bench without stumbling, feet numb from the cold. He should message Enea, apologise for leaving. Thank him for making it bearable. 

A chair scrapes behind him as he pushes through the door, out into the frigid air. Footsteps in the dirt. 

“Marc.” Valentino has been saying his name all day, and none of them have grated like this one does, this one with no one else around to hear it. “Marc!”

“I am leaving.” Marc keeps his gaze fixed on the house—he will have to ask Pecco to bring anything he forgets, will have to plead with him before the Ducati launch in ten days’ time. If he can just find the keys to his hire car—

“Why?” And even that’s sharp, like Marc failed a test. 

He groans into the night sky, breath misting, before whipping around to glare. “Why? God, I cannot fucking win, Valentino. Maybe I am leaving too early, hm? Did you want to make a speech about what a disappointment I was?”

“No.” But that expression—lips pursed like there’s something sour behind his teeth. 

“Oh, of course, I am sorry.” The laugh that escapes Marc’s throat is sharp, a barking sound. “Did you not get enough on video? To show how—what a sportsman you are. All is forgiven. How kind of you.”

“Jesus, Marc—”

“Whatever I do—” And it sticks on his tongue, stings with the threat of tears. How humiliating. “Whatever I do, you will—you will find something. I am not staying here.”

Valentino stays where he is, halfway between Marc and the outbuilding. “There are no flights until tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

“You threw the race.” It’s not—it’s different, this time, not probing, not sneering. 

“I made a mistake. I finished second.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know why—”

“Yes.” A few steps, and Valentino is close enough that Marc can see the house lights glint in his eyes. “You do. It was not a mistake. You are just clever enough to make it look like one.” 

Nausea almost sends him to his knees in the cold dirt, but Marc is well-practiced at ignoring his body’s cries. He folds his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you were going to humiliate me by giving me the race,” Valentino says, closer again, “you should have made it more obvious.”

Marc closes his eyes, bites back the frustrated yell. “You are angry that you won?”

“I want to know why you think I need your help to beat you.”

“Fucking hell,” Marc breathes. “And what if I had won? Am I a dirty rider? What would fucking—what do you want? Because last time—” And he clamps his mouth shut, cursing his own slip.

No one can do that to him but Valentino. 

Valentino, who pounces. “What about last time?”

“You were—angry. Last time I was here. And you would have been pissed off if I had said no, or if I had qualified last and fallen off. You would have—nothing is fucking good enough. So I will leave, and then at least I am just the sore loser you always thought, yes?” He should turn now, walk towards the house. He should. 

“You threw the race,” Valentino says again, and now it’s as if he’s tasting the words, finding something new in them. 

“And I should not have bothered. Because everything I do—” Marc swallows down the sting in his throat; after all this time, he still fucking cares. “You decided who I am a long time ago. I don’t know why I thought I could do anything about that.” 

It’s silent, just puffs of breath between them, and Marc turns around. He can’t be pulled back in again: he won’t. 

“Marc.”

Just—twenty steps, and he’ll be inside. Closer to safety.

“Marc.” Like a scolding teacher, an indulgent king. 

“Don’t.”

Too late; a hand grasps his upper arm, stops him in his tracks—and then drops away like it had been scalded. “Fuck, sorry—I didn’t think—”

“My arm is fine,” Marc grinds out. “I’m going home.”

“Why did you come?”

“What?”

“You did not tell me—why did you say yes?” 

Marc scoffs. “Wouldn’t want you to look bad now you are finally feeling forgiving.” 

“Oh, so you are doing me this favour instead?” The words are hot, too close to Marc’s ear. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“No.”

In, out. Breathe. 

“You haven’t asked why I wanted you here.” 

“Pecco wanted—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to, Marc.” He can—he knows how Valentino is standing, can feel it like a twist deep in his torso: knows how he’s leaning down, hands hovering inches from Marc’s jacket. “Ask me why.”

“I don’t care why.”

A laugh, ghosting against the back of his neck. Marc shivers. “So why did you come?”

“Good for Ducati.” 

“Of course.” Lips, pressed against the base of his skull, the first tense knot of his spine. 

Marc is so fucking tired. It would be so easy to pull away now, keep walking, never look back: even easier to close his eyes and sink back into him. He’s tired, so he says, “It should be easier for me to hate you.” 

And Valentino must be tired, or drunk, because his hands find Marc’s waist and he whispers, “I don’t want it to be easier.” 

“You never wanted anything to be easy,” Marc tells him, a little too aching. 

Silence, silence that pulls in everything around them: the breeze in the trees behind the track; the faint sound of laughter; the distant rumble of a car’s engine. Valentino’s hands are brand-hot through his clothes, different and so familiar. 

Silence, before Valentino moves, slips his way around so he’s in front of Marc, between him and the house now. His fingers slip under Marc’s hoodie, find the skin just above his hipbone, other hand on the back of his head. “I don’t. Which is why next time you will not give up the win.”

“Next time,” Marc echoes, absent, caught on the trail of fingernails across the back of his neck, through his hair. 

“You need to keep Ducati happy, no?”

“Of course.” They’re too close now, Marc knows it, knows he’s staring into the jaws of death. He wishes he cared more, wishes he weren’t leaning into Valentino’s hold. Wishes it weren’t coiling tight in his stomach. 

Ribbons of flesh: that’s all he’ll be when Valentino’s done with him this time. No need to carve new lines when the old scars still smart. 

“You are very fucking frustrating,” Valentino mutters, and it hits Marc in the corner of his mouth. Too close. Focused in. There’ll be no escape. 

“Always,” but he’s closing his eyes. Valentino was too close to do anything but lean forward, and he does, and Marc meets him with his mouth already open. 

——

The bed shifting wakes him up, makes him roll over and squint, before throwing his left arm over his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Valentino pauses, trousers halfway up his thighs, a loose hoodie already pulled on. “Well, I did not think it was that bad.”

Marc lets his arm fall away; Valentino is pouting, entirely unoffended. In a good mood, for now. “It was not bad.”

“Good.” And now there’s a vulpine grin being levelled at him. “You have not changed.”

Marc has, so he glowers and bites. “And you are old.”

Valentino just snorts. “I could set the fire alarm off. The meeting point is by the track. You could get to your car without anybody seeing you.”

Oh. Marc swallows, suddenly cold. “Is that—do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not particularly.”

“When I go downstairs,” Valentino says, instead of answering that, “and make two coffees, there will be questions.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Don’t you?”

And Marc thinks of Pecco inviting him, Luca watching him, Franky pointedly offering him a seat at dinner near Valentino. He smirks. “No.”

“Ah. I see.” Valentino taps a long finger on his chin. “Luca was telling me it would be good for my image, Pecco was saying it was for the team—we have been—yes.”

“Yes,” Marc agrees, then, “Do you—mind?”

Valentino drags his gaze down the length of Marc’s body, then up again. “Hm. No.”

“Good.”

“You never asked, you know.”

“Asked what?” But Marc knows. Why?

“Coffee,” Valentino says, as if he’s just remembered, and leans down like he might drop a kiss on Marc’s head before he catches himself. “Into the lion’s den I go.” 

Marc waits until the bedroom door closes behind him to bury his face in his hands. He sighs.

Despite himself, he smiles. 

[carasspice]

Blast, when you get tomato juice all over your top and the stuff drops down to your new shorts the best thing to do is get both into the wash straightaway. My sister's washer was similar to mine and I knew she was out for the day hence me being there to look after her two new puppies as they hadn't been left alone as yet.

I'd stripped down to basics as you can see and set about continuing to make a simple cheese and tomato sandwich for my lunch. I had some R.E.M. music playing rather loudly and as I was on my own did it matter?

I never heard him walk down the stairs and only realised he was even in the house when two cold hands took my hips and slid inside the back of my panties. I almost wet myself and came even closer to chopping him into as many slices as the tomatoes as I spun round with a scream.

