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dovesndecay · 2 years

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I'm trying very hard to reconcile my own personal instinct to recoil from people being encouraged to try homeschooling with my own knowledge that the American education system is designed to be inconsistent, abusive, and beyond substandard. I do completely understand why people want to pull their children out of it.

But as someone who fell into the cracks between Homeschool and Formal education, I sincerely caution parents seeking to homeschool their children to be very careful in how you go about it

There are laws governing who can and how you can homeschool that differs from state to state. In some places, you can be any ol' Joe Blow off the street, pull your kids out, and teach them whatever you want. In some, you have to have a background in education, or you have to teach a specific curriculum. And in others, there's a mix between the two extremes.

Sometimes you have to keep and send transcripts, and if you continue the process through to "graduation", there may be no standard for issuing a graduation certificate that they can use in the future as proof of education. My diploma that tells employers I have the minimum education in the US was printed off of Google in 2009.

In Louisiana, at least in the late 90s/early aughts, all you had to do was let the school board know you intended to provide education at home, register a "school name" and then re-send that registration each semester.

I was pulled out of school in the year 2000, iirc, following a move from New Jersey to Louisiana, where I was actually significantly behind due to the differences between the grade curriculum in each state. In NJ, I was learning the times tables for the first time, and in LA, we were supposed to be dividing fractions. And then, Katrina hit, and we moved around a decent amount, and for the years between 2005 and 2009, I think I just didn't exist as far as the educational system was concerned.

I was a fat undiagnosed neurodivergent queer biracial kid with heap loads of trauma, and the struggles I experienced within the formal education system were absolutely hugely informed by those aspects of my existence. I was being bullied for all the reasons, struggling with my neurodivergency that made all my schoolwork so damn hard, and my family -- already fairly outside of the societal norm in a number of ways, while fitting in perfectly well in others -- did not have and was not provided with the resources to effectively ensure an accessible and consistent form of education for me.

The education system in the US is not just one type of failure, and taking it into your own hands, in my experience and the experiences of many other formerly homeschooled adults, may not do more than give your child a new form of educational trauma.

I cannot do more than the most basic addition and subtraction in my head. I do not have a comprehensive understanding of American, let alone worldwide, history. Science? I got nothing. People talk about learning from the "School of hard knocks" but no, really, I had to learn a lot of practical life skills and knowledge through fucking up and hoping for the best until someone was kind enough to help me out.

(If you've been here on my blog for more than a minute, you might think to yourself, "Reyah, that's still true" and sweet honey baby darling, you're not wrong lmao)

I am lucky enough that my parents are very educated people, were always willing to talk about things with me, and I learned concepts very well through discussion, so I was able to pick up a lot of the skills and knowledge I needed to survive as an adult essentially through social and cultural osmosis. But there's a lot that I missed out on, and struggle as an adult to rectify. (And I'm not even going to pretend that there isn't a lot that I had to unlearn.)

So instead, I exist as someone failed by the educational system in a country that, in my opinion, nearly deifies diplomas to an unhealthy degree (no pun intended), and there's a lot of trauma tied up in that.

To make it super clear: College websites give me panic attacks, and there was a period of time where I absolutely browsed those sites as a form of self-harm. (I no longer do this, I promise)

And I want to be incredibly clear that I am not saying that our children should simply continue to be suffering under these incredibly abusive systems, or that you shouldn't give homeschooling an honest to goodness attempt. Especially if the public system is unsafe for your child.

I don't blame my parents in the slightest for the situations we were in during my childhood because I can pinpoint the specific systems that failed my family every step of the way. Education, healthcare, employment, housing -- none of those systemic failures are the personal fault of my parents doing their best in a country that was not designed to actually help people in need.

I also cannot say that I would have been "better off" staying in public school. Maybe I would have been in some aspects, and worse off in others. I know several recently-dropped out young adults that did so due to a hellish combination of abuse, bigotry, insufficient or outright being denied accommodations for disabilities, and more. I can't say that I would have had a better experience than them, or even a particularly different one, if I had remained enrolled.

I have a good friend, only slightly older than me, who had a very similar experience to mine who is now a college professor, and is still unpacking the traumas of his experiences. I cannot sing his praises enough -- he's probably the main reason I feel remotely confident talking about this at all, let alone in a public forum. I have a lot of personal shame wrapped up in my lack of formal education, and his ability to be open about his schooling history has greatly informed my own to an incredible degree.

I hope that talking about my own experiences with homeschooling will give parents the opportunity to avoid putting their children through similar trials to mine, whether by seeing the pitfalls early enough to detour or by seeking other means to provide safe and accessible education to their children.

If homeschooling is something your family is genuinely interested in pursuing, I would ask that you seek to work with local teachers, your libraries, mental health professionals, and seek out the experiences of homeschooled adults. Especially from those who have similar difficulties to your child.

Most importantly: Listen to your kid, and if they can't advocate for themself, for whatever reason, you need to be prepared to step in for them. (Even against yourself, sometimes.)

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writerbuddha · 6 months

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Tbh I'm kinda sick and tired of people saying that the Jedi were "wrong about attachment", or that "Luke showed us that the prequel Jedi were wrong about everything", or whatever. I know everyone has different interpretations, but to claim that it's canon or that "this is what this person said" is really annoying.

If these things would be obvious to most people, the world would be a far better place than it is now, so the fact that many people are not getting them in Star Wars is not surprising at all. That's the world we live in, so we have to deal with it. ¯\_(��)_/¯

I always try to see each person who says, "the Jedi were wrong about attachment", or that "Luke showed us that the prequel Jedi were wrong about everything", or the like, as someone who is unaware of the lessons Star Wars gives us on love and attachment, that are able to help anyone to live a better and happier life, to love genuinely and more fully. So, even if it's sure frustrating sometimes, I try to keep in mind that what matters is to help those lessons to be clear. Even if some people won't like it, at least they will know about it. And that's enough for these lessons to start to work in someone's life, even if it will be a long, long, long process.

As for those who insist on the idea that their misinterpretations are "canonical", they're either struggling with reading comprehension or projecting their personal life into the movies (I see that all the time).

Or for whatever reason, they need to deny that George Lucas' Star Wars was meant to challenge their preconceptions, worldview, ways of thinking and how they relate to the people they love. I mean, some even tried to insist that George Lucas cannot speak English, so what he says is not what he means to say. And with the same breath, they insist, they're loyal to Lucas' vision. That's not a healthy relationship to Star Wars. I try to follow the "if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them" guideline in their case - there is a lot going on there.

#Star Wars fandom #star wars #fandom problems

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howl-fantasies · 1 year

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I have a request for headcanons of the Gotham rogues having met the Y/N when they were ig sane aka. not evil and then awhile after just seeing them at Arkham, now knowing they went down the same pit they had.

At least they can be a new rogue!

( I'm thinking of them liking each other romantically beforehand and then Y/N poof is now not sane- like oops but you can still date 🤷‍♀️ )

Hi dear, thank you for your request! And so sorry for the delay! I like the concept, it's a really plausible one. The idea of them meeting each other again in Arkham and bonding because of their common misfortune and spiralling to hell is a very good one! *Barbara vibes here*😂

I made scenarios with the reader being friend or sort of with the villains first, since I thought it would be fitting, I hope it's ok for you dear. I went with: Ed, Oswald, Victor and Jonathan. Tell me if you want to read more headcanons with other villains.

So here it is:

Warning: violence, blood, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, Arkham (hey, it can be traumatising, ask Oswald and Ed), English is not my first language I'm working on it.

Word Count: 3.685

GOTHAM VILLAINS HAVING MET THE READER WHEN THEY WERE SANE

EDWARD NYGMA / THE RIDDLER

You were Kringle's coworker and met Eddy at the GCPD.

Even if you worked with the other woman you were never really close, mostly because of the awful way she treated Ed at first.

Even if he was a dork, you used to find him endearing and always gave his riddles a shot, succeeding or not to answer correctly.

If you were good at riddles, Ed would immediately become your partner in riddle-crime, always searching for a good one able to stump you.

If riddles weren't your forte, he appreciated your effort and gentleness. You really were trying and he really loved the spark of comprehension in your eyes when he would give you the correct answer and how you would facepalm and curse at how obvious it was when you were thinking about it.

Your closeness would earn you a lot of teasing from Jim, Harvey and the other cops, most of the times it would be mean remarks targeting Ed, though.

But you both knew the truth: Nygma was still obsess with Kringle. You, on the other hand, always had a soft spot for him. You didn't need to be a genius, though, to know your attraction for dear Ed was only a one side one. So you never told him anything about it.

When Ed started to lose it, you truly were horrified. Why? How? What was happening to him? You did your best to team up with Jim in order to bring your lovely co-worker back to you.

You already know the result: it will be an epic fail. For Jim, you and finally Ed who will be send to Arkham.

Then, your own little descent into hell happened.

Without Ed, you were now the new GCPD's scapegoat. Those guys never learn anything, right?

Hell at work and in your personal life: losing a close relative, meeting someone who hurt you badly, money issues, illness... choose your weapon and be ready to see your uneventful life burst into flames for the worse...or maybe the better?

You would wreak absolute havoc in Gotham, so much, Gordon himself had to go after you and managed to arrest you.

"What happened to you Y/N?! Ed wasn't enough? Why did you have to follow his path?!" He asked-yelled, the deep hurt visible in his eyes.

Goodbye Gotham, hello Arkham. Guess who you met again here?

“No waaay ∼ Look at you my dear, you are positively stunning!” His taunting voice would call you from the other side of the refectory. “Did you missed me so much you decided to pursue me here? My, oh my, I’m honoured!” *Yes, you can hit his pompous ass, please do it*

Riddler had to stop his mocking, though. When he saw you so numb, his felt his heart clench painfully. He appreciated you a lot back then. And seeing you so hollow made him drop his cocky act.

“Are you ok dear?” He would ask, joining you at your table and cautiously seating in front of you with his brows furrowed. “What happened?”

And you would tell him. How your life became a living hell when he was gone. How everything crumbled around you until your mind didn’t have any other choice than snap.

Goodness. He empathized. He truly did. His own snapping was relatively fresh after all.

He would make his own little mission to protect you from Strange and his little human experiments, he would try his best to lift your spirit and even create special riddles only for you. Don’t worry about answering wrong, you wouldn’t die for it, he swore.

Now that Kringle was out of the picture, Ed would finally see you. See how you were always kind with his dork him, how you tried to save him when everything went south for him, how you would discreetly wrinkle your cute nose when something was bothering you but you were too polite to point it out loud. God what was he thinking while running after his previous doomed love when you, who never tried to change anything with him, was just under his nose. He would feel like the biggest fool into the whole city let me tell you.

He wouldn’t mind you being now judged as insane. He wouldn’t mind your illness. He would only mind how a blushing mess he was gradually becoming when you were near him. And he would only mind about ensuring your security: inside of Arkham, outside of it when he would convince Oswald to get you out too.

Be ready to be the one receiving muffins with a bullet in it, flowers, poems, and any romantic gift you can think about.

Bonus: he will always keep a picture of the two of you inside of his wallet. You both were in Arkham’s uniform at the cafeteria while he was teaching you how to play chess with a paper handmade one he created just for you. He would never admit it to anyone but he thought you were the cutest thing in your uniform.

OSWALD COBBLEPOT / THE PENGUIN

You fist met Oswald when he entered the little tailor shop you owned.

He needed a new suit for his grand debuts in the mafia’s world, when he started to work for Fish.

He wouldn’t be very kind during his first visits. But he came back every times, finding your sense of fashion and sewing technique terrific.

He finally decided to compliment them once, bringing you to talk about a lot of things: suits, buttons, and more dangerous subjects like his mother and his growing criminal career. Nothing too touchy, though. Oswald is a cautious little thing and he also didn’t want you to sell any information or, if you really were as kind as you looked, make you a target if anyone wanted to hurt him.

Soon, you would become his little secret. His breath of fresh air. He would even try to hide your friendship to his dear mother, too afraid she insults you or demand him to stop seeing you.

But Gertrude is perceptive in her own way and would suspect something. Because of Oswald’s stupid happy smile whenever he was putting one of your creation, she would stay silent and let him think he was so good at keeping secrets. She swore to tore you apart if you ever dare to break his lovely son’s heart, though.

Your relationship reached an important point when he would met you just after Fish defeat and flee, thanks to Victor. His clothes and face were a total mess.

So you patched his suit and him, without asking questions you knew he wouldn’t answer.

But he decided to speak. Well, not really speak, he vented. His nerves cracking and his temper starting to get the best of him. He always tried to keep it tamed near you, too afraid about your possible reaction.

You didn’t run away. You let him yell, smash his hands and fists against your furniture, and offered him some tea, fruits and biscuits.

“Poof” angry Oswald was now tamed. You’re a wizard/witch reader, be ready to receive a letter from Hogwarts in the following days.

After this, Cobblepot’s fondness for you will know no limit. As his dear friend, he would always make sure your shop and you were ok, even when everything around him was burning.

But Gotham is Gotham, you know. Trouble, misery, and disasters always find their way to you.

It started with an arson. Your shop was burned to the very ground. By who? Oswald swore to investigate and help you build it back, even better than before.

But he wasn’t that rich at this time, so you did what any citizen would have done: you called the insurance, you went to the illustrious Gotham Central Bank and ask for their help to lend you the funds you needed.

Condensed, their answer was pretty much a: “LMAO no fucking way, please go die somewhere in the dark alone.” Pretty much. With prettier and complex words, but the meaning was the same.

Oswald was livid. You too. But you’ll eventually find a way to back up on your feet. Right? *Spoiler: no*

Your chance definitely left you when a few weeks later, Oswald get caught and sent to Arkham, letting you all alone to deal with your problem and Cobblepot’s foes who somehow had heard about you.

Domino effect. It would always be your answer to the “What happened to you?” inevitable question. You lost it. You snapped. Nobody, except Oswald, was keen on helping you in this hell hole. Nobody would care if you were to die alone in a dark and shady alley.

Why would you care about robbing the bank then? And other banks, galleries, rich people in town? Money was the key. You needed money. In fact, it became your obsession. Money will guarantee you a home, you will never lose yours ever again. Money will guarantee you security, power, and quick solutions whenever you may be in need for one.

You get caught too. Your total obsession for money making you the perfect new candidate to the only asylum in town. Not like you cared. Your precious money was safe, you made sure of it. But from Arkham, it would be a little bit difficult to reach.

Life decided to stop being a bitch when you saw your dear friend again.

“Y/N?!” You heard him yell when you were escorted to the cell next to his own. “Oh my god my dear, I am so sorry I wasn’t here for you! But what are you doing here! It must be a mistake! Guards! Let us go this instant, we aren’t mentally ill for heaven’s sake!”

Like Ed, Oswald will make sure no harm was done to you in Arkham. Yes, he would even protect you from Jerome. He would never let the freak touch a single hair of your head. You were too precious.

Oswald would also make sure to get you out. Even after Strange little mind game on him. He would never forget you or judge you a bad influence for him.

Of course he’ll notice your newfound obsession for money. But he understands. Better, he will make sure to help you make and steal a lot of it.

He asked you to move in with him during his mayor campaign, implored you to stay during his Gotham’s throne conquest - for your own security. In fact, he will want you with him at all times. You, his dearest friend. The only one who, he knew, would never turn their back on him.

Be ready to catch him facing empty chairs a few times when you come back home. “Don’t panic, he’s practicing his confession,” Olga told you in her language that you obviously don’t understand a word about.

Gifts. Gifts everywhere. Everyday. For no reason. He likes to spoil you rotten. “Can’t you see this boy fell head over heels for you, idiot?” Would sigh Olga every time. Of course, both of you will miss it every time, demanding her to speak in freaking ENGLISH... Poor you guys... It will take ages.

VICTOR ZSASZ

Victor met you for the first time at the Lady's illegal casino.

You weren't an assassin yourself, by no means. Just here to work as an accountant. You knew about the Lady's business and ensure she never had any issue with her money, writing her contracts for her and it was all.

When the most famous assassin in town showed his bald head in the casino and the Lady wasn't here, he pretexted he was "just passing by" and got lost here. Dude... I mean...

You had to facepalm. Which made him laugh like an idiot. You knew who he was, but also were accustomed to assassins at this point so it wasn't like you were going to pee in your pants while being in front of him. He liked it.

You introduced yourself properly and explained you worked for the Lady and was aware he was supposed to come to see her.

You offered him a drink on the house and humor him with small talk while waiting for your boss.

When she finally showed up, the three of you moved in a seclude area to talk business. Something about a contract the Lady wanted to make with Victor, with the benediction of Carmine Falcone.

He was amazed by how composed and organized you were. Clinical. Like any good assassin should be, even if you weren't one. He absolutely loved your quick wit and the dark jokes you would offer from time to time to help lightening the mood when tension was getting too intense. Damn, you were good!

Victor being Victor, he quickly became fascinated by you, following you everywhere in town with or without you knowing.

You caught him stalking you once when you stopped by a pizza truck, asking for a calzone.

"Add one pepperoni please. Oh! And a milkshake too." Came his voice from behind you, making you jump out of your skin and curse him like a sailor.

"What the hell?! Are you following me? I mean, for real?! DUDE!" You yelled in pure outrage.

He wouldn't even try to hide it. Simply offering you his irritating "Uh-uh".

"What for? Plan to kill me or something?" You asked.

His long silence wasn't mean to threaten you, no. He was admiring your nerves of steel. Also questioning your sanity a bit, truth be told. But since you made him a really good impression so far, he decided you were impressive.

"Not today", he just said with a shrug. Ok, so he wanted to play friends or something so stupidly mondain like this. Again, you decided to humor him.

Guess what, after a few times of totally not planned encounters, you started to really get close to each other. Even exchange numbers at some point.

He would always find the time to pay you a little visit at the casino at the end of your shift and appreciate the strange normalcy it gave him.

Everything was fine until one day, the Lady's illegal casino was under attack, getting nearly everyone killed brutally.

You survived somehow. You weren't an assassin but it didn't mean they didn't taught you a thing or two, like surviving *the irony* or using weapons.

When the GCPD FINALLY arrived, they caught you, covered in blood and utterly shocked. You were still processing everything happening and your world falling apart.

Your distressed attitude and shock were the main reasons why you were send to Arkham, in hope they would help you to get through it and release you after it.

They didn't plan the bloodbath would have turned one very dangerous switch inside of you. The blood, the thrill, the smell of powder, the pure rush of adrenaline. God you wanted more.

A month later maybe, guess who also found his ass in the same facility? But yes of course: Victor Zsasz.

His goofy grin threatened to split his jaw in half when he saw you: "Hey Sweets! Knew you survived!"

It wouldn't need much for him to understand what switch was activated inside of you. And he was positively thrilled by it!

He offered to train you, respected when you declined joining the Zsaszettes and came with another idea: introduce you to Falcone/Oswald (depending on where you want to stand in the timeline) and make you their brand new accountant-assassin.

Be ready to find him glued to you at anytime, you were his little secret crush back then, you're now his new God/Goddess and nothing will stop him to worship you properly, not even you. You'll see you were made for each other, eventually.

JONATHAN CRANE / SCARECROW

You were Jonathan's classmate and friend.

You weren't as easy spook as him so you often where his emotional support and bodyguard, especially at school with bullies. No need to be a total badass, your fondness for him was enough to give you the courage to shut up the boys or girls making fun of him and you, or give them a proper beating if you feel like so.

His sensibility always touched you deeply, and you were always here whenever he needed to vent about something or talk about his fears.

This is how you learned about the arson taking the life of his mother. The gradual shutting of his father and his obsession with fear and how to tame it.

When it was only researches, you found yourself really interested in Jonathan's father discoveries, as much as Jonathan himself. He was always a little genius in science and physics. Share it with him or not, your interest for the fear field wasn't feigned.

He gladly explained whatever you didn't understand and even suggested a few theories, sharing them with you.

It could have stayed this way, a passion, a subject of research. But it had to escalate when Jon's father started to look for unwilling test subjects.

You weren't aware of it at first. Unsuspecting, until you found Jonathan doubled in half on the floor of the school's bathroom one day, crying like a river and mumbling nonsense about him being a monster and going straight to hell.

You rushed to him, crouching at his level and tried to shake him out of his shock. "Jon'! Hey! Look at me! What are you talking about, you're no monster! Something happened? Please talk to me."

Poor boy was an absolute mess but managed to hear you and let you help him to sit. And he spoke. Oh good lord, he spoke for an hour or so, telling you everything about his father and what he was doing to poor gothamites. How he was forced into this total craziness and how he started to fear his father will ask him to use you as a test subject one day.

