#its way longer than i thought it would be

[sebsbarnes]

unspoken || minho moon

minho x reader

summary: there was a moment of consideration as you gnawed on the inside of your mouth. the weight of your secret was becoming unbearable.

warnings: angst! insecurity. probably a few grammar errors

word count: 950+

masterlist

a/n: i fear i couldn't resist writing for him. first work for him so there isn't others in the masterlist. i wrote this pretty quick so i apologize in case.

you always fought, but that night you didn't.

it was inevitable that when you and minho were around, some sort of bickering would ensue. it was as if the friendship you had relied on those sharp-tongued comments and eye rolls. there was some enjoyment in the banter; you could always rely on minho to be as quick-witted as you. most of the time, it was truly nonsense and comical to those around you, but sometimes he took it too far.

he would cross a boundary, known or unknown, and the aftermath was either venomous words spilling off your tongue or complete silence and avoidance.

it hurt, to ignore him. act like minho wasn't there. sure you would come around to him after a few days and pick right back up where you left off. and yes maybe it was unfair to ignore him after an argument, but that was you, that's what you did.

what you've really come to recognize is these silly little arguments hurt because you had feelings for minho. you hated the giddy feeling you had when he was around. the slight heat to your cheeks when he gave a real, genuine, compliment. the sizzling sensation that coursed through your skin when his hand brushed against you. or the way it felt like your chest was caving in on you and your lungs were screaming for help when minho confessed to q that he had a crush on someone, someone that isn't you.

so here you were avoiding him after he made an innocent remark about his crush. it shouldn't have, but it rubbed you the wrong way and perhaps it was because of the newfound knowledge of your feelings towards minho.

the evening was approaching and soon the sun would exchange places with the moon. the friday night would come alive and the sounds of eager students heading off campus would echo into the night, almost taunting you in your sadness. there was a nice footpath you've called home for the last week. after classes were finished you found yourself walking on the winding path away from school, taking in the fresh air and allowing yourself some peace. nestled a few feet away from the path was a small gazebo with a picnic table in the center. you sat down and allowed your eyes to close, soaking in the tranquility of nature away from the dizziness of life.

"hey..." a voice called out ripping you back to reality.

the voice. his voice. in this moment it made you feel sick. you swear you could feel the bile rising up and threatening to escape. your vision went white. heart beating so hard you could've sworn you saw its outline rising from your chest.

"hey minho," you exhaled as he sat across from you.

his throat bobbed, "how are you?"

you hummed in response, unsure what to say.

the silence between you stretches longer than it ever has. there was no space for quick-witted responses or light-hearted banter. minho didn't know what was the reason for your absence, but he missed you. when he looked at you your eyes didn't hold that mischief it normally possessed. he knew this was not a moment for a sarcastic quip.

"talk to me," minho nearly pleaded, eyes dancing across your face.

you paused trying to find a way to convey your thoughts to minho without confessing your feelings, "have you ever realized something too late?"

his eyebrow pulled up on his face, "well...of course, yeah. i think we all have."

"like, the thing is right there," you nearly laughed, "right in front of you the whole time. but by the time you realize, it's gone, it's moved on like everything else. i realized the importance of it too late."

you looked to minho who sat silently as you rambled. his eyes were clear of any judgment or jokes. the typical smirk etched on his lips was erased. his brows pulled softly together, a delicate ridge separating them. you watched as his hand snaked up from his lap and cradled your hand. his fingers lazily intertwining with your own.

"you know you can tell me anything," he said softly, his accent lighter.

you offered him a small smile. not a fake one, a real one. you could tell minho everything, everything but this. not when he is interested in someone else, you can't ruin that for him. can't ruin your friendship.

he sensed the hesitation, "...c'mon," he urged gently, eyes hopeful.

there was a moment of consideration as you gnawed on the inside of your mouth. the weight of your secret was becoming unbearable. all you wanted to do was scream at the top of your lungs for every person in KISS and for every star in the galaxy to hear that you were falling for minho. but before you could open your mouth and string together all the consonants and vowels for 'minho i'm falling for you' his phone rang.

minho's hand slid out from yours leaving you feeling icy but not as icy as the blood coursing through your body as you watched a shy smile adorn his face. one of his hands ran through his hair, a movement he did when he was feeling nervous, in a good way. you sat in agonizing silence waiting for him to hang up.

a pink hue dusted across his cheeks, "that was uh-"

"go," you replied softly, barely above a whisper, "have fun."

the moonlight that illuminated your face was now blocked my minho's standing figure. if you could, you wanted to be swallowed by his shadow into the darkness.

"oh. what were you going to say before the call?" minho asked.

you shook your head, "it was nothing."

[the-court-of-dreams]

ONYX STORM SPOILERS

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Quotes that KILLED ME in Onyx Storm

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1)

To the ones who don’t run with the popular crowd, the ones who get caught reading under their desks, the ones who feel like they never get invited, included, or represented. Get your leathers. We have dragons to ride.

Books have always been a safe place for me. I still remember picking up The Hobbit when I was still a kid, closing my bedroom door and going on an adventure. I'm almost 25 now and I still love going on adventures. From magic schools to institutes, hidden cities to castles, forests to enormous capitals. With cars and ships and horses and broomsticks and dragons. Every story, a new adventure. Every book, a new journey. Oh, how I love travelling!

I only ever had one friend who loves reading as much as I do and our conversations about books, the hours we spend making theories, and analysing everything that happened... they are some of my most beloved moments. ( @strovilos , you are the joy of my life) My other friends don't understand as much, it's okay. I' ve always been the kid hiding books under my desk, staying up past my bedtime with a light under the covers. So yeah... that dedication really got me.

I was invited to places, but I almost never felt included while being there. That was okay too.

I always preferred riding dragons anyway.

2)

Xaden is mine. My heart, my soul, my everything. He channeled from the earth to save me, and I’ll scour the world until I find a way to save him right back.

Wow, that didn't take long at all, huh? Straight in the fucking feels.

3)

I could reach the rank of Maven, lead armies of dark wielders against everyone we care for, and watch every vein in my body turn red as I channel all the power in the Continent, and I would still love you. What I did doesn’t change that. I’m not sure anything can.

Such a good start for me and my fucking heart. Thanks, Rebecca... I really appreciate it.

4)

If I’m to be court-martialed for helping Braxtyn defend his people, then I shall welcome the trial. All who channel from dragon and gryphon alike should flourish under the wards, and now Aretia will be that haven should one of the others ever return.

Lyra... I fucking stan!

5)

So with all the love in my heart, put your fucking uniform on, because we need you.

Look, I'm not saying that Ridoc is my favourite character in this book... but... Ridoc IS my favourite character in this book.

I died with the whole squad dynamic, but the four of them will always hold a special place in my heart, I fucking love these kids.

6)

Even hundreds of miles away, he’s still taking care of me and doesn’t even know it.

I KNEW this godsdamned book would be full of angst....BUT DID IT HAVE TO BE ALL OF IT??? DID IT REBECCA????

7)

You might be angry when you realize I didn’t wake you to say goodbye. But it’s only because I no longer fully trust my ability to walk away.

—Recovered Correspondence of His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor, to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

FUCK ME MAN....Come on...WHYYYYYYY????

8)

But the thought of you being out there, beyond the wards, facing down a known attack of venin, triggered something in me I’ve never felt before. It was hotter than rage, and sharper than fear, and cut deeper than helplessness, all because I couldn’t get to you.

Fuck you.

9)

I would have killed anything and anyone in that moment to reach you. No exceptions. I would have channeled every ounce of power beneath my feet without hesitation if it would have landed me at your side.

Double fuck you.

10)

If I’d been there, beyond the wards, I would have drained the very earth to its core to keep you safe.

TRIPLE FUCKING FUCK YOU!!!!

11)

Pain isn’t new to me, Jack. She’s an old friend I spend most of my days with, so I don’t mind if she sings to you.

Violet Sorrengail... you are the most badass bitch to ever badass. (I feel like that's SUCH a Remi thing to say. Fucking finally.... iykyk. Shout out to @skyfallscotland for writing fucking masterpieces. Getting notifications from you always makes my day. If any of you are into fanfcition, i STRONGLY recommend reading everything this girl has written. You can start with Fear and Flame. Thank me, and HER, later.)

12)

“We live by the Codex—” I try again.

“I live by you. When have I ever given a fuck about the Codex or the Code of Conduct?” He cradles my face and leans down, resting his forehead against mine. “I am yours and you are mine, and there’s no law or rule in this world or the next that will change that.”

I love them so much it hurts.

13)

Love of my life. You have nothing to be jealous of.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

14)

“There’s no magic here.” He tugs me against him. “No power. No lure. No taunting reminder that I can save everyone if I just reach for it and take what’s offered. It’s only…peace.”

For the first time since fetching the luminary, I seriously debate Tecarus’s offer.

When I tell you this book was PAINFUL for me....I'M NOT FUCKING KIDDING.

15)

"...Sgaeyl…" He glances up at the trees as if he can see her in the sky above us, a look of longing on his face.

If I had a dollar for everytime this book broke my fucking heart.

16)

“My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”

I'm deceased.

17)

I can’t quit watching Xaden’s eyes in case their flecks change back to gold whenever I see him during Signet Sparring.

They never do.

Like my heart will never again NOT be broken for these two.

18)

“The pain. The mess. Give it to me. I’ll hold it. I know that sounds ludicrous, but I’ll find a way.” I lace our fingers. “I will hold everything you don’t want to feel because I love every part of you.”

This ship... this fucking ship...

19)

“Seems Catriona has found someone worth lagging behind for.”

I loathed her in the previous book....but gods did the poor girl go through it in this one....

20)

“There is no cure for me.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “That’s why you have to become better than me. There’s only you.”

I seriously don't know why I'm putting myself through this torture.

21)

When things get…shitty, I hope you can look down at it and imagine us sitting there together when this is all over. That’s the vision I’m going to cling to: you and me, holding hands, looking over the city.

This right here broke whatever soul I thought I had left. It just hurts so much when the characters cling to a future that I fucking know isn't going to happen.

22)

It’s almost like this room is removed from time itself, a tiny corner of the world where we simultaneously live together yet don’t.

Rebecca literally...WHYYYYY????