"What the fuck?" I yelled and all he did was look at me, hold his hands out wide and grin like the fucking Cheshire Cat.

"You look gorgeous Anna, never seen you in knickers before."

'Fuck off Will, I almost stabbed you and stop gawping at my tits."

"I apologise on all counts Anna but what are you doing?"

"Making my bloody lunch, what does it look like?" Oh boy I was steaming, hadn't been so angry for years.

"Naked? Do you always make your lunch wearing ... "

"Panties, yes I know as everything else is in the wash. Happy now?"

"Very," he said as he took a seat. "do I get one?"

"One what?" I asked as my brain was in total turmoil.

"Sandwich, what else would I ask for? I'd rather have your body but ..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go fuck yourself and make your own sandwich."

"I did apologise Anna and fucking myself is not an option. I'm working from home today, didn't Marie tell you?"

"Obviously not, what would you like? For lunch of course, my body is not on your menu."

"Same as you would be great, am I allowed to stay here?"

"Pervert Will but as you've been staring at me for ten minutes I guess it makes little difference now."

"So, if I told you that you had tomato on your panties, would they go in the wash as well?

"No and they haven't, I checked already."

The weird conversation continued for a while until I placed his sandwich on the table and he made another grab for my hips and pulled me forward resulting in my boobs being almost in his face.

"I like this kitchen lark, do I get a kiss now?"

"What? After all this you put me through?"

He wasn't letting go of me and I confess that I was in no hurry to move away, his thumbs were rubbing up and down my hips as his fingers slid back inside my panties and I was gone. My resistance had disappeared faster than my panties and I was wet as soon as he released my left nipple from his mouth.

"No Will, please." I said where I really meant "take me to bed and screw me," and obviously he knew what I wanted. I also knew that my sister would kill us both if she discovered my legs being wrapped around him while he did whatever he wanted and that was plenty.

It was gone six that evening when she called me to thank me but wondered why I'd had no lunch.

"I wasn't hungry, Will had a sandwich though and the boys were such fun."

"They're lovely aren't they?" she asked but I could hardly confess to them bouncing on my ass when Will turned us over and she's asked me back again in a couple of weeks.

Will says I can wear nothing but panties any time but then he would say that, but not in front of Marie. xxx

[dragon-flies-72]

Okay I just finished watching tubbos vod on the whole situation (yes all 7 hours of it ) and my most prominent thought is just

What the fuck dream. Tubbo is the only person that is even willing at this point to acc listen to you (God knows the rest of us have stopped long ago bc we're sick of you) and he acc gives you the benefit of the doubt for half that stream of not more.

And to end it by saying "He also pretty much just said like 'Yknow Tommy doesn't like you therefore I don't like you' essentially'" (this is legit word for fucking word 5:23:47 of Tubbos VOD what he said)

What the actual fuck. That's so demeaning and throughout the entire thing he keeps making comments about Tubbo behaving the way he is 'cause of his fans' or 'Cause of his friends' like he's not his own person. As if he lacks autonomy.

It actually pisses me off and is genuinely so dehumanising. He acts as if Tubbo forms all his opinions and thoughts because other people tell him to think and act a certain way. After Tubbo is so nice to him the entire stream (and the previous stream!), he watched that entire 3h long stream willing to hear ever point you make and you act like he's some robot incapable of forming his own thoughts without the input of others???

What the actual fuck. Are you hearing yourself????

That's an insane hill to die on regardless but it makes it worse because Tubbo is actually willing to listen to you, to hear you out and provide constructive criticism that you would know had you bothered to watch the entire stream.

And you wonder why half the Internet hates you, maybe we'd be more willing to listen if you actually listened back and offered genuine apologies or if you were just a slightly better person. Tubbo deserves better treatment and you need to actually give him basic goddamn respect snd you know it.

Goodnight everyone I hope we don't have to deal with this for another couple years.

[baocean]

no rest for the wicked

chapter two - flowers & grapefruit

masterlist | next chapter

finding out your twin sister is alive after two weeks of trying to grieve her is a weird feeling.

then, finding out your brother shot your sister over money, that’s an even weirder feeling.

you’d been dragged through the mud these last few weeks. you haven’t been sleeping, haven’t been eating, your friends stopped reaching out after three or four tries.

your house wasn’t safe anymore. you flipped your shit on rafe when you found out he shot sarah. your sister, his sister. you just found out she was alive, and rafe’s trying to fucking kill her again.

now, you’re scared rafe knows you’re just as against him as sarah is. personally, you were scared. for yourself, for sarah, for wheezie. you had absolutely no idea what rafe was capable of, he just kept out performing himself.

conforming to the plan of staying alive, and after rafe scared you shitless with one of his crazy rants after trapping you in the kitchen, you went along with what he said, told people rafe was at home when the sheriff was shot, said sarah was awol.

you prayed that it would end up helping you, getting you back to your sister, getting the sheriff justice.

you’d keep out of the pogues way, half of them were batshit crazy anyway, go about your business. not anger your brother enough for him to point a loaded gun at you.

you walked the beach the next morning, wondering where sarah and john b were. they could be anywhere, by now.

it was sunrise, nothing but tourons walking their dogs and early morning runners out.

it was peaceful, beautiful. with the constant threats and reminders of what was happening at home, it was nice to get away, even for a little.

you were completely conflicted. rafe, your dad, sarah, they were your family. all of them have done bad things, including you. you couldn’t sit here and watch john b go down for something rafe did, but rafe was also your brother. ‘he needs help’, you kept reassuring yourself, ‘if he just got the help he needed, everything would be okay’.

you’d been around town, pretending everything was normal. you’d been back at the club while you watched people whisper about your sister. you also hadn’t seen any of the pogues since the party, hoping and praying that rafe had nothing to do with their disappearance.

at the same time you were heading back to your house, sarah and the rest of her friends were heading back to obx from charleston, after being reunited.

“i need to see yn.” sarah sighed, looking out onto the water. she hadn’t spoken to you in two weeks, the longest you’d ever gone without talking to one another. even the time she burnt your hair off trying to curl it, you only lasted seven days before you cracked.

“are you fucking kidding me?” jj broke the silence, everyone else simply not knowing how to.

“yes, i’m serious. she thinks im dead, jj.”

“nah, i told her the other day.” jj casually dropped, sarah giving him a confused look.

“why would you do that?”

“i thought she had the right to know. she wanted to tell rafe, but uh, guess he figured that one out on his own.” jj’s eyes flickered to sarah’s wound on her lower stomach.

“you know she’s telling people rafe wasn’t even there that day?” kiara spoke, harsh tone lacing her words.

everyone else remained silent, sarah just sighed. “i’m sure she has a good reason for it.”

“or maybe she’s just as psycho as rafe. did we ever think about that? can’t the mentally ill gene be passed down to multiple kids?” jj stood up.

“jj, just- just fucking stop, okay?” sarah fought back, forcing her blond friend back into his seat. “yn’s not perfect. but she’s not rafe. i know her, she’s not rafe.”

sarah defending you all while her heart was sinking to her feet. the thought of her twin sister defending her brother had that kind of effect on her.

you sat in your sisters room, looking at the photos on her dresser, the heap of dirty laundry in the corner, her comforter still messy from the morning when she left.

it still smelled like her, like flowers and grapefruit, like the perfume she wore.

you were relieved beyond belief that sarah was still alive, but you had no idea if you’d ever see her again.

the constant fear of what was happening, what could happen was all too much.

your breathing picked up, unable to get a deep breath of air. the world blurred around you, but you’ve had one of these before. you recognized this.

you had panic attacks the night your mom left, the few weeks after that. you didn’t have another one until you found out your sister died, that one hitting you so hard you didn’t remember the rest of the night.

and just as the tear fell down your cheek, your phone started to ring.

an unknown number, the one you had memorized anyway. why was jj calling?

you let it ring, trying to compose yourself the best you could. you were a cameron, grow the fuck up.

picking up the phone, your name was spoken before you could get a word out yourself.

your heart dropped, “sarah?”