Horrified. That's how you felt, frankly. You had to stay silent for a good five minutes to process everything your friend just told you.

But you liked Jonathan, and he wasn't responsible of his father madness, right?

You comforted him, swearing it was not his fault and he wasn't a monster.

When he finally stopped crying, you swore to him that you'll never tell it to anyone, not even the police *You were teens. Teens do stupid things like this. Well, adults too when you think about it...*

He would come to you every time his father would terrify some innocent in town, crying for hours on your shoulders.

When his dad used the toxin on him, he was on phone with you, making you yell bloody murder on the other side of the line and dropping everything you were doing to run to his house.

You crumbled when you saw your best friend on the ground under his phobia: a huge scarecrow, yelling, crying and spasming like he was having a heart attack. You rushed to him and pushed Harvey away, "He's my friend! Oh my god! Please do something!" You pleaded in tears, having to be manhandled by Jim to allow emergency services to reach him.

You were at the hospital everyday, hating you for not having call the GCPD sooner. Maybe it would have saved Jon. The guilt was eating you alive. When the docteur told you he was a lost cause, you felt like going into a tailspin. Then, came the numbness.

When Jonathan was transferred into an asylum where visits weren't allowed, you made a new friend: depression.

Nothing could help you, you wanted to die. Die for being responsible of your friend distress, die because all you were able to feel was pain.

You went to his house one day, when the guilt and pain were too much to bear. You found yourself inside his father's old office and started to rummage around his things. There, a syringe. With some shady yellow liquid floating inside of it.

You didn't had any idea about what was inside. But at this point, you didn't care any more. You took it in your hands, looked at it just a second before plunging it directly on your upper arm, emptying it in it.

Your yells of absolute terror were what made neighbors call the police, thinking a murder was happening in Crane's old house. When Gordon and Bullock found you, they felt ice in their veins. You were Jonathan's friend. The one who found him with them that night. The one who always was by his side at the hospital before his transfer. Jim felt he failed you. Harvey too.

You went through the exact same hell as Jonathan. First the delirium, the nightmares... When you finally managed to wake up, your diagnosis was the same as him: a lost cause. Arkham was your new stop. They didn't want to send you to the same facility's Jonathan was in, too afraid it would be too much of a shock for both of you guys.

Oh but fate has its own ways. And you finally saw each other again, years later. When he was now incarcerated as Scarecrow.

He recognized you immediately. Not believing what he was seeing. What happened to you? He tried to find you when he started his criminal career but it was like your very existence vanished from earth.

He was always perceptive. A minute was enough for him to understand: you were exposed to his toxin. Well, to his father's toxin.

He was as sorry for you as he was impress when you explained him you took the same dose of toxin he took a few years back and was still living to tell the tale.

Since you were his friend *cough* and also school sweetheart *cough*, and now totally immune to his fear toxin, he decided it was time for him to take care of you and make sure you were always safe.

Be ready for a clingy best friend-lover, for cuddles every times you two are alone, to weird scary gifts, halloween chocolates, dead flowers and basically any weird thing he would find romantic or cute.

A/N - I hope you liked it! Have a beautiful day/night my dear, take care!

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lost-between-letters · 2 years

Text

I'm Not Sick

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @nancymcl

Prompts: “Get back in bed, you’re sick.” - “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

Warnings: mentions of sickness, the beginnings of a panic attack (or at least what I experienced as one in a mild form)

Word Count: 820

Summary: someone's got the flu and is not happy about it (hint: it's Dean). Naturally, Y/N has to convince him to take care of himself.

A/N: I don't know if this is entirely comprehensive or even living up to the prompts but oh well. I like it

It had started out innocently enough. A few coughs here, a hidden sneeze there. Just a scratchy throat, no biggie.

Only that 'no biggie' turned into a silly little monster called 'flu'. That thing where you were supposed to stay in bed and let people coddle you.

Not swinging a machete. And yes, Y/N had learned that the hard way.

Yeah well, tell that Dean Winchester.

"I'm fine!" He insisted nasally, eyes barely able to track her movements as she reached over to feel his forehead. He was burning up.

Y/N studied his pale face pointedly. Followed a beat of sweat from his hair line to his neck. Dean was definitely running a fever.

"You don't look fine."

"But I am," he insisted and swung his legs over the bed, making to stand up.

Even from behind, Y/N could tell that the fast movement wasn't doing him any favours. Dean was swaying on his feet by the time he was standing straight. Of course, he was too stubborn to admit to it openly.

"You're not fooling anyone with the way you're supporting yourself on the night stand," Y/N pointed out softly and got up as well, "get back in bed, Dean. You're sick."

"'s jus' a little cold," he said and promptly started coughing.

It wasn't stopping this time. Long enough for Y/N to round the bed and pat his back, hoping to get him back to breathing.

When he eventually got enough air into his lungs, Y/N gave him the best bitchface Sam had taught her. "Just a little cold?"

"I'm-"

"Get your ass back into this bed Winchester or I'm sicking Sam on you," she threatened.

That worked. With indignant grumbling, Dean got under the covers.

Y/N couldn't resist on tugging them a little higher and leaning over to place a kiss on his heated cheek. "I'll get you something to eat, okay?"

"I can do that myself, you don't need to-" uncontrollable coughing interrupted him once more. This time it sounded like something was caught in Dean's throat. That something snowballed as his eyes fixated on a point behind her head.

Y/N didn't know what was happening but she knew that she had to do something to help him. So she got him to sit up, hoping that his lungs were just too tightly squeezed together. But that wasn't working either.

Dean was just gasping shallowly, a panicked expression crossing his face as the oxygen didn't seem to stick. And that scared Y/N more than anything else.

"It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just breathe."

Y/N was leaning over him, hands hovering where he could see them as she took deliberate slow breaths. She just hoped that it would guide him enough to get back into the rhythm.

While fending off her own panic attack. What was happening? Why was Dean reacting that way? It surely couldn't be just the fact that he had caught something, could it?

Eventually it worked. Dean's muscles relaxed and he fell back into the pillows, face paler than ever but his breathing pattern back on track.

"Baby?" She asked tentatively, hands just shy of touching his face.

"'m sorry," he mumbled, and then, "shouldn't have been stupid like that."

"You're not stupid," Y/N said quickly and cupped his cheek, "what happened?"

"Stupid fever happened," Dean grumbled - or maybe his voice was just that wrecked. The fact alone that he admitted to being sick proved just how shaken he was.

And that in return shook her. God, her mind was a goddamn domino tower.

Y/N waited for him to elaborate this time.

"It's just-" Dean waved his arms around; a strangely helpless gesture on the hunter, "I thought I saw somethin' movin' behind you. Nd I can't do shit right now."

Oh.

"It's okay baby." It took all of Y/N's will power to not climb into his lap and cradle his head to her chest. Because that would likely jumpstart another coughing fit. But oh, she wanted to so badly. "Nothing can get us here. We're safe."

"I know that!"

Dean threw his hands up, agitation in every unwilling bone. And winced when it shot straight through his chest. "Told ya it was stupid."

"But it isn't," Y/N insisted. "It's sweet and a little overprotective and you, Dean."

"So-"

"If you say stupid one more time, I will spoon feed you for the next seventy two hours," Y/N threatened.

Because that was how they worked. If it wasn't her doing the threatening, it was Dean. To get her to eat, to get her out of the bathroom, whatever.

But right now, Dean was on the receiving end. And it worked.

"Fine, you torturess."

Y/N smiled sweetly. "And now you'll let me put a few pillows in your back and make you chicken soup."

Dean snorted. "Knock yourself out sweetheart."

Oh she was planning on exactly that.

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fxshigurosbae · 2 years

Text

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

now playing ► KINKTOBER 22, third week.

OVERVIEW. he keeps you from moving, even if you beg and cry.

♫ SONG DURATION.

0:00 ——◦———— -2kwords

parental advisory ! explicit content

LYRICS. step!father, pseudo!incest, male!dom, breeding, cockwarming, pet names, riding, begging, grinding, nipple play, orgasm control, dumbification, overstim, manhandling, dacryphilia, aftercare, daddy kink, creampie, age gap, size kink, unprotected sex, strong language // toji [37] user [19]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

— the playlist

DADDY’s relationship with you, without a doubt, was immoral, lusty, dangerous and, both knew that. what shouldn’t be excluded too, was the fact mommy’s marriage was somewhat, actually totally, toxic. since, for now, only you had found out of her affair with that man-whore satoru, while on the other hand, behind that sweet not-so-innocent act, her husband, toji, corrupted his step-daughter, all behind the wife’s back. in the end, everything was a lie, except his love, affection — and obsession — for you.

it has been at least two years since you’ve met — back then, freshly eighteen and now, pretty close to being twenty, you are just nineteen and in college — toji was a lucky bastard to have you. such a pretty little obedient doll for him to use, corrupt and take care of, all at the same time. and, this time, wide, broad shoulders and arms held you in his lap, legs spread open and accommodated around his hips and thick thighs. only you and the man, nearly two decades older than you were in the house, with the tv on the background, playing a random movie — one which you were not even paying attention to, mostly because you were facing him and, for the mere fact that you had been too focused on having his girthy addictive cock inside your cunny for around half an hour now.

“daddy… please, can’t take it anymore.” embracing arms around his neck, arching back and uncomfortable trembling legs. toji’s hands kept you still the entire time, if you did dare move, you knew there’d be punishment — that could be such as having his hips follow you, leading to a situation where there wouldn’t be relief of any of that constant suffering ache or, maybe, not being rewarded for your disciplined composure — the problem is that there was simply no more energy left for you to keep going.

“poor princess, so weak can’t even wait. ya pretty lil’ cunt’s swallowin’ me whole, yet’s not enough?” like a whispery groan in your ear, he won’t admit his libido is already reaching the maximum tolerance — but the man wants to see you crumble first, which is already an ongoing case.

“nhn, please! please, fuck, need…” unable to finish the sentence nor formulate comprehensible phrases, plus your entire body stuck and firmly fixated, by his hands, right above his half-clothed pelvis. and, what was even more unfair, was to have his full cock inside, rawly resting right over your cervix, pressing against those sensitive spots. warming your interior, filling you up in a way that you’re able to wrap your gummy walls around it to feel even more of the immense pressure.

“use y’er big girl words, angel. c’mon, can’t hear ya.” a smug chuckle left his scarred soft lip, staring at you from a slightly higher angle, since manspreading made his figure lightly sink into the couch.

“uh-ngh, daddy, please, wan’ you to fuck me, fuck me so bad.” your voice was in a very high-pitch, taking the form of the most seductive thing existent, it took great strength for toji to continue this child’s play, but he was sadistic and, determined. there was just no mercy, in the slightest, even if restrained, begging, in the brink of fainting, while doing the absolute most to attempt moving your hips, nothing worked on him. your fragile chest rising in a brusque rhythm, sweat on the forehead, a single drop running on the middle of your spine, even your guts trembled from this never-ending waiting.

“good girls know how to wait,” the outer part of his right hand caressed your needy cheek, giving you — what you thought could be — an opening to strugglingly grind halfway forward. that same comforting hand, then, in a matter of seconds, was cupping your cheeks in a rough handling way, squishing them together as your eyebrows furrowed “confusedly”, as so to play dumb. lips now quivering, breathing through the small gap of your mouth and your nose, as if the air had been limited, pussy immediately clamping — and hearing what you thought was a very gutturally low moan come from him. “really wanna make me disappointed in ya, don’tcha, sweetheart? if ya do that one more time, swear won’t move a single inch tonight.” gosh, you were miserable, even moaned for what he said, pathetic. with a tighter grip on the tiny bit of chubbiness of those cheeks. the way the corner of his lip curved into that same smugly smirk, the way his eyes looked at your pouty restricted lips with such perversion, the way his hips just plunged in an almost unnoticeable, but very much so, upward movement, which led into fitting his already-all-the-way-in cock even deeper inside, the combination made you cum real good, an escalating fragmented squeak accompanied. that made you lose count, of just how many times you had probably came already that night, not even being started. toes cramping from curling, corner of the eyes burning from wiping off tear drops, nose cutely in a reddish tone. “fuck, ya know how sweet’s to see my lil’girl cumming like that on my cock? an’m’not even fucking her.” a tsk from toji, followed right after, releasing your numbing cheeks and jaw to, then, focus on groping your covered tits — wearing that slutty white round neck, short sleeves and even shorter and tighter crop top — which rested just two fingers below your nipples — with thin borders of the word angel written on it, in light pastel blue, exactly what you were, in fact, what you just pretended to be. playing with your nips over the fabric, with just a single artificial touch, it made them harder, more erect, and your pussy, again, wrapped itself around his cock — that man had patience and so much fucking control. “g’nna fuck ya when the time’s right, so I can see ya forget y’er own name, angel,” he chuckled at the playful reference, seeing you bite your bottom lip. “ya gon’ wait, isn’that right?” supporting yourself on his thighs, leaning back, feeling the tip of his thumbs circling your nipples, eyes closing just slightly, legs shivering, every circle sending heat into your body, increasingly. with an instant nod to his question, that hypnotizing goddamn curve on his mouth, showing just a tiny bit of his teeth, as toji continued to play with your breasts, squeezing a little bit, rolling the buds, watching yourself slide backwards on his thighs, arching your back. “good, good, that’s a good girl.” he whispered, it sent you over the moon, the way those words spilled out of his mouth, your pussy feeling warmer, hotter, burning, tighter, suffocating — yet he did not give it in to you.

“t-toji, please, think m’gonna pass, pass out.” what a chuckle you heard from the man, your doe eyes, staring back at his merciless ones.

“that’s what’m aiming for, bunny.” you felt as if melting under his grip, currently, hands fondling with your ass, hips as if glued onto his body. daddy, in a swift move, pulled your crop top over your boobies, exposing them for his sight, noticing reddish tones on the nipples from the intense friction. he was decided in making you explode, collapse, cum as many times as he wanted but, what he forgot was that he also had been losing his mind. then, toji’d never imagine the effect you had on him, how you’d make him feel that way, when you now looked at him this way — sobbing almost, tears running, biting your lower lip as close to bleeding, sinking your nails into his thighs, toes about to break from curling — those fucking hypnotizing, pitiful, needy, begging, miserable eyes, they were the death of him, not only that but…

“daddy, please, fuck me, please, cum’n my pussy, pl-please daddy.” your voice ever so low, so soft, so sweet, so endearing, that it immediately invoked something buried deep inside him.

“fuck, sweetheart, if ya ask like that,” a heavy exhale from him, it was loud enough to make you shiver. “fuck y’rself on my cock, come on, baby, let me see ya do it.” your eyes shined at his demand, freeing your waist from the intense grip as you immediately, without hesitation, began effortfully jumping on his long cock, burying itself deeper, skin meeting at his crotch. gosh, how you moaned, whimpered, cried, with tits bouncing, hips moving wavily — up and down, back and forth — like however you could. His eyes fixated on your face — your eyes that were too shy to look at him — and, smirking at the image of your cock-hungry expressions, plus, there was yourself watching it being fucked in and out of your pretty pussy from an angle above. leaning back, still supporting on his knees and thighs, also throwing your head back, having some kisses on your neck, some fondling and groping all over too. noticing his large hands guiding your waist, adding thrusts from below as well, bringing out even more whining, that desperate whining from your lips, escalating, descending, choking, sobbing and even those messy ones. your eyes slightly closing, already sloppy pace becoming even slower, your thighs contracting, jittering body as you came once more, specially with one of his digits circling your clit, for a few seconds. hearing mumbles under your breath, maybe dizziness taking form, yet, he held your firmly under his grip, slowly thrusting his way up into you.

“don’t think’s over, ya gon’ cum how many times I fucking want to.” he added, making sure you’d not give up on him, making sure you knew who was in charge. your body fell forward, holding onto his broad and manly shoulders, as toji lifted his hips from the couch, gripping onto your own waist and kept it still, so he could easily fill you up, balls deep, pounding up and down, this time. he was strong, so fucking strong, he could easily handle you, he could easily break you in half, if he wanted to. as you, moaned and let out incomprehensible words in a low broken voice, whispering his name occasionally onto his ear, like a hypnotizing melody. “daddy, love it s’much, daddy, ah! f-fuck, daddy.” with an on-growing smirk on those goddamn scarred lips, those which slightly touched your ears.

“know ya do, can feel my princess’ lil’pussy squeezin’ me real good.” and a chuckle from him, that lead you to whimper like a puppy. “wan’ me to cum in ya?” immediate pleas, repeated please!please!please. digging your nails on his back, jolting at each thrust, scratching the covered skin, leading into him grunting. holding your hips up, easily bouncing your body up and down, along with those rapid, deep, profound pounds, that in a matter of seconds, became slow and controlled, pretty rough ones — feeling the squeeze of his cock whenever his pretty head caressed your cervix, his cock pressed lewd kisses inside your pretty cunt. your skins collapsing together, clapping loudly enough to compete with the sounds of your own frequent moaning. his pretty girl was close to the point of drooling, drooling for cock, for cum, getting so dumb-fucked, blabbering stuff randomly, in a choking way, mixing with your prolonged cries. advising about your thousandth, upcoming orgasm, he chuckled, obviously mocking the way you were so sensitive. “i’ll let ya, since my pretty thing’s been taking me real nice, been a nice doll f’me.” whimpering, more restrainedly, back arching, more, toes curling, again, nails digging, deeper, pussy squeezing, harder. with a sloppy pace, a change in the rhythm, you desperately felt it crash over you devastatingly, attempting to close your legs together, feeling a caress on your ass with his thumbs, a grin against your neck — that was being filled with pecking kisses — and, another powerful pound, while you were about to finish squirting intensively, it was enough to find an ever better spot, and to have it filled with that warm cum, with daddy’s precious warm cum, drying him completely with a tighter squeeze. “fuck, bunny, ya milking my cock, gonna make me want to fuck ya again.” his voice could kill, it had an effect that sent shivers down your spine, you once more repeated yes!yes!yes!, clueless almost, emptying it inside your tight walls, forming a white ring on the base of his cock as you came down your high completely, alongside his, by a matter of seconds. slowly, leisurely lifting your sore hips, pulling his cock out of you in a quite effortful move, even if being assisted by toji’s large hands — it was harder after seeing him breath so heavily, his chest moving up and down so seductively, legs shaking more — still feeling the liquid in, his tip leaving your pussy with a clamp of your destroyed cunt at last, cum began dripping down your thighs so easily. breathless, disoriented, dizzy, exhausted, sweaty, you stared back at him, hearing low chuckles, noticing his signature smugly smirk, his hips adjusting on the couch, his body sinking in it, again. “go clean yo’self up, mommy’s gonna be angry if ya dirty the couch, she won’t let me play with ya no more either.” you huffed exhaustedly. “come on, baby, or do ya want me to do it for ya?”

🔖: @shi-thats-kiera @ashthemadwriter @drxkenhubbie @witheldclouds @jeanswife101 @drpepperlov3r @bontensbabygirl @simp-lauren @mattheosluttyprincess @fatenpara

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sorikkung · 4 months

Text

what goes on in neverland. ⇝ ch. 7: fighting, flighting, and so many feelings

word count: 16k

pairings: transmasc!reader x Everyone, everyone x everyone (skz, tbz and atz, check masterlist for more details)

genre: e2l, f2l, smut, fluff and lots of assorted shenanigans. hijinks, if you will

au: battle of the bands!au but make it gay and horny

warnings: extremely dubiously consensual voyeurism, humiliation kink, very brief hyung/oppa kink, feminisation kink, breeding kink but probably not in the way that you think.

a/n: just a reminder that these characters aren't meant to be super great people. they're a little fucked on purpose. also, not proofread at all, not even once, just needed it done. full a/n at the end. glad to be back! c:

tags: @honeybyunnies @syunderful @absentcaryatid @mingirn (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

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“Do it again.”

This is starting to feel a little like déjà vu.

“I did it perfectly that time, what are you talking about—”

“Just do it again!” Eric snaps, pressing play on the music and not giving you much of a choice. As you go through the complex part of the routine he had given you, he barks orders to your other bandmates getting distracted behind you. “You guys should be practicing too! You have all of night time and every other day to make out, can you not focus on practice now that it matters more than ever?”

The air inside feels stuffy with all the sweat and exertion, but god forbid this man gives anyone a break. How his own body managed to keep up with the strain he’s putting it and all of yours through is far beyond your comprehension. You contemplate if he’d be able to keep going after you throw a large rock at him.