23)

I didn’t reach for any form of power because even in that state, I knew it could take me back to day zero, and day zero doesn’t give me you. I clawed my way back to myself and left.

Screaming, crying, throwing up.

24)

While most deities allow temple attendants to choose their timeline of service, only two require a lifetime of dedication: Dunne and Loial. For both war and love change souls irrevocably.

For the love of Gods, please let this be some kind of clue.

25)

I love you more than this city. Do not die defending it.

Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.

26)

At some point I’ll stop looking for her, right?

I KNOW Andarna had her reasons... but my girl Violet did not deserve that after everything she's been through.

27)

His smile instantly becomes a core memory.

MY smile instantly becomes a core memory....as in I don't think I'll have one again.

28)

You’re not a weapon of destruction. You’re not venin. You’re the artery power chooses to flow through. You’re life.

I fucking ship this SO MUCH. I love me some enemies to lovers, slow burn, full of angst shit.

29)

When push comes to shove, I'm not the best of us. She is.

YES VIOLET, THAT'S YOUR BESTIE!!!!!!

30)

“That’s a little menacing,” I admit to Feirge. “Then let us be menaces,”

I ADORE multiple povs. I've been waiting for Rhi's and Imogen's pov for 3 books, and I was NOT disappointed. Wish I could have more of them though.

31)

She’ll rip the very sky apart before she and Glane accept defeat.

GO IMOGEN! GO! GO! GO!

32)

The flame of perpetual rage that lives in my chest burns hotter. Fuck that horde. Fuck the venin who ride them. Fuck that unholy vortex of a tornado at the end of the northern field, and fuck the orders to stay grounded in these winds.

FUCK! I love this girl so damn much.

33)

I’m glad it’s you with me. Parapet to Malek’s own doorstep. I’m so sorry I have to go first this time.

To be honest, I didn't really care about Quinn for three books now... but I SOBBED in these 3 pages.

34)

And you should tell him, Gen. Tell him, and you find some happy.

And the fact that she preached for my second favourite ship of the series with her dying breath??? Miss Quinn, you have my heart. I didn't care for your existence for three books, but man, did you get me in the end.

35)

“We made it a good one.”

This one cut me so fuckign deep I had to stop for a good ten minutes. I did not see it coming. I did not think I'd care. I still don't understand why I did. But I really, really did.

36)

“I’m not leaving you!” He leans in and slides his hand behind my neck. “I’m not leaving you, Imogen,” he repeats, softer this time.

If these two don't end up together, I'm gonna make it everybody's problem. I PROMISE!

37)

“You have been the gift of my life,” I tell Tairn.

I've read some theories that Tairn will die in the end... First of all...HOW DARE YOU? And second of all... REBECCA DON'T YOU DARE, I WILL-

38)

She was the first to choose me, to elevate me above all others, the first to see every ugly side of me and accept it all, and every single person in this fucking canyon will die before they remove a single one of her scales.

The fact that Xaden channeled for Violet but really turned to save Sgaeyl... I did not expect that. And although it was painful as fuck to read through... to me it was perfect and a job really well done.

39)

Shadow brings quiet. My soul departs like pieces of ash from a fire, flaking free and drifting away as power consumes the space it once inhabited. I’m no longer on the ice—I am the ice.

Xaden...baby...no....

40)

Save them, the last remaining pieces of me beg, holding on with teeth and claw to keep from being torn away, too.

I will never... ever... recover from this.

41)

“I love you.” Violet’s voice cracks the cold, and a silken thread of warmth wedges itself in the opening before it seals shut, locking it in place.

No. Wait. I grab for that thread with desperate hands, clawing to keep her as more of my pieces are blown away, lost to the void. She is warmth and light and air and love.

This was so fucking painful to read I literally have no fucking words.

44)

I love her. That is the emotion I cling to, the fire of pure power burning at the feeling’s edges, and I know if I take it any further, it will be the next and final piece to float away.

😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔

45)

“What did you do?” My head snaps toward Imogen, and a deep sense of foreboding takes root in my chest. She slowly lifts her gaze to mine.

“What you asked me to.”

How THE FUCK am I supposed to wait who-knows how long for the next damned book???

All in all, I really enjoyed this. I never got bored and I didn't mind the side missions at all.

The xaden×violet of it all shattered my heart. I definitely loved their relationship more than the previous books (It really reminded me of their dynamic from one of the best pieces of literature I've ever had the pleasure to read, a fanfiction piece called Storm in the quiet by @justallihere. She is truly the best.).

I just knew this was coming, and all of their trying would lead to this... it tore my heart apart. I love heavy angst in my books, but it hurts like a motherfucker when you have to wait for the next book in a series. I've promised myself I would never start an unfinished series ever again but oh well....

I loved the side characters so much, and I feel like I got to see them more and get to know them better in this one.

Ridoc is the best comic relief character I've read in a long, long time, and I love him so much (I almost had a heart attack when I thought the cook actually stabbed him.)

Aaric is a little shit and I'm so here for it. His exceptionally well written character was one of the highlights of the book for me.

Imogen and Garrick are my babies and I want them to end up together SO FUCKING BAD.

Also, the Drake and Mira crumbs? Chef's kiss.

I have to admit I was very fed shipping wise.

Unexpectedly, I also laughed my ass off in this book... so I'll probably make another post with all the times I died of laughter. Who would have thought?

My soul will definitely need mending and a good dose of fanfiction to get me through the long wait. To the people who are gifted enough to write these fanfcitions, you are my heroes. Cheers!

Final thought, Xaden Riorson, THE MAN that you are.

Accurate image of me after finishing Onyx Storm:

[glossykissies]

i think this was like one of the first scott fics u posted but reader was in college for like fashion design? i think 😭 but anyways reader got a bad grade in one of her classes and scott says she cant touch him cos u cant reward bad behavior!!!

it’s funny because scott thinks he’s handling it the right way.

it’s how he was raised — it’s why he ended up in the working environment he did. his mother was a sweet woman, but his father was hard, never impressed, always pushing scott to achieve more. of course there were times he resented him for being so cold and unyielding, but he supposed he had him to thank for everything. now as a grown adult, scott saw himself in his old man, rearing his ugly head when least expected.

you’d come home to scott, all wired up and manic looking for a distraction. the project you thought you’d been slaving over ended up bringing you your worst grade yet. it wasn’t failable, and you knew you’d be able to pull yourself back — but it was certainly a wake up call. you felt ashamed.

you’d mentioned it in passing to scott as you were toeing your shoes off, thinking that if you treated it as a casual thing, it would be less damning. you were known to work hard, and you’d hate if scott thought any less of you. if there was anyone who’s opinion mattered to you over your professor, it was him.

“— and i’m gonna have to retake that class because i flopped so hard, anyway i had icecream for lunch—”

“hold on.” scott frowns, arms folded over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall, narrowing his eyes at you. “retake the class? explain.”

he makes note of the way you swallow and avoid his eyes as you gather up an excuse. “its fine, i failed the class. its fine.” you shrug a shoulder, and scott stares before shaking his head with a sigh.

“look — i told you, if you’re gonna be here all the time you can’t let it interfere with your projects. i think — i think it’s best if you start spending some weekends from home so you can get back on top of—”

“no!” you bark, eyes wide and desperate, which actually silences him in surprise. you are incredibly quick to adjust yourself, releasing a tense chuckle to let it be known that you were on your best behaviour, smile straining your cheeks and not quite meeting your eyes. “scott it’s not that serious, i swear. i’m passing all my other classes, this happens to everyone atleast once.” you figure your tone is reassuring enough, especially as he doesn’t follow you into the kitchen to make your daily green tea.

you spend a little longer than usual in the kitchen as you sip away at your drink, giving your boyfriend time to hopefully forget about the bad grade you received so you could potentially start the evening over, feeling things were a little chaotic. the hot liquid seems to soothe your nerves momentarily too, aiming to leave the day behind as you eventually slink out into the living room, eeking out your distraction as you join scott on the couch.

he’s watching some kind of documentary, naturally manspreading with that concentrated frown like a man much older than he was. you let a mischievous smile slip as you wriggle up to his side, stroking at his arm. this was nothing unusual from your usual behaviour, so scott doesn’t react — continuing on with his show.

“scotty.” you breathe in his ear, beginning to dot kisses gently along his jawline.

“hm?”

“missed you. needed daddy all day.” you pout as a manicured hand rises to rest on his broad chest before sliding slowly down his stomach toward his belt. you nearly jump out of your skin when he grabs your wrist and moves it away.

“no.” he hums, voice low. you blink your wide eyes at him in confusion — maybe you were just spoilt, because it wasn’t often you heard that word so firmly.

“huh?”

it’s only then scott looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “you think i’m gonna reward you for failing a class? you know, if i had been you — i’d already be at the desk with my laptop out, getting to work so i don’t fail my class again.” he’s stern, and whilst you’re used to his blunt ways you’re stunned by how cruel he was being. to him, he wanted the best for you and this was how he showed it in the moment, but to you it was the ultimate rejection.

it’s unnoticeable to the human eye, but he softens when you’re so quick to submit without argument despite his words, bashfully climbing off the couch to silently grab your bag and head to the bedroom where scott’s desk was. he watches you go, arms crossed — before he sighs, closing his eyes. that wasn’t him, it was his father. you didn’t deserve that.

he thinks up what to say to you, standing up to retrieve you approximately seven minutes later. he finds you at the desk where he suggested, laptop open on an empty document, crying quietly into your hands. scott closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before starting towards you.

“hey. hey.” his voice is quiet as he scoops you off the chair, replacing you with himself as he cradles you on his lap. “c’mon.” he whispers, feeling you wrack with another silent sob into your hands.

“i’m sorry.” you squeak.

“you don’t have to be sorr—”

“you’re disappointed in me. i’m disappointed in me too i just wanted to forget for a few hours.” you cry like a baby, stripped down to your most vulnerable self and his jaw clenches, mad that he was the one to upset you like this. this relationship shit was harder than it looked.

“hey i’m not, okay? i’m not. i was… hard on you because i think you can be great. okay? i think you are great. most talented girl i know. i don’t wanna get in the way of that, you know?” his large hand slides up your back to pull you closer and he feels you nod.