“it’s me, sunshine.” her laugh rang through the phone, sending you into another fit of sobs.

sunshine was sarah’s favorite name for you, because in most cases, you were the complete opposite.

“oh my god, you’re here? are you okay? rafe fucking shot you, sarah. where are you?” you shot up, then realized rafe was probably in the other room, shunning your voice.

“i’m here, i’m fine. i’m at the chateau, using jj’s phone. i might come home, to talk to dad, to get help.”

“don’t come home. i can come there.”

“yea, that’s probably not the best idea right now. with you defending rafe and all.” sarah’s voice was hesitant, like at any moment, you’d snap at her too.

“sarah, i swear i don’t want to. rafe has gone off the fucking rails. we need to get him help.” you ran a shaky hand through your hair, pacing back in forth in your twin’s room.

“i know, i’m going to talk to dad. just, just stay there okay?”

“okay, i love you sare bear.” you smiled, even if it was weak. your sare bear, your sister. you couldn’t believe you were actually talking to her right now.

“love you too, sunshine.” and then the line was disconnected.

oh my god. oh my god. you were still so unsure how all of this happened so quickly.

one minute, your life is great. you have friends, money, great family, a guy to take your frustrations out on, all of it. then, all of the sudden you’re in this mess, and the only thing you have left is the cameron name.

an hour later, you were waiting outside on the patio, holding a book as a cover to pretend you busy.

you’d been waiting outside for sarah for almost thirty minutes, giving up hope that she was still coming.

you heard her before you saw her, popping up and throwing the book to the side. “sarah?”

seeing her made your heart physically hurt. she tried to smile, barely having it in her.

it was genuinely like a scene out of a movie, you felt like time was moving in slow motion.

you ran to where she has standing on the docks, colliding with her so hard you thought she’d fall over.

embracing her as hard as you could, you thought everything could finally be okay. that maybe you could be a family again, put it all behind you.

then, you heard your dad call her name.

you both turned around, and watched your dad walk towards you.

“sarah, my baby, i’m so happy you’re alive.” he weeped. sarah stepped back from him on instinct, grabbing your arm for reassurance.

a string of no’s and get back’s came from sarah, and you gave him a look.

the one thing sarah and you had in common were your eyes. you’d always been told that, actually. you guys had the same eye shape, color, lashes, everything. they always held so much emotion, unable to fully mask how you were feeling, ever.

right now, your dad had two sets of of the same sad eyes looking back at him.

“dad, cmon. give her some space.”

after a long talk, and much to sarah’s surprise, your dad did not agree or reason with her. by the time she was finished, she was crying.

“dad, i’m not coming home.” sarah said, making both you and your dad’s heads snap to her.

“what?” you breathed out, and she turned to you, a look of only sympathy painting her face.

“we’ll talk about it later, okay?” she nodded, smiled, then starting backing up towards the dock.

“then i’m coming with you.” you turned your entire body to her, raising your voice.

a tear slipped down sarah’s face, shaking her head no.

“what?” you drew out, almost mad at her that she had said no. you went to take a step forward, but two arms wrapped around your torso, forcing you back.

“i can’t let you do that, sweetie.” your dad hummed in your ear.

and with that, you started screaming, throwing your fists and kicking whatever you could to try to get your dad to let go of you.

sarah, still crying, started running towards the dock as you yelled her name.

you were sobbing now, weeping your sisters name as you watched her drive off on the boat, your dad still holding onto you for dear life.

after that, your dad locked you in your room for two days. something about your safety, who knows, you weren’t listening to him.

sarah finally got her phone back, and you ignored her several attempts to ‘talk about it later’.

sarah: yn please talk to me

sarah: i’m sorry things are so complicated right now i couldn’t bring you back to the chateau not right now

sarah: i can’t lose you too please text me back

sarah: dad called the police on john b. he’s in jail.

you didn’t answer the texts, at least, not right away. not until you got few other ones.

unknown: did you know your fucking dad was gonna call the cops on john b?

unknown: text sarah back and stop being a fucking bitch

taglist - @ethanthequeefqueen @rafegetinmybed @str4wb3rrym1lkl0v3r @cassiewritessalot @lilygrxcem @arabellamaybank @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @ineedtherapy1 @doesnt-care @imrkos @freyawhitexxx1 @bee-43 @dr3amgrlll

[phantomcurses]

Could I request headcanons for Toji, Choso, Higuruma, Gojo, and Nanami reacting to being under a mistletoe with his gn crush who reassured him that he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to please?

yes of course! (i hope you don't mind me adding suguru, i felt inspired to add him!)

toji fushiguro

boy does he get cocky about it. he really tries to make you bashful, getting in your space, to make sure that you felt flustered by the time he leaned into kiss you. he was slightly worried he took it too far when you seemed to want to get out of the kiss, letting him know he didn't have to kiss you.

he rolls his eyes at your saying that, pulling you in close to him. he gives you a giant kiss, holding your face in between his hands. he's warm and overwhelming, and you lean into it, glad you could finally kiss your long time crush.

you're thankful that there was a party thrown by shiu for celebrations, now he finally got to kiss you. he pulls back from the kiss, snickering at your flustered, blissed out look. he pulls you in for another kiss, ignoring other people who wanted to get under the mistletoe.

choso kamo

he was a little clueless around the idea of mistletoe, hence why he was confused why you were saying he didn't have to kiss you. you then explain to him why you were saying that, pointing to the mistletoe above you two. he then made a face of understanding, moving closer to you.

"don't worry, i'd love to kiss you." he says, speeding to move closer to you. it makes you happy, glad you were able to kiss choso. he puts his hands softly on your waist, dragging you in for the kiss.

it was soft, nothing you've quite experienced with past kissers. you both pull away, softly panting. "wanna stay here and keep kissing?" he asks, and you're quick to laugh. "i can think of other areas we can continue kissing." you tell him, dragging him to another area to keep kissing.

hiromi higuruma

his law firm was throwing a party, and low murmuring was all around, providing a nice back drop to kissing you under the mistletoe. he can't help but feel a little clammy, feeling embarrassed when you dodge him. he was wondering why you did so, awaiting your explanation.

you tell him he doesn't have to kiss you, mumbling apologies about dodging his kiss. you just wanted to make sure that you he wanted to do this, not because mistletoe said you had to. he was very understanding of your reasoning, but he was quick to pull you in and kiss you lightly.

you were taken off guard slightly, but happy nonetheless to be proven wrong that he did want to kiss you. you happily embrace the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. you both pull away, and you're bashful that the attractive lawyer kissed you. he's quick to pull you away into his office to continue talking the night away.

satoru gojo

he was very teasing about it, much like toji. he's talking over your mentions that he doesn't have to kiss you, pulling you in to kiss. he might tease like toji, but he's quicker to cave in and kiss you, wanting to feel the softness of your lips.

he's making sure you're pulled into more kisses, and he drags you back under the mistletoe throughout the night. it gets to the point you jokingly try to dodge him due to how many times he tries to drag you under.

you both end the night with you curled up in his arms in his room, and him kissing you any chance he could, but this time with no mistletoe instructing you to do so. (he's glad he thought of the idea of hanging up the mistletoe for this party, it really made it much more manageable to be around the higher ups.)

kento nanami

he's a gentleman through and through, about not wanting to make you feel pressured to kiss him due to silly traditions, but he was also a follower of tradition nonetheless, hence he asked to kiss you. (it's what he tells himself as a disguise as really wanting to kiss you.) you were nervous though, telling him he didn't have to feel pressured. how silly to assume that.