“Eric,” Kevin whines, leaning on his knees to catch his breath and wiping the sweat from his brow as Eric tries to pull the two boyfriends off each other. “Can’t you take it a little easy on us? Not all of us are used to dancing for hours and hours on end, or even dancing at all. At least let us have breaks when you’re focusing on someone else. Which you’re not even doing! Look, he just did it again!”

You ponder the type of rock you should throw at him. Maybe pelting him with tiny pebbles would be even more of an annoyance. Maybe you should stick to a big one and go straight for the bruises on his legs that still linger from how hard he went and continues to go on the pole.

Eric whips around to look at you in your ending pose, and twirls his finger at you in a motion to repeat. “Do it again, I didn’t see it.”

Or, maybe you’ll just find the heaviest rock you can find and drop it on his head. Hopefully the worst it’ll do is a mild concussion.

“Yeah, cause you’re too busy being a dick to everyone!” you quip at him, eyes flaring. “Eric, we gave you this position because we wanted to show you we’re still taking the competition seriously and that we still value your opinion and trust in your leadership, not for you to walk all over us and push us too hard because you’re still salty that we fucked the guys making you insecure! Get over yourself! If you want to take this stage sooo seriously, maybe take into consideration the physical state of your team! We’re all about to collapse!”

“For someone who trusts in my leadership, you sure aren’t following it all that well,” he grumbles in response, rewinding the track. “One more time, just you. Or do they not train you hard enough at the Prism?”

You roll your eyes at the fucking audacity, because that is not even remotely the same and he knows it. “No, because they’re more concerned about our sex appeal than our pole technique, Wooyoung and I train ourselves to have fun — you should try it sometime!”

He doesn’t grace that with a response, turning the song on again, and you decide to cooperate only to throw all your remaining energy into the routine, making it as extra as you can muster — facial expressions, powerful moves, dramatically thrusting your whole body into it like it was the actual stage, so there’d be absolutely no way Eric could nitpick on you any more.

Or so you thought.

“You overdid it.”

“Get fucked, Eric!”

You straight up scream in his face, pushed far past your limit and sick of his shit. You have been trying so hard for him. All for him. You made sure he was okay with it before even signing up for the competition, you trained him in pole and choreographed him a role routine and night at your job just so he could impress them, you fucked his ex with him just so he could prove a point, you got thrown over a table for it and continued defending his honour and all you get in repayment is him being a total asswipe because he can’t handle what you do with your spare time.

“Are you fucking serious right now—“

“Alright, enough!” Sunwoo bellows, loud enough to make poor San flinch, stepping between you and grabbing each of you by the collar. “Either make out and make up, or fuck off till you calm down. I’ve just about had it with all the arguing and bossing around. We’re all taking a break and I am not taking no for an answer!”

Sunwoo is the type to get fired up just as easily as Eric is, if not more, so you all know how to handle him when he gets set off; but there’s something different this time. His tone cements the decision as final, and Eric must feel it too because he finally stops arguing and storms off.

The rest of you watch him leave, and as soon as he’s out the door, you all slump in relief to the floor. It’s done. Day one of Eric’s Nightmare Bootcamp is finally done.

“Fucking finally,” Sunwoo mutters, lying still for a moment before being the first to get up and start collecting his things. “My entire body aches. Apparently this place has hot springs? I think I’ll go check them out.”

“I’m way too hot and sweaty for that,” you sigh as the others start getting up to join him, “Lowkey tempted to take an ice bath instead. Or go chill in the lake, or something.”

“I’ll join you,” San pipes up, hanging the sweaty towel he was using to wipe his face around the back of his neck. “The lake sounds great right now.”

Sunwoo shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

It was Eric’ idea to put the camp in boot camp, bringing up his extended family's holiday house in the woods that only ever gets used twice a year. It’s a ridiculous waste of money and housing as far as any of you are concerned, but at least Eric was smart enough to mould himself a spare key before he went no-contact with them. Granted, he then immediately lost said key while moving apartments, but as soon as you brought up the idea of a boot camp he turned the whole damn apartment upside down searching for it, only to realise it had been hot-glued to his battle jacket this whole time as a decoration along with other spare keys you had gathered for diy purposes.

The place is nice, awfully scenic – not quite mountainous, but hilly enough for the cliff the lodge is on to make for a gorgeous view overlooking the lake, estuary and ocean — secluded, and cosy. Now that Eric actually has a key to the place, next time you come here you hope it’s on calmer terms, with more time to check out all the hike trails and rock pools by the beach, but for today, aimlessly floating in a lake to sooth your sore muscles sounds perfectly ideal.

San’s bare ass is a pretty welcome sight, too.

“A cheeky skinny dip, huh?” you muse aloud, “Have fun getting whatever bacteria this lake has to offer, I’m keeping my jocks on.”

“Oh please, like that’d help that much.”

“It literally would though, that’s a whole additional barrier!”

“It’s still gonna soak through though, so if it’s in the water, you’re fucked.”

“Is that why you want me naked so bad? So I can be fucked?” you tease, wading into the water with him – still slightly warm from the daylight, but no doubt quickly cooling with the setting of the sun in the horizon.

San shrugs cheekily, submerged up to his shoulders in the murky depths, ducking under the water to drench himself entirely then dramatically flip his hair back upon breaching the surface. “Maybe.”

“Horny bastard,” you huff, splashing him in the face and making him cough and splutter, only for him to splash you back twice as hard. “Pffuah— stop, stop! I’ll stop, I’m too tired for a splash fight.”

“Okay, okay,” San hums, relenting his assault to come up behind you and wrap his arms around you instead. You sigh and lean into his gentle embrace. “I was joking, anyway. I’m way too tired and sore to be doing any fucking right now.”

So are you. The more you think about it, the less the thought of getting it on seemed appealing, the ache in your muscles dragging you down like lead. The cold water was nice, though, and the reprieve of San’s warm body amongst it even nicer, so you just stay there for a whole, tucked under his chin and listening to the steady beating of his heart.

It’s exactly what you needed after such a long day. Probably what San needed too, if the way he sighs in relief into your hair is any indicator, then presses a kiss atop your head. “This is kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

“Romantic?” His tone is playful, but the conversation you had with Sunwoo still lingers on your mind. You find yourself at a loss for words. “What about it?”

San leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder and press a kiss there, invoking a shiver. It has little to do with the temperature. “The scenery, for one. This lake is beautiful. The sunset. Holding you like this. Is it not nice?”

You blink twice, trying to process what this man is saying to you. Does he mean romantic as in nice? An interesting choice of wording, that’s for sure – but maybe you’re overthinking it. You’re probably overthinking it. You’re definitely overthinking it. Had Sunwoo not said anything, you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about him saying that. Saying it so seriously, even. Though the initial question did sound like a bit of a joke, so he’s probably joking. Or something.

“No?”

You snap out of your thoughts to reply to him. “No, it is nice— it’s really nice. Just what I needed after all of... y’know.”

“After all of Eric’s bullshit?” he suggests helpfully, and you don’t need to see his little cat-like grin to know it’s there.

“You said it, not me.”

He laughs, placing his hands on your shoulders and twisting you around to face him. You don’t know how he manages to smile so blindingly after the hell he has been through today, especially as one of the few band members who had no background dancing, but he gave it his all. You admire that about him, how he’s so hard-working and so soft-hearted but in a way that he needs to be tough to be; the fact that he always remains soft under the pressure of the world trying to harden him, is toughness in its own right. A fuzzy feeling sprouts in your chest, such deep fondness, and it’s enough to ease a bit of the lingering tension. He leans in for a kiss, not quite a quick peck but nothing deeper; just a kiss for the sake of a kiss, one that lingers, then he pulls you back into his arms and pushes your face into his neck.

San’s always been like this, so it really shouldn’t be as flustering as it is. After all, he’s the reason your band started being as touchy with each other as they are now – from kissing the homies goodnight. He’s just overly affectionate like that. Has his heart always beat this fast when you did, though?

Has yours?

You wonder if he can hear it.

You think about how easy it would be to tell him you love him right now. The words could just roll off your tongue; I love you. Things wouldn’t have to change. San would probably just be happy to hear it, say it back, and kiss you breathless. Yet, something about that thought makes your words get caught in your throat. It would be so simple. Too simple, even, because what would he mean, when he says it back? What would you mean?

“Do you want us to be more than friends?”

San’s skin feels even hotter to touch, or maybe that’s just you. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him, lips drawn into a slight pout, and it makes you feel like eating sandpaper, so you pull him back in and bury your face in his broad chest once more. You have always been weak for San’s pout, even if you’re the one making him do it on purpose because it’s just so cute. You know Wooyoung does it for the same reason, he’s said so, and you never miss the way his eyes crinkle with glee when it works. For Wooyoung, bothering his loved ones is his life’s greatest joy, and there’s nothing quite like the glow of a man in his element. You can picture him smiling at San like that right now, calling him a baby and calling you whipped.

“Do you want to date us? Be romantic with us, tell us those three words you’ve been too scared to say for too long, take us on dates that are explicitly dates, call us yours? Is that what you want?”

You kiss him, and nothing more, over and over again, until you finally stop thinking. He picks you up for your legs to wrap around his waist, weight supported by the water around you. He doesn’t ask questions nor complain, only pulling you in closer, and when you feel him harden against you, there’s no pressure to address it.

When that only makes each kiss feel even more intimate somehow, it starts to dawn on the edges of your mind that you may be well and truly fucked.

After three days of more torture, you have just about reached your limit. You thought Eric would have calmed down after the initial fight, but it seemed to instead just put him on edge the whole time – you and the others quickly realise he is not about to pull that stick out of his ass until you get that win against Stray Kids, and if the next round is still in another three days, then to hell with all of you in the meantime.

Usually, you would just fuck it out. Shockingly, having an outlet for all the pent-up frustration does wonders for trying to sort out problems, but you can tell it’s different this time; even if Eric did let you sleep with him, you aren’t entirely sure he would calm down completely. Still, selfishly enough, you could do with it for the release on your end, as your other physical outlet being dance is no longer cathartic when it��s the cause of half your frustration.

At this point you would have just grabbed one of the other members after practice, but morale is at an all-time low and everyone just seems tired. Eric has always been the energizer of the group, and you realise just how much you all relied on him now that he’s no longer filling that role. Even Wooyoung and Sunwoo’s attempts at joking around and lightening the mood have been falling a little flat, and you can see the toll it’s taking on them too. Tension lingers in the air even when you are not fighting, and as nice as the view of the Sohn’s lakeview lodge is, all you’ve wanted to do since you’ve arrived is get out.

The reception isn’t the best out in the woods, so you find yourself climbing one of the tall, sturdy trees by the lodge to see who you can call. Not necessarily for a booty call, maybe sort of a booty call, but more importantly just someone to talk to who isn’t your band; though you quickly realise how few people you actually talk to outside of your band. Most are friends or acquaintances from within the industry, and the last thing you need right now is to spread gossip about your own band to the event organisers, or worse, your competitors – but as you scroll through your messages, something about the latter sticks out to you.

You call Lino.

The idea is not your best one, you have to admit, but you’re definitely intrigued to find out what kind of metaphorical ditch you will wind up waking up in by doing this. Your last interactions with Lino made it very clear the way he operates – it’s a trade-off. He is not beyond gossiping about his own team, so if you pry well enough, you can get something juicy – the caveat being, he remembers everything you say as well, and will use it against you. Which only makes this idea even worse the more you think about it, since it would not take much for him to smell blood in the water and something like a fight among your band would be far too easy to prey on, but you already pressed call.

You are not exactly known for your good life decisions.

“Hello?”

The voice that picks up is already a lot warmer and richer than Lino’s light and airy voice, which raises every alarm all at once, but it’s definitely not a recognisable enough voice to match a face to. One of the other lost kids, that much you can tell, but that’s it.

“He…llo? This isn’t Lino.”

A laugh filters through the receiver. “No, it’s not. I stole his phone and he still hasn’t noticed yet.”

Whoever this is, you like him already, you decide. That’s the kind of mischief you can get behind.

“Wow. And who might this be? Another stray kid?”

A tongue click. “That’s right. Makes me wonder why my beloved hyung is getting a call from the enemy.”

The reference to you as an enemy has you not knowing how to feel about it. The same term has left your lips about them on more than one occasion, but perhaps part of you has always been aware of how one-sided your feud with them really is, though, you suppose with your tendency to meddle and pick fights, that’s been quickly fixing itself. You can acknowledge you have been creating drama, but to hell with it, you think. You’ve meant every damn word you’ve said this whole time.

“Heh. Well that’s for me to know and you to wonder, hmm? What makes you think I’d tell you? I don’t even know who you are.”

You hear the ping of him turning his camera on, and pull your phone back from your ear to see a familiar enough face staring back at you. Now the fact that you didn’t recognise him from his voice alone is almost embarrassing – that rich baritone carries their songs, and you’ve done enough internet stalking all of them to know the rest by face now.

“Ah. You’re Seungmin, right?” You switch on your own camera and fix your hair in a way you hope seems nonchalant, but you know it’s a poor attempt to hide the absolute wreck you must look like right now, covered in sweat and hair sticking out in every which direction. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually talked.”

“No, you’ve been a bit too busy digging into my bandmates– are you in a fucking tree?”

You instinctively glance behind you, as if not expecting a tree to be there, when you are, in fact, quite literally, sitting in a tree. The movement is so fast you wobble a bit on the branch you perched on, but it holds steady, and you regain your balance quick enough.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m in a tree. Long story.”

“I got time.” Seungmin’s expression remains unreadable as he pulls the strings of his hoodie and flops backward onto presumably his bed, possibly Lino’s or god knows who else’s, and gets comfortable. “Why you in a tree?”

“Why do you care? I called Lino, not you.”

He rolls his eyes, then flicks the phone camera loud enough to make an audible thwack as if he just flicked your forehead. “No shit you called Lino, this is his phone. But I’m bored, a little nosy, and a shockingly good listener, so I’ve been told, so indulge me a little. If you’re not going to tell me why you called Lino, at least tell me why you’re in a tree, I’m curious now.”

“You’re more interested as to why I’m in a tree than to why I called Lino?”

“Mmm, maybe equally as interested. I just figure you wouldn’t tell me why you called Lino even if I did pry, but I’m gonna just assume it’s a booty call.”

You snort. He’s a little more right than you want him to be, but you don’t know if you want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that yet.

“Well, the short version is that the reception out here is dogshit, so I climbed a tree.” You flip the camera and show him how high up you are, and nearly drop the damn thing however many feet below to a tragic death among the pinecones.

“Woah, nice view!” You flip the camera back around to your face to grin a little smugly. “Surely you don’t live out there in the woods, do you?”

“Ah, no, just out here for, uh… boot camp. Decided we needed to start taking practice more seriously since we have some actual competition this year, so we took the week off work and fucked off to one of the guys’ holiday homes.” You deliberately leave out the part where it’s kind of sort of technically trespassing, despite how curious you are to hear his reaction to it. “Hence. Tree.”

Seungmin nods along, cutely playing with the hoodie drawstrings and pulling them up past his chin with the hand not holding his phone. You’d think he was on FaceTime with someone a lot closer than a near stranger, but you suppose his cute charms just come naturally to him. “Damn, respect. We’ve more or less been doing the same this whole time, but more of us are unemployed than not, so, at least we don’t need to worry too much about taking time off work. Well, in Innie and I’s cases it’s taking time off classes, but, he barely shows up to classes anymore anyway.”

“Y’all studying?” Now that you think about it, you don’t know much about the group’s personal lives beyond Felix and Chan – Felix, obviously from knowing him through Eric since he was still doing his tattoo apprenticeship, and Chan’s digital presence informed you he did music full-time, selling the beats he doesn’t use himself. You remember their friend Jisung being a DJ at parties, and saw him doing music online as well, Changbin too but with less of a presence – but none of them were big enough to explain the ridiculous budget Stray Kids stages have been having. Either the few employed members are raking in dough, or someone comes from money, and you bet your meagre savings on the latter.

“Yeah, I’m studying music, vocals mostly. Also composing, music industry, music history, photography and videography, and Japanese as an elective ‘cause it’s fun.”

“Jesus,” you exhale, “That’s… a lot.”

He chuckles, pulling his hoodie back down to hide his face less. Even in its entirety, you can’t read any of it. “Yeah, it’s good fun.”

You expect him to elaborate on that more, but he doesn’t, making you crinkle your nose. “What about the others? You all students or?”

Seungmin shakes his head. “Nah, just me and Innie, he’s also studying music performance. The rachas – our production line, that is, Chan, Changbin, and Hannie – they all do music pretty much full-time, except Changbin who is also a part-timer at a gym. Personal trainer. Lino’s a viral sensation on YouTube for making cat videos, it’s shockingly enough to pay rent. I’m sure you already know what Lix does, and Hyunjin, well, apparently you know about that too.”

You snicker. “Funnily enough, we found out that one completely on accident.”

“You’d have had to,” Seungmin says slowly with a knowing grin, “We make sure to keep those profiles completely separate.”

Whatever other sentences your mind tried to come up with quickly fizzle out as you process his choice of wording.

“We?”

He laughs, light and melodic, and his face shines with such cutesy innocence you are shocked to hear him allude to engaging in creating such content. “Yeah, we. How do you think he sets up the camera and everything while tied up like that?”

Your eyebrows shoot up at the realisation that Seungmin was the rigger from the one stream you caught, and remembering how intricate the ropework was, you find a sudden deep respect for him blooming as a craftsman.

“Wait, you’re his rigger?”

“I’m his boyfriend, but yeah, his rigger too. So, sorry if I piss you off at the competition and you can’t suck my dick about it, it’s a real tragedy.”

He practically just handed you a formal invitation to think about his dick, so you rip it out of his hands with a sly smirk. “Aw, why not? That’s never stopped Mingi or Wooyoung. You could tie me up all pretty, too.”

Not that it’s a particularly good idea to let a practical stranger tie you up in a full-body rope harness, but you don’t expect him to actually get to that point, more so just teasing the idea. While you definitely expected some sort of reaction, the quirk of his brow and beat of silence is certainly more than you bargained for.

“Y’know, I’m starting to wonder if at this point you just want the whole band as notches on your belt.”

Were you anyone else, that might have even stung, but you shrug it off in earnest.

“Maybe I do. But truthfully, it’s like, ninety-percent more to do with the fact that each and every one of you are smoking hot. Like, I may be cocky and hypersexual, but even I have standards, and you all more than exceed them, so sue me for shooting my shot.”

His eyes widen slightly at that, and you wonder if he doesn’t get told how good looking he is that often. Granted, his face is a lot softer and sweeter compared to the more visually striking faces of his bandmates, but he’s still incredibly handsome by every means of the word. The likelihood of your assumption quickly decreases when he follows it up.

“I can respect that. I am quite a catch, aren’t I?”

You snort, not prepared for his response. “Yeah, I’d say so. So, if you and your prettyboy boyfriend are ever looking to spice things up, feel free to call. On or off camera.”

“Damn, you’re bold.” He chuckles again in what seems to be mild disbelief, to which, he really should have known better, but you suppose you can let it slide on the account that he’s never interacted with you personally until now. “I’ve haven’t had that conversation with him yet, but don’t get your hopes up. He’s quite the possessive type.”

The dopey smile and fond tilt of his head when he says that tells you that he doesn’t really mind that one bit.

“Aw, shame. I was already thinking about all the fun we could get up to together!”

It’s not as sarcastic as you make it sound with your sing-song tone; having already wanted to give Hyunjin hell since that first stream, and almost but not quite regrettably, more after, the thought of teaming up with someone as seemingly sly as Seungmin, to do a number on him was beyond appealing, but you suppose you can’t always win them all. It’s only then what a relevant thought hits you.

“Wait, but what about him and San?”

“Ah.” He at least doesn’t seem surprised to hear about it, so you’re glad you at least didn’t just throw San under the bus with that one. “Hence the yet on the conversation. I don’t know. We were all arguing, tensions were high, he and San grabbed each other by the shirt, he looked at me before he kissed San and right after, too. It felt like he was asking for permission, so I just… I don’t know. It’s not something I’d really thought much about till then, but I was curious. I can’t say it felt right, but I kind of just wanted to watch and see what happened anyway? I probably should have said something to stop them, but I just shrugged and nodded at him, let him decide if he wants to do that. Think I was angrier about it than I thought I was, but with everything going on I couldn’t really isolate that feeling yet. So I just kept arguing.”

At the mention of all the arguing, you’re coldly reminded that the very man you are talking to, probably said some really nasty things about you and the people you care most about, but you shove that aside for now. As aggressive as you tend to be, the long week prior just has you tired of arguing with just about fucking everyone, and you don’t know if you like that that says about you.