“i know. i’m sorry i get so upset about stupid stuff. i tried to be a big girl about it. i tried to… start—” you pull away to gesture to the empty document and he breathes out a chuckle, pulling you back to his chest.

“i know. i see… and it’s not stupid. i was mean. you should have kicked my ass.” he shakes his head but hears you giggle against his shirt, likely staining it with tears and mascara.

“next time.” comes out muffled.

“great.” he sarks before pulling you back to mop up your face, trying not to grimace at any snot or drool as he swipes it away with his thumb. “look. get started on… all this tomorrow. i’ll help in any way i can. what do you need right now? hm?” he jogs you on his lap with his knee once to signify that he wants a verbal and decisive answer. you press your lips together, glancing down at his belt once more. “oh yeah?” he confirms in that deep voice that makes between your legs ooze. “still after that?”

you nod, and he squeezes you hip. “alright. i think i can provide.”

[pineapplehazard]

Buck had been particularly down this week. Bobby couldn't help but notice how little excitement Buck had shown about the team playing a role in Brad's show. Knowing how smiley and happy he usually got whenever they encountered camera crews or filming sets, the captain had expected the kid to be jumping around like a golden retriever. But Buck had let out a barely audible, “Oh... that's cool,” and when Chimney started joking about the miracle of them being allowed on set—considering Bobby and Eddie had insulted the show and its “star”—Buck had barely taken the time to flash the fakest, weakest smile ever before turning away, leaving the conversation.

Bobby had also noticed the absence of baked goods from Buck over the following week. He had been so proud of him for finding an alternative to contacting Tommy, trying to separate himself from that failed relationship in a healthy way. Maybe it was a bit much to actually be considered healthy, but spending overtime baking was definitely one of the less destructive coping mechanisms someone on this team had ever used.

Now, this could have meant that Buck had finally come to terms with the breakup—or even better, that he had finally realized he deserved a much better partner than Tommy had been. But Bobby knew better than to be too hopeful.

The sudden halt in Buck’s baking habit could also mean two terrible things:

He and Tommy had somehow gotten back together.

Buck’s mood had dropped so low that even baking wasn’t enough to cope.

Somehow, the hickey blatantly visible on the young man’s neck didn’t help Bobby figure out which option had won.

As Bobby prepared lunch, he couldn’t help but watch his team, hoping to see in them the same worry he felt for his kid.

Hen was focused on the video game in which she was currently beating Buck. If she was worried about him, it was well hidden behind sarcastic comments and playful shoves on the sofa.

Eddie, however… Eddie was watching Buck with a complicated expression on his face. Bobby sighed. What a terrible time to have a revelation, Diaz. (Then again, Bobby knew better than to hope that either of these two idiots would realize what they were to each other anytime soon.)

“I’m afraid we’re back to Buck 1.0, Cap,” Chimney said, coming up behind him at the counter, resigned.

“1.0?”

“Truckstealer Buck, if you prefer. It’s too bad. I think we were at least on Buck 5.0 by now. Maybe 6.0? Do you think the lightning strike caused an update?”

Bobby gripped the pan handle tighter than he should have at that unnecessary reminder.

“A hickey doesn’t mean he’s back to his former bad habits…” the captain said, uncertain of who he was trying to convince.

“Sure, no. But three hook-up dates in three days?”

Bobby didn’t answer, but his face must have said enough. Chimney sighed and shook his head.

“I know… It’s bad. He even refused to babysit Jee or come over for dinner! Buck loves seeing Jee!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the end of Hen and Buck’s game. Chimney left to set the table, grumbling about how he should have tried harder to stop Buck before he even started dating that “asshole.”

None of it was mentioned for the rest of the shift. Buck tried to act as usual, Hen managed to do so, Eddie brooded, and Chimney and Bobby exchanged concerned glances from time to time.

Bobby remembered his talks with Buck when he’d started his relationship with Abby, and later, the conversations they’d had after the Buckleys’ first visit to LA. He remembered how proud Buck had been of his personal growth—of no longer needing to be used to feel like he mattered. Bobby thought of all this and decided he couldn’t just watch Buck destroy all his progress. His kid was hurting, and Bobby was going to help him get better.

Which led the captain to be standing in front of Buck’s door.

For a second, he hesitated, realizing suddenly that he might find Buck in a compromising position, considering the frequency of the “hook-up dates” Chimney had described. Still, he knocked.

Not two minutes passed before the door opened to Buck, fully dressed (thank God) and apparently alone.

“Bobby?” Buck frowned, clearly perplexed by his captain’s presence but still stepped aside to let him in. “I’m—I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess right now, but, um… come in?”

As Bobby walked in, he did notice the “bit of a mess.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say the loft was unrecognizable—he had spent too much time in it after bombings, lightning strikes, and housefires not to recognize the place—but it did look like a tornado had made its way inside. Most of Buck’s baking instruments were scattered across the central island, empty flour bags and takeout boxes filling the rare voids.

The living room wasn’t much better. Dirty T-shirts and sweatshirts were lazily thrown on the chairs, and by the couch, DVDs and… Lego boxes? covered the floor.

Bobby took a determined breath and looked Buck right in the eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

Buck’s confusion turned to dread. “Is everything okay? Is Athena—”

“Athena’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Bobby reassured. “Except you, it seems.”

“What?”

Grabbing the kid’s arm, he guided him to the table. “Stop gaping like a fish and sit, Buckley.”

Dirty sweatshirts were thrown further away, they both sat, accompanied by an awkward silence. Buck wouldn't meet Bobby's eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.

"I'm going to talk, Buck, and I would like for you to listen, to hear what I'm trying to say... Okay? This isn't a reprimand or anything like that, I'm just worried about you, kid."

At that, Buck finally raised his head, and god, those sad blue eyes could really break Bobby's heart over and over again.

"I couldn't help but notice a change in your behavior recently. You're not smiling as much as you used to, you're not baking anymore, you're avoiding your sister apparently, and visibly you've been..." The man gestured awkwardly to the hickey. "going out? Again. And that's a lot of signs indicating that you're not doing very well."

Buck just nodded, lips pinched and eyes watery. Bobby suddenly regretted choosing to have a whole table between them. He should have been holding Buck close, in such a good hug that it would shield the boy from all of his problems.

"I know from experience that when we suffer, we tend to lean on our bad habits, and we say to ourselves that it's because they're comfortable, but in truth, we go back to them because we know that they hurt us."

"Bobby..."

"And I know it might not be my place, but I'm not certain that you going out on dates with different people, and... what follows, is actually doing you any good."

In front of him, Buck had become red, stumbling on his words, embarrassed.

"I—uh—hm... Bobby, I don't—I have not been sleeping around, if that's what you're worried about."

Bobby's eyebrow lifted by itself, too skeptical considering the purple mark on the young one's neck.

"Okay, I... I had one date. Yesterday. And it didn't go further than what you can see, actually. He... He wasn't who I really wanted."

Oh, Tommy Kinnard. If punching people in the street was more accepted... How could someone voluntarly decide to break this boy's precious heart?

"Then why couldn't you see your sister and your niece? Two different times?"

"Well... I was busy...," Buck gestured to the whole flat, "sulking... as you can see."

"That's all?" Bobby asked, unconvinced.

"No..." Hesitation passed on Buck's face before he continued. "Can I say something terrible?... They're too happy. I mean, I'm glad that they are! But... I didn't think I could have survived spending time with the perfect happy family... Maddie and Chim are so happy together... They're married, and they have a wonderful daughter who's as shining as them, and... They're the reminder of everything I've just lost, you know?"

Bobby didn't know, actually. Sure, things had been going well enough between Buck and Kinnard, but to think that the kid was already projecting marriage and children with this man? Bobby had been lightyears away from imagining things were that serious between them. He should have known. Buck always went all in in his relationships. Now the captain felt terrible with how lightly they all had approached his breakup, if Buck had been grieving this entire future he had envisionned.

"Sometimes you meet someone thinking that they're the one, and it seems so perfect that the idea that they could leave you one day never crosses your mind... But sometimes they do... and it hurts. It's normal that it hurts." As Bobby talked, the young man just nodded, wiping his nose from time to time. "And you're grieving, because no matter how short it was," Buck frowned. "what you had with them was real. What matters, Buck, is that you can cherish what you had without punishing yourself for not having it anymore."

At this point, Buck was barely holding his tears, and Bobby decided that enough talking had been done. He walked around the table and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"It's too hard."

For a moment, they stayed like this, Buck holding Bobby like he was his lifeline, wetting his captain's T-shirt with his tears. Oh, Bobby wished he could take all his pain away. Until he found a way to do that, he would continue to hold him tight.

"It feels like my one real happiness was right in front of me, but it got snatched away before I could really catch it."

"It might feel like it right now, but I'm sure you will find happiness, Buck. It might just not be with Tommy."

The boy suddenly froze in his arms.

"...With who?"

[myjjongie]

۶ৎ SWEET, SWEET, SWEET, KISS ── s. jaeyun

IN WHICH: you've never had your first kiss before. who better to help you out with that problem? your lovely boyfriend jake of course!

PAIRING: bf!jake x gf!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: fluff, established relationship, skin ship, kissing WORD COUNT: 1290 ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: this was posted way later than i intended, sorry about that :P but here it is whaaat !!?? also yes its lowercase intended i'm sorry i'm crazy </3 and lastly hope yall like it !! <3

it had been a month since you confessed to jake sim. before he became your boyfriend he was your hallway crush. yes, you may have had mutual friends but he was never really your friend. so when the words “i like you too” came out of his mouth it was a shock. well more so a life altering shock. for once a guy you like finally liked you back. there were both pros and cons on the situation.

pro, you were dating someone who actually liked you back. con? you’ve never been in a relationship… so anything that had to do with a relationship was entirely new to you. that meant holding hands, cuddling, dates, long phone calls, and last but not least… kissing. as a college student the mere thought of not only never being in a relationship but also never having your first kiss was mortifying in a way for you. so for the first month of your relationship, you did everything you could to not kiss jake.

in hindsight it was honestly ridiculous. you avoided kissing your boyfriend for a whole month all cause you didn’t know how to kiss to begin with... anytime you felt jake lean in for a kiss you’d find any excuse to get out of it. from turning away to look at something else, letting out a nervous laugh, or even pretending to get a check a message on your phone. you always felt bad for avoiding it.

but now here you were sitting on jake’s couch in his apartment. his face was leaning in as he was getting ready to kiss you once again. with no hesitation you stopped him before his lips could touch yours.