he tells you he would love nothing but to kiss you, but would understand if you didn't want to kiss, and it takes you by surprise. you didn't think he'd want to kiss you, but you don't waste time in kissing him under the mistletoe, loving that you got to kiss the coworker you have a huge crush on.

he revels in the warmth of the kiss, unsure if it would happen again in the future. he pulls you in tight, not wanting to let you go again. but when he pulls away from you, he's not so sure that you won't see each other again, quick to ask if you wanted to get lunch the next day.

suguru geto

he's secretive about it, and you can't figure out why he's smirking, until he points up at the mistletoe. you're immediately warm in the face, stumbling over your words to tell him he didn't have to kiss you, looking anywhere but his face.

he thinks you're cute, taking your chin in his hand and making you look at him. he lightly ghosts his lips over yours, muttering "i wouldn't have made pointed out the mistletoe if i didn't want to kiss you." he then presses your lips together harder, and you wrap your hands in his lengthy hair, throwing in the back of your mind how silky it felt.

you both pull away, and you can't help but feel flustered, never getting a kiss like that before. suguru pulls you in for another light kiss, dragging you to an empty room for more kissing to ensue, loving how much of a good kisser you are.

[butterflywomanstuff]

What do you think about the Satosugu?? And the fanbase? It’s okay if you don’t ship lol. I ship it them.

(You can still ship Satosugu. The ones who don’t misinformation and accept they are Fanon ily ❤️❤️❤️❤️.)

(Also credit most of this information from Reddit 👍 )

Well I understand why people ship them. I don’t mind it at all because that’s the whole point of being in a fandom, people will ship. The thing is there is less Satosugu fans that understand that their ship is NOT canon. A lot are just delusional and misinformation also read off TikTok. Plus they misinformation into everyone believing in it. Not all only some. People might say “why can’t male friends just be friends.” The thing is Gojo and Geto aren’t just friends and they don’t see themselves as lovers either. They are CLOSE, they are BESTFRIENDS. Gege did a great job for making them seem close and have more writing put together because in my opinion they have the best friendship writing more than men which is why ppl ship them.

Let me just “confirm” about the manga scenes in Jjk.

A lot of Satosugu would use this manga scene and say “Gojo picked up Geto’s button after he slaughtered the village and held it so hard in his hand that he bled ” that is not true. He clenched his fist so tight that his nails digging into his skin so hard that it bled. The fact is even when the author confirms something some people will still go AGAINST the author?? And the pull out bs such as “Gege didn’t say they were JUST friends” well guess what dipshit. If the author has already called Gojo and Geto bestfriends.Then there is no reason to add “just” to specify they are only friends.The use of “friends” implies between them is not romantic. Honestly it proves that they don’t know the terms “bestfriends” and think there’s always gotta be love going on.

“Gojo said ily to Geto” No. Gege said that the last words Gojo said to Geto was in the manga.

“During the stage performance Gojo said to Geto Koisheriteru to Geto” That was not confirmed, plus the play wasn’t organised by Gege. We don’t know what they said and people have been saying that they switch up their words each performance.

“But the MAPPA animators drew them two together.” That’s okay. But are they Gege? The author? No. They are fans just like you and everyone else. So it ain’t valid. Whatever extra art they draw is just fanart like everyone else. Doesn’t make it canon.

“Gojo said my one and only one.” Yes he did, he said my one and only “Bestfriend” you guys cut out bestfriends. Gojo says Geto is his one and only BESTFRIEND because they both understood each other. Gojo had a lonely life has a kid. When he was a teenager Geto came and made him have a childhood, Gojo never had. Gojo never experienced what it felt like not being used or seen as a weapon.

“Gojo recognised Geto by his scent.” It his was six eyes and he actually noticed Geto cursed energy he noticed. This scene can be interpreted in many ways but people only go for the romance.

“Koi was used alot in the jjk inventory and koi mean ily” And koi also means love and “friendship” you only use that one word “love.”

“The s2 intro was a love songgg!!!” first of all go check s2 song of the second season on JJK AGAIN! ..the writer and also singer of the song has made a comment on the first take channel saying what he was thinking while writing it ...ITS A NOSTALGIA SONG ...and it was made to be the jik opening of gojo's past arc because it fits the theme of that arc ..nostalgia ...the past ...times you can never go back to again ..youth ...what romance has to do with anything ...being bestfriends with somebody doesn't have to be romantic ...it's a different kind of love but also the same level of love …..i would love my bestfriend and my boyfriend on the same level but those 2 types of love would be different. idk what yall are about but there was nothing romantic between the two and it was shown ..sometimes i wonder if we even watched the same show ..it's okay to have expectations but to force it on the show when that wasn't intended from the author is just delusional behaviour. Shippers choose to see the ship romantic which is fine that’s shipping behaviour, but taking things a lil more and turn it into a headcanon to enjoy the ship more.

“They were inspired of a BL” I’ve seen this wayyy too many times. No. Yes Gege reads BL, that’s cool. But he never said anything about Gojo and Geto being inspired of a BL, this was just a fan interpretation. So it was not confirmed, Gege never said ANYTHING about Gojo and Geto related to a BL, this was just made up by a random fan.

“Gojo and Geto rided on two bikes which means love or it’s illegal in Japan.” First of all none of that is true. Riding on two bikes is not illegal in Japan neither does it mean love. Don’t believe everything off Google.

“But they’re soulmates!!, it’s platonic love, they’re mean for each other.” I fear, y’all don’t know what bestfriends mean. Yet again they were never confirms to be soulmates, you can come at me and say “They seem like soulmates, they showed it throughout the movie.” But was it confirmed?? No…Fan interpretation again.

“Gojo smiled at Geto when he saw him again.” Yet, no he didn’t. He knew that wasn’t Suguru because he LITERALLY said it himself and he didn’t believe it was Geto. We don’t know if he smiled or just opened his mouth in shock. Im not gonna assume anything🤷‍♀️

The fact that SOME delusional Satosugu fans will hate on you if you don’t ship saying “your probably a Gojohime shipper” or call you homophobic if you don’t agree with their ships. I know that I don’t ship anyone unless it’s confirmed by the author bcs it leads to drama.

“Gojo and Geto died on the same day! december 24 a romantic day of celebration !!” Alright? And so did Choso? And a lot of others. 24 dec in Japan is a romantic day, not celebrated by lovers. Even families, friends, etc…

“Gege said that both of their theme songs and they’re about breakup and romance!!” Gojo's theme song is Avicii's "Shame on Me" as a "breakup song" doesn't necessarily mean that Satoru and Suguru are more than best friends. It's possible that the song is simply meant to symbolize the end of Satoru's carefree youth and the beginning of his responsibilities as the strongest sorcerer. Regardless, the fact that Gege confirmed that Satoru and Suguru are best friends is the most important piece of information here, and nothing in the manga or anime explicitly confirms them as lovers. "Come back home" by Two Door Cinema Club is Geto’s theme song. Given the title of the song, it could be interpreted as a call for Geto to return home, either metaphorically or literally. It could also symbolize Geto’s desire to return to his former self before he was corrupted and fell into darkness. The song’s lyrics also mention themes of longing and nostalgia, which could be interpreted as reflecting Geto’s feelings of regret for the choices he has made and his desire for redemption. The songs doesn’t always mean their relationship it could relate to their characteristics. What you think of the song can be interpreted tho 🤷‍♀️.

Gojo’s and Geto’s body language isnt even romantic...

Thats all just a headcanon.

They mention "blue summer" which I believe what they mean to say is "Blue Spring". These words come a Japanese word called seishun which uses the kanji for blue and spring. The word means adolescence or youth.

It does not have to be romantic. Its like "one of the best times of my life" Especially before something hits you in the face with the reality of adulthood. Basically, a precious time that you thought would never end.