As if the situation between the bands couldn’t get any messier, yet more relationships get tangled in the web of drama. You always wonder why people cling so hard to the concept of monogamy when another alternative presents itself, but you suppose it’s easier to avoid the work it takes to communicate with people that much when you can just expect someone to avoid making you feel bad by default. At least this time you aren’t the one at the centre of it, but either way you can’t take all the blame when it takes two to tango in the first place.

“Oh jeez, that’s messy. And you haven’t talked about it at all? It’s been days, dude, why not?”

“Why do you care?” he huffs with a laugh, dryly throwing your own words back at you.

“I’m bored, nosy, and a shockingly good listener,” you retort right back at him. “Indulge me a little, sticking my nose into other people’s drama is a great distraction from my own. Plus, an outsider’s perspective might even be useful, who knows?”

Seungmin’s lips flatten into a line, staring up at the ceiling past the camera and debating it internally before rolling onto his side with a sigh. He looks so cozy, wrapped up in his hoodie and now snuggled up to a big fluffy pillow he rests on, his other hand propping up his phone to give you the perspective of two close friends talking at a sleepover, and not rival strangers, just one of which sitting atop a random ass tree.

“I feel like I’ll regret this, but, well, suppose you’re the only one I can talk to who doesn’t know either of us well enough to be biased, so… sure. Though there’s not much to be biased about actually. I don’t think. Basically he just… I thought he was gonna talk about it afterward, but instead he just ended up getting noticeably more possessive… like, needs to be clinging to me at all times, glaring at everyone else who tries, referring to me as his boyfriend more than usual. I’m not sure what’s up with that, since he’s the one who slept with San, but we’ve been too busy and stressed with practice to really have a chance to talk about it yet.”

“Ah.” You nod along, figuring that they must be taking the competition just as serious as your band is to come up with such show-stopping stages, so you relate to the stress that would probably make it a bad time to have such a conversation. “That’s rough. How do you feel about it all, though?”

Seungmin has to stop and think about it for a moment, shoving his face deeper into his fluffy pillow and looking down at the sheets instead of his phone screen. “I… I think I’m more upset that he’s acting so strangely about it than the fact that he did it in the first place. Makes it look like he feels guilty about doing it and is tryna be extra possessive to make up for it, or something, which… means he must’ve felt like he was doing something wrong when he did it. I don’t think it’s technically cheating, because he did pause to check in with me and he wasn’t trying to hide anything, but… we probably should’ve actually talked about it first.”

“Yeah, you can say that part again,” you huff. “Shockingly, sitting down and talking about your issues tends to solve them. Most of the time.”

He seems to be able to read through your tight-lipped expression, looking back up at the camera again.

“Something tells me the drama you’re distracting yourself from with mine, wasn’t solved that easily.”

“Yeah, well.” You pause, trying to think of how much you would be willing to share with the other team, considering you have no idea if Seungmin is the type to run his mouth or not. “It… yeah. Not that easy this time, unfortunately. Our plan B – or, plan A, sometimes, honestly – is usually to just. Fuck out all our emotions then talk about it calmly. But this time the hurt person decided to revoke that, well, technically he said he wouldn’t bottom for us anymore so maybe that still is on the table, but it just feels different. I don’t think he wants to go about it like that this time, and our other attempt didn’t work either and just made us even more tired and wired and I’m reaching my limit with these guys. Probably would do me some good to take a drive back into town, but I’m not sure what I’d do there. Work a shift at the Prism, maybe try go home with a stranger? I dunno. I’m not as keen on hooking up with strangers anymore, they don’t always like the same things I like and usually aren’t as down to sit down and talk about it beforehand so its just mid. But my other physical outlet has always been dancing, which, is all I’ve been doing lately and half of why I’m so frustrated.”

He nods along much like you did, humming at certain points to indicate his attention. “Right. So you just want an outlet for all that frustration, huh?”

“Basically. Or maybe just a break. Who knows.”

“I like boxing as an outlet,” he suggests helpfully, “Helps to print out the face of whoever you’re pissed at on a punching bag.”

“Ooh, that sounds good,” you hum, already thinking of which photo of Eric you should print out. You aren’t sure if Seungmin is extending an invitation or not, but either way it’s a good suggestion. You decide to throw out a line, just in case, and see what he does. “Doesn’t punching something over and over get kinda boring, though? Suppose that’s what you get a sparring partner for though.”

“Does fucking someone over and over get boring?” He asks cheekily, and you certainly were not ready for that response, so you splutter.

“Does- no, of course it doesn’t get boring. Not when your partners are hot and good at what they’re doing and – lets just say, we spice things up enough to keep things exciting.”

“Like what, jacking off to Hyunjin’s streams?”

“I guess, yeah. Among more exciting things. You’re not the only rigger around, y’know.”

Seungmin smiles and runs a hand through his hair, exposing his forehead more, which frames his features a lot differently; you start to get a glimpse of what you think Hyunjin sees before his streams in the was he grins so deviously at you. “Are you trying to one-up me?”

“In what, being a kinky freak?” you snort, not really seeing how even this is meant to be a competition, even if it did, admittedly, kind of feel like it. Just talking to any of the Stray Kids at all seems to draw out your competitive streak. “I mean, I reckon I’d have a fair run at topping it, but I’m not gonna pretend I’m the kinkiest degenerate in town. That’s Wooyoung for sure.”

He laughs and it’s shockingly melodic, which is a little unfair to all the people who laugh like they’re dying. “Really? Now that’s be interesting, who has the more questionable Pornhub search history, Wooyoung or Hannie…”

“Wow, way to rat out your own,” you chuckle, and you find yourself really enjoying your interactions with this Seungmin guy. He seems pretty alright so far. “Found him stumbling out of my apartment last week when I got home after the last round. Sunwoo sure did a number on him.”

“Yup, and he hasn’t shut up about it since,” Seungmin drawls with what seems like a rather fond eyeroll. “I think he saw God that night. Changbin is pissed about it. Thinks he’s stooping too low, or something. I wonder what he’ll think about you and Chan?”

Static sounds play in your brain until you can catch up with him. “He doesn’t know about me and Chan? You know about me and Chan?”

“Uh, yeah, genius, you were both at each other’s throats last we saw you and then you were both gone. Not rocket science. Chan isn’t blabbing, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though I kind of wish he would. How was it? I hear he’s a real romantic, but I have my bets on him being quite the tease.”

“You spend this much time thinking about what your homies are like in bed?”

The no-hesitation response sends Seungmin’s eyebrows shooting upward for a split-second, and a slightly twisted sense of satisfaction fills you at being the one to have a gotcha moment with that one, rather than being on the other end. You don’t like the realisation that more than one person has tried to call you out for that. You try not to think about it.

“Just… curious, I guess. It just comes up in conversation sometimes! It’s not that weird. You can tell me. I’m sure I can nag it out of him later, anyway.”

“Last time I shared anything juicy with a stray kid, he used it against me,” you hum, sounding less hurt and more amused at whatever he’s playing at. “Surely I get something just as interesting in return, as a guarantee, of sorts?”

Seungmin thinks about it, stroking his chin through a comically big sweater paw. “Not sure what kind of dirt I could give you. My boyfriend’s cock and hole is on the internet for everyone to see, you can gage a pretty good guess of what we get up to behind the screen based on what he does on the screen. I don’t really have much to hide.”

“Dirt on the others, then? You mentioned Han’s search history…”

“Ah, our Jisungie,” Seungmin coos, a smile taking over his face again at the mention of his bandmate. “Suppose I could throw him under the bus a little more. I think he’d like it if I did, honestly. Humiliation kink n’all that. Not that he’d admit it. But he doesn’t have to, it’s written all over him and the guys he likes. Hell, the girls too. If you teased him about it, it’d probably make his dick hard.”

“Really now? Oh, now that is so enticing… how bad is he gonna kill you for that one?”

“Really bad,” Seungmin chortles, muffling his laugh behind his sweater paw. “He gets worked up pretty easily, but cools down just as quick, only to fire up again as soon as you prod him. We used to fight a lot, when the band first got together, but I think we’re past that now. Since meeting you guys, though, it’s like his diss track era all over again… it’s been fun how angry he’s gotten over it all, and now he’s just angry at how good Sunwoo was in bed. It’s so cute. Seeing him get all competitive is also cute. He gets flustered easily, but then he’s surprisingly witty. Cocky, too. Haven’t seen that side of him offstage since he was still beefing with Hyunjin.”

He clearly has no idea how much material he is giving you to work with, probably thinking the humiliation kink was the meat of the information, but you absolutely soak up the details on how this man reacts to things. You won’t be caught off guard, not by him or anyone else on that team, and you are increasingly confident that the next round will absolutely rip them a new one.

“Is that so… alright, I’ll bite. Chan… is a lot crueller than he seems. But I can see how he’d be the romantic type in any other situation… I think I bring out his mean side, though. It’s pretty fun,” you muse, to avoid saying it’s pretty hot instead. “He’s very… patient. Frustratingly so. Not as much of a pushover as I thought he’d be.”

“You’re being awfully vague on purpose,” Seungmin points out blankly, “so I’m going to assume it was hot as fuck and he fucked you so good you’re ashamed to admit it.”

You really don’t like how fucking perceptive he is, you decide.

“Well, I’d definitely go with him another round.” You try to sound nonchalant as you shrug and act unbothered, because if your assumptions are right, he will go running to Chan as soon as you hang up the phone. “Next time though, it’ll be at my place on my terms. We’ll see how long he lasts.”

You hear the filtered sound of the door opening, and Seungmin stiffens, but grins. “I’ve heard all I need to hear. Lino just got home though, so I gotta dip– DM me if you wanna spar sometime. I think it’ll be fun to punch you.”

“Hey!”

He hangs up, and you’re left sitting in a tree with more questions than you have answers for. Your body aches as you make your way down the tree to head back for dinner, then practice, then sleep, then even more practice, and you wonder if you’ll have time to drive back into the city to try boxing somewhere in between. Probably not.

You get the feeling this won’t be the last of your interactions with Seungmin regardless.

Arms wrap around your waist from behind, suddenly finding yourself pressed back against someone’s firm chest. You look down at his hands, listen for the scuffles of the others’ feet on the dance floor of the practice room and voices talking, then chuck out a guess without turning to look at the mirror.

“Sunwoo?”

“Gotcha.” He pulls you back, out of the room into the sunlight and the refreshingly cool breeze of the woods. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you. We literally live together!”

“Yeah, that makes it really fucking easy to tell when someone’s avoiding you.”

Have you been avoiding him? It definitely has not been a conscious attempt to do so, but you suppose the urge to avoid his intense gaze has probably resulted in you avoiding him somewhat altogether. You aren’t sure what to tell him.

“I haven’t been trying to avoid you,” you mumble, slumping back into his embrace so he has to practically hold your entire body weight, leaning back on the outside wall of the rec room. “But I guess I’ve been doing it unintentionally. I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.”

“It’s okay,” Sunwoo hums, resting his chin on your head. “You gonna tell me why, or nah?”

“I think you know why,” you mutter, glad for how he holds you from behind so you can stare out at the scenery around you rather than have to meet his eye.

“Humour me.”

“I don’t think I will, Sunwoo,” you sigh, exhausted from this game of cat and mouse you’ve been playing. “There’s just. A lot going on, right now. I’m tired. Stressed and tired.”

He accepts your subject change gracefully, hugging you tighter and humming in agreement. “I could tell. We all are, but you seem to be taking this all the worst after Eric.”

You snort. “Really? So why aren’t you comforting Eric about it, then?”

“You saw how he is. I don’t think he wants comfort from any of us except Kevin until we bring home another win.”

“I really thought this would help him,” you confess, voice small. It makes you ache a little. “It seemed like the perfect idea. Give him a sense of control and respect and trust in us again, focus on our art, kick some ass. I just didn’t expect him to kick ours.”

He chuckles, and you feel it rumble in his chest against your back. Grounding. “Yeah, me neither. That’s why I’m leaving that one to Kevin and coming to you instead.”

“Well, thanks.” You twist around in his arms to give him an appreciative peck to the lips, then immediately twist back around towards the scenery at how just seeing his face up that close again made your heartbeat faster. His presence feels so much more intense since that conversation, which is likely why you ended up being so avoidant.

“Turn around and look at me.”

“Huh?” You do, withholding the urge to visibly gulp at the way he smirks down at you and cups your cheek.

“You’re really cute when you’re too flustered to look me in the eye. Have you been having feeeelings about me?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and fizzling out the last coherent thought you had in your brain.

“It’s– It’s a feeling alright,” you stammer, trying so hard not to shy away from his gaze. “One of them, for sure.”

“Mm, I wonder which one,” he presses further, leaning in to dust kisses along your jawline, stopping at your neck just to breathe over it. “But you don’t even know that for yourself yet, do you?”

You shiver, clutching tightly at his hips. “I– I don’t know. Everything has been so insane lately and I don’t wanna add to all that at such a stressful time for everyone, y’know?”

He pulls back with a sympathetic smile and strokes your hair. “This is the most stressed I’ve seen you in a while. Been waiting for you to ask me or the others to help you do something about it, but you haven’t. Why?”

Perceptive as ever, Sunwoo sees right through you like fucking glass. To a point where it would be almost humiliating if it weren’t exactly what you needed a lot of the time. “Because everyone is tired and sore and needing to be in tip-top shape if we’re gonna endure any more of Eric’s boot camp hell. This is the kind of frustration I’d take out on Wooyoung that’d have him sitting on a bag of frozen peas and calling out of work for the night.”

“Ooh,” Sunwoo chuckles with a smirk, “that frustrated, huh? Well, I don’t enjoy pain that much, but I can fuck the frustration out of you if you want—”

“Tempting as that sounds,” you muse aloud with a click of your tongue, “I don’t wanna put your body through any more stress than Eric already is. You’re not a dancer, you must be sore all over.”

“I am,” Sunwoo confesses, “But I don’t need to exert myself. C’mon, you needa de-stess.”

“Sunwoo…” A smile is already tugging at your lips however, and you both know you don’t have it in you to deny him.

“C’mon.” He has a cheeky grin as he waddles you down the hill with him back towards the lodge, ushering you to his room. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He’s confident. He always is, never failing to lure you in and get you where he wants. If that happens to be his bed, then in his bed you will be, trapped in his embrace on the edge of the bed, right in front of a full-length mirror. Sunwoo is a bit vain like that, or perhaps just voyeuristic. Probably just voyeuristic, if the way he left the bedroom door wide open is any indicator, but such isn’t uncommon when it’s only the band around. This time, at least, the lodge seems empty.

Sunwoo takes his time kissing along your neck and trailing his hands along your body, under your clothes, and you sigh and lean back against him, letting your eyes flutter shut and focus on the feeling of his plush lips and calloused guitarist’s fingers. There’s no rush. You know he could do this all day, and it has you relaxing into it so much you jolt and gasp when he bites down on your neck just as hard as you like it. The dark chuckle he lets out at your whine is telling; he has you right where he wants you, playing your body like a fiddle.

He turns your head towards him and pulls you into a heated kiss, slow yet eager, savouring every brush of lips and taste of tongue. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world and he wants to spend all of it just feeling you against him, your lips on his lips and your skin under his palms and his hardness against your back when he pulls you closer.

A hand slips down your pants but not past your underwear, simply cupping you there, idly teasing as he proceeds to kiss you, and you find yourself subtly shifting your hips up into his touch for more pressure. You know if you tried to egg him on any further he’d pull away immediately, so your keep your hands firmly planted on his thighs encasing yours, giving them an encouraging squeeze.

“Want more, baby?” he breathes into your ear, the air making you shiver.

“Please.” You don’t have the energy for his teasing, or any of the usual back and forth. You’ve had enough of that lately, and at least with Sunwoo, you don’t feel too embarrassed to beg. “Just touch me.”

“Your wish is my command, prince.”

His hand finally slips into your underwear and touches you where you need him most, gathering your wetness on his fingers and slowly circling your clit. Too slow. It does it’s intended purpose of riling you up, but you don’t need to be even more riled up right now, you need to let off steam—

“Relax,” he murmurs when your hips buck up more into him. “Just focus on feeling all of it, okay? You’re gonna tire yourself out quickly if you’re that eager.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, slipping a finger into you and replacing its spot on your clit with his thumb.

“Sunwoo, please,” you beg again, and you see him smirk down at himself in the mirror. That little shit. He’s enjoying your desperation a little too much for someone who claims he just wants you to relax. “I need more.”

“Well, shit,” Sunwoo hisses, slipping a second finger in and finally quickening the pace and pressure of his fingers, your body singing under his onslaught. “When you ask that prettily, how am I supposed to deny you, mm?”

Your head falls onto his shoulder, just in perfect range for him to start sucking on it again, no doubt on his way to leave a very visible mark behind. “Y-You don’t,” you manage to gasp out, and he smirks against your skin.

“Don’t get too used to it, prince. You might find me feeling a lot more cruel another day.”

You want to groan out, I know, but his fingers working their magic don’t let you, and you honestly welcome the way it makes your mind go blank, watching him through the mirror looking so focused and so into making you feel good, completely ignoring himself. Your eyes flutter shut just as you are interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Motherfucker—”

“Shhh.”

He doesn’t remove his hand from between your legs as he uses his other one to grab his phone from his pocket and answer it, lazily drawing circles on you with his thumb while grinning at you in the mirror. You know you’re trapped now, because you can’t quite recognise the muffled voice on the other line, and if it’s someone important, possibly even related to the band, you can’t risk ruining it for him by making a sound.

“Oh? No, I’m not busy,” he lies smugly, making direct eye contact with you while he says it and slipping in another finger. “Why, I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Missing me already?”

Your eyebrows raise at that comment, noticing the flirty lilt in his voice and trying to figure out who the fuck he would be talking to like that. It doesn’t sound like any of your bandmates, giving he wasn’t expecting the call, unless it was maybe Eric? You mouth him the question, but he pointedly ignores you and resumes curling his fingers in you so deliciously you have to bite your lip to stay quiet.

“That’s so pathetic it’s cute,” he giggles, and now you’re even more curious. There’s no way it would be Eric, not in the mood he’s been in, you think he would punch something if anyone tried to call him pathetic right now. “Oh, you poor little thing. I’m out of town right now, so you’re stuck there on your own.” He clicks his tongue at the other person’s reply. “I meant I wasn’t too busy to hear how you’re touching yourself for me and the things you’re thinking about me in explicit detail, so do go on.”

You widen your eyes again, pulse thrumming with the excitement of how dirty it all is, and with Sunwoo’s movements quickening you only hope that whoever’s on the other end of the line can’t hear your breathing quicken with it. Or maybe you hope they do.

He suddenly stops as the other person keeps talking, and next thing you know he’s propping his phone up between his face and shoulder and pulling at your pants. When you start to shimmy them off, he reaches for his own, pulling them down just enough to let his cock spring free, already dribbling precum.

“What am I doing? What do you think I’m doing, cutie? I’m taking my cock out. You sound so fucking delicious for me, baby.”

You don’t need to be told what to do, shifting back to meet him and hovering over his length, earning a hiss from him as he leans back and lets you rub the tip against your entrance. “Yeah? You gonna take me?” he pants into the phone, meeting your eye in the mirror as he says it. You sink down on him all at once and the moan he lets out is a guttural one. “Fuck, good boy.”

You hear a whine on the other end and it’s so tempting to just snatch the phone out of his hand and put it on speaker, let you in on the action too, but it doesn’t take long for him to practically read your mind and do it himself.

“Oh? You want to show me? Let me see your cute little cock then, princess.”

“Fuck,” the voice on the other end whimpers, broken and airy, and it becomes a video call request that he accepts with only audio on his end first. You aren’t sure who you were expecting to see, but when the screen comes up with the same man who you met stumbling out of your apartment last week, leaning back on the bed with cock in hand, ass plugged with a pretty pink gem, and a thin sheen of sweat sticking a few strands of his long, silky hair to his face.

“Mmm, so pretty for me, Jisung-ah,” he coos, voice shaky from how you slowly move up and down on him – or try to, but he stops you with his free hand and gives you a stern look you know is because he wanted you not to do any of the work. “You like showing off for me?”

He nods profusely, fucking his fist and scrambling down to reach for the plug to fuck it into his hole too. “Love it, love your eyes on me, fuck, wanna see you too, please, I bet you look so hot right now hyung…”

As far as you know, the two of them are the same age, and you suppose that’s why the honourific brings such a smug look to Sunwoo’s face. “’Hyung’? Not wanting to be my pretty little princess anymore, hmm?”