“oh have you seen that new movie that came out on netflix?! what was it called again?” you laughed nervously trying to move jake’s focus onto something else.

jake was just too observant for his own good. one month into the relationship and he already knew you like the back of his hand.

“yn you’ve been weird lately.” a pout began to form on his face. his brows also furrowed in worry as well.

“i won’t lie. i’ve noticed anytime i try to reach in for a kiss you’re immediately dismissive of me. did i do something wrong?” now his soft pout deepened into a frown. the hurt expression he had pained you. thinking that jake felt he did something wrong made the feeling in your chest tighten up. jake was never in the wrong, it was you for letting your nerves get the better of you.

“no. no! it’s not like that jake. i just…” taking in a deep breath you let out a sigh. you couldn’t let this continue on any longer. it was now or never to tell jake the truth.

“ugh. just. just promise me you won’t laugh…” your voice faltered a bit as you mustered up the power to spill the truth. your eyes looked into his to see his eyes reflect a serious expression.

“of course.”

biting your lip nervously you finally say the words that you hoped to never share. “i’ve never had my first kiss!” your voice came off a bit loud as you spilled out your confession. you closed your eyes not wanting to see the reaction on jake’s face.

it was silent for a moment. then a small stifle of a laugh was heard in the room. jake was laughing. opening your eyes you immediately opened your mouth to speak.

“you said you wouldn’t laugh!” now you were the one with a frown on your face.

“i know i know. i just. i didn’t think you were gonna say that.” jake could barely form the sentence letting a few laughs out.

“babe is that why you were avoiding my kisses all this time? it’s okay if you haven’t had your first kiss yet. did you think i would judge you for it?” his fingers softly grazed your cheek as he gently tucked some hair behind your ear.

“well no. i just…. i didn’t wanna kiss you badly… is all..” your cheeks let off a soft red color at the creeping embarrassment.

“hey now. that’s why i’m here. if you think you were gonna do badly, you have me to practice with.” jake couldn’t help but finish off his words with a cheeky smile.

you roll your eyes slightly whilst giving him a gentle punch to his arm.

“what? i’m being serious. how about we learn now? is that okay with you? i’m not overstepping am i?”

you found it adorable the minute he backtracked on his statement. jake unconsciously wanting to make you feel comfortable and safe made you stomach do flips. he truly was a perfect boyfriend.

“yes jakey that’s fine.” your voice came off more calmer as your nerves slowly subsided.

without anything more to say, jake changed the way you and him sat on the couch. you were both now sitting across from each other faces in front of each other. his arm rested on the back of the couch while his other hand was gently placed on your knee. you sat there with crossed legs slowly feeling nervous again, you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap.

“okay to start off. don’t think too much about the kiss. i promise you it’s easier said then done. when you’re in the moment you won’t be thinking about it. we’re gonna jump right into it so just try pressing your lips onto mine. okay? and don’t be nervous. it’s just me yn.”

still feeling shy you quickly peck jake’s lips. the contact between you two was no more than 2 seconds or even less than that. you looked up to jake to shyly ask “like that?”

your eyes had a gaze of innocence making jake feel slightly flustered.

“fuck… you’re way too cute yn.” jake murmured under his breath. without a second to spare jake’s lips gently brushed against yours. his lips now locking with yours felt different then the quick peck you gave him mere seconds ago. you froze unsure of what to do next, but jake didn’t rush it. his movements were gentle and attentive. his hand cupped your cheek to help tilt your face a bit. the new angle alone helped melt away the nerves in your body. then finally you got the hang of it, following his lead each movement felt more natural as the time went on.

at a certain point jake parted ways from the kiss. he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you breathed in for air afterwards. he desperately wanted to nibble at your lips but knew it would’ve been too much for you in the moment. instead he was now peppering your face with kisses. your cheeks, forehead, and jawline were not left without a kiss to them. your body shivered at the ticklish feeling of jake’s lips kissing along your jawline. finally stopping, he let out a deep sigh admiring your face before speaking.

“see that wasn’t so bad was it?” jake asked out as his thumb gently brushed against your bottom lip.

your face felt heated from all the small kisses jake gave you afterwards. you shook your head in agreement too tongue tied to find the words to speak. jake let out a soft laugh as he eyed you attentively.

“next time can i teach you how to make out?” jake teased as he fluttered his eye lashes flaunting his puppy eyes.

“hmmm we’ll see…” you replied shyly, a small smile making its way onto your lips.

before being able to even think about the future lessons. jake quickly pecked your lips, giving you that big smile that you always adored.

perm taglist ( open! send a ask to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

[midnightdahlias]

Sparks of the Apocalypse

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summery - you decide to go visit Bobby but are suprised by a certain stranger word count - 1.7K cws - fem!reader, pure fluff, mentions of violence (if you squint) lmk if i missed anything a/n - hope you enjoy this, sammy my beloved. I apologise for any mistakes, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and again any feedback is appreciated ! as are rebloggs and comments. happy reading !

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Being a hunter sucked sometimes. Scratch that, it sucked most of the time. You were always on the road, bouncing between crappy motels with peeling wallpaper and water pressure so bad you wondered why you even bothered showering. It wasn’t glamorous. But after a long day of getting tossed into walls and dodging claws or teeth, you’d sleep on the hood of your car if it came to that.

Still, there were moments. Rare ones. Like now. When you’d get a break long enough to drive to the only place that ever really felt like home. Bobby’s house.

Bobby Singer was, to put it mildly, a godsend.

Bobby had a reputation among hunters as the go-to guy. Need lore? Call Bobby. Fake supervisor for a cover story? Bobby’s your man. Need someone to vent to? Bobby would listen, grumbling all the while. Over the years, you’d grown close to him. He’d known your parents before you, and when they were busy chasing monsters, he’d looked after you. Bobby was more than just a friend, he was family. You always thought he’d have made a damn good dad. Though in many ways, he already was one.

After a particularly grueling hunt, you decided to head to Bobby’s, you needed more than a beer and a chat. Ever since the apocalypse started, it felt like every supernatural creature had lost its mind. Things were kicking into high gear, leading to longer nights and more close calls in a week than in your entire career. Oddly enough, you thrived under the pressure. Sure, the extra cuts and bruises were annoying, but it was the apocalypse, it was never going to be margaritas on a beach.

As you pulled into Bobby’s driveway, a sense of comfort and relief washed over you. The place always felt safe and welcoming, though you weren’t sure if that was because of the house itself or the man who lived there.

A black Chevrolet Impala sat parked outside, a car you didn’t recognize. Wonder who that belongs to, you thought, but you didn’t dwell on it. All you wanted was to kick your feet up and crack open a cold one.

Knocking on the door, you expected Bobby’s usual grumpy greeting, but today the door creaked open to reveal… definitely not Bobby.

Stood in the doorway was a younger man. The first thing you noticed about him was how tall he was, towering over your smaller frame. His soft hazel eyes caught your attention next, followed by his sharp but delicate features and the semi-long hair brushing just below his jaw. There was no denying it, he was handsome. For a moment, you stood frozen, your words caught in your throat. “Uh, hi. Who are you?” he asked, blinking down at you like he was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

You cleared your throat, trying not to stare. “Hey. Is Bobby home?” Not answering his question. ome would call it paranoia, you called it precaution but as good-looking as this stranger was, you weren’t about to share your name with someone you didn’t know.

He tilted his head, clearly debating whether or not to let you in. Before he could answer, Bobby’s familiar grumble echoed from somewhere inside.

“What’s takin’ so long? Who’s at the—oh.” Bobby wheeled into view, his grumpy expression softening when he saw you. “Well, I’ll be damned. Kid, get in here.”

You smiled, stepping inside to hug him. “Miss me?”

“Not really,” Bobby deadpanned, but you caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I would’ve called ahead,” you said with a smirk, “but since I never do, I figured why start now?”

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Smartass.’’

Behind him, the tall guy was still standing there, looking amused. And at somepoint during your greating with Bobby, a second guy had appeared. He was shorter than the other, he also had green eyes and a cocky smirk. Great, you thought. Who are these guys?

“Who’s this?” the newcomer asked.

“This,” Bobby said, gesturing to you, “is one of the best damn hunters I know. And a lot more sensible than you two idjits, I’ll tell ya that much. Sam, shut the door before we all catch pneumonia.”

Sam.

You’d heard that name tossed around a lot lately, along with his brother’s. Hunters and monsters alike seemed to have plenty to say about the Winchester brothers, especially Sam, none of it good. But standing here now, looking at Sam, he didn’t seem dangerous or evil, just tired. Hurt, even. But as your eyes caught his, there was something else there aswell, something you couldn’t quite place.

Bobby’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sit down, kid. Beer’s in the fridge. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“Feels like it, too,” you muttered, plopping down on the couch.

Over beers in Bobby’s living room, the four of you swapped stories. Dean was charismatic, cracking jokes as he recounted close calls from past hunts. Sam, though quieter, was kind and insightful. You caught yourself glancing at him more often than you intended, and each time, you found his eyes already on you.

When Bobby suggested ordering food, you volunteered to cook instead. It was rare to get the chance to make a proper meal, and you weren’t about to pass it up. Bobby’s kitchen wasn’t exactly stocked, so a quick trip to the store had been necessary, but you didn’t mind so much, you liked cooking, it gave you a sense of calm.

You were halfway through chopping vegetables when you heard a soft voice behind you.

“Need a hand?”

You turned to see Sam hovering in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips, looking almost… shy?

“Sure,” you said, handing him a knife and some vegetables.

You worked side by side, exchanging small talk to fill the silence. Normally, you were confident around men, but something about Sam made you nervous, in a good way. A different kind of nervous than the one you’d expect to feel around someone who’d let Lucifer out of his cage. His presence was calming, his smile disarming.