The song is from Gojo's POV, but it is just about his youth. It isnt romantic. The singer always refers to them as friends in interviews. Here's one you can read.

Also, OP/ED, music, merch, promo art is not canon material. It is fan service. It takes inspiration from the source matrial, but dont take it too seriously.

Sometimes they throw canon things in there but they are not all canon facts unless the mangaka says so. For example, the season 1's second ED from JJK is set in winter at the beach. We know that never happened because the manga finally reached winter in the timeline; some of those characters are MIA from the story; other characters look completely different. That person brought up 12/24... yes it is a romantic day in Japan. Gege most likely made that choice for Yuta's and Rika's pure love. Just happens to be that Geto died that day. Of course Gojo wants to bury his friend on the same day he died; the manga is based on buddhist beliefs.

Just so you know the words that are muted in JJK 0 can be heard in the Italian dub. For some reason they never muted it. You can find it on crunchyroll. Gojo says "Caro amico mio". These words mean "my dear friend". Which correlate perfectly with what Gege said a while back; about how the words can be found in JJK 0; because Gojo and Geto refer to each other as best friends.

Shinyuu is the Japanese word that is used by them.

That word that means closeness like family. The kanji in that word makes it very clear. So "my dear friend" is a great choice for shinyuu.

Nakamura-san (Gojo's voice actor) also refers to Sugita-san (voice actor of Gintoki from Gintama) as “shinyuu," which means best friends or close friends, someone you trust and share happiness with, but not in a romantic way. 青春 (Sei Shyun)

“若 時代” it means a young age, the times back in

your youthful days. It's a time when everything seems so happy and filled with hope. Of course, it can also imply that teenagers are starting to take an interest in the opposite sex. I used "opposite sex" because it typically refers to men if it's for women and women if it's for men.

Ppl on tiktok are just shipping. But i know some do believe it, but toh they are letting head canon run a little wild. They are applying western standards of queer culture to another country. They are saying a story about friendship indicates queerness because they dont watch enough anime or dont do research on eastern countries. Also, a lot of the "hints" arent even canon and are fan service. Japan knows they have fujoshi audience; they will pander to them for money.

Edit:

According to the official english jjk fanbook Gege says Gojo said the words in Jjk O. The fan translation by Shiro and Soukatsu also said that. So thats 3 reliable translation.

So imo gojos words to geto were definitely something like "my best friend, goodbye best friend, etc". Basically something with friend in it lol

Edit 2:

Theres also a theory going around that Gojo's words are

"you'll be lonely." In Japanese its "-MALUK?".

He says this to Yuta.

It would be really fitting consider gojo character arc, and loneliness is a huge theme in the manga.

If this turns out to be true, then Italian dub was

mininfremation.

Its okay if you dont want to believe in the Italian dub. I'm not claiming it is fact. I just know that dubs translate from the original source material. And it matches exactly what the ENG VA said about it being 3 words.

Coping so hard. Bby please turn off the internet for a week.

Bs like this 🤣🤣. “He would’ve made it clear they were JUST friends?” Honey, he did. But it’s okay you just need to experience what it’s like having a bestfriend. It proves you are literally going against the authors words when he just said that they were “BESTFRIENDS”. No point analysing stuff and turning Gege words when he never said any of this bs, your trying to make the ship Canon when it ain’t . Gege doesn’t need to be CLEAR for you, it’s his manga, not yours. If it’s not clear enough for you then that’s your fault. Mad that it’s not canon??? Go read Wattpad or ao3 and goon to them. Guess what, Jjk is a curse killing anime, not a romance.

(Not to all Satosugu fans ily some of them who accept the truth and don’t misinformation. You guys are fine with me ❤️❤️❤️)

[rei-ismyname]

Oh yeah it was a 100% foolish scheme that could only ever end one way. My understanding of their reasons for putting untrustworthy/historically troublesome mutants on the council was to make them (and those they have influence over) feel invested and represented by the fledgling nation. Considering the scale of the project and the problems inherent to having lifelong enemies and outsiders living side by side, there's wisdom there, I think.

Mystique brings her brotherhood/whoever's hanging out with her at the time and other 'villains' see that the promise of Krakoa for all mutants is real. Exodus brings his Acolytes, Apocalypse brings whatever doomsday cultists or Horsemen he's using, etc etc (though they left the Morlocks out again.) Sinister brings his DNA collection - crucial to the resurrection protocols - but obviously such a mistake, lol. If Chuck could compel him to gather mutant DNA and then forget about Krakoa, surely he could just take it. Even he shouldn't be that naive, and Sinister betrayed Krakoa in Moira's previous lives. He's not a lost lamb, a mutant that should be welcomed home, he's a eugenicist that colonises mutants for their gifts. They underestimated the scale and sophistication of the damage he could do.

I think another reason is that they wanted them where they could see them. If they're on Krakoa feeling like they're part of the community they're not an outside actor working against it like Mikhail Rasputin. Never mind that a bad actor can do a lot more damage in a position to power on your unelected ruling body. Funnily, this had decent success.

Apocalypse had his own agenda (of course) but he genuinely acted in Krakoa's best interest. Gorgon (the former HYDRA leader and true believer) did his job and ended up giving his life to save Krakoa and the Earth. Greycrow reformed. Omega Red (!) reformed. Exodus was one of Krakoa's staunchest defenders and was (mostly) a voice of reason on the council. It's a lovely dream on paper that had wonderful successes and very drastic failures (Sinister, Shaw, and Selene are the big three whose betrayal directly led to Krakoa's fall - but even those could have been survived if not for Enigma.)

Ironically, Mystique had no grand schemes or betrayals. She just wanted her fucking wife back - the promise of Krakoa fulfilled. She might have even quit the council if Irene had been bought back before Chuck and Mags lost her trust forever. Moira putting Destiny on par with Nimrod as a threat should have set off alarm bells, I can respect their dilemma. They need Moira so they deny Mystique, even if they said that 'eventually they deserve to know the truth.' Other than the drastic step of depowering and killing Moira, all their choices were bad there.

As I said in OP, they can't have seriously thought that the lie they went with was a sustainable one. They're arrogant but not stupid. Ironically, once Destiny was back she was an incredible ally and asset. 100% devoted to the continued existence of Krakoa (even if it's just to be with her wife forever.) Mystique was the same with the same caveat, except she'd never trust Charles Xavier again (she seems to forget about Magneto once he retires and dies - fair enough.) Every single one of Destiny's predictions was 100% correct where statecraft is concerned. As long as immortality was on the table, those two aren't betraying Krakoa. The triumvirate have no way of knowing that, but they gave worse men way more rope.

Moira on the other hand, really didn't need that much to go wrong for her to consider genocide and lose faith in Krakoa. It's unclear whether her cancer (and the mistaken belief that Krakoa gave it to her intentionally) was what ultimately pushed her to ORCHIS or whether she would have done that anyway. I suspect yes, as she wanted to be on the winning team. She was holding back the entire time and opposed Destiny for entirely selfish and insidious reasons. The irony is that before Enigma meddled with time travel and Omega Sentinel, her plan worked perfectly. That's what makes it a tragedy.

I don't really have much affection for Pre-Krakoa Moira, personally. She had plenty of red in her ledger.

Re: the misogyny, I agree in general. Pietro's paternalism and infantilising of Wanda was pretty severe. We don't get a chance to see what their dynamic was like before they were in Silver Age Magneto's clutches, but he seems to have grown out of it, as @jkjones21 said.

Historically I'd say Mags and Chuck are about as misogynistic as whoever is writing them and paternalistic in general. Their habit of calling people 'child' or 'children' (especially women) irks the shit out of me. I feel like Chuck is much worse, but I absolutely admit to bias there. Mags has definitely grown and seems to treat women as equals these days. Of course, he's been allowed to grow and Charles has not (at least not in a positive direction.)

