#that word is starting to lose all meaning to me now

[fixated-cookies]

souljam play.... ooooo... yes... kissing, licking, borderline teasing pv without knowing that shmilk is prob also feeling all that..... omg... or or what if rubbing ur cutee pussy on pv's souljam???? his composure would drop and lose allll sense of control over himself..... this time, its your turn to please this people pleaser of a man! its about damn time HE receives the pleasure instead of giving! BTW SRRY FOR DISSAPEARING,... YOU'VE BEEN COOKING , I AM THE ONE WHO FED U THE IDEA OF CUCKING PV!!!! HEHE... I WILL GIVE MORE IDEAS FROM YOUR LATESTS POSTS... IN THE MEAN TIME, THANKK YOUUU FOR FEEDING US STARVED COOKIE FUCKERS!!!1 LUV U LOTSS /p <3333

CAN I BE 🔮 ANON.... expect me to be right HERE the very moment u post... i eat it up evry. DAMN TIME !!!!!

My mind could only focus on reader rubbing their cunt of pure vanilla souljam and shadow milk cookie feeling, whoops!!!!

SMUT INCOMING

Oh, you’ve cracked open something dangerous. Pure Vanilla Cookie, the ever-giving, ever-sacrificing soul, finally being the one to receive? The moment you press yourself sopping cunt against his Soul Jam, the very core of his being, his breath hitches— a sound so rare, so unrestrained that it sends a thrill down your spine. He's laying down on the mattress you hovering above him. golden locks splayed across the pillows, his usual serene composure nowhere to be found. He tries—oh, he tries—to maintain his composure, to be gentle, to whisper sweet reassurances like he always does. But the second your touch lingers, the moment your cunt graze the delicate jam that holds his very essence, his restraint shatters.

Hes reduced to a mess of incoherent murmurs and shaky gasps. His voice, usually smooth and soothing, now slurred beyond recognition, each word tumbling from his lips in breathy, desperate attempts at encouragement.

“Y-You’re… ah—doing so well, my lo—o… oh…” His sentence crumbles into a helpless whimper, his grip tightening onto your thighs that's around his head, unsure if he wants to pull you closer or ground himself. His vision is hazy, swimming between golden light and the intoxicating sight of you above him. His teeth are barred with drool escaping the cracks.

Oh, the moment you start grinding against his Soul Jam? It’s over.

At first, there’s a sharp inhale—a broken, shuddering gasp—as if the air has been stolen from his lungs. His golden lashes flutter violently, his grip tightening on anything he can reach—your hips, the silk sheets beneath him, your arms—as if grounding himself in reality before he drifts away. But even then, it’s useless.

His Soul Jam is his essence, his very being, and here you are, pressing against it, dragging your warmth against its radiant glow, teasing him in ways he’s never known. His body betrays him, his back arching instinctively, pushing himself further against you, chasing after your touch despite the embarrassment burning beneath his skin. A sound tears from his throat, raw and achingly loud, nothing like the soft, composed voice you’re so used to. It’s needy, desperate, and full of unrestrained longing. His hands grasp your thighs, trembling, unsure if he wants to still you or pull you closer.

“Ah—! W-Wait, I—” His words, usually so elegant, are slurred beyond recognition, tumbling from his lips in broken syllables. His mind, once filled with wisdom and kindness, is now completely fogged, drowning in the sensation of you. His eyes, his beautiful mismatched eyes—they roll back, disappearing behind fluttering lids, his lips parting in a helpless whimper. He clings to you like a drowning man, fingers pressing against your skin as if you are the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The benevolent ruler, the gentle healer, the embodiment of warmth and kindness—reduced to nothing but raw, vulnerable pleasure beneath you.

And maybe somewhere, elsewhere deep in the twisting halls of his Spire of Deceit, he crumbles. His usual grace, his theatrical poise—all gone. He’s slumped against a wall, hunched over, his body trembling with something visceral, unbearable.

Drool slips past his parted lips, his breath ragged, erratic. His fingers twitch against the cold stone beneath him, gripping at nothing, as though trying to ground himself, trying to fight against the unbearable sensations rippling through his very soul. “Gh… ahh—haah—” His laughter is ragged, choked, delirious. His head jerks to the side, forehead pressing against the wall, eyes blown wide with something akin to madness. His usual smug arrogance? Shattered.

It’s you. You and Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Your touch. Your warmth. Your—ghhh, your every move, every cruel, slow grind against that wretched light, Pure Vanilla Cookie’s Soul Jam. And Shadow Milk Cookie feels it all.

A sick, helpless groan rips from his throat as his fingers claw at the wall, as though trying to dig himself out of this infernal feeling. His teeth clench, his eyes roll back, his body trembling like a marionette with its strings tangled beyond repair.

“Damn it… haah… you… little… liar…” His voice is nothing but a whisper, a hushed, broken rasp. His usual cocky arrogance is nowhere to be found. He should be furious. He should be livid.

Instead, he’s unraveling.

And there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

---

yalll shadow milk cookie dead at 67!!!!

Anyways, these request are going down steadilyyy I can't wait to open them back up!! btw anon this was amazing you know I had to expand on this idea!!

[pitchsidestories]

bittersweet II Ona Batlle x Lioness!Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | previous fanfic I word count: 1426

summary: after their heartbreaking loss to Spain in the World Cup final, Ona gently comforts her girlfriend.

author's note: hey everyone, we hope you find this fanfic enjoyable.❤️❤️

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

A year ago, you and your team saw a childhood dream come to life, lifting the Euros trophy on home soil and making history in the process. When you closed your eyes, the taste of triumph remained, rich and sweet, as if you could still feel the rush of glory from that moment.

But now, in this heart-wrenching moment, another dream has shattered on the pitch in Sydney’s stadium. England’s hopes have crumbled, as they fall to Spain in the World Cup Final. The stars were out tonight, their light piercing the sky, yet all you could feel was the suffocating darkness surrounding you.

It was almost unbearable, watching the Spanish players celebrate. You knew they’d earned every moment of it, after all they had overcome throughout the tournament. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t stop your lips from curling into a pout. Across the pitch, your eyes met Ona’s.

"Excuse me for a second," your girlfriend muttered apologetically to her celebrating teammates, her voice barely rising above the noise before she started walking toward you.

 "Hi," you greeted her, offering a sad smile.

Empathetically, Ona began:"Amor, I—"

The sudden flashes of cameras reminded her that you weren’t alone in this moment. Instinctively, she pulled you into a protective hug, shielding you from the prying eyes of the media.

“It’s okay. Congrats,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sincerity, even as you wished, just as deeply, that it had been your team hoisting the trophy. A bittersweet moment for both of you.

A smile brightened Ona’s face, her freckles like constellations scattered across her skin. She was your universe too: “Thank you. It still feels unreal, like a dream. But you guys were a tough opponent.”

“But not tough enough to win it,” you pointed out, the weight of the words lingering between you.

"Still," your girlfriend emphasized.

Her brown eyes sparkled as she added enthusiastically, "But I promise you something."

"What?", you asked quietly, fighting to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

Triumphantly, Ona leaned in close, whispering in your ear, making sure no one could read her lips: "Back in Barcelona, we’ll win everything."

"Oni, you can’t promise that!”, you gasped.

Happily, the brunette noticed a real, small smile tugging at your lips.

More seriously, she replied: “I can."

"Winning a quadruple sounds nice," you admitted, giving her a weak smile.

Ona did her best to comfort you, her voice soft and reassuring. "I know it's not the World Cup, but it's something."

"You’re the sweetest. You know that, right?", you questioned, your voice tinged with gratitude as the defender nestled her face against your hand.

“I know.”, your girlfriend chuckled warmly, being a soft comfort in the midst of it all.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you pushed Ona away: “Ugh, you look so incredibly happy. Go and celebrate with your teammates.”

“I’m sorry, amor.”, she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

“Love, don’t say sorry when you earned it!”, you scolded her affectionately.

Ona pouted slightly: “But I don’t like that you’re sad about it.”

“I mean I’m sad that my team and me lost. But that’s part of the game we love, it’s brutal.”, you tried to put all those conflicting feelings into words. Of course, you had just missed the biggest opportunity in your life to win the win the World Cup and it stung but if you had to lose to anyone, you were glad it was her.

Ona considered you, eyes soft and the gentlest smile on her lips: “It is. But once it stops hurting, you will be proud of how far you’ve come.”

“Likely.”, you forced a small smile. “And I also can’t wait for our small vacation.”

“It will be nice.”, Ona nodded happily.

“Oh yes, for sure.”

You both stood there for a moment, lost in the promise of your time together.

Suddenly the smile on Onas’s face wavered: “Y/n?”

“Yes?”, you replied.

She turned to look at her teammates who stood on one side of the pitch huddled together and instead of celebrating seemed to discuss something. More cameras had gathered around them.

“I’ll go now. Somethings seems off.”, she said, her eyebrows knotting together.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back later.”, she promised.

You followed her gaze. She was right, her team seemed concerned.

“Now you should go though, Campeona del mundo.”, you nodded, nudging her forward.

“See you.”, she said quickly and pressed a kiss to your cheek before jogging to the other Spanish players.

You watched her for a moment, immediately feeling that the interest had shifted from you two towards the Spanish team.

Before you knew it, Alessia appeared in front of you, hands on your shoulders as she studied your face.

“You look better now.”, she said softly.

You laughed quietly: “Thanks, Lessi.”

“Come here.”

She didn’t even give you a chance to protest, she just pulled you into the tightest hug, wrapping her long arms around you.

And suddenly it started to hurt again. It was raw and burning, knowing that you failed at the final step.

“We were so close.”, you whispered into her shoulder. There were no more tears left.

“We have another shot at it in four years.”, she replied while she rubbed slow circles on your back. She wasn’t ready to move on yet, you could hear it in her voice. It was a fact but too far away to even consider yet.

You nodded: “Right.”