When your hands brushed as he passed you the cutting board, you froze. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you like static electricity. Your breath hitched as a faint blush crept over your cheeks, but you quickly turned back to the stove, hoping to shake the feeling. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, trying to push it all down. You weren’t usually this affected by anyone, let alone someone you’d just met.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam was just as affected. Behind you, he stood just as still, his heart thudding in his chest, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

From the moment he opened the door, he’d felt drawn to you. The way you spoke, the warmth in your laugh—it all felt oddly familiar, like you belonged here.

In the next room, Dean leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. He nudged Bobby with a grin. Not even trying to hide his amusement.

“You seeing this?” he whispered, nodding toward the kitchen.

Bobby shot him a lookover his glass of whiskey. “They’re like a couple of deer caught in headlights,” he muttered. “Painful.”

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Think we should do something? You know, give ’em a little push?”

“Hell no,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.

Back in the kitchen, you worked in tense silence, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel Sam’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced up, there he was, watching you with an intensity that sent another wave of warmth crawling up your neck.

Normally, being stared at like that would’ve set you on edge, but Sam’s gaze wasn’t threatening. There was something soft about it, it was sweet, and that made it so much worse.

He cleared his throat suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Uh…anything else you need help with?”

His voice was low, gentle, and it only made your heart trip over itself again. You turned to him, forcing a casual smile despite the fluttering in your chest. “Nope, I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks, though.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

It was such a small, awkward exchange, but it left you rattled. You found yourself hyperaware of every move he made, the way he leaned against the counter, the way his hair fell in his eyes when he glanced down.

And Sam? He wasn’t faring any better. The sound of your voice, the way your lips curved when you smiled, it was like you’d bewitched him without even trying. Though he wasn’t about to start complaining

In the next room, Bobby and Dean exchanged another knowing look.

“Think they’ll figure it out on their own?” Dean asked.

Bobby took a long sip of his drink before answering. “Doubt it. But watching ’em try sure is entertaining.”

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masterlist

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

In Search of Kindred Spirits - Chapter 3

Hi folks, welcome back for chapter 3 of In Search of Kindred Spirits. We have one more chapter after this to go! I don't have much to say on this chapter other than here we get to see Danny's search through the zone. But have fun everyone, and as always feedback is welcome!

Prev | Next

The Ghost Zone stretched infinitely in every direction, an otherworldly expanse of swirling green mist, floating islands, and jagged portals that flickered like torn seams in reality. Rivers of shimmering ectoplasm wound their way through the void, glowing faintly as they meandered past bizarre, gravity-defying landscapes. It was a place of eerie beauty, alive with strange whispers and the occasional flicker of ghostly figures darting between dimensions. Yet its vastness was daunting—so endless that even Danny, who had spent countless hours navigating its labyrinthine reaches, often felt like a single drop in an infinite ocean.

Jason wasn’t here. At least, not in the places Danny thought he would be.

The search was proving longer and more grueling than Danny had anticipated. Six months had passed since Jason had vanished, six months of tirelessly scouring the Ghost Zone’s countless nooks and crannies. Danny had questioned every ghost he encountered, chasing cryptic hints and fragmented tales that inevitably dissolved into dead ends. He had dived headfirst into unstable portals, braved spectral storms, and crossed paths with some of the Zone's most notorious denizens—all in pursuit of a lead, a sign, anything to guide him to Jason.

The weight of his task was beginning to press down on him. The Ghost Zone was infinite, unpredictable, and dangerous. Doubt whispered insidiously in the back of his mind, asking questions he didn’t want to face: What if Jason doesn’t want to be found? What if he’s gone for good? But Danny shook those thoughts off as quickly as they came.

He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up. Jason had been there for him when no one else had, standing by his side in the moments that mattered most. Danny had made a promise—not just to Jason, but to himself. No matter how vast or treacherous the Ghost Zone might be, he wouldn’t let him down.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first lead had come from Skulker, the self-proclaimed ghost hunter who seemed to delight in crossing paths with Danny. This time, he was lurking near a swirling vortex of green energy that looked suspiciously like a trap.

“Looking for someone, whelp?” Skulker had asked, his tone laced with mocking amusement.

Danny dodged the green net Skulker flung at him with practiced ease, his glare sharp. “None of your business, tin can.”

Skulker grinned, his predatory smile revealing rows of jagged teeth. “Oh, but it is my business. Word travels fast in the Zone, Phantom. I hear you’ve been scouring, chasing after a wayward soul. Someone… human?”

The accusation made Danny freeze mid-air. He masked his surprise with a glare. “What do you know?”

Skulker’s glowing eyes narrowed, glinting with a mix of menace and amusement. “More than you, it seems,” he drawled. “But let me offer a morsel of advice: tread carefully. The Ghost Zone holds many secrets, and not all who perish find their way here. Some fates…” His voice dipped lower, almost reverent, “are stranger than even you can imagine.”

Danny’s stomach tightened. The weight of Skulker’s words settled heavily in his chest, but before he could press for more, Skulker vanished into the swirling void, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of unease.

It was the first time Danny truly questioned the foundation of his search. What if Jason wasn’t in the Ghost Zone at all? The possibility hit him like a punch to the gut. Every lead he had followed, every corner of the Zone he had searched, might have been for nothing. And worse—what if Skulker was right? What if Jason’s fate was something Danny couldn’t even begin to understand? -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Months slipped by, and Danny’s search grew increasingly desperate. He ventured deeper into the Ghost Zone, navigating its most treacherous and mysterious regions—places he had once considered nothing more than ghostly folklore. He braved the Valley of the Lost, a desolate expanse where wandering souls cried out in anguish for memories that had long faded, their voices hauntingly hollow. He ventured into the Obsidian Flats, a strange void where time and space twisted in impossible ways, folding in on themselves like a cruel labyrinth.

Everywhere he went, Danny asked the same question: “Have you seen a soul named Jason Todd?”

The responses were as maddening as they were unhelpful. Some ghosts sneered at him, their laughter echoing mockingly through the void. Others offered cryptic riddles that left Danny more frustrated than before.

“You search for one who is neither living nor dead,” Nocturn, the ghost of dreams and shadows, told him one night. His voice was smooth and ominous, like silk sliding over a blade. “Much like yourself, but also not. Such souls are rare, Phantom. If he is not here, then perhaps he lingers… somewhere in between.”

Danny’s frustration bubbled over. “In between what?” he demanded, his voice cracking with urgency.

Nocturn smiled faintly, the gleam of his teeth visible even in the dim light of the Zone. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he mused before vanishing into a swirl of dark mist, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

Nocturn’s words gnawed at Danny. What did “in between” even mean? The Ghost Zone was supposed to be the final destination for souls caught between life and death. If Jason wasn’t here, then where was he? And worse—what if Danny’s search was destined to lead him nowhere? -------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until Danny visited Clockwork that he finally got some clarity—though, as with most things involving the Master of Time, the answers came wrapped in riddles.

Clockwork floated serenely in the center of his lair, his current form that of an aged man draped in flowing robes. The constant ticking and whirring of countless clocks filled the air, a reminder of time’s relentless march. Danny stood before him, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his desperation barely contained.

“Clockwork, I need your help,” Danny said, his voice steady but pleading. “I’m looking for someone. His name is Jason Todd.”

Clockwork’s glowing red eyes shifted toward him, calm and unblinking. “Ah, Jason Todd,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “The boy who died but did not pass on. I wondered when you would finally come to me.”

Danny’s breath hitched. “So… he’s alive?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Clockwork replied, gesturing to a swirling portal that appeared beside him. Within its depths, images began to form—flashes of Jason’s life. Danny saw Jason’s brutal death at the hands of the Joker, the quiet stillness of his grave, and then the violent churn of a bubbling green pit. The scene shifted to Jason clawing his way out, his body trembling, his eyes wild and filled with rage.

“What is this?” Danny whispered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic ticking.

“The Lazarus Pit,” Clockwork explained, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “A pool of ancient, corrupted ectoplasmic energy capable of dragging souls back from the brink of death. But its gifts are not without consequence.”

Danny watched, his stomach twisting, as the portal revealed Jason’s transformation. Gone was the boy Danny had known, replaced by someone colder, angrier—haunted.

“He’s alive,” Danny murmured, a mix of relief and dread coursing through him. “But… why hasn’t he come back? Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

Clockwork’s expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something—pity, perhaps—in his gaze. “Because the Pit does not give without taking. It warps the soul, twists it into something new. Jason Todd may walk among the living, but he is not the same as he once was.”

“No,” Danny said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not true. Jason is still… Jason. I know he is.”

Clockwork’s voice softened, though his tone remained measured. “Perhaps. But the boy you seek is no longer in the Ghost Zone. He resides in the world of the living now, much like you—a soul caught between what was and what is.”

Danny’s mind raced. If Jason was alive, then there was still hope. Yet the images of the Lazarus Pit and Jason’s pained expression lingered, filling Danny with unease. Somewhere out there, Jason was waiting to be found—but he might not be the same person Danny remembered.

The questions swirled in Danny’s mind, heavier than the Ghost Zone’s silence. But one thing was clear: his search wasn’t over. Not yet. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny returned to the human world a changed person. He’d grown stronger, his powers sharper and more refined. But he’d also grown more determined. He couldn’t let Jason’s memory—or the hope that he might still be out there—fade into the background. So Danny turned back to the letters, remembering the city that began it all.

“Gotham,” Danny murmured, holding the letter in his hands. The city that had taken Jason from him. The city that might still hold the answers he was looking for. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moving to Gotham felt like stepping back in time. The city was just as grimy, chaotic, and dangerous as Danny remembered. But this time, he wasn’t a scared little kid clinging to Jason for protection.

This time, he was Phantom.

Danny took to patrolling the streets at night, his white hair and glowing green eyes making him a ghostly blur in the shadows. Gotham’s criminals were ruthless, but so was he. Phantom became a whispered legend among the city’s underworld—a vigilante who moved like a ghost and struck like a storm.

But for all his heroics, Danny’s true mission remained the same: find Jason Todd. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On one particular night after months in the city, as Danny hovered above Gotham’s rooftops, scanning the streets below, he spotted something unusual. A group of armed men was unloading crates from a truck, their movements tense and hurried.

Danny narrowed his eyes. Smugglers, probably. He swooped down, his ectoblasts glowing in his hands.

“Alright, boys,” he called, his voice echoing eerily. “Drop the weapons, or I’ll make you drop them myself.”