This whole plotline is a good example of how they underestimate, belittle and manipulate women. I definitely think big two comics in general are misogynistic and that affects all characters but yeah.

Loser Husbands play with fire

From the very start of Krakoa, Chuck and Mags strung Mystique along with promises of her heart's desire - resurrecting her long dead wife, Destiny (a trivial thing, a Tuesday afternoon trifle.)

With this leverage, they had her go on secret, dangerous and seemingly neverending black ops missions. Assassinating ORCHIS scientists and department heads, stealing shit from Damage Control, killing Nimrod etc. After many, many missions (even ones she wasn't allowed to remember) Mystique had had enough, outright demanding they bring her back.

The bastards had no intention of ever following through (yes, Moira insisted, but it's still super shitty.) Never - they even had a secret rule banning precognitive mutants from Krakoa

Chuck and Mags definitely have arrogance as flaws, but this is something else. They both should know better than to jerk Mystique around. She's famously incredibly dangerous and treats laws as suggestions. Not someone you want to antagonise, and obviously she won't wait forever. Unsurprisingly, this ill-considered scheme unraveled. By the time of Inferno Mystique decided to do it herself, and not a moment too soon. The helmet bros were about to erase Destiny's DNA from the database, effectively killing her permanently.

It had drastic ramifications and directly led to Moira defecting to ORCHIS. I love the loser Husbands, but sometimes they're massive idiots.

[ambersky0319]

Me: *existing*

Guy passing me at bus stop: hello I'm bout to ruin your day *proceeds to talk to me until the bus shows up, in which time he hits on me MULTIPLE times and tried telling me what a "woman like you should do with your life"*

Me:

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 66

Chapter; Highlights, etc. (you know the drill😂)

Aelin awoke to the scent of pine and snow, and knew she was home.

Not in Terrasen, not yet, but in the sense she would always be home, if Rowan was with her.

His steady breaths filled her right ear, the sound of the well and truly asleep, and the arm he'd draped across her middle was a solid, warm weight. Silvery light glazed the ancient stones of the ceiling.

Morning—or a cloudy day. The halls beyond the room offered shards of sound that she sorted through, piece by piece, as if she were assembling a broken mirror that might reveal the world beyond

Apparently, it had been three days since the battle. And the rest of the khagan's army, led by Prince Kashin, his third-eldest son, had arrived.

It was that tidbit that had her rising fully to consciousness, a hand sliding to Rowan's arm.

A caress of a touch, just to see how deeply the rejuvenating sleep held him. Three days, they'd slept here, unaware of the world. A dangerous, vulnerable time for any magic-wielder, when their bodies demanded a deep sleep to recover from expending so much power.

That was another sliver she'd picked up: Gavriel sat outside their door. In mountain lion form. People drew quiet when they approached, not realizing that as soon as they passed him, their whispers of That strange, terrifying cat could be detected by Fae ears.

Aelin ran a finger over the seam of Rowan's sleeve, feeling the corded muscle beneath. Clear her head, her body felt clear. Like the first icy breath inhaled on a winter's morning.

During the days they'd slept, no nightmare had shaken her awake, hunted her. A small, merciful reprieve.

Aelin swallowed, her throat dry. What had been real, what Maeve had tried to plant in her mind-did it matter, whether the pain had been true or imagined?

She had gotten out, gotten away from Maeve and Cairn. Facing the broken bits inside her would come later.

For now, it was enough to have this clarity back. Even though releasing her power, expending that mighty blow here, had not been her plan.

Aelin slid her gaze toward Rowan, his harsh face softened into handsomeness by sleep. And clean—the gore that had splattered them both was gone. Someone must have washed it away while they slept.

As if he sensed her attention, or just felt the lingering hand on his arm, Rowan's eyes cracked open. He scanned her from head to toe, deemed everything all right, and met her stare.

"Show-off," he muttered.

Aelin patted his arm. "You put on a pretty fancy display yourself, Prince."

He smiled, his tattoo crinkling. "Will that display be the last of your surprises, or are there more coming?"

She debated it-telling him, revealing it.

Maybe.

Rowan sat up, the blanket sliding from him.

Is this the sort of surprise that will end with my heart stopping dead in my chest?

She snorted, propping her head with a fist as she traced idle marks over the scratchy blanket.

"I sent a letter-when we were at that port in Wendlyn."

Rowan nodded. "To Aedion."

"To Aedion," she said, quietly enough that Gavriel couldn't hear from his spot outside the door. "And to your uncle. And to Essar." Rowan's brows rose. "Saying what?" She hummed to herself. "Saying that I was indeed imprisoned by Maeve, and that while 1 was her captive, she laid out some rather nefarious plans."

Her mate went still. "With what goal in mind?"

Aelin sat up, and picked at her nails.

"Convincing them to disband her army. Start a revolt in Doranelle. Kick Maeve off the throne. You know, small things."

Rowan just looked at her. Then scrubbed at his face. "You think a letter could do that?"

"It was strongly worded." He gaped a bit. "What sort of nefarious plans did you mention?"

"Desire to conquer the world, her complete lack of interest in sparing Fae lives in a war, her interest in Valg things." She swallowed. "I might have mentioned that she's possibly Valg."

Rowan started. Aelin shrugged. "It was a lucky guess. The best lies are always mixed with truth."

"Suggesting Maeve is Valg is a fairly outlandish lie, even for you. Even if it turned out to be true."

She waved a hand. "We'll see if anything comes of it."

"If it works, if they somehow revolt and the army turns against her..." He shook his head, laughing softly. "It'd be a boon in this war."

"I scheme and lie so grandly, and that's all the credit I get?"

Rowan flicked her nose. "You'll get credit if her army doesn't show up. Until then, we prepare as if they are. Which is highly likely." At her frown, he said, "Essar doesn't wield much power, and my uncle doesn't take many risks. Not like Enda and Sellene. For them to overthrow Maeve ... it would be monumental. If they even survived it."

Her stomach churned. "It's their choice, what they do. I only laid out the facts." Carefully worded facts and half guesses. An absolute gamble, if she was being honest.

Rowan smirked. "And other than attempting to overthrow Maeve's throne? Any other surprises I should know about?"

Her smile faded as she lay back down, Rowan doing the same beside her. "There are no more." At his raised brows, she added, "I swear it on my throne. There are no more left."

The amusement in his eyes guttered. "I don't know whether to be relieved."

"Everything I know, you know. All the cards are on the table now."

With the various armies that had gathered, with the Lock, with all of it.

"Do you think you could do it again?" he asked. "Draw up that much power?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It required being ... contained. With the irons."

A shadow darkened his face, and he rolled onto his side, propping up his head. "I've never seen anything like it."

"You never will again." It was the truth.

"If the cost of that much power is what you endured, then I'll be glad not to."

Aelin ran a hand down the powerful muscles of his thigh, fingers snagging in the rip of fabric just above his knee. "I didn't feel you get this wound through the mating bond," she said, grazing the thick ridge of the new scar. A trophy from the battle. She made herself meet his piercing stare. Did Maeve somehow break that part of it? That part of us?

"No," he breathed, and stroked the hair from her brow. "I've realized that the bond only conveys the pain of the gravest wounds."

She touched the spot on his shoulder where Asterin Blackbeak's arrow had pierced him all those months ago. The moment she'd known what he was to her.

"It was why I didn't know what was happening to you on the beach," Rowan said roughly. Because the whipping, brutal and unbearable as it had been, hadn't brought her to the brink of death. Only into an iron coffin.

She scowled. "If you're about to tell me that you feel guilty for it—"

"We both have things to grapple with—about what happened these months."

A glance at him, and she knew he was well aware of what still clouded her soul.