Jisung whines again even more needily, the lighting in his room is dim through the closed curtains but just enough evening sunlight peeks through to reflect off the wetness oozing from his tip as he lazily strokes it. “A-Ah, c’mon, please…”

“Please what?”

He shifts around on the bed a bit with his eyes squeezed shut, pulling an arm over his face to hide in his elbow while he mumbles, “Please, oppa.”

“That’s a good little girl,” Sunwoo rasps lowly, the praise making Jisung’s ministrations quicker, and you have to bite your hand to muffle a laugh at the sheer humiliation of it all, and just how easy it was. How perfectly pathetic. “Want me to put on a show for you?”

You know the real question he’s asking and to whom; do you want him to see us like this? You nod at him through the mirror and tap the camera icon for him, pointing the camera ahead so you he could see you both.

“Good thing you caught me at such a good time, then. You have such a good show to enjoy.”

Jisung freezes up, eye blowing wide at where his phone is propped up on something in front of him, and for a second you think he’s going to dive for it to hang up but instead he throws his head back so hard against the headboard you think it would have hurt, gasping and whimpering as he comes all over his fist, hips thrashing wildly and thick ropes of white painting his slutty little muscle tee, even from where it’s pulled up over his abs.

“What the– what the– what the fuck, Sunwoo!” he whines, still frantically jerking his cock and twitching violently at the overstim, burying his cute little face in his arm again, too embarrassed to face you himself but not too embarrassed to cum to it. Or maybe it was the embarrassment that made him cum in the first place. “You– you said you weren’t busy–“

“I never said I was alone, baby. Besides, we weren’t busy. Were we, prince? Just hangin’ out, right?”

“No, not busy. Just relaxing.” You flash a smarmy grin right back at him, grinding down on his cock with an over-exaggerated sigh, throwing your head back onto his shoulder again and spreading your legs to make sure Jisung was getting a nice view. After all, he deserves a treat for the humiliation the two of you just put him through.

“You– You’re a dick,” Jisung pants out, slowly pulling his arm away to pull his boxers back on. “Can’t believe you made me say that in front of him–“

“You love my dick,” Sunwoo sassed him back, passing you the phone so he could grab your hips and take over, pulling you up and thrusting up into you slowly. “Needa split you open on it again. Maybe they can watch. Don’t worry, they didn’t hear our whole conversation, only the video call – I’m sure he’d love to see it for himself instead, though.”

You moan, rubbing yourself as Sunwoo bounces you up and down and trying to keep the camera steady, “Oh, fuck I sure would. Would you be my good little girl, too?”

“You’re both so mean,” he complains again, and you find yourself quite liking the little pout on his face when he does it. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away, however, reaching forward to grab his phone from whatever it was propped up on his bed to get a better look. “Fuck… you look so hot like that though…”

Showing off a little more, you pull yourself off Sunwoo so Jisung could see his cock in all it’s glory, thick and veiny and oh-so-picturesque, and simply rub your pussy against it, both gasping when your clit and his head collide.

“Fuck, hold on,” Sunwoo mutters, reaching down to his luggage on the floor and rummaging for a bit before pulling out a sleek bullet vibe and turning it on, pressing it to your dick and slipping back inside. You both groan, as Sunwoo angles the vibe so he could feel its vibrations against his shaft too, and starts fucking into you with reckless abandon. “Shit, baby, so good–“

“Hah– thought you said you wouldn’t exert yourself– woah, slow down, I can’t keep the camera steady,” you huff, Sunwoo reluctantly obliging and taking the phone away to prop it up on the dresser and change it to the front facing camera towards the bed, pulling you back down with him and bending you over.

“Fuck that,” he growls, all his patience from before melted away with every rough snap of his hips, “I’m gonna fuck all that stress outta you, I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress even if it fucking kills me tomorrow.”

You are reduces to cries instead of words as he does exactly that – frankly you have no idea where all this energy comes from after a long day of dancing, but you figure he won’t have his usual stamina this time – craning your head over your should to peek at his phone on the dresser, where Jisung watches with his lip pulled between his teeth and an obvious shaking from below the screen.

“Let us see,” you gasp out, eyes rolling back into your head as Sunwoo angles his hips just right and makes you see stars, but you force yourself to focus on the screen just enough to see him lift his phone higher and reveal him stroking his cock again, still covered in cum, cutely small in his hand.

“Y-You guys are so fucking hot it’s unfair,” he sighs, body twitching hard enough to shake the camera with every other movement. “Can’t believe you fuck raw too. Do you cum inside? Can I see it? Please, wanna see him dripping, fuck, wish that was me.”

“Yeah? Wish this was you, huh?” Sunwoo pulls you up on your knees with a firm yank on your hair, pulling a moan from you, and you don’t have much of a choice but to let him use you as he wants as he fills you up so fucking good. “Want me to cum in your ass and knock you up, huh? Want me to breed your cute little hole? Ooh, he clenched around me at that, I didn’t know you liked that one, prince.”

You whine a little in embarrassment, but mostly hold it together. “Y-Yeah well, it’s a new one,” you mutter, grasping for anything to ground you as Sunwoo keeps you propped up, but as soon as he lets you back down to lean on the mattress again, the vibe is back between your legs and you whimper.

“Cuuute, see, you’re not the only one who has embarrassing kinks, Jisung, looks like both of you wanna be all knocked up, hm? Want me to put a baby in you, baby?”

“No,” you rasp, ignoring the way his words send a wave of heat down south anyway. “Wanna put a baby in him.” You point towards the camera, and Jisung whines so erotically you think he would do just as well on cam as Hyunjin or San would.

“That’s so fucking hot fuck– please, please, please, breed me, knock me up, both of you, fuck…” He’s fucking the a dildo in his ass now, so frantically it keeps slipping out, “Need you both inside me, fuck, get me pregnant…”

The two of you chuckle at how far gone he is, willing to say all these embarrassing things so openly to the same people he spent so long arguing with the other week, that bitter resentment warped into something else entirely and were you not getting your brains fucked out you would want to ask Sunwoo how the fuck he did it, but he seems intent on not giving you the chance to form a proper sentence.

“Fuck– yes– shit I think I’m gonna–“ your breathing quickens, your core tightens, and one strangled groan from Sunwoo behind you and another few perfectly angled snaps of his hips sends you falling over the edge, the high pulsing through you like electricity.

“That’s it baby, thaaat’s it, fuck you’re so pretty when you cum for me,” Sunwoo mutters, bending over you and tilting your head to steal a kiss as he follows you over, moaning against your lips as he paints your walls white.

Jisung is still panting and fucking himself with his toy while the two of you catch your breath, and the sheer agony on his face is so fucking delightful you find yourself wanting to be so much meaner to him if given the chance.

“No, no, please,” he begs, “don’t stop yet, ahh, I’m close, please.”

He sure seems to love the show, so it’s a good thing you and Sunwoo both love to perform.

“Babe, move with me, lemme get the camera–“

You and Sunwoo both awkwardly shuffle to the edge of the bed where Sunwoo can reach his phone again, taking it off the dresser and flipping the camera back to the front so he can give your little voyeur on the phone a close-up view of where your bodies meet.

“Oh, fuck–“

“Don’t look away for even a second, baby. You don’t wanna miss a second of this.”

Sunwoo slowly pulls himself out, shiny and wet and covered in you, and when you clench down around nothing, he has a perfect shot of his cum dripping from your hole. The sounds Jisung is making on the other end of the line are beyond gone, fucked out and on the brink, and when Sunwoo collects his dripping cum on his fingers and pushes them back inside you, you hear his voice crack.

“Fuck–! Cum- Cumming- fuck…!”

“That’s a good girl.” He puts the phone back in front of you so you both can enjoy the sight of Jisung spilling another load all over his chest, not even touching his cock as he simply milks his prostate with the toy inside him. Sunwoo is even mean enough to take screenshots, and you grin at him, “Send those to me.”

It takes him a long moment to recover from the intensity of his orgasm, chest heaving, covered in sweat and his own mess, but the most dazed smile takes over his features as he covers half his face in disbelief.

“Fuck,” he exhales, picking the camera back up to hover above his face, “You guys are the hottest fucking… most insufferably horrible people I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow at him playfully, “Sounds like you like it, though.”

“Yeah, well,” he rolls his eyes, “Unfortunately for me that’s kinda my type. Dick hard one moment, wanting to punch you through a wall the next.”

“Don’t worry, I think Changbin already did the latter part for you!” Sunwoo chips in helpfully, so you elbow him in the shoulder. “See you on the battlefield next time, cutie.”

Jisung snorts, and you see him slipping out of his dick-drunk trance. “Is it really a battle or is it a slaughter?” He catches his tongue between cheekily at that, and you feel heat flare up of a familiarly ambiguous kind.

“We’ll make it a slaughter by the time we’re done with you,” you vow, and Sunwoo has to put a hand on your shoulder to remind you to save it and not get too heated. “You aren’t ready for what we have in store for the next round.”

“More provoking lyrics and slutty outfits? I think I can take it. Yes, innuendo intended, I could and would take you both – now I gotta get cleaned up, so. See ya later.”

It takes a second for you to recover from the whiplash of him bouncing between cocky and confident, and needy and pathetic, back and forth between only a few sentences, but you are quickly starting to understand what Seungmin meant about him. You exchange glances with Sunwoo and shrug.

“Still stressed out?”

“His switch-up at the end wasn’t that good for my stress levels, but I think I’m mostly alright,” you laugh, and Sunwoo laughs with you, then raises a suggestive brow.

“Sit on my face about it?”

“God, you’re the best. I’m gonna suck your soul out your dick about it.”

Eric looks up and all he can see is Felix looking down at him.

He wants to punch a fucking hole in the wall, shatter glass, snap something in half. He does not delude himself into thinking he is not an angry kind of person; he is, and he knows it. Still, lately he finds his nerves have been grated even more than usual, and he’d be a fool to not know why – it’s Felix. Of course it’s Felix. He just didn’t think it’d get him like this.

They broke up on good terms. That’s what he keeps drilling into his own head, over and over like he would forget otherwise. It was a mutual agreement; they weren’t working out. Eric wanted to see Felix a lot more than Felix could see him, and Felix didn’t want Eric to feel like he was constantly being put on the backburner, so they broke up. Figured that it just was the right person, wrong time.

Right person, wrong time.

He keeps telling himself that, over and over, as he goes through the choreography again, and again, and again, long after the rest of the band got sick of his shit and left him in the makeshift studio. He wants to punch the mirror hard enough to shatter it.

Right person, wrong time.

He regrets how much he held onto the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could wait for him. Maybe there could be a right time, if he was patient. Like a fucking fool, he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time he held him, kissed him, or touched him again. And it wasn’t – so why does it feel like it only made it worse? Felix was exactly like he remembered, only with more tattoos and piercings, dark hair, a sharper jawline, broader shoulders, and a bit more attitude. But he was still Felix, he was still his Felix, still the Felix who crumbles for someone with lots of confidence, who can’t lie, still the Felix who pokes his tongue in his cheek when he’s riled up, his Felix who’s breath hitches when someone leans in close, who gulps when he’s nervous, who’s voice jumps up in pitch when he gets filled up-

“Missed me that much?”

He keeps playing that night over and over. The song plays again, he twists and turns and jumps and hits, but all he can see is Felix and you all over him. He missed him. He missed him so fucking badly, when he really did think he had moved on. He has you now, he has the band, and that was more than enough for him – he even stopped dating because whatever it is you guys have going on was always just so much better. Hell, even if Felix came crawling back to him on his hands and knees to apologise and asked to get back together again, Eric doesn’t even think he would say yes. Not if it meant giving up what you guys have.

He still fucking misses him.

The choreography is intense. He pops, locks, perfects his body line, practices his flip, lands on one knee just a bit too wobbly for comfort; but while the music still plays, the energetic and intense trap beat Kevin made just for him, he doesn’t get back up. He falls forward, hands on the polished wooden floors, and cringes as it comes back wet – it’s only then when he realises he’s crying. He’s crying onto the floor of his dance studio while his kick-ass battle song plays and he just feels so fucking pathetic, because why is he even crying over this? Why is he crying over someone who was never truly his? Why is he even crying over someone who didn’t even really wrong him?

Not until now, at least. Not in their relationship. Unless the reason he was so busy back then was because he was making another dance crew with his other friends and he decided he would rather give up Force and Eric along with it, like Eric suspects, when if he wanted to sing and rap that badly he knows Eric would have let him join the runaways. He’d even fit with their namesake too, having ditched his family home in the middle of the night as soon as he turned eighteen; he knew Eric would have loved to have him here.

But of course, he was too busy. Not too busy for Stray Kids, just too busy for Force, and too busy for him. As they always were. As everyone always fucking is. History has a habit of repeating itself until you learn your lesson but he just does not understand the lesson needing to be learnt – what does he need to do to make them stay? What does he need to do to be someone’s first priority, to not be constantly brushed aside? What does he need to do to be worthy of the kind of intense devotion he gives everyone he cares about? Eric supposes that was always his weakness; loving more than he was ever loved back. Everyone would love him, but not nearly as much as he loved them, when push came to shove. Everyone except you and the band.

What he just doesn’t get, is why you guys just can’t get that. You seemed to understand enough that coming to participate in a band contest as a glorified dance crew – a dance crew, like the one he left – with his cool new friends when he knew how important the competition was to you guys, was a cold fucking move at worst and a nonsensical one at best. They insulted you, punched you in the fucking face, insulted your work, and you just go and suck their dicks about it? Go and suck Felix’s dick about it? You know what he means to him. You know he isn’t over him. But it seems like just about fucking everybody is willing to bend over backwards for the golden boy and his pretty freckles and award-winning smile that Eric fell for so long ago.

“Fuck. Fucking fuck!”

Eric knows exactly why you like him so much. He knows because he still fucking likes him. He knows because when he smirks at you like that, and he still wants to kiss him too. He still remembers how soft his lips are, and that they taste like caramel because he’s always drinking those sickeningly sweet excuses for coffees that might as well be milkshakes. But he just can’t do it. He can’t just kiss him like they’re still in love when he is coming and taking over everything that was ever fucking important to him. Everything he still cares about. Dance, music, you, his friends. But it doesn’t include him anymore, it never was fucking about him. Not anymore, it’s never about him anymore. Even now, at his family’s holiday house, leading his supposed dance boot camp, the rest of you are in the lodge playing board games without him because you said you needed a break and he’s been pushing you too hard.

If he can keep going, why can’t you? Why is he the only one taking this seriously? What happened to trusting him? You said you let him lead this week so he can see that you trust and value his input, but you guys just aren’t listening.

More than anything, he just wants to go home. He’s tired, mentally and physically, and he just wants things to go back to the way things were before the battle. Home, not the apartment, but in a cuddle puddle with the six of you when none of you are mad at each other, staring at the ceiling while the starry sky projector you bought lights up the room with colour.

But he knows better than to think you will agree to back out now. Hell, as much as he wants to, he wouldn’t let you, either; the controversy has put both you and your rival band in the spotlight like never before, and if you all want to achieve your dreams of being able to do music as a career and tour the world, you need this. He needs this. He’ll be damned if his shady ex-boyfriend gets in the way of that.

No more distractions, he decides, getting up and wiping away his tears. One more time, from the top.

“Eric?”

When he looks toward the doorway and sees the solemn expression Kevin gives him, holding a plate of freshly cooked food in hand, he feels whatever wall he just built up come crumbling down instantly. “Kevin…”

Kevin must be able to tell that he was just crying, because he sets down tonight’s meal on the pool table pushed aside to make room, and sweeps Eric into a crushing hug, which, for Kevin, isn’t the most common of gestures. Eric hugs him back and buries his face in his neck, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to say anything. Not even wanting to hear anything. Kevin speaks anyway.

“We’re all really worried about you, y’know?”

“Not really,” Eric sniffles, and he hates how pathetic it sounds. “No one’s listening to me.”

Kevin tuts and pulls back slightly to frown at him, but Eric doesn’t look up. He can’t bear to meet his eyes. “Eric, we’re not listening because you’re being unreasonable. The week’s deadline doesn’t suddenly give our bodies any more endurance than they already have. We’re not all built like you!”

“I’m sick of fighting, Kev,” Eric sighs, and Kevin runs a hand through his hair soothingly.

“Then don’t fight. How about we go eat and head to bed early? It’s been a long day.”

Eric wants to argue again, despite just saying he is sick of arguing. He does not want to be coddled like an angry toddler throwing a tantrum, but that’s exactly how he feels; unheard, begrudgingly comforted just so he can calm down and go back to normal. He thinks he wants things to go back to normal more than the rest of you combined. Normal, back when it didn’t feel like all his bandmates were looking so far down at him like everyone else.

He bites his tongue and redirects it.

“How about I eat you instead? To de-stress, of course.”

Please let me have this, Eric pleads silently, hidden poorly behind a weak smirk. He grabs Kevin’s hips and starts tugging him towards the couch pushed up to the side of the room. Let me have you, let me feel you.

Kevin sees his request for what it is; a plea for intimacy, more than sex. A plea for trust, connection.

He sees it for what it is, and with a small sigh, grabs his face and connects their lips.

By the time you and Sunwoo finish cleaning up and re-gaining the feeling in your legs, a bonfire is crackling outside, while Wooyoung and Mingi are manning a fragrant barbecue. Eric being there is a welcome sight – just the fact that he is no longer cooping himself up inside the practice room or his room is already promising, but him being around the rest of the band willingly is even better. You turn to smile at Sunwoo and he’s already smiling back at you – he’s probably thinking the same thing.

“Well look who finally–“ You are cut off by Sunwoo stepping past you and shoving you roughly in the side to sit down next to Eric on a log and clap a hand on his shoulder.

“Glad to see you back, bro.”

Eric smiles.

You can’t even complain at the shove as it was completely called for; Sunwoo is right, what Eric needs now is probably not your usual attitude and instead more gentle appreciation, so you follow his lead and sit on his other side, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Sorry. Missed you.”

He doesn’t seem to need the clarification on what you meant, giving that you have been seeing each other most of every day the whole week, but he returns your peck with a quiet thanks and goes back to staring into the dancing flames.

You have half the mind to leave him alone, since he clearly does not feel like talking, but you figured that if he really wanted to be left alone, he would be in his room or the makeshift studio again, so his decision to be here around you all was deliberate. So you stay next to him, pressed shoulder to shoulder just to give him that grounding point of contact – you’re there. You’re with him, next to him. If he wants to speak, he can, but if he doesn’t, you’ll still be there anyway.

He leans his head on your shoulder, and you feel your heart soar. He’s leaning on you. Both figuratively and literally, he’s leaning on you, he’s allowing himself to be soft with you even if he might still be mad at you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and press another kiss to the top of his head, to let him know you heard him, even if he didn’t say anything. You hear him.

Sunwoo gets up to grab his food when Wooyoung calls that dinner’s ready, but Eric doesn’t move, and you won’t either until he does, but you give his shoulder a little squeeze.

“You gonna eat anything?”

“Not hungry.”

“Eric…”

“I’ll eat later, I promise,” he insists, taking your free hand in his and playing with it gently, intertwining your fingers. “Just… not right now.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, not wanting to find any more reasons to disagree with him for now. “What do you want to do right now, then?”

He has to think about it, still playing with your hands as he does, and it’s cute how it seems to soothe him somewhat. “I want… to talk this out, or whatever. I’m tired of being angry. I just. Don’t really know how to start.”

You look over his shoulder to gesture to the others to come in, and you all find yourselves seated on the log by the bonfire or the dirt in front of it, not wanting to be any further from Eric than necessary. “Start wherever you feel like, baby. We’re listening.”

He sighs, then tries to gather the words to start, then sighs again even louder. He lets go of your hand to drop his head into his own.

“I don’t know. I’m just, I’m tired, I’m upset, I miss Felix, I don’t want to miss Felix, I’m angry at him for doing this to me, I’m angry that you’re taking such an interest in him, I’m scared of being replaced, and I feel so fucking inferior about everything I ever had any confidence in and I just want it all to stop.”

“Okay, that’s a good start,” you encourage him, stroking his back rhythmically while he let it all out. “I had a feeling it was something along those lines.”

“It’s alright to be scared and angry,” Mingi pipes up helpfully, leaning over to give Eric a reassuring head pat.

“Felix did do you pretty dirty,” Wooyoung adds, to which the others nod.