The men froze, their eyes widening at the sight of him.

“What the hell—?” one of them started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

Danny dodged effortlessly, phasing through the bullet like it was nothing. He smirked. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Before he could strike, a second figure appeared, dropping into the fray like a shadow.

Danny’s breath caught.

The newcomer was clad in black and red, a helmet obscuring his face. He moved with brutal efficiency, taking down the smugglers one by one with a combination of gunfire and hand-to-hand combat.

Danny watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was.

“Jason,” he whispered.

The Red Hood turned, his posture stiffening as he noticed Danny hovering above him.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.

Danny felt a lump form in his throat. After three long years, he’d finally found him.

“Jason,” he said again, louder this time.

The Red Hood tilted his head, his voice cold and unfamiliar. “Who’s asking?”

[tickletastic]

The Hawthorne Way

Fandom: The Inheritance Games

Ship: Libby/Nash

Summary: Being dangerously ticklish seems to be the Hawthorne way, and Nash is nothing if not a Hawthorne through and through.

“Lihibby- Libs no,” Nash huffs out, his low, Texan timbre rumbling in Libby’s ear. He’s trying really hard to keep up his whole cool as a cucumber act, but the twitching in his fingers gives him away. His hands, laid flat on Libby’s back, haven’t been still since she started her little game.

“What’s the matter?” Libby asks innocently, nuzzling her face into his neck. Her hands trace the contours of his hip bones under his shirt, fingers dipped under the waistband of his sweatpants. She digs in with a barely-there touch at the top of his hip, and he snorts, squirming minutely. 

“You’re-” Nash grits his teeth when Libby starts to trace her fingers over his stomach, and Libby absolutely revels in it, “you’re a sadist.”

“I might be,” Libby takes her head off Nash’s chest so she can smile at him, blue hair falling in her eyes, “but at least I’m not a ticklish cowboy.” 

Nash had held out a lot longer than Libby thought he would. She’s been a quiet observer for about a dozen Hawthorne tickle fights, and knew by now that his brothers couldn’t hold out for the life of them. Jameson’s the hardest to break of the other three, and all it takes with him is a taser to the ribs and he’s down for the count. Nash? Well, Nash is proving to be much better at this game than his brothers are, and Libby can’t help but realize she’s never seen the other Hawthornes take advantage of their older brother’s ticklishness.

She wouldn’t have gone into this blind, of course. She’s been watching. She’s been waiting.

She had heard the comments the other Hawthornes would make towards Nash when he tickled them. Wait until the three of us get the upper hand on you. You’re just as ticklish. Don’t pretend your ribs don’t make you shriek. All of these taunts aimed towards Nash, it was only reasonable that this would be the conclusion. 

So here they are, midday cuddle session on the couch in one of Hawthorne House’s many lounges, Libby trying to get her cowboy to crack. But Nash is good. He’s really good. Years of being a big brother have helped him develop some defense mechanisms, like holding out for so long that the tickler gives up.

It’s a good thing Libby’s had years of being a big sister. 

She stops teasing Nash, her head returning to its place on his chest, her fingers going still at his sides. She is patient. She knows how to wait someone out. When Nash starts absentmindedly humming and playing with her hair, she waits. When one episode of Grey’s Anatomy rolls into the next one on the flatscreen, she waits. When Nash starts to draw shapes on her back, she waits. She waits until she finally hears the familiar sound of his breath evening out, his fingers relaxed on her back in a way that she knows means he’s on the edge of sleep. 

Libby might be sunny, but she’s never been above being a little bit evil.

With renewed vigour, she claws both hands into Nash’s ribs with her long, freshly manicured nails, and scratches up and down in unpredictable spurts. Nash flinches, and she can feel the way his shoulders tighten, and how his hands on her back spasm. 

He had been lulled into a false sense of security, but he doesn’t have time to complain, or, more accurately, congratulate her on such a slick move.

Grayson was right; going for his ribs does make Nash shriek. 

“Lihihibs!” Nash screeched, squirming underneath her, “noho!” 

Nash is trying to curl in on himself, bringing his elbows to his sides in an attempt to block out Libby’s practiced fingers, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Libby that he’s not actively pushing her off, that his hands are still gripping her biceps without pushing her away 

“Lihihibby! Bahaby, noho!” Nash squeals when she manages to wedge her fingers, delicate and graceful, between their bodies. The front of his ribs don’t get quite the same reaction as the sides, but Libby thinks she’s getting warmer when her fingers go lower to tickle his toned tummy. 

“What’s the matter?” Libby whispers teasingly, pushing herself up with her elbows so she can whisper it closer to his ear, “a little bit of tickling isn’t bothering you, is it, darlin’?” She drops the ‘g’ in a vague imitation of Nash’s accent, of what he loves to call her, and she notices the way the flush spreads up his neck.

When her fingers finally touch his tummy, Nash arches his back, a choking, sputtered laugh forcing its way from his lips. She can tell from the tension in his hands how hard he’s trying not to squeeze her, he would never hurt her, even when he’s lost his pride to Libby’s incredibly skilled fingers. 

“Plehease babygihihirl! Ihihit- no- fuhuhuck!” Nash makes a sound that Libby’s certain she’s heard from all three of the other Hawthornes at some point while observing their tickle fights– that adorable half-whine half-scream heard only when a Hawthorne is getting their belly tickled. All of them, with their entirely different laughs and personalities, and yet none of them can quite handle that one spot. 

“You Hawthornes,” Libby giggles, skittering her long nails up and down Nash’s sides, “you’re all the same.” 

Nash is giggling in a way Libby has never heard him before. Every time Nash laughs it’s booming belly laughter, deep and rumbly, and almost always brief, or wry. These giggles are airy and desperate, peppered with snorts in between, and they make him sound, and look, a lot younger.

“You’re so ticklish,” Libby teased, her voice a low hum of amusement. “Who would’ve thought? Mr. Calm and Collected, all serious and mysterious, but then… this.”

“Shuhut up!” Nash shouts on instinct, before correcting his own manners “wahait! I dohohon’t mehean that. Sohohorry prihihincess.”

It’s a miracle Nash is managing speech at all in his state– torso now halfway off the couch from his bucking, one hand on the floor to brace for impact– let alone have enough of his senses intact to apologize for responding rudely to Libby’s taunts. Libby kind of wishes he hadn’t; in their entire time knowing each other she has never seen him so out of control, but now she’s seen too much, and she’s addicted to watching him come undone from something as simple as her nimble fingers on his torso. 

She feels high off of his laughter and the image of his red face, eyes closed and laughter lines visible, and it makes her lightheaded, like she imagines the whole thing is making him too. 

Her devious fingers dig into his hipbones, and he warns her seconds too late.

“No Lihihibby nohot there!” There’s an urgency in his voice that she finally understands once they’re suddenly on the carpet, next to each other now instead of her head on his chest, and she digs in again, chasing the just a little bit more.

The sounds of his heels digging into the floor is much louder than it had been on the couch, with the hardwood floors protected only by the thin carpet. He doubles over unsuccessfully, but Libby stops when she can hear his voice getting hoarse, and notices that he’s struggling to get out all of his begs and pleads. 

When her fingers release him, his body relaxes against the floor, chest huffing in and out with leftover giggles. He throws an arm over his face, motioning with the other hand for Libby to come over to him.

She lays her head on his chest, returning to their earlier position, still just as comfy though now on the ground, and she listens as his breathing returns to normal. He moves his arm just a little bit, so he can send her a glare with no heat behind it. 

Libby laughs, and swats his arm, “it’s not like you tried to stop me.”

Nash’s regular lopsided grin returns, smug, self-satisfied, sexy, “gotta let my princess have some fun.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Ive been thinking about my witch's road au idea of Lena travelling the road with the other covenless witches. Some of the new thoughts include Lena being so new to the craft and culture that she doesn't understand that a ton of witches believe the road is real, she just thought it was witchy tune. Another thought is that she and Jen kind of bond as business women in their ways, and just kind of being generally the same age.

And then I was thinking about Lena's trial. Like, technically she's there as the green witch (don't ask me why Rio would still be there also, she just would be), but her trial is about her family-- or perceived lack thereof. She's presented specters of her family, both adopted (the Luthors) and found (the superfriends), but neither truly satisfies her desire for true family, do they? Her need for belonging, for heritage, for a link to her mother.

And through the trial Lena comes into her own as a true witch, as she comes to the realization that her magic not only ties her to her mother, but to every witch in their family prior, and to all the covens they belonged to. She is bonded with them whether she knows it or not, whether she can see them or not-- they are there, guiding her hands and shaping her spells. They are many become one, and she is the one.

I also imagine that after she succeeds at her trial, she's full of power and confidence. Her new understanding seems to transcend her into something greater than she was before, a witch not only in her own right but with the power of those who had come before, who linger still.

So when the Salem Seven catch up with them at the end of Lena's trial, Lena is perfectly at ease when she tells the others to go and leave her behind.

"What? No!" Jen declares. "No, we do this together."

"My contribution to the road is done," Lena says, zenlike. She smiles. "The rest is up to you."

"The seven will kill you, Lena! No one witch can stand against them!"

"Then it's good I'm not facing them alone," Lena returns blithely. "Go."

Jen ultimately obeys, leaving Lena to face their pursuers alone. But as Lena says: she is not alone. With the group's path at her back, Lena squares up against the animalistic witches calmly.

"Do you even remember why you're chasing Agatha?" Lena asks them.

"Vengeance...." one hisses.

"For deaths you don't remember, if you ever saw it happen at all. Do you remember why Agatha killed them?"

The Seven twitch and scritch, unable to remain still. They study her, as predators would watch their prey. Lena meets their gazes calmly.

"Abandon your revenge," she prods, "and resume your lives. Or what little remains of them."

"Neverrrrr!" comes the answering rattle.

As one, the Salem Seven lash out with their magic, intending to catch Lena unawares. But as she'd spoken Lena had woven a shield of spectral roots and vines around her, seething and intertwining like living thing. It shields her from every attack at every angle, giving her power time to build.

Her magic gathers between her palms, pouring not only from herself, but from the others. From her mother, standing at her right shoulder, and her grandmother at her left. From their covens and the covens before them, stretching back through time until she pulls from the very earth itself.