“Let’s head back to the team hotel and get drunk,” Ella suggested with a cheeky wink, nudging you both toward the players’ tunnel. No matter what happened, through all the highs and lows, you could always count on your friends.

You agreed, your voice low. “Sounds good.”

“Come on,” she called when you didn’t move.

You quickly reassured her, starting to walk as the stadium’s catacombs pulled you deeper into shadow, away from the harsh spotlight. “Coming.”

Inside, you felt you could breathe much easier, no longer under the pressure of the cameras trying to capture every emotion that came with losing a game. Your heart skipped when you heard your name from your girlfriends’ lips.

 “Ona?” You turned around to meet her gaze.

An almost shy smile crossed the Spaniard’s face as she closed the distance between you.: “Thought I might find you here, where there are no cameras.”

Before you could reply, Ona’s eyes widened slightly: “So, your team is leaving?”

“Yes, they plan to get drunk at the hotel bar,” you explained.

The defender’s warm brown eyes twinkled with amusement: “Sounds like a solid plan.”

“I guess you’ll make it a bit more glamorous and joyful,” you commented with a smirk.

“We might,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

Clearing your throat, you asked: “Fun. No cameras here, right?”

“No, just us,” Ona confirmed.

“Good. Before I go, I’d like to do this.”

Lips touched. It had been so long since you’d had the chance to kiss each other. You both tried to capture all the yearning and longing you’d felt during the time you’d been apart in that one kiss.

As your foreheads rested against each other, your girlfriend looked at you with hopeful eyes and wanted to know: “I’ll see you at home then?”

 Yes. It’s been a long time without you,” you responded.

She sighed, confessing: “It’s been awfully long without you, too. I’m glad we at least got to have the final together.”

“Y/n! Stop kissing the enemy. It’s time to drink away our sorrows!”, Ella interrupted with a mischievous grin.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her: “She’s not the enemy anymore. I’m kissing my girlfriend. But I won’t miss out on the drinks.”

“You can kiss her more on your vacation. Come on now,” Alessia waved impatiently.

With a heavy heart, you said goodbye: “Bye, love. Can’t wait to see you when it’s not football-related.”

“Me neither,” Ona answered, reluctantly letting go of your hand. Without hesitation, the Spaniard ran to you for one final, bittersweet kiss.

Ella grimaced: “You two are disgusting.”

“Leave them alone, Ella. We all need something positive right now.”, Alessia gently touched her friend's shoulder.

“Exactly,” you paused for a moment before adding with a chuckle, “time to get drunk.”

Happily, Ella wrapped her arms around both Alessia, and you as you made your way to the hotel bar. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Maybe the final didn’t end the way you wanted it to. And yes, that was a bitter realisation. But there was a sweetness in knowing that you’d won in other, priceless ways.  

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

fools in love

word count: 2k

summary: you and Mark have been friends for the past 12 years and have been in love with each other for 10 of them. It really sucks that you two are idiots. Luckily, your competitiveness brings you together. Finally. (@sobbingscripter, your talk about friends-to-lovers with Mark caused this to come to me like a prophecy.)

It had been a slow day of crime, with no alien invasion or monstrosity taking hold of Earth. For once, it was a normal day, and Mark wasn't wasting a second of it. 

Because today, he wasn't Invincible, and you weren't a fellow hero. Instead, he was just civilian Mark Grayson hanging out with his best friend, who he was hopelessly in love with. And you? You were just another civilian, love-struck by your best friend.

To celebrate, you and Mark had spent the day happily browsing shops. Your arms now laden with books, trinkets, vinyl, and comics to add to your collections, and despite only carrying a few bags, the ever-gentlemanly Mark laughs as you wrestle with your load. 

“I swear, if you just stand there and laugh, I’m going to kick your ass!” You gripe at him, a scowl on your face. Marks continues his laugh as he comes and grabs the bags you were close to dropping. “Let’s get back to the car, you shop-acholic.” The playful smirk on his face causes your heart to skip a beat. 

As the last few hours of the day approached, you decided to picnic in a secluded park a few miles from town. You had been there for almost two hours, doing all the usual picnic tasks. Watching the clouds, pointing out their silly shapes, and observing the ducks as they waddled and swam away. Both of you breathed easily in the pleasant spring weather. 

An unsaid dread settled over you two as you realized the day was ending. Who knows what tomorrow will be like, and who knows when you'll get to pretend to be carefree again? You watched as Mark glared at the pond, his shoulders tense. You didn't need to ask him what was wrong; his face conveyed all his emotions. Not wanting to end the day on a sad note, you rolled the dice in your mind, trying to devise something to distract him. 

"Want to have a staring contest?" Your voice drifts softly through the quiet moment. 

"What?" Mark turns his attention back to you, one eyebrow raised, wondering if he had heard you correctly. 

"A staring contest. You know, trying to see who has the stronger eyes." You shrug your shoulders.

"I don't think that's what the contest is for." 

"I think it is, but we don't have to if you're too worried about losing."

"Who said I'd lose?" 

So now your eyes peer deeply into Mark's. The setting sun casting a warm glow on his face, catching the high points of his ivory skin and making his dark brown eyes shimmer like melted honey.

It's been forty-five seconds since you started your competition—a silent battle of dominance. 

"How long until you give up?" Mark asked, his voice dripping with cockiness. The little smirk on his face only fuels your desire to win. You debate in responding, wanting to keep all focus on keeping your eyes open. But you give in.

"Do you always talk a big game, or is it only when you know you're going to lose?" You copy his cockiness with a smirk. 

"Not to brag, but I do have amazing stamina. It's like the whole thing with Viltrumites." Clearly, Mark is using all his focus to keep his eyes unblinking, too. His mind missing the accidental innuendo. 

Dropping your voice an octave, you tease him, "Amazing stamina, huh?" A flush spreads over his cheeks, and his eyes widen slightly as he realizes. "Is that you talking big game again?" 

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"So you're saying you're shit in the sack?"

"No, I'm not- I- can we stop talking about me having sex?" Mark's face burned a fiery red; you could almost feel the heat radiating off him as he struggled to regain his composure. "Can we just focus on the game?" he muttered, trying to steer the conversation away from his embarrassing slip-up. Unable to suppress a laugh, you conceded, "Alright," you said, adding with a playful jab, "but you were the one that brought it up." 

More seconds pass, and you're both holding firm. Neither one of you hinted at needing to blink. The only downside of looking into Mark's eyes this long is that it drives your mind to think of wild ideas. And, of course, you're none the wiser that Mark is in the same situation as you. As his mind races, his heart begs him to lean in and kiss you. Even just your knees resting against each other has his heart racing.

Mark does not fail to notice when your eyes droop slightly and open wider than before. He mulls over teasing you before deciding it's the best idea. Leaning in closer, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You look like you could use a break," he says, his tone light and teasing. "If you concede," he mimics you from earlier and drops his voice an octave. "I'll spare you the humiliation." It’s your turn to flush. 

"How generous. Does that come with being a Viltrumite, too?" 

"Nah, that's just the type of guy I am."

In response, you exhort air through your nose, "Oh wow. Not only do you have great stamina, but you're also incredibly generous. How are you even real?" 

"Hey! We agreed to move past that!" Mark's face scrunches up at your treachery.

You're trying to ignore how close you are to Mark, but the scent of his cologne overwhelms your senses and makes it impossible. Sure, you've been close before. Mark has carried you when you couldn’t stand from your injuries, and you've pulled him out of danger plenty of times. But this, this feels different.

A gentle breeze blows directly into your eyes, and the mintiness accompanying it gives away Mark's tactic. You gasp dramatically. 

"That's crazy! You're so worried about losing that you're trying to sabotage me!"

His voice is smooth, "I'm just breathing. No sabotage here." His tactic works, and your eyes begin to feel like sandpaper. He continues blowing gentle, minty breaths at you, and without thinking, you raise your hand to cover his mouth. 

The heat of his wet tongue, slick and warm against your skin, sends a flush creeping up your neck. Refusing to move your palm away leads to him narrowing his eyes and licking at your palm persistently, covering it with his sticky saliva. 

"Mark, that's so gross!" You exclaim, wrinkling your nose. You pray that the dramatic reaction prevents him from noticing your flushed face. You retract your hand, and Mark barks out a laugh. 

Fine, if he wanted to play dirty, you'd get messy. 

You lunge forward, hands pressing into his chest. The surprise of the action knocks Mark down onto his back, and he grunts as his back pushes firmly into the ground beneath him.

"I win!" You boast, your eyes shining brightly with no shame towards your winning method.

"You cheated!" Mark exclaimed, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Like you weren't?" You arched an eyebrow at him. "I didn't assault you, though," he retorted playfully.

The excitement fades, and in the aftermath of the thrill, you register the weight of his hands upon your hips. Perfectly positioned atop him, your hands remain spread across his chest. A shiver travels down your spine at his touch, a sensation intensified by the warmth of his hands that you travel through your shorts. Lost in the moment with him beneath you, you lean in, your breaths mingling, the intimacy deepening.

With widening eyes, a look of dawning awareness spread across Mark's face as he registered the closeness of your bodies. Leaning closer, you cause his breath to catch, and the air itself seems to vibrate with the unspoken, charged energy that hangs heavy between you. His gaze drifted to your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air between you.

Are we about to do this?

You search his eyes for any sign of doubt, but all you find is yearning. Taking the next step, you lean in and press your lips against his. His lips feel just as soft and warm as you had imagined they would. The connection between your lips feels like matching puzzle pieces, making it seem as if you were made for each other.

His right hand raises to gently cup your face, his left hand firmly pressing against your hip, and your heart pounds rapidly in response to his touch. Unconsciously, your fingers dig into the muscle on his chest; Mark feels like he could die from the pleasure of the simple action. Your lips move perfectly against his. He deepens the kiss, with his tongue gently tracing the outline of your lips. Shivers run down your spine, and your body erupts in goosebumps. You bask in the warmth of his body against yours. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment.