And because he was the only person who saw everything she was and did not walk away from it, Aelin said, "I wanted that fire to be for Maeve."

"I know." Such simple words, and yet it meant everything-that understanding.

"I wanted it to make things ... better." She loosed a long breath. "To wipe it all away." Every memory and nightmare and lie.

"It will take a while, Aelin. To face it, work through it."

"I don't have a while."

His jaw tensed. "That remains to be seen." She didn't bother arguing. Not as she admitted, "I want it to be over."

He went wholly still, but granted her the space to think, to speak.

"I want it to be over and done with," she said hoarsely. "This war, the gods and the Wyrdgate and the Lock. All of it." She rubbed her temples, pushing past the weight, the lingering stain that no fire might cleanse. "I want to go to Terrasen, to fight, and then I want it to be over."

She'd wanted it to be over since she'd learned the true cost of forging the Lock anew.

Had wanted it to be over with each of Cairn's lashes on the beach in Eyllwe. And all he'd done to her afterward. Whatever it might bring about, however it might end, she wanted it to be over.

She didn't know who and what it made her.

Rowan remained silent for a long moment before he said, "Then we will make sure the khagan's host goes north. Then we will return to Terrasen and crush Erawan's armies." He brought her hands to his mouth for a swift kiss.

"And then, after all that, we'll see about this damned Lock." Uncompromising will filled his every breath, the air around them.

She let it be enough for both of them.

Tucked away his words, his vow, all those promises between them and extended her palm in the air between them.

She summoned the magic-the drop of water her mother's bloodline had given her.

Mab's bloodline.

A tiny ball of water took form in her hand. Over the calluses she'd so carefully rebuilt.

She let the gentle, cooling power trickle over her. Let it smooth the jagged bits inside herself and sing them to sleep. Her mother's gift.

You do not yield.

When the Lock took everything, would it claim this part as well? This most precious part of her power? She tucked away those thoughts, too.

Concentrating, gritting her teeth, Aelin commanded the ball of water to rotate in her palm.

A wobble was all she got in answer.

She snorted. "Faerie Queen of the West indeed."

Rowan huffed a quiet laugh. "Keep practicing. In a thousand years, you might actually be able to do something with it."

She whacked his arm, the droplet of water soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. "It's a wonder I learned anything from you with that sort of encouragement." She shook the wetness from her hand. Right into his face.

Rowan nipped at her nose. "I do keep a tally, Princess. Of all the horrible things that come out of your mouth."

Her toes curled, and she dragged her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the silken strands. "How shall I pay for this one?"

On the other side of the door, she could have sworn that cat-soft feet quickly padded away.

People gawked in the halls, some whispering as they passed.

The queen and her consort. Where do you think they've been these past few days?

I heard they went into the mountains and brought the wild men back with them.

I heard they've been weaving spells around the city, to protect it against Morath.

Rowan was still smirking when Aelin emerged from the communal ladies' bathing room.

"See?" She fell into step beside him as they aimed not for their room and ravishment, but for the hallway where food had been laid out.

"You're starting to like the notoriety."

Rowan arched a brow. "You think that everywhere I've gone for the past three hundred years, whispers haven't followed me?" She rolled her eyes, but he chuckled. "This is far better than Cold-hearted bastard or I heard he killed someone with a table leg."

"You did kill someone with a table leg." Rowan's smirk grew.

"And you are a cold-hearted bastard," she threw in.

Rowan snorted. "I never said those whispers were lies."

Aelin looped her arm through his. "I'm going to start a rumor about you, then. Something truly grotesque."

He groaned. "I dread the thought of what you might come up with."

She adopted a harsh whisper as they passed a group of human soldiers. "You flew back onto the battlefield to peck out the eyes of our enemies?" Her gasp echoed off the rock. "And ate those eyes?"

One of the soldiers tripped, the others whipping their heads to them. Rowan pinched her shoulder. "Thank you for that."

She inclined her head. "You're very welcome."

Aelin kept smiling as they found food and ate a quick lunch-it was midday, they'd learned-sitting side by side in a dusty, half-forgotten stairwell. Much like the days they'd spent in Mistward, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen while listening to Emrys's stories.

Though unlike those months this spring, when Aelin set down her plate between her feet, she slid her arms around Rowan's neck and his mouth instantly met hers.

No, it was certainly not at all like their time at Mistward as she crawled into Rowan's lap, not entirely caring that anyone might stride up or down the stairs, and kissed him silly.

They halted, breathless and wild-eyed, before she could decide that it really wouldn't be a bad idea…

… If Aelin was being honest with herself, she was still debating hauling him into the nearest closet when they set off to find their companions at last. One glance at Rowan's glazed eyes and she knew he was debating the same.

Yet even the desire heating her blood cooled when they entered the ancient study near the top of the keep and beheld the gathered group. Fenrys and Gavriel were already there, Chaol with them, no sign of Elide or Lorcan.

But Chaol's father, unfortunately, was present. And glowered as they entered the meeting that seemed well under way. Aelin gave him a mocking smile and sauntered up to the large desk.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with Nesryn, Sartaq, and Hasar, handsome and brimming with a sort of impatient energy. His brown eyes were welcoming, his smile easy.

She liked him immediately.

"My brother," Hasar said, waving a hand without looking up from the map. "Kashin." The prince sketched a graceful bow.

Aelin offered one back, Rowan doing the same. "An honor," Aelin said. "Thank you for coming."

"You can actually thank my father for that. And Yrene," said Kashin, his use of their language as flawless as his siblings'.

Indeed, Aelin had much to thank the healer for.

Nesryn's sharp eyes scanned Aelin from head to toe. "You're feeling all right?"

"Just needed to rest." Aelin jerked her chin at Rowan. "He requires frequent naps in his old age."

Sartaq coughed, keeping his head down as he continued studying the map.

Fenrys, however, laughed. "Back to your good spirits, I see."

Aelin smirked at Chaol's straight-backed father. "We'll see how long it lasts."

The man said nothing.

Rowan motioned to the desk and asked the royals, "Have you decided-where you shall march now?"

Such a casual, calm question. As if the fate of Terrasen did not rest upon it.

Hasar opened her mouth, but Sartaq cut her off. "North. We shall indeed go north with you. If only to repay you for saving our army-our people."

Aelin tried not to look too relieved.

"Gratitude aside," Hasar said, not sounding very grateful at all, "Kashin's scouts have confirmed that Terrasen is where Morath is concentrating its efforts. So it is there that we shall go."

Aelin wished she had not eaten such a large lunch. "How bad is it?"

Nesryn shook her head, answering for Prince Kashin, "The details were murky. All we know is that hordes were spotted marching northward, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake."

Aelin kept her fists at her sides, avoiding the urge to rub at her face.

Chaol's father said, "I hope that power of yours can be summoned again."

Aelin let an ember of that power smolder in her eyes. "Thank you for the armor," she crooned.

"Consider it an early coronation gift," the Lord of Anielle countered with a mocking smile.

Sartaq cleared his throat. "If you and your companions are recovered, then we'll press northward as soon as we are able." No objections from Hasar at that.

"And march along the mountains?" Rowan asked, scanning the map. Aelin traced the route they'd follow. "We'd have to pass directly before the Ferian Gap. We'll barely clear the other end of this lake before we're in another battle."

"So we draw them out," Hasar said. "Trick them into emptying whatever forces wait in the Gap, then sneak up on them from behind."

"Adarlan controls the entire Avery," Chaol said, drawing an invisible line inland from Rifthold. "To pass north, we have to cross that river anyway. In picking the Gap as our battleground, we'll avoid the mess that would come with fighting in the midst of Oakwald. The ruks, at least, would be able to provide aerial coverage. Not so with the trees."