Eric sighs again, running his hands through his hair. “I’m scared,” he repeats. “I’m scared we’ll lose. And I don’t know how I’ll handle that if we do. Because that’d be… feels almost fucking symbolic, in a way, of him just. Ruining everything I worked towards. That’s why I keep drilling you guys and being even more of a perfectionist than usual and – god, they’re fucking perfect. They’re incredible performers. I still don’t think their act should be allowed as a band but they’re so fucking good at what they do I can’t help but think we can’t really compete.”

“But we can!” San chimes in, shifting closer to make sure Eric is looking at him. “Prior to this week I didn’t even know how to dance beyond a few TikTok challenges, now I’m doing choreography you made for a dance crew! Half of you guys are practically professionals, and this might be one of the best songs Kevin’s produced yet, and the lyrics–“

“Have some more faith in us,” you interrupt, a little too enthusiastic, “we’re fucking good at what we do, too. We won last year for a reason, remember? This stage is absolutely gonna blow their socks off.”

“It’s not you guys I’m really worried about,” Eric admits quietly, still refusing to look any of you in the eye. He doesn’t need to. You already see his real feelings written all over him.

“You’re worried you might fuck up the whole thing.”

His silence is the only confirmation you need.

“Oh, Eric.” You pull him in for a tighter hug, which everyone else joins in until you are all awkwardly hunched over on the log and almost fall over, making you all giggle. “You’re not going to fuck up anything, okay? You’re going to be the star of the show.”

“I don’t know… I don’t think my choreography can match theirs. I’m mostly trained in hip-hop, but Hyunjin adds a contemporary twist to theirs, and Lino has such insane body control and–“

“And you have a swagger onstage that they could only dream of,” Kevin finishes, leaning over to put a finger to Eric’s lips, and he finally looks up from the ground to meet him. “Do you really think band judges are going to be looking for mixtures of dance genres and technical precision? They’re here for the music and they’re here for the spectacle. I’m pretty sure the reason why Stray Kids are getting as far as they are, is more to do with their production quality, live vocals, and stage presence. Are you really gonna doubt us on those fronts? This isn’t a dance tournament.”

Eric doesn’t have a response for that, playing with his own hands as he processes it all, so you take one into your own so he could go back to fidgeting with yours if he so desired.

“You’re right, I can’t doubt your guys’ songs and vocals like that. That wouldn’t be fair. Suppose it also wasn’t fair how hard I pushed your bodies, too.”

“Or your own,” Wooyoung reminds him, getting up to grab a now-cool plate of food to bring back to him and plop it in his lap. “You don’t need to be so hard on yourself, either. Whether or not we win the next round, which I have in good confidence that we will, we are still incredible fucking performers. Stray cats can’t take that from us. It’s not like we can really lose – everyone else in the competition has been an absolute non-event, dude. No one’s talking about them. We’re basically guaranteed second place at the very least, and that’s still a win.”

Eric pokes at the meat on his plate with his fork, trying to muster up the appetite. “I don’t want to be second place to anyone. Not anymore.”

You realise what he really means by that, and he doesn’t mean the competition at all. It was never about the battle, it was about the war – the ongoing war raging in his head of his own self-worth and the way his past threatens it. How he can never be certain that he won’t have to fight for his right to exist, his right to be loved – and you get it. You really do. So deeply, even, that you have bonded over it in the past, and that is exactly how you know that he will stick by you till the bitter end, and you just wish he could feel the same. You sigh and massage the back of his neck.

“Eric, sweetheart, you could never be replaced. Not by Felix, not by the homeless children, not by anyone. We wouldn’t be here right now if you could!”

He seems to only shrink in size as he curls up and munches on his food. “Why are you so obsessed with Felix, then?”

He turns to you.

“Obsessed? With Felix?” It strikes you as a little odd. “What do you mean obsessed with him? He hurt you, Eric. I can’t forgive him for that. You know how ride or die I am for the people I care about and the six of you are at the absolute top of that list. I’m fucking around with him because I want him to feel as small and pathetic as he’s made you feel, and I want it to fucking haunt him how he can’t help but think of it when it’s just him and his right hand. I want to drive him insane until he realises he fumbled the best thing to ever happen to him.”

“And Chan? You seem awfully interested in him too. And how interested he is in Felix.”

You are not sure whether to feel hurt or understanding at Eric’s accusations. You know he’s insecure and you know he needs your reassurance, but you don’t like the way he’s painting you in this whole situation. “Chan has a weak spot for Felix and it’s so easy to prey on. Why wouldn’t I? He’s the core of their group. He calls the shots and it seems like to some degree, everyone relies on him. You destabilise him, you destabilise all of them. Besides, we just have beef from leader to leader, creative to creative. I know we got invested in this whole rivalry for your sake at first, Eric, but it’s gotten pretty personal now. That doesn’t mean we’re moving past you now. It means we’re all taking them on together.”

“You make the battle of the bands sound like some huge psyop mission,” Kevin snorts, finishing off his plate. “We should just not worry about them and focus on making our performance the best we can be. I’m sure Chan and Felix and all of them will leave us alone if we just leave them be.”

“No way!”

You, Eric, Wooyoung, and Sunwoo, all pipe up at the same time, looking at Kevin incredulously.

“I don’t want to leave them alone, I want them to wish they could be us so bad,” Wooyoung huffs, crossing his arms. “C’mon, even you enjoyed putting Jupiter in their places last year. It’s fun to stick it to some bitches who deserve it!”

Kevin goes quiet, then waves his arm dismissively. “Yeah alright, whatever. Have your fun with it then, I guess.”

“Maybe I need to be having more fun with it,” Eric chuckles, poking at his dinner some more. “I mean, tag teaming him at the Prism was pretty fun. I guess I just got… really into my own head about it.”

“Attaboy,” you cheer, giving him an encouraging slap on the back, “that’s the spirit! Obviously you don’t have to fuck around with them if you don’t want to. But y’know. You can always annoy them more.”

“I think I’d rather fuck you in front of them and have them watch,” Eric throws out casually, making your eyebrows shoot up and your still aching core throb. “That’d be pretty hot. Wonder if they’d agree to it, though.”

You shrug. “I dunno Eric, we can be pretty damn convincing, I think. Maybe we should invite them to our dressing room next round. Or something. We’ll work it out. But before we get to any more plotting and scheming… how do you feel? Are you like… okay? Or at least better?”

“Better,” he nods, and you feel reassured in that he didn’t have to stop to think about it. “I don’t know. I know I was projecting my own insecurities onto you guys. And I know I was pushing you guys too far. I just needed to feel… like I held any weight here. Like I was still important to you guys.”

“Of course you’re still important to us,” Mingi breathes out, visibly saddened at the thought that Eric even had to doubt it. “I’m sorry you couldn’t feel it enough.”

“I do now, at least.” He cracks a small smile, and exchanges a knowing look with Kevin that makes you think Sunwoo was onto something when he said he’d let the keyboardist handle him. “I know that was the point of this entire trip. And I’m sorry all I used it for was to try and find ways to prove that you guys didn’t care as much as I did. I’ll stop projecting. At least, I’ll try.”

“That’s all we can ask for, Eric,” San reminds him, getting up to give him another hug. Sunwoo has to stabilise his plate so it doesn’t get shoved off his lap. “You can tell us if you’re feeling bad or insecure about things, y’know? Just please don’t get angry with us. You know we can talk things out calmly and you’re scary when you yell.”

Eric laughs at the audible pout in San’s voice without needing to see it over his shoulder. He pats him on the back affectionately. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try not to. I’m sorry again. We can take tomorrow off, I think. Enjoy the holiday house while we’re here, spend the day by the lake, maybe. It’ll be fun.”

“Sounds like exactly what we all need!” Kevin agrees, clapping his hands together. “I unironically think that our practice will be even better if we don’t practice for a day. Let our bodies catch up with it all.”

“For sure,” Wooyoung agrees, “it’s always like that. In the meantime, I think we should all take turns schlobbing your knob for being such a great dance teacher.”

That makes everyone burst out laughing, but Wooyoung simply doubles down. “What? I mean it! I’ll give you the sloppiest toppy bro, the Gluck Gluck Triple Twist–“

“I get it, I get it,” Eric howls, trying to recover from the sudden humorous outburst. “God, that gave me whiplash. Yeah, sure, if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

“It’s whatever you want, Eric,” you tell him, leaning on his shoulder this time, “after all, this is still meant to be your trip.”

The smallest but most genuine of smiles pulls at the corners of his lips, and he presses them to your crown appreciatively. “Thanks. All of you. You guys… mean a lot to me.”

Sunwoo notices the tears glistening on his cheeks before you do, and instantly leans in to kiss them off, and before you know it, everyone is swarming him to try and express their own forms of affection to a point that’s downright comical in it’s impracticality, knocking him off the log in your onslaught of touch and kisses.

“Ahaha, alright, alright! I get it, you guys too– ahahaha, fuckin hell, you guys are too much.”

Once again you hear what he really says, and it’s loud and clear;

I love you all so much.

a/n: i feel like the apologies for the wait get more and more ironic the longer i go between updates, but i really am sorry! 2023 was a year of all time for me and i was just speedrunning life events but it's okay i think im normal now. ish. im writing again at least! i slaved over this chapter for MONTHS because i kept changing it and hating parts of it no matter what i did so i just sat down and finished it and decided i would not proofread or reread at all and just go with whatever i come up with so i can finally get this chapter DONE or else it might have just sat in my wips rotting for another year. so apologies if you notice the dip in quality, but hopefully you wont LMFAOOoo

anyway the questionnaire is still open and even more relevant than ever so any responses are so so so appreciated and help me write future chapters! feel free to fill it out more than once if you have already a while back. LMFAO. anyway. enjoy! happy new year! jskdgfkskdh

#what goes on in neverland #poly stray kids x reader #poly the boyz x reader #poly ateez x reader #stray kids smut #the boyz smut #stray kids x male reader #male reader #transmasc reader #nonbinary reader #kim sunwoo x reader #han jisung x reader #the boyz x male reader #stray kids series #the boyz series #ateez series #diverseinsertsknet #yeah im so fuckin sick of tagging honestly pls just rb i beg

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daddycassie · 2 months

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Lucy Gray is a little ray of sunshine <3

Pairing ~ Lucy Gray Baird x GN(fem coded?)reader

💛☀️🌼

~From the vast amount of time you’ve known Lucy Gray, you’ve found many things to love about her. Little and big things that make all the difference.

~For all the ballads she writes and songs she sings, Lucy Gray cannot draw, color, or paint(the latter upsets her very most). She’s used to being a natural at things she wants to do, or at least catching on fast, however… not this. Seeing her pout makes you laugh though.

~She cares very much for her appearance, more than some people might think. Always adjusting her hair, looking herself in the mirror. Lucy Gray doesn’t find herself so appealing without her slight makeup. You take pleasure in the way she melts when you hold her and tell her how beautiful she is.

~Lucy Gray loves sweets, bread pudding most of all. It’s hard to come by, but whenever you can, you make some for her. She tears up and gives you the biggest loving doe eyes of all time, always. She’s never ungrateful.

~Lucy Gray can swim, in fact she likes being in the water, nope, not scared at all. That’s what she says anyway, with the biggest smile on her face. The way she clings onto you in the water says otherwise though. You don’t say it, but you know she’s a weak swimmer.

~Lucy Gray turns her nose up to weapons, guns in particular. She hasn’t had the best experiences, but then again, who has? You know how to use some weapons, Lucy Gray can wield a knife but that’s about it. In the dead of night, tangled up in her bedsheets you swear to always protect your songbird. She burrows her face into your chest in affection.

~The brunette doesn’t drink much, despite some contrary belief. But, you have been fortunate(or unfortunate?) enough to interact with a drunk Lucy Gray Baird a couple times. She slurs her words nearly beyond comprehension, and kisses you just about non-stop. When she’s not busy doing that, she’s trying to walk, face planting on the floor or saying things sober Lucy Gray would be embarrassed about the following day.

~Lucy Gray has a surprisingly weak stomach, if she particularly dislikes something she won’t be able to stomach it. Not for lack of trying though. Once you’d made her cake for her birthday, but you’d been sold salt instead of sugar. Somehow she’d managed to eat a full slice. “Best cake ever, thank you sugar.” She’d croon with a strained smile. Needless to say, she ended up very sick that night.

~She’s a very good cuddle partner. Usually at night she likes to be little spoon, but during most of the day Lucy Gray will spoon you. Her favorite way to cuddle you is for you to lay your head on her chest, stomach, or lap. Anywhere where she can reach your hair and give it tiny braids that would likely come out within minutes. Lucy Gray likes to be cuddled close in your arms. Laying on your sides facing each other is fine with her, but tenfold points if she can just lay on top of you with her head on your chest. She loves to listen to your heart.

Note: @noooooooop-e hope this is good for now! I had so much fun with this and I hope you’ll like it too. If you want a part 2 let me know! 🫶

#gay girls #sapphic #wlw #rachel zegler x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #rachel zegler #tbosas #The ballad of my lesbian ass pining for Lucy Gray Baird #lucy gray baird #lucy gray #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray my beloved #ballad of songbirds and snakes #fanfic #tbosbas fanfic

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smittywing · 6 months

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Ficbit 9: Jason Todd/Tim Drake

Previous parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

So I hear the fandom chatter is on discord these days. Is there a Jay/Tim channel I should look into?

In the meantime:

Tim turned 18 on a Wednesday. Jason sent him a text message and did not stalk the marina.

The party was scheduled the following Saturday and Jason tried one last-ditch effort to convince Roy that they needed to go off-planet. When that failed, he put on the jeans with the least blood and his nicest black t-shirt, and delivered himself to the Manor.

He was exactly on time for Tim’s party but he entered through the kitchen and lingered there, secure in Alfred’s quiet presence.

“Your own birthday is in less than a month,” Alfred observed, spacing candles on Tim’s cake. Alfred remembered everyone’s birthday but Jason always remembered Alfred’s because it was the same date as his own. “Have you thought about how you would like to mark the occasion?”

He had not, but he did now, because it was a delay to thinking about the current day and the birthday celebration that he would have to bear. “I think I would like to go to high tea at the Intercontinental Hotel,” he suggested. “With my birthday twin.”

“Birthday twin.” The corners of Alfred’s eyes crinkled. “I quite like the term. And appreciate the company even more.”

Jason smiled. He watched Alfred set the candles aflame on the chocolate-frosted mocha cake, and lift the tray. His respite in the kitchen was fast coming to an end. “Shall we?” Alfred suggested, and Jason had no recourse but to stand and follow him into the sitting room where the party was underway.

The balloons were black and silver and everything looked extra polished. Tim was wearing black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt and had a ridiculous cone-shaped hat on his head, pink and purple, with a silver pom-pom on the top. He was wedged between Bernard and Stephanie and Jason wasn't entirely sure which of them was responsible for his condition.

Duke and Cass were arm-wrestling, but instantly called a truce when they saw the cake. Dick struck up a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” that everyone save Damian joined to some degree, and Jason peeled out of Alfed’s shadow and lurked at the edge of the room with Barbara.

“Two social events in six weeks,” she commented while Tim was blowing his candles out. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Bruce said pretty please,” Jason said, which wasn't actually a lie. Barbara snorted anyway. “Doubting my veracity?”

“Doubting your auditory comprehension,” Barbara said. Which was probably fair. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Same,” Jason said, suddenly awkward. He accepted a slice of cake from Alfred to cover. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Time for gifts!” Steph announced to the room.

Jason was glad he’d had Tim’s gift sent to the mansion. It was big and bulky and there was no way he’d have been able to take the motorcycle to Wayne Manor with that on the back. Of course, because he did not come over early, it wasn’t wrapped, but someone - Alfred, of course it was Alfred - had pinned a large red bow on it and placed it with the other packages and gift bags.

“I gave Tim his gift on Wednesday,” Bernard piped up. “It was personal.”

“Thanks, dude,” Steph shot back. “We didn’t need to know you got Tim a dildo.”

Jason felt the back of his neck go hot and itchy. He wasn’t a prude for fuck’s sake, but the thought of - yeah, no. Tim’s sex life with anyone else was definitely off-limits. He glanced anywhere in the room but Tim, and saw Bruce close his eyes and shake his head slightly. At least *someone* was in more mental pain than Jason.

“Well, clearly I didn’t need to tell you,” Bernard returned, which was a somewhat decent comeback if you knew Steph well enough, but it wasn’t an emphatic denial, which was the only thing Jason was willing to process.

“Perhaps this package from Master Damian,” Alfred suggested, ignoring the inappropriate conversation around him, and handing Tim said package. Tim handled it gingerly, like it might start leaking poison or explode. Jason didn’t judge him.

Tim ripped off the paper and frowned at the box in his hands. “You got me an ant farm?”

“Now that you have reached the age of majority, you may be required to care for less capable beings,” Damian explained. “Ants are very persistent creatures. You would find it very difficult to fail in your caretaking duties.”

“Ants,” Tim said.

“There is a certificate enclosed which authorizes you to order the ants online,” Damian said helpfully.

“I’m not going to *order ants*,” Tim said. Bernard reached over and squeezed his knee. He tucked his head against Tim’s shoulder and said something in his ear.

Jason looked away.

“Thank you, Damian,” Tim said awkwardly. “I will make sure their habitat is appropriately set up before I send for them.”

Jason ate another piece of cake while Tim worked through his prodigious stack of gifts. Finally, he hit the sizable box on the bottom with its red bow.

“I love it,” Tim said, staring at the pile of metal inside the cardboard box. “What is it?”

“It’s a Webasto FCF unit. It’s AC for your boat,” Jason said, when Tim and Bernard both looked at him blankly. “So you don’t die in the humidity.”

“Oh, sweet,” Tim said immediately. “Thanks, Jay. Will you help me install it?”

Bernard cleared his throat.

“I mean,” Tim said with a glance back at his boyfriend. “Of course you’re going to help, too. But neither of us has done this before.”

Jason hadn’t actually done that before either and he wasn’t entirely sure Tim thought he did, but he was smart enough not to say anything this time. Bernard looked like he was going to ask, but changed his mind at the last minute and shrugged.

“It’ll be nice to be able to go below without boiling,” he admitted.

“Mine next!” Cass insisted with timing that made her Jason’s favorite sister. (It was a short list and Stephanie was no longer on it.) She’d gotten Tim a scarf, which, did Tim actually *need* any more scarves?

Jason skulked around the edges of the room as Tim unwrapped some video games from Duke and a new tablet from Barbara. Was it late enough? Had he been here long enough? Could he leave?

“Hey.” It was the birthday boy himself, released from the pile of gifts and nudging his way into Jason’s space. “Thanks for the AC. That was really cool of you. Ugh.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. “The puns are totally Dick’s thing.”

“Nice try,” Jason said. “Being Robin means punning against your will.” He turned his drink in his hand. “So listen, I don’t actually know how to install that thing so I think you and Cannon Fodder are on your own there.”

“Really?” Tim asked, his face falling. “You don’t even want to help?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” Jason said. “Your boyfriend does not want me within a hundred feet of that boat. Or you.”

“Oh,” Tim said. He looked awkward. “Okay. So, um. Been to any new clubs lately?”

“Ha!” Jason barked out the laugh before he could stop himself. “Yeah, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Haven’t really been back.”

Tim nodded. “Does that mean you, um, you know. You found what you were…looking for?” he asks, and suddenly Jason’s patience, already threadbare, wore through.

“I think I’m going to go,” he said stiffly. “Happy Birthday, Tim.”

Tim looked like Jason had slapped him, but Stephanie, who had been in earshot, was right there, pulling him away. “Tim,” she snapped. “A <i>word</i>?”

“Hey, it’s been a great party,” Jason said, generally to the room, but really to Alfred. “I just, I have to go.”

And he goes, as fast as meets the minimums for decorum. Maybe faster.

He’s on the motorcycle with his helmet on when the door opens and Dick comes jogging toward him with one hand raised. Jason twists the key, hoping to peel away before Dick gets in shouting distance, but the engine turns over and doesn’t catch - today of all days? - and claps a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason shrugs it off but then Dick says,

“Hey. Tim was out of line.”

Jason pauses. Everything is always his fault, he’s the one who does everything wrong, and he can’t help but be tempted by the idea that Tim has fucked something up. “He’s just trying to - “ To what? See if Jason’s gotten laid? If Jason’s found someone else? If Jason’s done his experimenting and is over it now? If Jason’s over Tim? “How many of you are going to ambush me today?” he asked instead.

“Just me,” Dick said. “Be grateful, I told Bruce not to come out, and Tim is getting an earful from Steph right now.”

An earful from Steph is no one’s idea of a good time and Jason actually wonders if Tim’s going to be okay before he scolds himself for caring. “He’s always been a nosy fucker.”