You're the first to pull away. Mark raises his head, attempting to keep your lips together. You're both breathless and flushed, your eyes meeting his with a newfound intensity. The world around you fades into a distant hum as you both struggle to regain your composure, the kiss lingering between you like a tangible presence. 

Climbing off of him, you shuffle back to your side of the blanket. Mark sits up, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. You both start speaking simultaneously, "So-" and "Uh-" overlapping. There's a pause as you look at each other.

Despite your best efforts to resist, a giddy smile crept onto your face, and you found Mark mirroring that same expression back at you, a reflection of your own joy. Even the distance could not diminish the intense flush of heat that colored both your and Mark's cheeks.

"Can I kiss you again?" Marks asks, already crawling on hands and knees toward you. 

"Please do." You bit your bottom lip as you watched him. 

Once he’s in your space, he kneels, and you crane your neck back to look at his eyes instead of his chest. Instead of going straight for your lips, he showers the right side of your face with gentle, whisper-like kisses, a warm, tingling sensation spreading with each touch. He switches sides. His lips slowly graze over yours, and then he’s peppering kisses all over the left. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation and how crazy it is that your best friend for the past twelve years is now smothering you in kisses.

His lips graze yours, sending shivers down your spine, and a groan escapes your lips, a silent plea for his touch. Luckily, the message is received loud and clear. His lips finally meet yours. He is gentle at first, but soon, Marks begins fervently kissing as if he can’t get enough of you. You fist at his shirt, and the world melts away as you lose yourself in Mark Grayson again.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, a sigh escaping his lips. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispers. You smile at him, eyes shining bright with adoration. “I’m sure I could take a guess.” 

With the sun’s descent below the horizon, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers swept over you and Mark, leaving you in the cool embrace of the spring night. The crickets’ chirping filled the air, a lone frog croaked from the nearby water, and fireflies blinked like tiny stars.

“I guess we should be leaving soon, huh?” You look at Mark and now feel the dread of the evening ending. 

“We can stay for a bit longer,” he murmured, breathing in your sweet scent.

So you lay under the blanket of stars, his strong arm an anchor to this moment. You felt the comforting warmth of his body and the soft, sweet pecks on your forehead.

[wandasgirl69]

Let me in—

Pairing(s): Wanda maximoff X female!reader

Summary: Wanda’s distance leaves you hurting, but when she notices, she makes it right.

Tags | content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, Wanda was a dick and then she wasn’t, established relationship.

A/N: it’s just a short Drabble, I wrote this at 3am cuz I was sad and needed comfort. Blame any mistakes on the lack of sleep!

It started gradually. Wanda came home later than usual, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. She would collapse onto the couch, rub her temples, and sigh, long and tired.

You always asked how her day was, even when you knew the answer.

“Tiring,” she would say. “Exhausting. Never-ending.”

And that was all.

No “how was your day?” in return, no lingering touch or soft smile. Just complaints about how drained she was before she retreated into silence.

You understood. You really did. She had so much on her plate, more than most people could handle. But after days of this—of being more of a sounding board than a person—it started to wear on you.

So one evening, when she sighed and dropped onto the couch beside you, rubbing her forehead as she mumbled about how drained she was, you hesitated before speaking.

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way,” you said gently. “Maybe we could do something together to take your mind off—”

“I don’t need that right now,” Wanda interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. Just final.

Your mouth snapped shut.

She didn’t notice.

You sat there, hands folded in your lap, as Wanda sighed again and leaned back against the cushions. A minute later, she pulled a blanket over herself and closed her eyes, as if she had already moved past the conversation.

But you hadn’t.

You swallowed hard and turned away, blinking rapidly as something in your chest twisted. It wasn’t just that she was tired. It was that she didn’t need you. Not your comfort, not your words, not anything.

And that realization sat heavy in your throat for the rest of the night.

—

Days passed, and the weight in your chest didn’t ease.

You still talked to her, still offered your support, but it was different now. The warmth in your voice was strained, your patience fraying at the edges. Every time she brushed you off, every time she sighed like your words were just another thing she had to deal with, it chipped away at you.

And eventually, she noticed.

Not in the way you wanted her to. Not because she saw the hurt building inside you. But because she felt the shift.

You weren’t distant. You were still there. But the space between you felt heavier.

It wasn’t until she came home late one night and found you sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV with red-rimmed eyes, that something inside her clicked.

She sat beside you carefully, testing the waters. “You okay?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Are you?”

That made her pause.

You turned to face her, expression open and raw in a way you knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore. “I know you’re tired. I know you have a lot on your shoulders. But that doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone.”

She swallowed, guilt flickering across her face. “I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you did.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not suffocating.

Then, finally, Wanda reached for your hand—the same one she had pulled away from days ago. She laced her fingers through yours, squeezing like she was afraid to lose her grip.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… forgot how to let you in.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in her words.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” you murmured. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I love you.”

Wanda exhaled sharply. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against your hair. “I’ll do better.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully sink into her embrace. The warmth of her arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it was everything you had missed. Everything you had been aching for.

“I just needed you,” you admitted softly. “Not even to fix anything. Just… to be here.”

Her hold on you tightened. “I know,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me.” She pulled back just enough to look at you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you are. You always are.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I missed you.”

Wanda’s expression softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I missed you too,”

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose. When her lips finally met yours, it was slow, lingering, an apology and a promise all in one kiss.

When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours, her fingers still tracing soft, comforting patterns against your skin.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much warmth it made your chest ache.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you reached up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing over her skin. “I love you more.”

Wanda let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Impossible.”

[onetiny-inkdropuniverse]

THIS

And also, the people they have giving the shovel talk never make any sense???

Like, Jason. My boy Jason. To Jason, Will Solace was one of his first introductions to Camp Half-Blood, the first place that becomes his home after losing his memories. Will introduces his best friend to camp. Will is a well-respected head counselor, the way Jason wants to be. Will is the only other person, other than him, to check on Nico after the Battle of Camp Half-Blood. Also, Jason literally lost his memory, didn't know gay people existed until the Cupid scene, and then was like, "oh okay cool". My guy has no concept of the shovel talk. When he hears that Will and Nico are dating, what he hears is, "Two people I like and respect are dating, that's awesome" and he's just happy for them.

Then, sometimes people have Percy giving the shovel talk. Hello??? I feel like a lot of people misinterpret the "not my type" scene as Percy being, like, genuinely offended... but he's actually just confused. After that, knowing Percy's personality, he'd probably just feel really awkward around Nico. Percy was always wary, creeped out, confused by, and guilty around Nico, and would likely just let Nico *live his life* after the Battle of Camp Half-Blood, being nice when they interact and not really doing much else. He's crazy uncomfortable around Nico. That's just how Percy is-- he meets a lot of people, and when things go south, he does what he needs to do to protect the inner circle he's loyal to and then hightails out of there. Nico is not in that circle. With all of his college stuff, Percy is highkey forgetting about him. In no universe is he giving the shovel talk to Nico's boyfriend, the guy who saved Annabeth's life!

Leo would never. Will is literally the guy who introduced him to Camp Half-Blood, and at least within the Canon (though I always felt like Leo and Nico would get along well after initially being at odds because they have a lot of shared experiences), Leo and Nico aren't that close. Would he possibly make some goofy off-hand joke? Maybe, personally I still don't see it. And if he did, then Hazel would slap the shit out of him.

Annabeth? Probably friends with Will. She's not doing it.

Piper? Similar situation to Jason. She also isn't that close with either of them when they first start dating. If she did have anything to say as she and Nico become better friends later on, she'd be wildly supportive.

Hazel? She'd be the most likely to say something out of all of them, given that she is the closest to Nico and knows the least about Will, but I have a hard time believing that, after seeing how Will helped Nico after the battle with Gaea, that she'd be at all serious. Probably just one joke, one time only. A little bit of badass Hazel, in a teasing tone, and that would be it.

And Frank? Are you serious? Not in a million years.

Shoutout to Reyna, who would probably be in a similar situation to Hazel: Most likely to make a little joke threat because she is close to Nico and not very close to Will, but after seeing Will help Nico, would not mean it with any seriousness.

If *anyone* is giving Will the shovel talk, it might, MIGHT just be Hades himself, thinking it's a good father move, and Nico would kill him after more than two words come out of his mouth.

What I would pay to see is an overprotective moment from Kayla or Austin or one of Will's close friends or something against *Nico*. Now there's something I can see happening, unless they become good friends right away.

And if anyone except Reyna or Hazel tried to give him the shovel talk, Will would actually destroy them. Don't even get me started. And again, Reyna and Hazel would not do that. Maybe a joke. But they'd be joking.

will solace angst is always so, SO underrated.

everyone has heard about how much trauma nico has gone through. losing his sister, being displaced in time, being homeless, walking through tartarus, saving the world multiple times.

will could never compete with that. nor any of the seven. but he still gets angry, maybe a little envious on how much attention they’re getting. on how they saved the world.

but none of them would be there if it weren’t for *him*.

he saved annabeth’s life. saved nico’s life, saved so many campers, held everyone together as a shining light.

and everyone ignores that!! ignores that he lost family too, that when austin and kayla went missing he was alone in the apollo cabin. that when the apollo cabin went to fight in the titan war, only three of them came back.

he’s not perfect. he blames the ares cabin partially for refusing to fight.

but he can’t be anything less than relaxed. if he lets his control slip, he cannot stop himself from dissolving.

and i just think that when the seven find out will and nico are dating, they try and give will a shovel talk and he just LOSES IT.

like how dare they think that he would do ANYTHING to nico when they’ve done so much worse. who was the one to stop nico from fading away? who was the one to strong arm him into care? who was the one to open the door to the possibility that yeah, he can stay at camp and he’s welcome?

idk will is so underrated and he is my Son

[syoddeye]

down the hatch 5 / je ne sais quoi

141 x f!reader | ~1.8k | series page tags: spanking, anger issues, big emotions, bad jokes a/n: banner by @/cafekitsune.

somewhere between swats fourteen and fifteen, a thought interrupts the fuzzy broadcast of your brain to scream—this is what gaz was missing.

the je ne sais quoi. the hate.

gaz isn’t a fan, you think, but he doesn’t loathe you. john, on the other hand? it’s almost inspiring.

if you’re going to spank someone, you gotta mean it, y’know?

the pain and shock melt into a stinging numbness. from the ragged breaths above, it sounds like john’s losing steam with every swing. big idiot probably thinks you’ll come out of this all docile, ready to fall into line like his three stooges.

you twist your head, smearing your cheek through drool, and point a grin over your shoulder.