Rowan nodded. "We'd need to march the majority of the host up into the mountains, then—to come at the Gap from where they'd least expect it. It's rough terrain, though. We'll need to pick our route carefully."

Chaol's father grumbled. Aelin lifted her brows, but his son answered, "I sent out emissaries the day after the battle-into the Fangs. To contact the wild men who live there, if they might know of secret ways through the mountains to the Gap."

Ancient enemies of this city. "And?"

"They do. But at a cost."

"One that shall not be paid," the Lord of Anielle snapped.

"Let me guess: territory," Aelin said.

Chaol nodded. Hence the tension in this room.

She tapped a toot as she surveyed the Lord of Anielle. "And you won't give one sliver of land to them?"

He just glared.

"Apparently not," Fenrys muttered

Aelin shrugged, and turned to Chaol. "Well, it's settled, then."

"What is settled?" his father ground out.

Aelin ignored him, and winked at her friend. "You're the Hand to the King of Adarlan. You outrank him. You're authorized to act on Dorian's behalf." She gestured to the map. "The land might be a part of Anielle, but it belongs to Adarlan. Go ahead and barter it."

His father started. "You—"

"We are going north," Aelin said. "You will not stand in our way." She again let some of her fire kindle in her eyes, set the gold in them burning. "I halted that wave. Consider this alliance with the wild men a way to repay the favor."

"That wave destroyed half my city," the man snarled.

Fenrys let out a low, disbelieving laugh. Rowan snarled softly.

Chaol growled at his father, "You're bastard."

"Watch your tongue, boy."

Aelin nodded sympathetically to Chaol. "I see why you left."

Chaol, to his credit, winced and returned to the map. "If we can get past the Ferian Gap, then we continue northward."

Past Endovier. That path would take them right past Endovier. Aelin's stomach tightened. Rowan's hand grazed her own.

"We have to decide soon," Sartaq declared.

"Right now, we sit between the Ferian Gap and Morath. It would be very easy for Erawan to send hosts to crush us between them."

Hasar turned to Chaol. "Is Yrene anywhere near done?"

He leaned an elbow against the arm of his wheeled chair. "Even with the few survivors, there are too many of them. We'd be here weeks."

"How many injured?" Rowan asked.

Chaol shook his head. "Not injured." His jaw tightened. "Valg."

Aelin frowned. "Yrene's healing the Valg?"

Hasar grinned. "In a manner of speaking."

Aelin waved her off. "Can I see?"

They found Yrene not in the keep, but in a tent on the remnants of the battlefield, leaning over a human man thrashing upon a cot. The man had been restrained to anchors in the floor at his wrists and ankles.

Aelin took one look at those chains and had to swallow.

Rowan laid a hand on her lower back, and Fenrys stepped closer to her side.

Yrene paused, her hands wreathed in white light. Borte, sword out, lingered nearby.

"Is something wrong?" Yrene asked, the glow in her hands fading. The man sagged, going boneless as the healer's assault on the demon inside him halted.

Chaol steered his chair closer to her, the wheels equipped for rougher terrain. "Aelin and her companions want a demonstration. If you're up for it."

Yrene smoothed back the hair that had escaped her braid. "It's not really anything that you can see. What happens is beneath the skin—mind to mind."

"You go up against Valg demons directly," Fenrys said with no small amount of awe.

"They're hateful, cowardly wretches." Yrene crossed her arms and scowled at the man tied to the cot. "Utterly pathetic," she spat toward him—the demon inside him.

The man hissed. Yrene only smiled. The man—the demon-whimpered.

Aelin blinked, unsure whether to laugh or fall to her knees. "Show me. Do whatever it is you do, but show me."

Borte said, "It's not very exciting with them tied down, is it?"

Sartaq threw her an exasperated glare. As if this were a conversation they'd already had many times. "You can be on mucking duty, if you'd prefer."

Borte rolled her eyes, but turned to Aelin, looking her over with a frankness that Aelin could only appreciate. "Any other missions for me?"

Aelin grinned. "Not yet. Soon, perhaps." Borte grinned right back. "Please. Please spare me from the tedium of this."

"And you believe them?" Fenrys asked.

Hasar patted the hilt of her fine sword. "Our interrogators are skilled at retrieving the truth."

Aelin ignored the roiling in her stomach.

"So you free them," Gavriel said, silent for minutes now, "and then torture them?"

"This is war," Hasar said simply. "We leave them able to function. But we will not risk sparing their lives only to find a new army at our backs."

"Some willingly joined Erawan," Chaol said quietly. "Some willingly took the ring. Yrene can tell, when she's in there, who wanted it or not. She doesn't bother to save those who gladly knelt. So most of those she does save were either fools or taken forcibly."

"Some want to fight for us," Sartaq said.

"Those who pass our vetting process are allowed to begin training with the foot soldiers. Not many of them, but a few." Fine. Fine, and fine.

Yrene gasped, her light flaring bright enough that Aelin squinted.

Yrene slumped back, Chaol shooting out an arm to brace her. The healer only took a perch on the arm of his chair, a hand on her heaving chest.

Aelin gave her a moment to catch her breath. To manage such a feat was remarkable. To do it while pregnant ... Aelin shook her head in wonder.

Yrene said to no one in particular, "That demon didn't want to go."

"But it's gone now?" Aelin asked

Yene pointed to the man on the cot, now opening his eyes. Brown, not black, gazed upward.

"Thank you," was all the man said, his voice raw.

And human. Utterly human.

[rivilu]

The more I think about the story through Daeran's pov the more insane i go. btw.

[storiesofaot]

To be honest, what I had in mind when it came to their ages kind of... fluctuated, haha 😂 Everything below 10 would've worked for me, I honestly did not give it too much thought - sorry!!

I see what you mean with Levi probably seeing himself as worthless. Unless Kuchel was the one who might've said something about blood not defining family in the past, or about the circumstances under which someone grows up not defining the worth of a person. And Levi repeats it in the moment (not for Hange but rather for "himself"), unknowingly causing that reaction in Hange. But here I'm just trying to forcibly rearrange stuff in order for it to work, lol!

I love the idea of the two siblings having one "ticket" to the upper world, and then Kenny being the one who lets Kuchel go there. But later on he sees it as his turn to be the "first one", to profit from the tea set. Those obligations are I guess also the reason why he "takes care" of Levi (in a shitty way, lol).

Alright, sooo... we have Kenny giving away Kuchel and Levi through the tea set, then Kuchel and Levi being brought back to the Underground by the company. Kuchel dies, the company leaves Levi to die alone as well. Kenny finds him and "adopts" him, (Levi would be aware that Kenny's his uncle?) but at some point either Levi walks away, or Kenny walks away and they are separated. Levi makes it to the surface somehow, then at some point meets Hange who is keeping a low profile since, which he doesn't know at that time, she's the child of the family who once brought him into that "pit." They have unknowingly already in the past when they were children during that key moment. After exchanging "informations," lol, they go on a Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson quest to retrieve that tea set, setting off into unknown territory, with Levi hoping to find out why exactly his mother died and about his past. Hange joins him, even though it is very risky for her, because she sees it as her chance to break free from her family? To make things right? At some point, Levi finds out about Hange's "real" identity, and he's hurt. But then, as Hange reveals that they have met before, he remembers how that child made him feel back then, and slowly the trust is rebuilt. A big final showdown with Hange having a wonderful family reunion, and Levi coming to "closure" with his past.

.... does this make sense? Did I mix it all up? 😆 It is a mess, yes, but a beautiful mess! 😂

I don't want to repost the piece of art, so here's a link to it.

But I love that drawing SO much: it's giving antique dealer Hange x antique-stuff-loving Levi vibes, who's trying to find an old porcelain cup just like the one that belonged to his mother or something like that 😭 I know, that's not even a trope but still, now I want this so bad!!

[pseudowho]

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"

Part Two linked here!

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.