“Yeah, and it’s always been a problem,” Dick admitted. “He doesn’t do this shit on purpose but his parents taught him even fewer emotional skills than B. He doesn’t always focus on things in the healthiest way.

“Yeah,” Jason blurted out, pulling off his helmet. Guess he was staying a while. “What was that? Like a test to make sure I’m over it? I’m fucking trying. But it’s not like I feel like this…ever.” To his horror, the lawn blurred in front of him and he looked away. “It’s gonna take a while. And I tried backing off! But I keep running into him. I don’t fucking know.”

Dick took his helmet and set it on the ground. Goddammit, how was he going to roar off in a fit of rage now? At least his eyes had cleared. “I think it’s maybe the opposite,” Dick suggested gently. “Tim has hang-ups about being wanted by anyone at all. He doesn’t know what to do with multiple cute guys wanting to kiss him. You didn’t see him with that other girl and Steph back in the day. He’s a mess. That said,” Dick continued, “it’s okay for you to enforce whatever boundaries you need. Your heart matters just as much. To all of us. Tim, too. And you did a good job with that today. I just wanted to let you know.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you for the gold star,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah, well.” Dick shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his hair out of his face. “You should come out to Bludhaven some time. We can punch bad guys. I’ve got enough to share. It’ll be fun.”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I could do that.” In fact. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah, I would, too,” Dick said. The next few beats were awkward and then Dick scooped up Jason’s helmet and handed it to him. “Thanks for sticking around for that. I know I’m a pain in your ass.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, taking the helmet and looking down at it. “You are. But that’s what big brothers do, right?”

Dick smiled and Jason fitted the helmet back onto his head. “I’ll text you,” he said.

Jason revved the bike again and the engine turned over and caught. “Do that,” he said, barely audible over the roar of the engine. He pulled out onto the road and didn’t let himself look back.

#batbrats #jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake #red hood/red robin #red hood #red robin #jason todd's potty mouth

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qiific3 · 5 months

Text

astarion x gn!tav, set in act i, 1.2k words

twirling my hair and kicking my feet. I made something 4 you guys <3 I haven't written anything in about six months so it's not good but I feel like feeding the astarion truthers before going to sleep.

tw: oh you know, canon typical mentions of horrifying abuse. no biggie

Astarion had gotten into the habit of staring into his hand-held mirror when he was feeling particularly self-loathing, almost trying to will the piece of glass to show him his reflection. Maybe if he saw what his companions did, he would understand their actions— how they were able to treat him with the kindness that he was so mercilessly deprived of for the better part of two centuries.

It seemed so effortless for you to treat everyone you all came upon with some degree of kindness, even those Astarion would turn his nose at, and more so those that any sane person would disregard. You had the urge to see a little deeper than he ever allowed himself to. Perhaps it was a form of self-preservation that prevented him from seeing people as just that— sometimes living, often breathing creatures. He had spent so long depersonalizing, dehumanizing, them so he’d feel just a touch less like the monster he always knew he was when he lured them back to Cazador. He almost wished the form he took reflected how he saw himself: wicked, depraved, undeserving. If he took the appearance of one of the Winged Horrors that plagued the darker corners of Faerun, maybe people would stop approaching him, stop desiring him. Or at least the ‘him’ that he showed and paraded around.

Although, he imagined you would find yourself foolishly offering kindness to even a Winged Horror if there was even an inking that it might be in need of taking care of. You never seemed to know just when to stay away.

That sentiment applied especially now, when Astarion is momentarily removed from his brooding by movement outside of his tent, followed by a quiet greeting. You always announced your presence before entering anyone’s tent, lest they be startled or uncomfortable by your sudden appearance. It was that kind of consideration that made him absolutely naseous.

“Hey,” You beam, wearing a particularly bright smile when you see that Astarion doesn’t appear to be busy. “We’re about to go out to the lake, if you want to come with.” You’re never one to exclude a friend.

Astarion considers your offer for a moment, not completely against the idea of a late night swim. The offer is substantially soured when he hears another set of footsteps follow up behind you, and the unmistakable presence of a certain wizard of waterdeep that had, of recent, taken a considerable liking to dear Tav. In a sort of pathetic, wet-dog way, of course, but you had taken in creatures far and wide, almost always on the desperate side— why, you had taken Astarion in! Of course, you had a type for the ones with an almost undeniable aura of damage, one way or another. He does takes pride in showing it considerably less than Gale does, or at least he thinks he does.

As much as Astarion would love to kill the mood of the night with his own unfortunate feelings, he shakes his head. “No thanks, darling. I’d hate to ruin whatever you two—” He gestures accusingly, and almost rudely, at Gale, and then with a nearly undetectable softening in his glare when his outstretched finger points towards you, “—Have going on right now. I’m turning in for the night."

You eye him suspiciously, head leaned to the side. He hated how you peered at him when you seemed to see past his almost perfectly curated facade, like you were reading him— your eyes boring into him akin to a book written in a foreign language that maybe, if you focused long enough, would begin to be comprehensible. He never maintained eye contact long enough for you to string together enough words to make sense of him, but once you started looking, reading, translating, you never really stopped. He’d be on your mind for another couple hours, trying to make sense of whatever was going on in his pretty (and petty) little head.

Almost as if Gale could tell that whatever was going on had much less to do with him and much more to do with the two of you, he started to leave, but not before extending the lake offer if Astarion changed his mind. You smiled a little inquisitive thing, before nodding and leaving. If he didn’t want your presence, you wouldn’t force it.

Astarion huffed, once both of you were out of ear shot, and turned back to his mirror. It was considerably easier to deflect and deceive instead of getting into whatever he was feeling, because of course it would come up. You had this awful habit of caring and wanting to talk about whatever was bothering him. Some sort of unbridled compassion you had for the people you so quickly began to care about.

And it angered him, the anger an ever present curiousity to you when you had finally noticed. But really, of course it angered him. He spent two hundred years begging every god and goddess out there to outstretch a divine hand and remove him from the torture he was enduring every day. He pleaded for one of them to lessen the ever increasing self hatred that threatened to eat him alive every night, and no one ever answered. Not once did another spawn, another elf, another creature at all voice concern for him, nor show him an ounce of the compassion you lot seemed to hand out for free.

You so generously offered forgiveness, kindness, compassion, and understanding to whatever creature, living and undead, happened to meander across your path. And yet, none of the gods ever thought to put you in his path when he was in pain, in ever apparent need for a soft touch— or at least one that wasn’t grabbing, tearing, stripping, violating. It took being kidnapped and infected by a parasite that was going to kill him for him to learn that there was an abundance of kindness flowing from people.

And it made him think, more accurately it made him fear, that this love was everywhere but wherever he was for a reason. That the gods knew that he was ever undeserving of this sort of grace, and so they never even let him get a taste.

He escaped, tooth and nail, expecting Cazador’s ‘training’, his 3 rules, to be the only thing to keep him alive now that he’s free— just to learn that he never fucking needed it. And that’s what makes him angry.

Not that making you miserable and cold-hearted would make him feel any better, of course. Might even make him feel worse. But what he knows for certain is that he doesn’t need your kindness now of all times, now that he’s free. With this resentment boiling in him, he’s decided to use your foolishness against you. If you’re so hellbent on being kind to him, he’ll weaponize it, use it for his gain.

He leaves his tent, smothered by the darkness of the night, and decides then and there that he’ll make sure he’s safe from being left behind. This snarky attitude wasn’t going to keep him in the party for long— but there was something that would, something he was willing to offer. Or maybe, closer to the truth, there was something he was used to offering.

So, he carefully pasted his pretty mask back on his face and became whoever you wanted him to be. Because that’s what he’s always done, and that’s what he’ll always do. Right?

wow it has been a hot sec since I've written anything lol. hope that didn't suck too much (no pun intended). i like making our vampire boyf suffer but if y'all happen to like this at all I might make another part where he suffers a little less. nervous to post this but whats the worst that can happen. leave ur thoughts below :) <3

#hurt no comfort he will suffer #but just for right now #i'm sorry #i'll be nice to him later i promise #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion x mc #astarion x you #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #fanfic

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 1 year

Text

My dear lgbt+ kids,

A quick reminder: There isn't any topic that can really be successfully summarized in a 3-sentence-long text post or a 15-second-long video - at least not without leaving out important details or nuance.

In some cases, people will purposefully summarize something in an oversimplified and misleading way to manipulate you - but there is also plenty of content that is meant to be easy to consume (and is therefore incomplete) without being factually wrong. It just "scratches the surface" of a topic without being purposefully misleading.

Not everyone who uses tumblr or other social media is willing (or able) to fulfill the role of an unpaid educator to their followers. It is not morally wrong to post something under the assumption that the reader/viewer already has enough knowledge of the topic to put a simplified argument into context. And of course, those posts may also be meant to inspire the reader/viewer to educate themselves further with other materials that dive deeper into the topic.

It's important to keep that in mind when you use social media. You'll encounter fake news - but also a lot of stuff that is "True But". It's true but it's super generalized and does not necessarily apply to you. It's true but they didn't mention an important quantifier that puts it into perspective. It's true but only under some circumstances. It's true but there's some historical context you need to be aware of. It's true but...

And they may not withhold the "but" because they are evil. It just doesn't fit into the post - because it's social media and not a comprehensive tutoring lesson tailored to you.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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arzuera · 1 year

Note

The shadows seemed to grow the longer she walked. "Danny, come on out now. Sweetie this isn't funny," Maddie called. Her eyes were locked on the glowing green path marred on the cement beneath her. Gotham would pay.

It was supposed to be fun. A wonderful family outing to visit one of the biggest cities in the world. Jazz was going to start college out of state this fall. She was beginning her newfound life as an adult and who knew when they would be able to go on a family vacation like this again? Danny was graduating in two years as well. Soon her children will be out of the nest and building their own lives. Checking to see if Batman was a ghost had been the initial objective. A fun adventure to celebrate her children’s life events. A little investigation, checking out the sights, and then on to the next location on their road trip. Well… that was how it was supposed to happen.

“Danny… Mommy is getting scared.” Maddie called into the darkness, taking a corner that the glowing trail crept around. The smears were getting messier. No longer a single imperfect line. Her voice echoed throughout the alley. It had been a long time since she had seen another person. “Sweetie, everything is going to be all right. I just need you to come out…” Panic started to prick her heart as she readjusted her grip on the Fenton Blaster in her hand.

That’s right… this whole trip was supposed to be a fun investigation of the local hero/cryptid. Who knew that what people said about Gotham would turn out to be true? That the shadows were a little darker. That things happened in the darkness and to stay out of the alleys. It all just sounded like local superstition. Everyone liked to lump superstitions and ghosts together but ghosts were real! All superstitions and weird occurrences could be explained through science! Maddie should know, she had proven many of them to be false in her early years with Jack and Vlad.

Grime and scum crunched under her boots as her shadow loomed behind her like a demon attached to her heels. “Baby… Can you come out? Mommy is right here.” Maddie kept her voice even as she called out again. Her voice echoed only for a moment before it was swallowed by the night. Her footsteps were the only sound that was made as she continued following the glowing path.

However, she was wrong.

Myths and superstitions weren’t just hoaxes. They weren’t ALL explained through science. Just like everything else in life, there were exceptions to the rule. What Maddie had thought was a bunch of hocus pocus had turned out to be real. So real that it had put her family in danger. She and Danny were separated from Jack and Jazz. As far as she knew, they were safe in that warehouse with Jazz trying to stop Jack from shooting Batman with an Anti-Ecto Net but they could also be trapped in this space. This Gotham that wasn’t Gotham.

“Danny… this really isn’t funny. I need you to show me where you are.” Maddie called for her son. The surrounding alley looked more chaotic and destructive the further along she went. Chunks of nearby buildings littered the floor with dumpsters upended and trash scattered about. Yes… Maddie had been wrong. She was woman enough to admit it but it had been so farfetched! As far as she knew, only Gothamites believed in it. It was just a silly superstition. One meant to scare people and make sure they were off the streets at night. A crash and a scream had Maddie running toward the sound. The trail of ectoplasm lit her way as she rounded one final alley and aimed her blaster.

So how could she have known that the curse of Gotham was real?

A monstrous creature filled the other end of the alley. Shadows writhing as if they were alive, forming an amalgamous body that shifted and stretched beyond her comprehension. A horrid rotting stench that wreaked of centuries of death and decay almost overpowered the woman but she kept her aim firm.

The monster hadn’t noticed her. At least, Maddie thought it hadn’t. With no face or eyes, it was hard to tell. A green light burst out from the stomach of the beast as she watched a half-transformed Phantom try to fly away from the creature’s clutches, only for the tentacle-like shadows to shoot out. They latched on and dragged the boy back into the monster, trying to reabsorb him into the body.

Who could have known that Gotham had a sentient curse?

Phantom fought futility. His lean form slowly sunk into the curse, like quicksand, with the ghost starting to panic when he couldn’t get himself out. Green blood mixed with red trailed from the several visible small wounds as the teen fired a couple of ectoblasts to no avail. He was weakened and they barely made a dent. Phantom sunk further into the creature with a terrified whimper. His eyes frantically looked around for anything that could help him get away. The glowing green and ice blue eye landed on Maddie. He thrust his single free arm towards her, a look of pure terror on his young face. The next thing out of the boy’s mouth would continue to haunt her dreams until she died.

“MOM!” Danny shrieked, his voice cracking from pure abject fear as he sunk up to his neck into the curse. “PLEASE, MOM! HELP ME!” Maddie steeled herself and turned her aim onto the ancient creature before her.

And how could she have known that it would go after her son?

“YOU LET MY BABY GO YOU PIECE OF SCUM!” She fired at the beast in quick succession. And dodged when it swiped several shadow tentacles in her direction. The blasts struck true and the curse roared a horrendous sound as its hold on Danny began to slip. He managed to pull out his other arm.

She had her suspicions about her son and they were now confirmed. In one of the most awful ways possible. There was a lot to deal with that they would have to talk about later but right now she only had one thing on her mind. That curse had her son and now it was going to experience a new form of death. Maddie fired a couple more shots and rolled out of the way when spikes formed from her own shadow. She kept firing and dodging, distracting the creature long enough for Danny to pull himself out fully.

He stumbled back, white rings appeared around his midsection, and traveled up to finish his transformation into Phantom. Red turned to green as ectoplasm oozed from the injuries he had sustained while trying to fend off the curse. The glow that he normally had was greatly diminished while the curse seemed to have more power than it had before. It was as if Gotham was feeding off of Phantom. The curse swiped at Maddie forcing her even further away from her son. It lunged at the boy and Phantom flew up so as not to get snagged by the shadows again.

No.

Not again.

Gotham had dragged her baby boy away from her once and she was not about to let it do it again. She holstered her blaster, pulled out one of her newer inventions, and charged. The silver tube in her hand expanded into a full-length sword. When she neared, Maddie swiped at the tendrils with a snarl, slicing them clean off. The curse wailed as she continued her assault. She may have not paid him as much attention as of late. She may have also, accidentally, threatened to take him apart molecule by molecule. She may have also attacked her son not knowing it was him. There was a lot that Maddie had to atone for as a mother. But she would be damned if she allowed this thing to harm her son any further.

“DON’T. YOU. TOUCH. MY. BOY!” With pure maternal rage, she dodged, jumped, and sliced the curse into pieces. She went so fast that the creature was having trouble pulling its form back together to defend itself. Maddie sent a sizeable chunk flying down the alley and the rest of the body disintegrated. Danny was quick to pull out a thermos. He popped it open and a bright beam of light sucked the chunk into the cylinder, so he swiftly snapped the cap back on.

Maddie caught her breath but didn’t relax. The city around them distorted. Shifted. When she blinked, the sounds of the city had returned along with the people. Danny floated back down to the ground. He held the thermos as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. Her boy kept his beautiful eyes on the ground, refusing to look at his mother.

She retracted the sword, put it away, but remained where she was. Her son was a smart boy. No doubt, the past two years being chased by his very own parents had left a horrible mark. One that she wasn’t sure she would be able to erase. So Maddie looked her son over, waiting for him to decide which option he would take. Though she hoped he would decide soon. The poor boy stood on shaky legs and all she wanted to do was whisk him back to their hotel to clean his wounds.

Danny, eventually, peeked up at her from under his snow-white hair. He looked perplexed that she hadn’t advanced or started attacking him on the spot. The boy took a deep breath before looking at her head on and saying. “Mom… I’m Phantom.”

There was a pause.

Maddie looked at her boy. His eyes sunken in from lack of sleep, his skinny frame from not having time to eat (or an overly high metabolism), and the fear that hadn’t fully left his tense form even though the thing that hurt him was contained. Her poor boy who has had the world on his shoulders with hardly anyone to help him. She started walking towards him. She didn’t stop until she was right in front of him and pulling Danny into her arms, crushing the teen who squeaked in surprise. “Yes, you are. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me but… I wish you had told me sooner.” Maddie gave him another good squeeze before pulling back and holding his face gently in her hands. “You are Danny. You are Phantom. It doesn’t matter which form you are… you are MY baby boy.” Then with a mischievous smile, she began kissing him all over his face just like she normally did.

He cried out in dismay but didn’t fight the affection as hard as he normally would. Tears were forming in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. “Do you really mean that?” His voice cracked as a sob snuck out despite his best efforts. His mother wiped his tears away and pulled him into another hug in response.

“Shall we go find your father and sister? I have no doubt that they are giving Batman quite the chase right about now.” Maddie placed one final kiss on her son’s forehead, who smiled at her for the first time in a very long time.

“Yeah, we probably should… If Dad isn’t already trying to shove him into a thermos.” Danny chuckled softly. He transformed back into his human form. His mother picked him up with practiced ease and the two started heading back to the last spot they saw Jack and Jazz. He allowed it to happen. Resting his head against his mother’s shoulder. “…do you think Dad will accept me too?”

“Of course, he will, honey. He loves you just as much as I do.” His mother replied without hesitation. “Though we should wait until we are out of Gotham. I don’t want any of those nasty supervillains learning about you.”

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask game #danny fenton #Gotham

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dearestones · 1 year

Text

Whether Brown or Weird (Agatsuma Zenitsu x Reader)

Warnings: Fluff, takes place after Entertainment District Arc.

Synopsis: As one of the servants of the Butterfly Mansion, you’re tasked with a number of duties. Sometimes, that includes listening to the woes of some of the swordsmen under your care.

“Am I ugly?”

You looked up from your needlework, the thread pulling taut against the needle. In the infirmary, there were several beds that had been recently made and vacated, evidence that your workload was rather light. Despite how bare the room may have looked, you knew better than to feel bored or lonely in this space. During a time when demons roamed and most humans were oblivious of their existence, this was a blessing that most demon slayers would not have been able to fully embrace most of their lives.

As a servant working in the Butterfly Mansion, you helped with the upkeep and the maintenance of this safe haven. Even if your role was relatively small compared to the swordsmen who braved the many haunts of suspected demon sightings, you knew that your part to play still provided aid to those who needed it most.

Today, you had been tasked with mending uniforms that still had hope of being salvaged after many run-ins with demons. Usually, you would have proceeded with your tedious task in your rooms or in the kitchens where you could keep Aoi company. Today, you resolved to observe the three young men who came into Lady Shinobu’s care after Lord Tengen’s stint at Yoshiwara’s Entertainment District.

All three of the young warriors were mid-ranked, but you could immediately tell that they had skills beyond your level of comprehension. Their muscles were toned and bulky, faces lined with fatigue and weariness after having disposed of not one, but two upper ranked demons. You had the pleasure of monitoring their care a few months ago when you had first been hired as extra help, but the differences were astounding.

They were growing stronger.

When you had first arrived, a basket filled to the brim with a combination of their uniforms interspersed with other slayers’ garments, all three of them had been sound asleep in their cots. Despite their protests, the three younger servant girls had made sure that they were given enough medications that they would surely have been knocked out for at least a day or two. Their hope was short lived, you couldn’t help but think.

The moment that you stepped inside the room, the blond demon slayer (Mr. Agatsuma, if you recall from past interactions) had twitched and sighed. At first, you thought about turning tail and alerting Aoi or any of the three younger girls that Mr. Agatsuma was waking, but no sooner did the thought cross your mind that he ceased moving. You chuckled to yourself, you must have been really on edge if you were so quick to call for someone!

You settled on a chair nearest to the blond in case he should wake and then started your process.