Its radiance shines so brightly that the Seven barely have time to quail beneath it before it incinerates them entirely, their own magics far insufficient to protect them from the onslaught. After they flake away into dust, Lena holds onto the power for a moment longer, and turns to meet her mother's gaze.

"Thank you," she says to the spirit. "I love you."

Her mother's shade nods once, its smile warm with pride, before fading away with the rest of the magic that bleeds back into the earth.

Letting her hands drop to her sides, Lena studies the empty room around her, then turns towards the path she'd been protecting. A path that is now a solid wall, no door in sight.

"Great," Lena grumbles. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"

[takemyadvice-dontlistentome]

Ok, I have some thoughts on the ending of dungeon meshi that I'd like to share, so major spoiler warnings ahead for the end of the manga.

Specifically, I have some thoughts on the Winged Lion's curse, and that I actually don't think it is a curse - at least not a literal, intentional, "I am cursing you" type curse. I don't think the Winged Lion came up with a customized ironic curse for Laios specifically, and cursed him as its final act before disappearing.

Consider the two components of the curse as it is generally discussed in the fandom. The first is that Laios always feels hungry/never feels full or totally satisfied, and the second is that monsters are afraid of him and avoid him. I'll start with the first part.

When we see the backstory of the Winged Lion/the Demon, we learn that it essentially gained consciousness by discovering desire/hunger and developing an appetite. This happened because it ate the desires of other creatures, first small ones like bugs, and eventually worked its way up to humans. Once this appetite exists, it only grows and requires more and more to feel sated but the satisfaction never lasts long. We see that the Winged Lion is disappointed after finally eating Thistle's desires (which are particularly complex and have been marinating for a thousand years) and then is hungry again pretty much immediately.

I think, when Laios ate the Demon's desires, he became the only other conscious being to have consumed desires and therefore developed the same appetite for them that the Demon had developed millennia ago. Laios even says while he is eating it that the craving for more could drive you to do just about anything. When Laios turns human again, the appetite remains, but he no longer has the physiology to be able to consume desires. (Remember that the ability to do so was something he specifically stipulated in his description of the perfect monster). Therefore he has an insatiable appetite for something that he physically can't consume, and this manifests as a constant feeling of hunger. It's not something the Winged Lion chose to do to him, it's just what happens when a conscious being eats desires - they always want more, forever.

This is so tragic and poetic to me because in doing this, Laios dooms himself to a lifetime of discomfort, but saves the rest of humanity and also saves the Winged Lion in a way. The world is a much safer place if a hunger like that is felt by a mortal human who can't act on it, than by an immortal eldritch god-being with immense power. And the Demon can go back to being a chill elemental force rather than a conscious being that's always insatiably hungry.

Moving on to the next part of the curse: Monsters being afraid of Laios and avoiding him. The first thing to note about this is that it's only very briefly mentioned in the epilogue, and Laios apparently thought that this is what the curse was, but we don't have much to go off of. From the information we do get, though, there's another explanation that makes sense to me. Consider all of the information about monster behavior that we learn from the very beginning of the story. The rules are straightforward, it's eat or be eaten, and monsters are just animals at the end of the day. They are trying to survive, and they will avoid a bigger, stronger monster. That's what keeps the ecosystem of the Dungeon in check. I think the monsters are just continuing to interpret Laios as the biggest, strongest monster, since that's what he was at one point and he still wears its skin. It isn't something the Winged Lion did to him on purpose as a final curse - it was a natural consequence of Laios's choice to become the strongest monster, that other monsters would avoid him.

Finally, you might be asking, if there is no intentional curse then what did the Winged Lion mean when he told Laios his greatest wish will never come true now? We know that Laios thinks this means Falin won't be revived, but obviously they do successfully save her, and the Winged Lion actually sort of helps her to be saved, by telling her which way to go after she consumes the dragon.

I think the Winged Lion thinks that Laios's greatest desire is to live as a monster, something that is only possible through the power that comes with being the Dungeon Lord. It's a straightforward logic: no more Demon means no more Dungeon Lords, which means Laios can't have his perfect monster body anymore. I really think it's as simple as that.

In conclusion: When the Winged Lion says "I curse you, now your greatest wish will never come true," I don't think this is like a magical witch's curse, he's just pissed off and is basically saying "Fuck you dude, getting rid of me means you can't live out your fantasy, why did you do that." The other two lasting negative things that Laios experiences are just natural consequences of the things he did.

I've been mulling this over for the past few weeks since finishing the manga and really wanted to share, so if you read all this, thank you and please let me know what you think!

[typicalopposite]

and for my last mpreg update here is chapter one of the Omega Tommy fic!

rejected

chapter one: sick over you

(also posted on ao3)

The rain is pouring down, and with the tears flooding from his eyes Tommy can barely see the road ahead of him as he speeds away from Evan’s apartment building. Perhaps coming by unannounced had been stupid. Even still, he hadn’t expected… that to be the reaction he received. Not that he doesn’t think it’s the reaction he deserves, but to hear Evan’s voice— raised in anger and filled with disgust— tell him to get out of his life; it hurt in a way nothing has ever hurt him before. 

He feels numb.

Numb like he felt at his mother’s funeral. Numb like he felt every time his father lifted a hand to him. Numb like he felt when some random alpha made an off handed comment in his direction. Numb like he felt when came home and caught Liam— his ex-mate… the one he’d thought was his true mate— in bed with another. Numb like he felt when their bond had broken; Liam had gotten them pregnant, that creates a stronger bond than any mere mating bite ever could… Another had given Liam what Tommy had longed to— what Tommy has always longed for… but was told he could never have. 

The tears come harder; the rain picks up. 

He had been told he would never carry a child of his own. It was not meant to be. Liam had held him as he cried, at least until he got Tommy home… Then his anger reared its head. Useless! That's what he had called Tommy. A disgrace. 

Broken… 

Broken… 

Broken… 

“Guess I’m not so broken after all,” Tommy laughs out loud. The words are bitter… their meaning heavy. Too heavy. Tommy fears it might be crushed by their weight. 

Two days ago he couldn’t shake the feeling any longer. 40 years and he has never missed a heat. 40 years and he has never felt so sluggish and off. He knew well before the doctor confirmed it. “Congratulations, Mr. Kinard… you’re pregnant.”

He sat with those words for two whole days; mulling over what he should do. 

He knew what he had to do. He was just unsure of how to do it. He had left, after all. He told Evan they were through and ran away before Evan could get too close… oh how Tommy had wanted to let Evan get close anyway. He hadn’t felt a pull towards anyone since he lost his bond with Liam… Then he met Evan. 

The pull he felt towards Evan was so much stronger than anything he’d ever felt towards Liam. It was so powerful, so intense, so real… Too real… and he had to break it before Evan wanted something more… something he couldn’t give him. 

Except he could… it seems. 

So he had to swallow his pride— and his fear— and he had to tell him. 

He decided he would go beg Evan’s forgiveness, then tell him the news, and hope it would be enough. He hoped Evan could forgive him, and would love him despite his actions. He hoped Evan could love him like he knew Evan would love their child. 

But Evan didn’t give him a chance to speak…

“No,” he’d said, eyes red rimmed and misty like he’d been crying some time before Tommy showed up at his door. “No. I get to talk now.” Tommy gave a sharp nod and let Evan talk. Boy, did Evan talk. “You don’t get to disappear from my life, then just show back up and cry your way back into it Tommy.” 

“I- I wasn’t…” Tommy tried, but Evan shot him an angry glare and his mouth snapped shut. 

“I wanted a future with you,” Evan said. “I saw a future with you… and you left. You— You didn’t even give me a good reason… you just left. You didn’t care about how that would make me feel, all you cared about was how you didn’t want me to make you feel, in some unforeseen future you decided— on your own— that we were heading towards. Do you know how long I spiraled because of that?” 

Tommy stared at him, knowing he must look like a deer in headlights— he honestly hadn’t expected to learn Evan had spiraled from the break up at all. Been sad, sure, moped around for a short while, maybe… but to know he spiraled… over Tommy? He cared that much for Tommy? “Evan, if you would just let me explain—”

“I waited, Tommy…” Evan interjects. “For months, I waited. You bubbled me and I—” he scoffs, wiping roughly at one eye as a tear slips free. “I held on to hope you would finally just send the damn message. Or call. Or— I don’t know— do something. But you didn’t.”

Tommy hung his head. “I know…” he said softly. “I— I’m sorry. But… I’m— I’m here now…”

“Now?” Evan huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Now… is too late.”

Tommy heard the words, but they did register until Evan asked him to leave. “L- Leave?” Tommy felt his bottom lip trembling, his heart began to race. 

“Yes, Tommy. Leave. Please.” 

“B- But I— I have to tell you…”

“Dammit Tommy, I don’t care, okay?” Tommy flinches at the rise in Evan’s voice. “You had your chance to come around. You didn’t. I said it’s too late, I meant it. So go... Leave.” 

Tommy blinked. He was… shocked? No, not really… Hurt? Well he did it to himself, didn’t he. 

Rain pelts against the windshield; his wipers, even on full blast, can’t keep up. His tears haven’t stopped flowing since he— partially lost in a daze— backed out of Evan’s loft, turned and bolted towards the elevator. The sound of the door slamming caused him to jolt as he frantically pressed the button. He hits a pocket of water and the truck hydroplanes. It doesn’t scare him in and of itself, he knows how to control his vehicle, but it’s enough to make him pull over and either calm down or wait out the storm. 

With his truck safely stopped, he allows himself to cry. The cries quickly turn to sobs, and the sobs get stronger and louder until he is screaming at the top of his lungs. He is slinging his fists like a mad man, bringing them down against the steering wheel until he knows there will be bruises left behind— until he thinks he might have broken one of his pinkies… It throbs and has a large lump poking out the side. 

Only then does he stop, and just sit there, his hands sore and laid gently in his lap. He sobs until he has nothing left in him to cry out. 

Evan doesn’t want him. 

Evan doesn’t want him.

Evan doesn’t want him… anymore. 

Evan wanted a future with him and Tommy ruined it. He ruined it… ruined it… ruined it. Now he will be alone. Evan will love their child… of course he will. He is not a cruel person, regardless of how bad his words hurt… they were well deserved. But Tommy knows he won’t take his anger out on their child. 