“put your back into it, old man.”

he winds up, arm high, and holds it. “you’re a brat.”

then it comes down harder than the others, and you screech.

spots flash in your eyes when you force them open, hissing and spitting at him. “and the sky is blue, at lease i think it still is, but i wouldn’t fucking know since you won’t let me out!”

john freezes, hand raised, but he doesn’t bring it down this time. his nostrils flare, his jaw tightens. “is that why you’re acting like this? feelin’ cooped up?”

you scoff. “for starters, i’m ‘acting like this’ because four commandos broke into my house and they’re holding me hostage.”

“we’re not keeping you prisoner.”

“why else would you keep someone on the door all the damn time, then? huh? you think i don’t know what’s going on? keeping me locked in here like some fucking animal.”

he laughs, like he can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. he tightens his grip on your wrist where it’s pressed to your tailbone. “so no one else comes in.” his eyes narrow. “you want to see the great fuckin’ outdoors? i’ll take you myself.”

with that, he releases your wrist, yanks your shorts up hard, and lands one last swat for good measure.

you roll over, ready to throw out a colorful comment, but he cuts you off, thrusting a finger down at you.

“no more hidin’ in here. i expect to see you at breakfast. at all meals. got it?”

you get why he’s in charge. the less-fun type of screamer. a permanently angry dad.

still. you won’t sit comfortably for a week.

you raise a hand in mock salute, throwing on a chipper tone. “yes, sir. understood, sir.”

john looms for a second longer, red-faced and breathing heavy. makes you think you’ve earned round two, but instead, he turns on heel. he flicks the light, stomps through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

someone snickers through the duct tape plastered over the vent. assholes.

the urge to cry wells up out of nowhere, tickling your throat and stinging your eyes. you choke it down. you haven’t cried since the early days, and you won’t start now. not over some egotistical, power-tripping has-been.

so, you take it out on your pillow. punches first. then screaming.

nobody laughs at that.

the next day, you slink into the kitchen. gaz elbows soap before he can say something stupid, and you grab your share of the canned corned beef hash. you eat at the end of the counter, ignoring them all.

when john finally shows, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. the bruises on your ass throb at the sight of him.

miserable fucker.

they discuss their plans. ghost and gaz are heading out on a scavenging trip with a list of parts to gather for communication equipment they apparently looted off of corpses. they’ll be gone a few days.

soap’s on maintenance. closest thing they’ve got to an engineer. figures. he’s the only one curious—or dumb enough—to stick his hands into wires and pipes. not a surprise, considering where else you’ve seen him stick his hands.

john declares he’s on ‘babysitting duty.’

you don’t look up. not even when all attention shifts toward you.

you stab a chunk of hash and chew instead.

as the others head off, john lingers. hovers. too close. invading your space, the wretch.

“when you’re done, get dressed. sleeves and jeans, if you got them.”

when you don’t respond, he bends and angles his face into your line of sight. that big, stupid smile stretches, lifting his cheeks and squishing his eyes. and ghost called you unsettling.

“if you don’t want to go outside, you can scrub the latrine. make yourself useful.”

you roll your eyes, hating the surge of interest. you didn’t think he was serious about that offer.

all you have for bottoms are leggings. your jortcraft apparently shortsided. you shove socks into the toes of a pair of men’s boots and dig out an atrocious ask about my wiener schnitzel shirt. 

john gives you one long, judgmental once-over that says everything. he would’ve thrived as a retail sales clerk in the before times. but he deems you ready.

the hatch is a sight up close again.

that first day, it took you hours to free yourself from the bunkroom where the austrian locked you up. of course, your first instinct had been to get the fuck out, but you’d felt the heat radiating off the bulkhead. decided you liked having hands. skin and eyeballs. you don’t think you could’ve opened it alone, anyway.

nerves. a mild case of bubblegut. too many feelings for just staring at a damn door.

john breaks a sweat turning the wheel, muttering under his breath about ghost closing it too tight. you bite back a laugh when his shoulder pops, and he groans like an old man.

the laugh dies when the first sliver of real light you’ve seen in months filters in.

it burns.

it only opens wide enough for the two of you to slip out, and just as you step forward, john stops you.

“wait here. i’ll whistle.” 

you hadn’t really noticed the firepower he was packing when you followed him to the entrance. too busy imagining how you could poison him with dehydrated eggs. the handgun looks small in his grip, almost like a toy, but his expression is anything but playful. you thought he was serious before, now he looks deadly.

he rounds the edge of the door, disappearing into the light and up the short flight of steps. his footsteps fade.

a minute stretches out.

then, a whistle.

shielding your face as you climb the steps, you figure this must be what astronauts felt like returning to earth. 

(shit. you hadn’t thought about that. was anyone still up there?) 

the crusty puddle that used to be your neighbor is easy enough to avoid. squinting ahead, you spot john waiting near the garden gate. you glance back, staring into the entrance of what’s been your home for months. and just like that, you can’t help but wonder how your actual home is doing.

you haven’t thought about your rental in a long time. like after a fire or flood, there came a point where you had to stop. let go. you were already going crazy, no need to add fuel.

so what if your beloved magnet collection is goo? your baby photos dust? your grandmother’s ring? your mom’s guitar?

it’s fine. dandy. peachy keen. what are physical belongings, anyway?

chin high, shoulders squared, so cool and unaffected, you approach john. that act crumbles the moment your gaze shifts. while the austrian’s house is as charred and wrecked as you expected, beyond it…

devastation. ruin as far as you can see. broken and burnt buildings. pulverized cars. rubble and debris everywhere. 

john carries on like it’s just another beautiful day in the neighborhood, quietly narrating his plans as he scans over the fence. “thought i’d take you a street over. saw a clothing store. could look for some things that fit.”

you don’t really hear him. you’re too busy marinating in the awfulness that surrounds your hidey hole. and even though you already know what to expect when you finally, slowly, turn toward where your block used to be, your jaw still drops.

all those stupid crunches and jumping jacks finally pay off. pure, unadulterated instinct.

you duck under john’s outstretched arm and break into a run. painful, considering your bruised glutes.

john’s yelling behind you—definitely obscenity-laced, probably a threat, he’ll probably kill you—but you don’t hear him.

doesn’t matter.

you only stop when your legs give out at the end of the street, collapsing into a jog, and that’s when he catches you. scruffs you like a dog.

you’re pointing, blabbering nonsense, brain short-circuiting as you gesture wildly at the fucking crater where your building used to be.

john doesn’t entertain your mental breakdown. his head’s on a swivel the whole time he drags you back. gaz and ghost are already there, standing with their packs. soap, too. he’s the one who hooks an arm around your middle to help john corral you inside.

déjà vu hits hard. big hand over your mouth. bad breath whispering in your ear.

you hope soap doesn’t take it personally when you knee him in the balls at the bottom of the entry steps before tearing off into the bunker. 

even if he doesn’t, john sure as hell does. 

because he’s hot on your heels, and he catches the door when you get to your room.

“what the hell were you doin’? you could’ve been seen, could’ve been shot at—”

your head’s a mess. a whirlpool, no—one of those shitty carnival rides that spin until someone pukes. you don’t even know where it’s coming from. you’ve been cool. good. kept your shit together for months. made peace with the fact the world was over. it’s not like the austrian scooped someone beloved off the streets. not like anyone would’ve been looking for you.

but seeing every trace of your little life wiped off the map?

that’s a different fucking story.

john’s on a rampage. blocking the exit, watching you pace. “you’ve compromised our location. we’ve been careful with our entries and exits, and you—”

it’s their fault. all of it.

if they hadn’t come along and cracked the bunker open, you could’ve died here. in peace. from starvation. oxygen deprivation. whatever the cause. maybe a month from now or years down the line. crazy, delirious, probably a full-time nudist, but at least ignorant. in the dark.

a hand touches your shoulder. you violently shrug it off, spinning on john.

his face is no longer red with anger but something else—concern? pity? gross.

there’s spit on your lips. you’re hoarse. so much for keeping your cool. you’ve been screaming at him.

three seconds of blistering humiliation. then you’re shoving him, harder than you should. must be adrenaline, because he goes with it. you slam the door.

then, silence.

you stand there, breath ragged, waiting.

waiting for him to knock. to kick the door down. to shout through the crack.

but nothing comes, just the shuffle of boots moving away.

you press your forehead against the door, fists clenched tight. your stomach twists with something unfamiliar. distant, almost forgotten. even before all this. 

regret.

[leashybebes]

However— well, is Tommy a reliable narrator to himself? Sure, Eddie basically stopped talking to him, but what about Tommy? Did he also delay replying to the 118 so that the time between messages stretched out? Did he think they were only trying to be nice by keeping in touch with their teammates’ ex (never mind that he was Hen and Howie’s teammate first) and he’d prefer to not have their ‘pity’ and cut them off (again)? Did he cut them off preemptively and doesn’t see it that way because if he did then he’d have to also face the fact that he’s a little messed up? We probably don’t have time for them to delve into all of this on screen but it’s interesting to chew on. For reasons.