For the most part, your work kept your hands busy, but your mind free. Aside from the steady breathing of each of the swordsmen (you overheard some slayers calling their technique as recovery breathing), you heard the wind rustling three branches outside. A quick glance up confirmed that the windows were opened, which alayed the rise in your heartbeat. After a while, you fell into a rhythm of piercing the black cloth with your needle, pulling it through as the thread followed, and then pulling everything taut to make sure the rip closed and lined up neatly. Mistakes were rare, but you were loathe to allow your mind to wander too far as to suddenly create an unwelcome surprise in the future.

Engrossed as you were into your work, it would have been easy for any of your coworkers to sneak up on you…

Or if a certain demon slayer was looking at you, mesmerized by your willing presence at his side.

So when he asked that question “Am I ugly?”, you had no idea if you should smack him for interrupting your work without so much as a greeting or to calm your breathing first. Eventually, rationality won out. Despite such a blunt question and the rude contest in which he was asking, he was still an injured patient who still needed at least a week full of rest before anyone could even think about pushing him to his limit. Furthermore, maybe he was delirious. Changes in mental health could be as much to blame for odd questions.

“Mr. Agatsuma, why do you ask that?” You peered closely at him, your eyebrows furrowed and your needle settled neatly into one of the seams of a jacket you were mending. Beside you, your basket was still somewhat overflowing with clothing, but you chose to ignore it for now.

The young man fiddled with his fingers, his dark eyes focused on the ceiling above him. From what little you knew of him (and based on numerous anecdotes from the three young servant girls), he was supposed to be a loudmouthed young man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Often, he would whine and beg to stay in bed longer so as to shirk his practices as a swordsmen, but that was early on in his career. Before his joint mission with Lord Tengen, Mr. Agatsuma had been in top form with the rest of the trio—albeit, still whining and pessimistic at times. Honestly, you didn’t have much of an opinion of him, but you knew that his efforts to stave off demons in the world was already far greater than yours.

In front of you was a person who had the strength and the skill to slay demons. Even if his over enthusiastic nature concerning women was a bit over the top and turned most people off, he was still a genuinely good person. That was more than what you could say for some of the other war hardened members of the organization.

“I… Did you hear about the debriefing about our last mission?”

You shrugged. As a servant, most higher ranked members would not have bothered to fill you in on the minute details, but you did know about the destruction wrought in Yoshiwara and that you narrowly escaped being escorted into the Entertainment District by Lord Tengen himself. It only took a few moments to connect the dots and direct confirmation from Lord Tengen to realize that Mr. Agatsuma and the others had to crossdress as young women in order to lure the demons out from their hiding spot.

“All three of you and Lord Tengen fought bravely against some higher ranked demons.” A small, but genuine smile lit up your face and when you glanced down at Mr. Agatsuma, you could have sworn that his pale features were dusted a pale pink. “For that, Lady Shinobu and the other Hashira are grateful.”

“Yeah… Yeah, we did an all right job.” He sounded unsure.

“Who told you that you were ugly?” You plucked your unused needle from where you had last pierced the uniform and waved it in the light. “If you want, I can give them a stern talking to.”

The fight must have taken a lot out of him because instead of putting on an act on how grateful he was that you were willing to defend him or maybe even grace you with a tearful display of how scary you acted, he simply deflated and looked even more morose than ever. Besides the less than bombastic disposition from your very first appearance to now, this is what tipped you off that something was terribly wrong.

Mr. Agatsuma should never look so downtrodden and defeated like this.

And yet—-

It was like you were meeting him for the first time.

Like this was a part of him that was just as real as his emotional outbursts.

“Mr. Agatsuma,” you tried again when he didn’t answer. Leaning forward when you were already so close should have elicited a reaction from him, but instead he seemed to cower away from your actions. “Even if they said you’re ugly—” You held his hand, a part of you somewhat taken aback by your boldness, but otherwise in control of the situation. “—I don’t think you are. And if you ask Aoi or any of the girls—maybe even Lady Shinobu!—I think they would agree with me. Besides, not all women prefer looks over personality.”

For the first time, the blond swordsmen seemed to brighten and underneath the midmorning sunlight, he was just as radiant. Even his smile, which was smaller than normal, was steps above the wallow that he had been stuck in.

“So you don’t mind my hair?”

You blinked, your hand reflexively tightening over his in surprise.

“Your hair? They didn’t like your hair?”

His hair was one of the most striking things about him. Rumor had it that he had been struck by lightning during training one day and that’s how his locks became golden. In fact, the trio of swordsmen that he was part of each had their own respective features that made them stand out: their hair in particular was a topic of debate. You couldn’t imagine anyone thinking that his hair was ugly. The shade may not have been everyone’s preference, but you found that both the texture and the golden hue nicely contrasted his soulful brown eyes. If anything, the ladies in Yoshiware should have been fawning over the color.

“But… Do you?’

Ah, if only Mr. Agatsuma was this subdued whenever he was pursuing women. If he did, you were more than certain that he would have a horde of young women hounding after him.

You squeezed his hand once more, his skin rough and hardened from years of training, but still comforting to the touch.

“I think the first thing I noticed about you was your hair!” The blush on his face was fetching; you knew you had to continue. “It reminds me of the sun, you know? Or candlelight! Something warm and very inviting. Beautiful, too.”

Redder and redder, his cheeks looked like they were about to combust in flames. Nursing may not have been your main priority at the moment, but even the hand that you felt was higher in temperature. Was he sick? Should you get Aoi? Or any of the three servant girls to tend to him?

Before you could leave and ask for help, you felt him tug you into his chest with strength that should not have been possible so soon after battle. If it were anyone else, maybe you would have felt flustered at your compromising position, but you were more than aware that he meant no harm. You could only hope to keep most of your weight off him despite his insistence on tugging you closer.

“Thank you, thank you! The women there just kept calling me ugly! Even the demon said so! And if that weren’t enough, even that stupid Hashira said that they could use me to scrub toilets!” On and on he went, complaining between compliments on how you were as beautiful as you were kind.

It looked like he was going to recover soon enough.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

KIMETSU NO YAIBA (DEMON SLAYER) MASTERLIST

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny zenitsu #agatsuma zenitsu #demon slayer x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #zenitsu x reader #agatsuma zenitsu x reader #dearestones #devintrinidad

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jenbobbyy · 2 months

Note

hey if youre still doing hcs could you do specimen 12/old man pls?

INHALES. okay. i dont even know where to start

old man. for convenience im just gonna call him OM for the rest of this because i refuse to call him stanley. stanley is a SPECIFIC name that can only be given to SPECIFIC people with a SPECIFIC voice commanding their actions

looking at the wiki he's described as middle aged... maybe early 50s-early 60s?

youtube has been around for about 15 years and it probably started out as a hobby when he was in his 40s. although he never gained THAT much traction he was probably a niche exploration channel with a little following that dwindled over the years

the guy has a past in professional climbing but urban exploration was a prominent side hobby and interest for him so!!!

most of his notes as the vlogger victim are weirdly calm? i doubt he had much experience in paranormal prior but i guess if you're an urban explorer you're used to places being pretty nasty the further you go

he definitely encountered the specimen (since they're referenced in pretty much every other victim's notes and it's described that he went through specimen areas) but the fact that he never mentions them in his notes is interesting (i guess all these horrors beyond comprehension all equate to an 'uneasy vibe'). there's a lot of persona involved in vlogging so in refraining from actually mentioning any wounds or monsters he's encountered OM is masking the fear he has. he wants to let everyone know 'hey!!! hey im okay and managing!!'

i think the prospect of having an audience might have left him at least a little comforted. he probably found other lines of notes at the time and took solace in the concept of people knowing he's alive and moving (even if they don't know him personally)

i still hate the fact that his writing patterns completely change between specimen 12 and endless mode hallways but i get that if he was going 'hey guys. erm, so THAT just happened.' it would ruin suspense from a gameplay point of view so. I'll let that slide :/

he's been in for a few months and by the time the protagonist meets him, he's not COMPLETELY gone. specimen 12's weird parasitic nature relies on the prior host's death, and in parrying axe attacks he still has some kind of self preservation. but he definitely doesn't remember who he is or why he's there. 12 isn't exactly fully possessing but is more of a mindfuck like foodie and bab that mess with perception and mental state. it controls but doesn't invade

in OG OM was voiced by vernon shaw (hot pepper gaming). altho this was changed as well as the chillis being removed from specimen 12 in HD, the concept of specimen 12 being so deathly and terrible that only incredibly spicy and near-toxic food being able to grow in it is funny. no wonder he sounds like that.

as to further agitate hosts into murder, 12 doesn't actually generate any food. luckily, OM isn't a cannibal host and lives off of whatever he can grow down in the basement and any dead rats or (god forbid) specimen 3 carcasses that are around. If it wasn't for the strength given to him around 12 he would have died in a week

being an extrovert and feeding from that concept of an audience, being alone has had a massive toll on his mental state. this probably made him a more desirable host for 12 - if he's craving conversation and people then having voices and mirages impact his perception would definitely fuck him up enough to give in to kill. i don't usually take common headcanon names into account but people calling 12 'parry' gave me the idea of the spirits of 12 manifesting in visions as a singular being (although this vision is different to every host) in an attempt to aid with the host sympathising and agreeing with it.......

the entire hide-and-seek style game he creates for the protagonist - as well as sparked on by the protag being someone much younger than the typical victim (ILL WRITE MY PROTAG HCS IF ASKED.....) - is a reflection of him stalling to kill in order to entertain himself and 'entertain' his victim. if it weren't for his longing for human contact he'd probably kill straight off-the-bat but the opportunity to fulfill the gap for a short amount of time is open and sought-after.

despite this, there's a mutual separation between him and other specimen. he's not seen as a nuisance alike specimen 14 as he doesn't openly attack the others but is still a missed opportunity and not particularly wanted by anyone. most of the time he remains in specimen 12 but OM will venture out (on occasion) to specimen 13's rooms. his ONE good specimen relationship!!!

ok. POST BAD-END HCS.

fumbling their way thru the mansion would likely lead 14 to again meet OM at some point. 14 being hit with the SPECIMEN BEAM definitely enhanced their strength at least enough to kill and swing that axe more effectively. in anycase, if the two were to fight and OM almost loses, the clarity given through his self preservation is enough to at least make him aware that

1. He's being beat the shit out of by a teenager

2. He's attempting to kill the only other person in a similar situation to him

speaking OF that, the parallels within sjsm of the protag and [i guess ex-protag] seem to be everywhere when it comes to OM.

posters

sprinting mechanics

garden tool weapon in 500

him recovering (or getting worse depending on how you see it) by mentoring and helping 14 survive within the mansion is always a concept i thought of given they're both humans who have (somewhat) made it through. he'd definitely have more of a drive to live on (and kill the enterers b4 they could kill him)

i had the idea that if 12 is constantly expanding and shifting through the mansion then OM and 14 could take advantage of that and start actually growing stuff.... making a little survivors camp and plotting.

anyways. those are my old man headcanons. I have absolutely taken canon and stabbed it 30 times but the concept of an ex protag is so cool

UNDERRATED CHARACTER. OLD MAN FANS WHERE ARE YOU?!

the scar i draw on him is from the fight with 14.......................

#specimen 12 #insane headcanoning #hcs #sjsm #spookys jumpscare mansion #spooky's jumpscare mansion #old man #shojs #shoj #spookys house of jumpscares #spooky's house of jumpscares #specimen 4 #specimen 14 #specimen 6 #specimen 8

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dumfanting · 10 months

Text

Going Back

AO3 Link

Rating: M, mature, will be explicit in later chapters

Warnings: post Kamino destruction, guilt, anger

Notes: g/n reader, pov second person, present tense

971 words

This is another one that happened on accident; I intended to just jot down a rough plot outline and now I’ve got two chapters, oops.

•This is entirely separate from Same Heart•

G/N Reader/ Crosshair

In the immediate aftermath of what happened at Kamino, you shut everyone out.

————

The Marauder moves through hyperspace, on the way back from a small job for Cid. Despite everyone being awake, the ship is silent and the atmosphere inside is tense.

You’re sitting alone in your bunk, staring into space and barely moving. Echo comes partway through the door and cautiously asks if you’re alright. You flick your eyes at him long enough to see the concern on his face, but otherwise don’t acknowledge him. You’ve been like this with everyone lately; you seem to have sunken into yourself, only speaking if spoken to, and even then only during missions. A sliver of you feels guilty for shutting everyone out like this, but (aside from Omega) you’re too angry at them. You have plenty to say, but you don’t want to say it and risk fracturing the group even further. So, you stay quiet and keep yourself sequestered away.

Echo sighs softly, then turns around, leaving you alone.

He returns to the main area of the ship where he finds his three brothers and Omega looking over at him. He shakes his head with a somber expression. Tech says nothing and returns to the cockpit, quickly followed by Hunter. Wrecker, sitting in the jump seats with Omega, seems like he wants to say something, but remains silent. He glances between Echo and the bunks, a questioning look on his face.

“I don’t think you’ll get anything,” Echo says quietly. “But I won’t stop you.”

Wrecker appears to be having an intense internal debate. He glances at Omega, who shrugs, then gets to his feet and tries his turn at talking to you. Echo takes his vacated seat and drags his remaining hand down his face, worn out.

“They’re still not talking?” Omega says.

“No, they aren’t. But, they did at least look at me for a second. That’s more than I got last time,” Echo says.

Omega frowns and glances at the bunks. The door is open and she can see Wrecker. He’s talking, surprisingly quiet, and she can’t hear what he’s saying. He pauses for a second, and there’s the distinct sound of a privacy curtain being yanked closed.

Wrecker glances back out at Echo and Omega, then stubbornly sits on the bunk floor.

“They’re not okay,” Omega says, staring at the floor.

“No, they’re not,” Echo says, sounding tired. “They’re taking Kamino really hard,” he says. Omega looks back up at him.

“Kamino? But they aren’t from there like we are…” she trails off, thinking.

“No, but they lost something else,” Echo says.

Comprehension dawns on Omega's face and she speaks again, keeping her voice soft. “Oh. You mean-?” she says, but Echo, glancing back at the bunks, cuts her off.

“Yes. They were really close,” Echo says.

Back in the bunks, behind your curtain, you’ve been able to hear every word of their conversation, but when Omega next speaks, her voice is too soft for you to hear.

Echo sighs and is silent for a moment.

“Neither of them ever said so, but yeah, they were. We could all tell,” Echo eventually says. Omega doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Echo.

You can see the vague shape of Wrecker beyond your curtain, and you know he’s watching you.

“What did we do?” he says, and despite his low volume, the sudden noise startles you. You take a deep breath, and when you speak, your voice is hoarse from lack of use.

“We shouldn’t have left him,” you say, hardly above a whisper. Wrecker says nothing, but you know what he’s thinking. “He shouldn’t have stayed behind either, I know,” you say.

“I don’t get why he did though,” Wrecker says, managing to match your low tone.

“I dunno, but all of you pointing your guns at him may have something to do with it,” you bitterly say without thinking. If your curtain had been open, you would have been able to see him wince at your words.

Back on Kamino, when Omega dove back in after Azi, you didn’t know what Crosshair was going to do, and that scared you, but despite everything, you still trusted him. Looking at the others as he pulled her out of the water, it was clear you were the only one. Your heart sank at the time, and even just thinking about it now puts a heavy ache in your chest.

“I’m angry, Wreck, and I don’t want to say something we will all regret. Leave me alone,” you say, ending the conversation. He doesn’t respond, instead getting to his feet and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

You hold back a growl of frustration and irritation with difficulty, then flip onto your back, staring at the bottom of Techs bunk above yours. You’re exhausted to your bones, and you know you need to sleep, but you just can’t do it.

Every time you close your eyes, you see Crosshair, standing on that platform, alone, as you and the others left him behind.

And it’s eating away at you. As far as you’re concerned, you all left him there to die. Or, on the flipside, his stubborn pride would be what kills him. Both are valid points, but neither is easy to accept.

To an outsider, you may appear overly dramatic, but you aren’t.

The Empire clearly didn’t give a single shit about him. They knew he was in Tipoca City but destroyed it entirely anyway. There is no way for them to know that he survived, and the odds of anyone, Empire or not, finding him at all are not good.

You feel the ship jerk forward and know that you’ve left hyperspace, meaning that you’re only minutes away from Ord Mantel. You sit back up and press the heels of your palms against your eyes, feeling another headache approaching.

NEXT: Chapter 2

Taglist: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina

To join the tag list for this series or Crosshair fics in general, reply to this post.

#my fics #series #cross

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steampunkforever · 8 months

Text

At its most basic structure gunfire is just minerals (glorified rocks) being thrown really fast. In this aspect, there is very little difference between a specops death squad decked out in NVGs murdering you with suppressed smart-aiming Next Gen battle rifles and some brute named Grug caving in your head with a chunk of boulder. The only thing that separates the two is the advent of flint knapping, the way they style their beards, and the variation of head trauma they administer you in a dark cave located somewhere in the region people used to call "Asia Minor."

Much in this way, jeans are jeans. The cuts, colors, and styling have changed across the years, but in form and function not much differs from the sturdy workwear gold rush prospectors donned before hitting the slopes of Pikes Peak in 1859 and the black skinny jeans worn by starbucks baristas in Denver as the prepare to enter the Frappe mines.

Of course, much like comparing David's Slingshot to Raytheon's latest missile (an activity reserved for the IDF), much has changed since Levi Strauss riveted together his first pair of trousers. Specifically, the world has seen the introduction of stretch fabrics beyond mankind's comprehension, both a boon to emo band frontmen and a curse to the environment.

Those of you who've followed this blog long enough are well aware of my demographic's use of stretchy jeans to rebel against the oppressive bagginess of the 90s and early 00s. As such, I've been thoroughly indoctrinated into the stretch. Though never extruding myself into a pair of skinny jeans, I've been a strong proponent of slim-fits from the moment I was able to escape the bagginess of the past. Is this bagginess in now? Yes, but so were JNCOS for a time so let's not trust the trend cycle with our lives just yet.

The point is, my denim has always needed to be tight. Wearing pants is outright stressful otherwise. But I simultaneously fully understand that stretch fabrics are bad for the environment. The elastics in your jeans poison the environment with each wash, and will hang out in landfills long after the cotton that bound them has returned to the earth. A conundrum to say the least.

I'll fully admit that I came upon the answer to my problem in a flash of pure coincidence, having thrown a couple pairs of cheap straight-leg 100% cotton jeans in my cart fully intending on using them as throwaways for when I didn't need to think about what I looked like but needed something rugged that didn't look like cargo pants. Little did I know that my denim savior rested in overly stiff jeans that looked baggy on me in the fitting room.

See, 100% cotton jeans are the sort that have what we call a "break-in period," like when you buy a new corvette and it makes you wait a second before you can unlock the full RPM range. Not that I can afford a new Corvette, I'm buying store-brand jeans at America's least glamorous retailer, but you get the point. The break in period lets you put some wear and tear in the denim, relaxing it and letting it loosen up, providing a better, if baggier, fit and getting that "comfortable as an old pair of jeans" feel that we lost in the vacuformed denim era championed by bands like Sleeping with Sirens.

So I broke them in. I ignored washing instructions entirely, I rewired old cars in them, I didn't care about them and I showed them that, which in hindsight I realized was probably the best thing I could've done for them. Stiffness softened to structure, the color faded pleasantly, and rather than looking and feeling awkward, the jeans began to conform to my body. Hefting a cast iron intake out from under the hood of a car that shares a birthday with your parents is great for getting denim to fit just right. Highly suggest treating these jeans like you don't care for optimum results.

Of course then comes the tightness. The denim fibers loosen over the break-in process, and which would make them baggier, and these were already straight-leg jeans, a shape not intended for tightness. And I need my jeans tight. The secret to getting a slim fit was also achieved on accident: I once more ignored washing instructions and threw them in the dryer without looking at the tag.

Denim from brands who care about their image is often treated with anti-shrink solutions in order to maintain the general shape of the cut, but my cheap pants did not, and therefore shrunk just the right amount when thrown into the dryer and spun around on the "whatever" setting.

Under this combined abuse, the cotton shrunk where I needed it to, conforming to my curves while retaining structure and ruggedness required of a good pair of jeans. This isn't a new discovery by any means, but personally it was a revelation to find denim that fit snugly without the guilt of microplastic underpinnings.

There really isn't an outtro for this post, a long winded ramble about how I got some jeans to fit, other than some vague point about looking to the old ways for sustainable options to a plastic filled future. I guess it's just nice to find good-looking denim jeans that aren't prestige brands doing their best to make a new corvette look cheap in comparison. That is all.

#the denim essay you wanted

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