(Chim gets a pass for the post-throat slashing time of no contact because he was… let’s say preoccupied.)

oh 100% hang on let me get my coffee

okay, SO. mr unreliable narrator over here, mr enjoy it while it lasts, is never going to be the one with the full picture, because he sets it up that way - intentional or not, i feel like tommy is someone who has his view of the world and his role in it and just quietly, fatalistically makes that happen.

so i can totally see a world where no one from the 118 reaches out, full stop. but, y'know, phones work both ways, thomas. BUT. for tommy, that's buck's family. they're buck's people. (and look, my wife has a much closer relationship with her family than i do, and a much larger circle of friends, and it took me WAY longer than six months to start feeling like they were our people, not her people i got to hang out with through her.)

we know that tommy's a jealous guy, and we also get the sense that he's pretty fatalistic, so if no one reaches out, i can see that landing for him as "well, obviously. they never really wanted me around, of course i was never gonna be part of that" and just exacerbating his envy, but also his sense that that chapter of his life is Over Now. i can see the lack of contact from hen and chim actually not stinging that much (or tommy telling himself it doesn't sting that much, genuinely believing that, my king of unexamined feelings) because they're not friends, right? chim calls him when he needs a favour, but they're not close. he's not on hen's christmas card list (and that's genuinely fine, i mean zero shade to anyone involved here. they were friends by the time he left the 118 but for all we know they were mostly or entirely work friends). so i can see his internal monologue about that, his confirmed belief being 'well, hell, i wasn't enough for them to want around on my own merits before, why would i be now'. (again, this is not shade on hen or chim. phones work both ways and my special little guy is fucked in the head.)

eddie's gotta sting a little more because they were friends, right? actual friends. but if we're taking tommy at face value, then we have to assume he feels some kinda way about being friends with eddie once he and buck are together. i don't think he actually thinks anything is happening/has happened/will happen with buck and eddie, but we do get this delicious hint with that little scoff about eddie's straightness that maybe tommy has experience of that queer classic - losing years of your life being besotted with your ride or die straight bestie (sal!!!! but uh. that's a separate post.).

i lost my thought. wait. okay, so i think one of the fundamental mismatches is that for six months buck was in an x-rated rom-com and tommy was navigating something unbelievably fucking complicated because talking? communicating? who does that when you can just make up a scenario and stick to it like your life depends on it. (worth noting there's no way that scenario ends well for him, but uh, that's why i love him. go listen to settle for me from crazy ex girlfriend lol)

i can ALSO see the other part of what you said. tommy says eddie 'pretty much' or 'basically' (can't remember the wording right now and not in a position to check) stopped talking to him which does leave room for some contact. (it could also be read as a kind of deflection of the ouch of it all but ymmv.) so i can see a world where eddie sends a 'man wtf happened?' message which...tommy's not going to reply to that. he's just not. but changing the subject immediately is too obvious so he has to wait a while to say something innocuous, and it just kind of fizzles out.

whatever happens, whether it was zero contact or intermittent, declining contact, my special little guy, my world champion runner, my sad sad man was 100% thinking 'yeah, that tracks'. we definitely don't have time for the show to delve into that, and honestly it's not really that kind of show so i wouldn't expect it, but rest assured i am C H E W I N G

[biblical-chronicles]

Play pretend

__________________________________________

where pretending to be a couple evolves into summat more.

__________________________________________

Noel and you had always been close. The kind of close that came from years of bumming smokes off each other, late-night conversations about nothing, and a general understanding that you could take the piss relentlessly and it wouldn’t change a thing. There was nothing romantic about it, not to either of you. But somehow, Liam had gotten it into his head that there was.

“Noel, mate,” Liam had said one night, leaning against the pub doorway with a pint in hand, watching the two of you talk. “I’m not stupid, y’know.”

“That’s debatable.” Noel muttered, flicking ash from his cigarette.

Liam ignored him. “You and her.” He nodded between you, his eyes narrowing. “I see it. The sneaky little looks, the whisperin’. You think I don’t notice, but I do.”

You laughed, assuming he was joking, but Liam wasn’t even smirking.

“It’s alright,” he went on. “Dunno why you’re actin’ all secretive, though. S’not like I care.”

That was what did it. The casual dismissal implicating that it wasn’t even interesting enough for him to be properly bothered.

You and Noel had exchanged one look and immediately knew how to proceed.

It started small. A smirk here, a whisper there. Nothing obvious, just little things to keep him on edge. You’d lean in close to Noel while he was rolling a cig, murmuring something too quiet for Liam to catch, then snort a bit too loud when Noel responded. Liam sat across from you, and would narrow his eyes and mutter a confused “What?”

Noel would shrug, flicking his lighter open. “Nowt, mate.”

Then you’d both smirk at each other like you were sharing some deep, dark secret, and Liam would shift uncomfortably, clearly trying to decide whether he could be arsed to ask again.

The next time, you took it up a notch.

You made a point of whispering to Noel in the middle of conversations now, just enough so Liam could see but not hear. Sometimes Noel would glance over his shoulder before saying something, as if making sure no one else was listening, then shake his head like it was too risky to share. Other times, you’d excuse yourself from the table, and just as you disappeared from sight, Noel would stand up a few minutes later and follow.

Liam was losing his mind.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he burst out one evening, slamming his pint down. “You two are fucking pathetic, y’know that?”

You and Noel turned to him, both playing dumb.

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“I mean, if you’re shaggin’, just say you’re shaggin’!”

Noel, with impeccable timing, chose that exact moment to place his hand low on your back as he shifted in his seat.

Liam looked like he was about to combust.

“Fucking hell, I knew it!”

By this point, you and Noel were struggling to keep straight faces. Noel especially with his smirk so wide it was almost a giveaway.

“You’re losin’ it, r'kid,” he said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Proper paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” Liam scoffed. “Mate, you’re all over ‘er!”

You shrugged, resting your head against Noel’s shoulder just to push him further. “Dunno what you mean, Liam.”

Liam groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

Noel then dramatically sighed and turned his head toward you, to then murmur a quiet, “Reckon we should tell him?”

You tilted your head, playing along, biting back a grin. “Dunno… reckon he’s ready?”

Liam’s jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack.

Noel smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. “We’re gettin’ married.”

Liam actually choked. “What?”

Noel shrugged. “What can I say, you got us.”

You held up your left hand, a small silver band sitting on it. “Got a ring and everything.”

Liam stared.

Then he slammed his pint down, stood up, and walked away without another word.

As soon as he was gone, you and Noel collapsed into laughter.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you gasped, wiping your eyes. “He bought it!”

Noel grinned, shaking his head. “Told ya he would. He’s a sucker for a proper scandal.”

You just looked up at him. “Y’know, at some point, we should probably let him off the hook.”

Noel exhaled a long sigh, then smirked. “Yeah, yeah. But not yet.”

With that you settled back against the worn pub booth, still catching your breath from the earlier laughing fit. Next to you, Noel was also smirking, drumming his fingers against the table like he was already plotting the next way to wind Liam up. But then, his fingers stilled, and his smirk softened into something a tad softer.

You felt the small shift too.

Maybe it was the way his arm had ended up slung over the back of the booth, his fingers brushing your shoulder without thought. Maybe it was the way you’d instinctively leaned into him when Liam stormed off, the way he hadn’t moved away, the way he never did. Or maybe it was the fact that all this pretending didn’t feel like pretending at all.

Not really.

Your stomach flipped, but you played it off, glancing at him with a teasing lilt to your voice. “Y’know, you’re enjoying this a bit too much.”

Noel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re not?”

You shrugged, feeling suddenly too aware of the space—what little of it there was—between you. “S’fun, yeah. Feels… easy.”

His eyes flickered over your face, the teasing edge in them dimming into something softer. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.”

Noel shifted in his seat, turning to face you better, his knee knocking against yours. “Maybe that’s ‘cause it ain’t pretendin’,” he said, almost like he was testing the words out, rolling them over in his mind before letting them settle between you.

Your breath hitched.

He exhaled through his nose, something like a chuckle, but softer. “You ever think about it?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Us?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

You could lie. Brush it off, make a joke, keep up the game. But you didn’t want to. Not now.

“…Yeah,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

Noel’s lips twitched, something knowing passing through his expression. “‘Maybe’,” he repeated, tilting his head slightly. “That’s all I get?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Alright. Yeah, I have.”

His smirk returned, but it was different now, almost shy. He lifted a hand, slow like he was giving you time to pull away, and brushed his knuckles along your jaw. The rough scrape of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

“And?” he prompted.

You swallowed, glancing away for half a second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again. “‘And’… reckon I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes.”

Noel’s thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, barely there.

Then, he leaned in.

He didn’t rush it. Just closed the space between you inch by inch until his nose bumped against yours, his breath warm against your lips. He gave you a second, one last chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

You closed the gap.

The second your lips touched, his fingers slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you slowly.

When you finally pulled away, he was grinning, properly grinning, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Guess we don’t need to clear it up to Liam, then.” he murmured, his nose still brushing against yours.

You huffed a laugh. “Dunno, the poor lad believes we’re getting married.”

Noel just nuzzled into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another just below your ear. “Let him.”

__________________________________________

so sorry for the late updates lately, I just am all over the shop, but hope ya like it xx

reminds me of how Noel apparently moved furniture around inch-by-inch over a long period of time to make Liam believe it were ghosts.

[noxiatoxia]

okay, i’ve been obsessing over your komaeda translations and i must know… given the unsure way he talks in the japanese (lots of filler words), does his dialogue change much after he learns the truth? late ch4, i mean. when he starts being condescending to everyone. i’m also very curious about his big speech about wanting to be called the ultimate hope

Hello, anon! Thank you for the message and interesting question! And thank you for the patience!

So, there's three questions here if I'm understanding:

Does Komaeda's speech pattern (sounding softer and using filler words, or generally downplaying his words) change later into ch.4?

When Komaeda starts rambling about hope, does he speak more clearly and more confidently?

What is the nuance in Komaeda's "hope" speech on the laptop?

I will answer all 3 in this order.

(Also, for anybody confused.... here's my post talking about how Komaeda uses filler words, and here's my post talking about how Komaeda's speech was deliberately changed during the earlier beta to make him sound less confident in himself.)

So, question number one:

1. Does Komaeda talk more rudely, use less filler words, or talk more assuredly in ch.4?

Hmm...I don't think so. He still uses honorifics for everyone (-san for girls and -kun for boys), he still uses sa and ne to the same amount, and he does not seem to devote any sort of rude speech for the most part. It is only his words that change, and not the way he speaks them.

My memory is horrifically bad, so please keep that in mind...I asked my friend @kaiokentimesten for help, and was provided with a good number of lines he remembered from ch.4/5 of Komaeda saying rude things, and I looked them up in the Japanese version. All lines were said in his usual speech formations, so there was no change. Again, the words he spoke just happened to be ruder, but they were said in the same tone.

I will show an example.

KOMAEDA: おっと、安易にハムスターを例に出すと、 脱落した彼に怒られちゃうかな? KOMAEDA: Oops. How clumsy of me to use hamsters as an example. Do you think that loser* would've gotten mad at me if he were still here?

*Komaeda does say "dropout" and it's used for people who have been eliminated in a game, or failed a test/exam/otherwise didn't "make the cut". I just think "loser" works better as a translation.

Nothing changes about Komaeda's speech here, he talks the same as he always does. He's just saying meaner words.

(I don't know where the translators got "weakling" from...that's nowhere in the text.)

The only exception I can think of is the beginning of Trial 4. Souda remarks they talk about the murder weapon, and Komaeda three times goes, "Ha?"

It's a funny scene, but significant because, as far as I know, this is the only time Komaeda uses this word.

(I could be wrong, but I'm totally coming up empty right now...please correct me if I am!)

は ha, is very rude. It means "What?" or "Huh?" but is a very rude way to say it. People like Kuzuryuu and Oowada love using it, and Hinata uses it a fair amount, although even Hinata - who's whole design philosophy, as pointed out by the SDR2 artbook, is to be more masculine and ruder than Naegi was - uses え e more often.

え e, うん un, ん nn, あれ are, are more casual but non-rude ways to say "What?"

Komaeda always used one of those first four from what I can remember, or simply 何 nani, which is probably the most neutral way to say "What?"

So to see Komaeda use this is surprising.

This is different than ははは, はっ, or あはは which are normal laughing sounds.

Oh, before we move out of Chapter 4, here's a mistranslation I want to point out (or, less mistranslation, more very direct translation where the joke is lost in English).

KOMAEDA: じゃあ、始めようか。シンキングターイム...ってヤツだね。

Komaeda isn't a stranger to randomly injecting English words into his speech - a quirk that I feel is used to show he's a bookworm/otherwise intelligent (that's just my thought) - and in those instances, instead of translating directly (because using English in English loses the nuance that using English in Japanese does) I would replace it with bigger, more obscure English words.

But this is actually not one of those times.

Another thing Komaeda is no stranger to is making random pop culture references. He does it more than you would think for a character like him.

While "Thinking Time" isn't a reference to any specific Japanese media per se, it's Japanese game show lingo.

For example, a tough question is given to the contestants, and they have 30 seconds to think of the answer before being forced to give one. These 30 seconds are called "Thinking Time".

I don't know the English equivalent. I know there's a countdown timer in stuff like Jeopardy and Minute to Win It, but I don't think they say anything. Sometimes it's "You have [x] seconds, good luck!" Or "and...start!" or suchlike.

I guess in that case, this line is better localized as:

KOMAEDA: Let's start! You have 30 seconds on the clock...good luck!

(I chose 30 seconds because that's how long the "Make your Selection" part lasts maximum).

2. When ranting about hope, does Komaeda speak more clearly, more confidently?

Yes!

In scenes like post- Chapter 1 trial, where Komaeda monologues to the audience for a few minutes before being knocked out - where he is rambling on and on - his speech is noticeably smoother with less pauses or filler injections. I would also venture to say the way he speaks makes it sound like he is stating facts, that he is very confident in his assertions.

3. Komaeda's Hope Speech on the laptop

Firstly, I want to point somethings out...unrelated to the hope speech itself, but just fun to note.

The garbled, loud noise you hear sometimes where Komaeda is speaking is not gibberish (listen here, volume warning). For whatever reason, the English version did not have Bryce Papenbrook record lines for this, and still uses the Japanese version.

It doesn't reveal any new information, sadly. And I can't make out the second one...but it's highly likely in that line I linked that Komaeda is saying 希望は絶望なんかに負けないんだ or "Hope will never lose to despair."

When it comes to the scrambled text...I've never been much of a decoder, but I can point some stuff out.

For one, I'm 99% sure the Japanese team probably provided the translators with the full, unscrambled text so they could better translate it.

That said, it's not impossible to figure this out.

<まじむかつく+超Ｙさしい２こんなにEEものｇ１０２＄うRしｓ～＝～＋いｄｓねうれOｒｚ』

まじむかつく is a term that means "extremely irritated" hence "seriously pissing me off".

The + is the same in both version, I assume it means "and".

The next part needs a little explaining. In Japanese, all consonants (for the most part) are followed by a vowel. on a Japanese keyboard, if you do not finish typing the character, only the consonant shows up.

for example, な is "na". but if you only type the n and don't follow with the a, you get ｎ.

There's a lot of Japanese slang based off this. To type ん you have to type "n" twice. so, a slang form of konnichiwa (こんにちは) is shortened to こん, konn. But it got shortened even further to こｎ.

so, 超Ｙさしい requires a bit of guesswork, as there are several sounds that start with "y", like ゆ yu, よ yo, や ya. the さしい at the end tells us it's an adjective.

超 in this case means "very", like "very expensive" or "very awesome".

Likely, Yさしい is やさしい, which is either "kind" or "easy".

This makes 超Ｙさしい either "extremely kind/nice" or "extremely simply/easy".

Official translators wrote it as "hella nice", aka "very kind".

Beyond that I start to get bad at this xD I don't know where they get "I can't believe something odd like this is only $102".

The 2 may be に, as 2 in Japanese is pronounced に(ni), and に is a particle.

I think the ＥＥ Is to be read like いい (ii) in Japanese. And the ｇ might be が (ga)?

超やさしいにこんなにいいものが１０２＄

こんなにいいもの would be "Such nice stuff" or "Really good stuff".

が at the end could be "But..." or "However..." but if the 102$ is connected somehow, then it may be an object particle.

Maybe it's "Really good stuff gotten easy for $102"

But that isn't fully true to the official English version, so maybe they were provided with more clear words to translate from. Like I said, I'm no good at codes.

The last part is easy though. うRし follows the same rule as before. うれし Ur(e)shi(i), which means "happy". I don't know what the "s" is, since it seems the sentence picks back up at いｄｓね, as うれしい is the full word. "d s" is probably d(e)s(u) with the ne particle at the end. うれしいですね, which means "I'm happy!"

And I'm guessing Orz is the emoticon.

Okay, sorry for rambling. When it comes to the actual speech, there is something interesting to note, albiet small.

The English version is correct in its translation, and the only thing I have to offer is the nuance behind how Komaeda makes his requests.

He says stuff like, "Respect me" "Praise me" "Build a bronze statue of me" and such. And he requests all of these by saying ～てくれ ~tekure.

I don't think Komaeda ever uses this outside of this speech. てくれ can be seen as rather rude. Though the formation looks like an imperative (very rude), it is not, since at it's core, てくれ means you are asking someone to do something for you, not ordering them. It is still the rudest way you can "request" something though.

It's not as severe as Komaeda yelling 黙れよ (damare yo) in 2.5, but it's close behind.

It does show he is being very callous and assertive in this scene, truly a 180 from him being casual but still respectful. This sort of demanding request tone coming from Komaeda is surprising, I feel.

Otherwise...there isn't really any nuance to add, I'm afraid. The speech is rather straight forward and the English version translates it well.

I hope this answers your questions!

[vampirq]

free use . praise . dom ! abby . (this was for a req, but i deleted it on accident . mdni

the door to your apartment opens, signifying abby’s return. a wave of excitement washes clouds you, you’ve been waiting for her to get off work for what feels like forever. so you stand in the kitchen, cooking up abby’s favorite dish, and wait for those familiar muscular arms to wrap around you. 

but something wasn’t right. 

abby didn’t announce her presence, nor did she walk over to you. she just drops her bag on the ground with an exhausted sigh, and marches into the shared bedroom. anxiously, you shift on your feet, taking longer to season the food, doing anything to drag out the time of her coming over to you. but luckily, she finally did.

her arms wrapped around your waist, her face slotting in the crook of your neck. “missed you, abs,” you whispered with a smile. “making your favorite food ‘nd everything.”

she lets out a small hum, holding you tightly and pressing soft kisses along the column of your neck. it’s sweet, domestic. the two of you standing in the kitchen— swaying side to side as you chopped the vegetables— well, until you feel her bottom half press against your ass. 

the bulge in her pants causes your mouth to run dry. that comforting feeling being replaced with something more carnal. abby’s soft kisses turn angrier and the grip she has on your waist tightens. you stutter her name, but she shushes it with her words. 

“jus’ need you for a bit, baby. need this pretty pussy.” 

you nod hesitantly, feeling your panties grow sticky with your arousal. she guides you to a clear counter, then pushes your neck down so your cheek is flushed with the countertop. she tugs at your shorts and you feel them fall to your feet, leaving your cunt bare and exposed. 

abby marvels at the sight, her thumb running over your folds and circling your clit. “you gonna let me fuck you? take my cock and be a good girl for me?” she questions, but doesn’t let you answer. already pushing down her pants and letting the tip of her strap glide through your slit. 

you let out a moan when she plunges into you. it’s deep, your pussy colliding with the base of the harness. she stills for a bit, letting you adjust to the filling sensation. then, she starts moving at a sloppy pace. it’s hard and fast, pouring out all of her stress into fucking you. 

“mmh, haah— ab-abby, too much, i can’t—“ 

“hm? it’s too much, baby? but i thought you wanted to be good for me.” she lowers herself onto you, her breath tickling your ear. “just take a little more. you can do that, yeah?”

strings of her name pour out of your lips, earning praises from abby. she moves her hand to your hair to make a makeshift ponytail, while her other hand grips your hips. her rapid pace changes to something more deeper, harder. every connection of her hips to yours elicits a sharp smack. 

you feel as if you’re losing yourself—mind going blank, the only coherent ‘words’ being her name and pleas. the tip of her cock kisses your g spot so perfect that your legs begin to shake, your body melting against the counter. 

“gonna, gonna cum! ah—ahhh, fuck!” your walls clamp down onto her, your juices coating her strap in a sea of white. you grip on the counter to stabilize yourself, but nothing helps because abby doesn’t stop. 

her brutally deep pace continues to pound you through your orgasm. the feeling of overstimulation washes over you, making you squeal and claw at her abdomen. 

“baby, please. i can’t take— haah, nnnh— can’t take it, too much.” your words are a jumbled and confused mess, but your protests mean nothing.

her hand tugs on your hair tighter, the other coming down to land a firm smack on your ass. “c’mon baby, i know you can. been such a pretty slut for me, it’d be a shame if you’d stop now.” she whispers, her voice, her words they all tangle around in your head, and it gives you no choice but to submit to abby. 

and that’s exactly what you’ll do, letting her pound and use you for however long she needs.

[lovelynim]

Kremnoan words

Honkai: Star Rail - Mydei x Phainon

A/N: Just before I started pulling for Mydei's LC and banner, I said: "if I lose my 50/50, I'm writing lee!mydei, if I win, it's lee!phainon".

This blonde bastard took me 100+ pulls to get him, so now he is paying for it

Also, kudos to @/otomiyaa and @/dokidoki-muffin for helping me come up with the plot behind this fic!

Summary: There isn't a kremnoan word for 'fear', 'retreat' or 'romance', but is there one for 'tickling'? Well...

Word count: 2179 words

[Also on Ao3]

“So, what was all that noise from your room yesterday?” Mydei asked bluntly and directly, making Dan Heng choke on his drink and Caelus freeze on the spot. They couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, lacking sleep or just wearing his naturally intimidating facade, but it would be better to not push their luck. Again. “I could hear it from across the bath house.”

“W-what?” Caelus gasped sheepishly, trying to sneak a glance at Dan Heng in the hopes of catching a hint or two of what he should say next. “I don’t- no, I mean, c-can you be more specific?”

Mydei frowned, making Caelus flinch with just a look. “The rustling and stomping noises. What were those? Were you two fighting among yourselves in the departure hour?”

Oh.

Oh.

Dan Heng sighed, wiping the drink off the corner of his lips while Caelus let out a nervous chuckle. It wasn’t as bad as he thought, after all, just a small nuisance. “Oh, that, hahah… ahm, we were just fooling around, I guess?”

Mydei didn’t seem convinced as he arched an eyebrow and looked over Caelus’ figure to check the other man’s reaction. “Fooling? What kind of foolery makes so much noise?” He scoffed, but couldn’t deny the pinch of curiosity inside of his chest that made him want to pry into Okhema’s guests' privacy a little more.

“J-just playing!” Caelus chirped, hoping to suffice and ease Mydei’s curiosity this time, “I tickled Dan Heng and he tried to run, so I chased him and we kin-”

He couldn’t really be bothered by the story, it wasn’t like he actually cared about any of it. While he was just planning to let it go at that point, one word in particular captured Mydei’s attention again. “What’s that?” Mydei interrupted, his facade relaxing and turning into a genuinely curious one. “T-ticouded? Tic-tick- what?”

This wasn’t the first time that Mydei came across a word he didn’t know. The kremnoan and okheman languages weren’t so similar, Caelus and Dan Heng also had a whole glossary of their own that neither he nor the other heirs could understand some times. That word, however, had a sense of familiarity in it - as if he had heard it before somewhere, but he was still unable to picture or figure it out.

“Hm? ‘Tickled’? You don’t know what that is?” Celsius cocked his head to the side, leaving the previous topic to dust and quickly shifting to the new one. Mydei nodded at his question.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s, uhh…” Caelus looked over to Dan Heng again, as if checking his morality compass before deciding the tone of his answer. Dan Heng would probably give it a short, but honest answer, and would most likely suggest that Caelus did the same. Still, that was Caelus being asked, not Dan Heng. “Tickling like… fighting, but with no weapons. Like, with your just fists, you know?”

Dan Heng slapped his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief. Mydei, however, raised his eyebrows with realization dawning on him. “Ah, I see,” he hummed pleased, “so it’s some kind of battle?”

Caelus smiled, mostly from the excitement of having successfully tricked Mydei. “Yes, you can put it like that, but you don’t ‘tickle’ someone to hurt them. Like, I tickle Dan Heng all the time and he is still in one piece!”

“Caelus!” Dan Heng gasped, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks when he was dragged back into the topic.

“What, I’m not lying, right? It’s not like I’m hurting you when I tickle you.”

“Fight, but with no intent to harm?” Mydei repeated to himself while the couple went on with their bickering. As he tried to wrap his mind around this new concept, some other episodes from his stay in Okhema started to make sense.

There was, indeed, no kremnoan word for a thing like this. Fighting was taken very seriously in Castrum Kremnos, from their elders and rulers to their students and offsprings, a ‘play-fight’ would never be considered a thing. Mydei nodded to himself, guessing this was just another senseless costume, but content to be able to understand it.

…………

Two days later, that conversation wasn’t anything more than a single memory lingering in the back of Mydei’s head. Right now, as a matter of fact, he had just a single thought in there: best Phainon in each and every way possible.

It was hard to tell what sparked the flames of competition between the two of them this time - it could be related to fighting off the titankin, escorting some scholars or just buying groceries faster than the other -, but it was clear that they were stuck at their usual dilemma: a tie.

“I expected more from you, deliverer,” Mydei boasted, keeping his chin up high as he strolled through the bath house, making his way to the heroes’ bath. “You barely put up the challenge this time.”

Phainon giggled, shaking his head. “If I tried any harder, I wouldn’t be able to see you think you stood a chance,” he picked up his pace, trying to get at least one step ahead Mydei while pressing his shoulder against Mydei’s.

“You’re worse as a liar than as a loser, deliverer,” Mydei gritted his teeth, pushing back with a little more strength, almost enough to throw Phainon into the waters of the nearby bath. “You say that when you’re clearly worn out, admit it.”

“Hahah, you didn’t get to see me worn out yet, Mydei ~” Phainon smiled, letting Mydei take the lead and following him soon after, “should we decide the victor through another match? That is, if you’re still able to have another one.”

“Fool, it’s me you’re talking about,” Mydei chuckled, locking his eyes with Phainon’s as they stood on the platform to head up to the heirs’ private bath. “Name it and I will best you under your own terms.”

Phainon couldn’t help but grin, standing just before Mydei. He took his hand to his own chin, pretending to contemplate on something. “Hmm, shouldn’t you pick it this time?”, he suggested, the platform reaching the upper floors with a gentle thud. “I’m feeling nice today, I’ll even let you pick if you promise to not make a fuss over it when you lose.”

“HKS…” Mydei hissed, dropping a plate of his armor as he prepared to get into the water.

Aglaea already scolded them once for using the baths in their matches, so it shouldn’t be a good idea to do anything related to the water and its properties again. Mydei also knew he shouldn’t be drawing his weapon against Phainon there, so a clash of might would not be recommended as well.

Ignoring the noise from Phainon’s rambling, probably trying to tease him for taking too long to think, an idea suddenly came up to Mydei’s head - one that wouldn’t require weapons or a different terrain. In fact, they could probably get to it right now and then if he remembered the details correctly.

“Deliverer,” Mydei called, his back resting against the bath’s edge while he wore a confident, commanding smirk on his lips. “I challenge you to a tickle, then, right here and now.”

“...A w-what?” Phainon scoffed, faking a cough as he tried to hide his reaction and compose himself. What was up with that pronunciation, anyway? “You mean, like, a… a tickle fight or..?”

“Don’t play an even bigger fool, deliverer,” he hissed, frowning while the response was far from what he expected, “you know what I mean, a tickle.” Mydei pouted slightly, biting the inner side of his cheeks.

“R-right, it’s just- aha, I didn’t expect you to suggest it… do you even know what it is or..?”

“HKS!” Mydei interrupted, covering any uncertainty with his overwhelming presence, “do you take me for a moron? Why wouldn’t I know what a tickle is?” He boasted, making Phainon quickly bring his hands out of the water to wave them in front of his chest.

“S-sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Phainon spoke in a rush, trying to calm the raging beast before him. Once Mydei had settled back into his corner of the bath, Phainon moved closer, noticing how wary the kremnoan was. “Let’s… take turns, then,” he suggested, knowing it wouldn’t be of any good to try to correct whatever concept of tickling Mydei had up in his head right now.

“Turns?” Mydei repeated, arching his eyebrows. ‘You can take turns during a tickle?’, he wanted to ask, but of course he wouldn’t voice such a thing. Phainon simply nodded.

“Yes, yes… just so we can settle it without making too much of a scene,” Phainon hummed playfully, already sitting by Mydei’s side, “we keep going until the other taps out, then whoever lasts the longest wins. Good?”

“Hm,” Mydei nodded, confused. With the current idea of ‘tickle’ he had in mind, there was no way Phainon could win something like that, but if the deliverer was so eager to step into his own grave… Still, there was a problem: Mydei wasn’t really sure of how one should perform it.

What if he messed up? Maybe there were right ways to “tickle” against someone. He had never heard of such a thing in his hometown, so what if he messed it up now, with Phainon of all people? Well, Mydei smirked, there was an easy way out of this problem. “You can go first,” he said confidently.

“Oh? Feeling confident now?” Phainon smiled, cocking his head forward to have a better look at Mydei’s face, “aren’t you scared I’ll win again?”

“There is no word for ‘scared’ in the kremnoan language, HKS, and you didn’t win before - just like you won’t no- agh!” Mydei gasped, finding himself pinned as Phainon was suddenly straddling his lap.

He leaned his head back, trying to increase the distance between their faces as Phainon’s hands rested over his chest, fiddling with the soaked cloth of his robes. “You know,” Phainon giggled, looking down to Mydei’s body, “now that I think about it, I’m not sure if this is fair… I don’t even know if you’re ticklish.”

“T-ticklish?”

“Mhm, you know what it is, right? Since you know what a ‘tickle’ is,” Phainon smirked, his palms rubbing down Mydei’s chest, his hands descending towards his toned stomach. His fingers began to wiggle, to flutter, gently tracing the hard muscles and then prodding at his sides. “So, do you have a word for ‘tickle’ in the kremnoan language?”

“H-HKS,” Mydei hissed, gritting his teeth and pressing his jaw shut while that weird sensation took over his body. This was not what he expected! What part of this was a barehanded fight?! That disgraceful outlander! “W-what- ahah- ngh, what ahare you-”

“I’m tickling you,” Phainon mused, clearly excited and glad that such an opportunity fell right into his hands. His fingers were becoming bolder, tickling Mydei’s ribs and then dragged his short nails over the wet skin, “but if it’s too much for you, I can stop.”

“B-bahaha- baseless slandeher!” Mydei felt his cheeks getting warmer while he gripped at the edges of the bath as hard as he could to keep his hands where they were - trying to stop whatever perversion this was would surely mean to admit defeat. “S-suhuch a futile t-trihihial is fitthihing for a hyena like y-yohou!”

“But you are the one to choose it, no?” Phainon giggled, making Mydei’s cheek turn a bit redder while he tickled his ribs, his touches a bit more rough as he tried to draw the stronger reactions out of him. “I don’t mind, you seem to be having fun, heh.”

“S-shuhuhut it, HKS!” Mydei threw his head back, hearing just a faint chuckle coming from Phainon before his own laughter filled the room. Titans, what was happening?!

He couldn’t understand why he felt like laughing, why his body was begging him to cover itself. The feeling was so much different than the pain he built his body to endure, but so much more overwhelming at the same time. 

Mydei arched his back off the edge of the bath, trying to avoid Phainon’s fingers drilling between his ribs and, sometimes, into his armpits. His laughter was just as loud as a lion’s roar - fitting, if you asked Phainon, who seemed to be having a blast out of this whole situation.

“Oho, you’re doing really well, Mydei! I think it’s been a minute already, should I keep going?”

“D-dohohon’t undeheherestimate me, HKS!” Mydei hissed, flashing Phainon with a fanged smile, his jaw pressed shut as he challenged the deliverer with a single look. “T-thihis is nohohothing!”

“Great,” Phainon nodded, pushing his hands under Mydei’s arms and tickling both at once, finally earning the reaction he was looking for. Phainon couldn’t help but laugh along the desperate, loud cackles from Mydei, seeing how his hands nearly pierced through the marbled walls of the baths. “Let’s see how much it takes to crack this immortal body of yours ~”

[scoobydoodean]

I see people saying there is evidence dean is bi all the time but I don’t see it? he only sleeps with and kisses women

Maybe I shouldn't, but I'm going to take this ask in good faith, and assume that you're either very young or very straight. Two general comments first of all.

First, if you are in fact looking for someone to fight with about "proof" of Dean's bisexuality, I don't give a shit. I think bi dean and acespec dean are fun and enjoy thinking about them and I think there is plenty of ways to build out narratives on these. I am not going to bandy words with someone over whether they think Dean is bi or gay or straight or whatever and what does and doesn't count as queer "evidence" because that isn't what sparks joy on tumblr for me.

Second, I'd be remiss not to point out that treating kissing or sleeping with people as the only way someone's sexuality can be known is a very narrow view. Bisexuals are always bisexual—not just when they're in same sex relationships. Under your sexuality test, someone who's never had sex or kissed is automatically ace, because there's no evidence that they've acted on attraction to others in a physical way.

Thinking from a bi perspective, your test ignores that socially, expressing attraction to the opposite sex openly is accepted in a way that expressing attraction to the same sex simply isn't (and DEFINITELY wasn't in 2005). No one will bat an eye at you for going on a date with someone of the opposite sex. But if you go on a date with someone of the same sex, you take on the risk of that being a problem for some of the people around you. It might be a problem for family members, an employer, neighbors, people in your local community, a stranger who you pass on the street, friends you grew up with, etc—maybe even the government. It's easier in a lot of cases to avoid mentioning your sexuality, and it's actually easier to find people of the opposite sex to date since most people are heterosexual. So you will often just not mention your sexuality, and while not necessarily being closeted (though that definitely happens too) just let people assume (as they often do) that you're straight until/unless you hit it off with someone of the same sex. Bisexual people almost always realize they're attracted to the opposite sex first, because they're socialized that way, which also means they can typically mask their sexuality more easily.

Your test also ignores censorship. What society perceives as socially acceptable impacts what you see in media. Openly queer characters were not common when Supernatural first began airing, and even now, a lead is very rarely queer, and it's nearly unheard of (until 911 like a year ago afaik) for a main character to be explicitly revealed to be queer late into a show's run, because networks care about profit and are afraid of losing mainstream audiences. As times change, those concerns mellow out, but the 2000s were absolutely steeped in homophobia and it was perfectly socially acceptable to hate gay people, think people of the same sex shouldn't be allowed to marry (still pretty common thinking tbh), and to believe that same sex romance is a form of sexual deviancy akin to pedophilia and incest and that it should get you thrown in jail or into a treatment center. That's the world Dean Winchester—a drifter who is already looked on with suspicion and would do well to avoid drawing any further attention—finds himself in, and it's the world that Kripke and the other writers knew when they started writing. Execs were not going to greenlight a bisexual lead. And they also weren't going to greenlight explicitly making a character bisexual late in the show's run because they'd fear losing mainstream audiences.

So if the only thing you'll accept as evidence of someone's queerness is kissing or sex, then Dean will never be queer to you and there's no "evidence". But if you're actually willing to think more critically about the queer experience and censorship, there's a reason that Dean can easily be read as queer and why it is incredibly common to perceive him as queer.

One of Kripke's inspirations for Supernatural was Jack Kerouac's "On The Road". Dean was named after Dean Moriarty, a bisexual man in the book. The book itself was originally censored by publishers to omit Moriarty's bisexuality. You can still read the censored version, or the "original scroll" that is uncensored. Considering that Kripke named Dean after a bisexual whose bisexuality was omitted for publishing, it isn't at all unreasonable to conclude Kripke was inspired by more than the road trip aspects of the story and this character study of Moriarty.

Add that Dean has multiple interactions with other men feel flirtatious (look at Sam as contrast), that Dean tends to have very deep and emotional bonds with other men (again in sharp contrast to his brother), and that Dean says things that lend to queer readings constantly. I have a bi dean tag--#swayze always gets a pass if you'd like to see what I've collected (note this is a tag for dean's overall sexuality which means I include his interactions with women as well, and haven't actively gone about seeking out gifsets and such to add to it as much as i've reblogged stuff that crosses my dash for the most part) but more specifically, we could look at:

parallels of Sam with women and Dean with men

Dean's infatuation with Dr. Sexy (coupled with mocking from Sam about Dean being a girl), it being made very clear that Dr. Sexy is the one Dean is infatuated with when he clocks the absent cowboy boots, and even how Gabriel tries to become his fantasy.

Look at Dean's bashfulness! Romantic harp music plays over Dr. Sexy's approach.

Dean giving three people the "last night on earth" speech

Dean looking appreciatively at a soldier in uniform

Dean helping Charlie flirt with a man after she explicitly says she can't flirt with a man because she's gay.

Kripke's comments on what Dean would be romantically attracted to in another person

Dean's gay thing and Ben Edlund and Phil Sgriccia making commentary on it.

Fun deancassie/deancas parallels

Cas lives in Dean's ass (and when Cas starts to deny then falters?)

Dean mentioning that he believes Bert and Ernie are gay, then immediately swearing Cas won't die a virgin.

Triplets

Crowley and Dean's summer of love

Dean's affinity for dorky little guys

That's very non-exhaustive, but some of the things I think are fun.

[whateven333]

FROM as a show is so special because it's one of those rare instances where the most disliked character that the fandom finds to be annoying for any and all reasons... is a white man. Instead of doing the usual thing where the most hated character is a woman who is over-hated for even the most minor misstep (with the underlying real reason being misogyny). And I just think that's so beautiful, so thank you Jim for being mildly but consistently irritating. The world is healing ❤️

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[crossbackpoke-check]

about to be sooo nosy so. my apologies. but. morgan frost? girlfriend? do share (or don’t! again this is so nosy i’m sorry)

for legal purposes i can neither confirm nor deny anything about morgan and his girlfriend but afaik i think he’s single right now? at one point (within the past four years 😭) he did for sure have a girlfriend and that is the extent of my wag knowledge

[martynsimp69]

Are you a fello bigslab shipper

late 2 answer this bc ive been so busy and i wanted to write up a whole thing abt the post bu the tl;dr is that i got invested in bigslab bc of an au with my partners that involves them with a rly fun dynamic. i just havent seen it anywehre else but now im like dang. i should rotate them more