But he won’t love Tommy.

Tommy will be alone… like it was always meant to be. 

He inhales and feels it— the moment something inside him breaks; his heart, perhaps. It lies broken inside him oozing out a sickening feeling throughout his entire body. He feels alone. He feels unloved. 

He feels… rejected.

*

The rain is pouring down and Tommy hates flying when he’s not the one at the controls. Every turbulence sends a wave of nausea through him— it doesn’t help that he is constantly nauseous anyway. He closes the shade over the window, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to focus on breathing. 

In… out… in… out… in—

“Sir,” a voice says; a hand touches his shoulder. The stewardess looks distressed as she leans over the empty seat to him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…” Tommy lies, and the look she gives him makes it apparent she knows that he is. He is clammy and sweaty. He is sure his face is flushed, his pupils dilated… He can only imagine how distressed his scent is. “I’ll be okay.” Eventually? Someday? Maybe? Probably not… the woman sighs and eventually leaves. 

Have you recently separated from your mate? 

The question echoes in his memory… takes him back to days of constant sickness; unable to hold anything down and coupled with extreme fatigue— he could barely even keep his eyes open… Lucy told him if he didn’t go to the doctor she was going to drag him in by his ears. 

“My- My mate?” Tommy had responded to the question, not completely, but just confused enough that the doctor would have automatically assumed that just because he was pregnant that he was also mated. “I don’t have one.” 

His doctor— the same old crotchety man he’s seen since his adolescence— peered up at him over his glasses, then down at his midsection. He was only barely showing, but Tommy’s hand still instinctively found its way to the spot their baby was nestled. “You seem pretty mated to me,” he responded, waiting for a beat then continuing with, “Is the other parent not involved with the pregnancy?” 

Tommy stared at him long enough he didn’t need to answer. 

“Mr. Kinard, this is not extreme morning sickness you’re experiencing. It’s rejection sickness.” 

“R- Rejection… sickness— but I’m not—”

“Mated. Yes. I understand you believe that,” the doctor interjected, sounding slightly annoyed. “However, your body is saying— screaming, really— quite the opposite.” 

The plane shakes and drops in the sky and Tommy tries to ignore it by thinking of the pamphlet tucked away in his luggage. 

A nurse had handed it to him before he left the office. “Doctor Pate circled some groups you can reach out to for help.” She had said, pushing the folded paper into Tommy’s hand. “Although your best option is to just return to your mate.” She made it seem so simple. She had no idea how much it was anything but simple. He thanked her anyway and walked out. 

Two weeks later and he wasn’t getting any better. He could barely even get out of bed. The pamphlet sat on his bedside table staring at him— mocking him. 

“Maybe you should just… call him,” Lucy had suggested. Tommy groaned and shook his head, burrowing into his pillow. He heard stories of omegas getting the urge to make nests during their pregnancies. A safe space for them to cocoon inside as their bodies changed and grew the new precious life. He hadn’t had the urge to do much of anything other than sleep… and wallow. “Tommy you’re scaring me,” she said, shoving him gently so he would look up at her. “If this is rejection—”

“It’s not.” It can’t be… he thought; he hoped. 

Lucy glared at him, but the anger faded quickly. She seemed to be as exhausted as Tommy felt. “But if it is… Tommy, people die from this! It’s serious.” 

“Don’t you think I know that, Luce!” Tommy managed to snap back. “What am I supposed to do about it! He doesn’t want me!” 

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Rejected.

Maybe if he kept denying it… his body would get the memo and it would just… go away, even if he knew deep down that it wouldn't work, and the doctor was right. Evan was his mate… Bound to him by the tiny life now struggling to survive inside his broken diseased body. Evan was his mate, but he would never truly be Tommy’s; he didn’t want to be. 

The thought curdled inside him and the sour feeling spread throughout. 

The plane shakes and Lucy plops back down in her seat. “Thank god we’re almost there,” she sighs. “Fucking hate flying as a passenger.” Tommy does his best to react; he gives the weakest laugh. She doesn’t point it out, just rests her hand on his where he’s gripping the arm rest and they ride out the turbulence together. 

Lucy had been the one to suggest the trip. 

After another doctor visit, where Tommy had only shown signs of getting worse: loss in appetite, in weight, he was even losing hair. The doctor urged Tommy to reach out to his mate and Tommy finally explained the situation in its entirety. This led to the doctor giving them a major hurdle in the very definite diagnosis of mate rejection… That it no longer mattered if he called and informed Evan about the baby. His condition was so severe, if Evan truly meant what he said when sent Tommy away— if he had truly moved on and no longer wanted to be with Tommy, accepting the child would do nothing for the sickness. 

“Well we have to do something,” Lucy had said frantically. The doctor had left them with a very bleak outlook. One Tommy accepted all too easily, while Lucy refused to accept at all. She still believed going to Evan would work— she believed he was upset, and hadn’t meant what he said at all. Tommy did not believe that at all, and made her promise she wouldn’t tell him; she agreed on one condition. 

“Yea’llo,” Sal had said through the phone, and despite the heavy pout Tommy wore from being forced to call his best friend for assistance with his… situation, he smiled. He let Lucy explain, but he made her lie about who the alpha father was. (Lucy was easy to convince to keep a level head about the baby, and the Evan of it all… Sal would not be… if he could be kept level headed about it in the first place— which, probably not.)

They told Sal it was a one night stand… Tommy had no idea who the alpha was, or how to get up with him… Sal gave his spiel; he called Tommy a dumbass, then retracted it with kind words and promised to do whatever he can to help. There was never a question of whether Tommy could go to Sal’s or not, so across the US they went. 

This plan might not work. Lucy knows that… Sal knows that… Tommy knows that. In the pamphlets, it says that while it’s best to be reunited with their alpha in the case of an omega with rejection sickness, being around another alpha has been proven to help tremendously, especially one with a close bond to the omega. Lucy is a beta… she has always been so happy about the freedom that comes with it… until now. 

Sal, however, is an alpha, and the two have been best friends for as long as Tommy can remember; even when Sal and his family moved out to Virginia so he could finally get his chance at a captain’s position, they remained extremely close: visits on holidays, birthdays, or just because… Sal’s family adores Tommy. Plus being around Gina (another Omega) and the kids will likely help with the rejection sickness as well. 

Tommy feels woozy as Lucy helps him through the boarding bridge, but that can be attributed mostly to the very rough— very long— flight. He collapses down into the first seat he sees, and lets his head fall into his hands. “I’ll call Sal,” Lucy says, but before she can, what sounds like a stampede is running towards them. 

“Uncle Tommy! Uncle Tommy!!” The familiar little voices pull a smile to his face despite how awful he’s feeling. He forces his head up to see SJ and Gino coming at him like a couple missiles. Seeing two of his favorite little people makes it easy enough to smile past how rotten he feels and his arms immediately open to them; he ‘oofs’ when they ultimately collide with him. 

“Easy you two!” Sal scolds them when he finally catches up. 

“Sorry,” they both say, dipping their heads. “Uncle Tommy, Mama says you have a baby in your belly,” Gino continues, eyes wide and curious. “Is that true?” Tommy laughs weakly, and nods. “How did it get in there!?” 

“His alpha put it there!” SJ answers while Tommy panickedly looks to Sal for help. 

“Uncle Tommy has an alpha?!” 

“Is the baby a boy or girl,” SJ asks, pivoting the direction of questioning. 

“When will it be here!?” 

“What are you going to name it!?”

“Alright, alright…” Sal groans, grabbing handfuls of the backs of both boys shirts and lifting them away from Tommy. They laugh and hold their arms out like they are flying as Sal swings them around and sets them down next to Lucy. 

“Lucy!” They both excite run into her arms, nearly taking her down to the floor.  

He tries to ignore the worried look Sal is giving him when he struggles to lift his head up enough to meet his best friend's eyes. “Where are the girls,” he asks, noticing the absence of Gina and their youngest, Tori. 

“How do you think we would have gotten you back to the house if everyone came, stuck you in the back of the truck?” His sarcasm is even falling flat as he crosses his arms and furrows his brows down at Tommy. 

“Thought Gina finally talked you into a minivan,” Tommy quips back. 

“I’ll be damned if you ever see me in it…” 

“Spoken like a true macho-macho man,” Lucy laughs, still wrestling with the boys. 

They all laugh at that, until a wave of pain and nausea crashes over Tommy and he has to lean himself forward and close his eyes in an attempt to settle his stomach. He groans as softly as he can but even SJ and Gino go quiet after hearing it. “Are you okay Uncle Tommy…” SJ asks, pulling free from Lucy’s hold and walking back over to where Tommy is begging his body to calm the hell down. 

“He will be,” Sal says, resting a hand on SJ’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get going,” he adds, extending his other hand out to Tommy.

He helps Tommy to his feet and his knees start to buckle the moment his full weight is put on them. “Whoa,” Lucy yelps, and hurries to his other side. “Uhm… maybe— maybe you should try… I don’t know— scenting… or something. See if it’s going to work or— or help.” Sal shrugs and looks to Tommy for him to make the decision. 

Tommy hesitates, letting himself take in Sal’s scent at a distance first. He hates how much it is already working— how fast it is already working. He hates his stupid, weak, omega body for being so needy for it in the first place. 

“Alright, go on,” Sal says, his smug smirk finally returning as he opens his arms to Tommy; it surprisingly helps Tommy calm down about it all. “Get a good whiff so you’re not all mopey, and stinking up the truck, on the ride back to the house!” 

Tommy’s feet are moving before his brain even registers it, and he all but melts into the embrace; his nose quickly finds the scent gland and presses into it. It’s humiliating how his body forces him to draw in a deep breath. It’s also overwhelmingly relaxing, and the pins and needles he’s felt throughout his body all week almost instantly disappear. He feels a sob vibrating up and out of him before he can stop it, and he hears Lucy ushering the boys to go help her find Tommy’s luggage to give him a moment. 

“What were you thinking, T…” Sal whispers, tightening his arms around Tommy’s shoulders. 

“I wasn’t…” Tommy replies— and damn, isn’t that the truth…

Sal sighs, and pulls back to look at Tommy. His eyes are so full of worry, and maybe just a hint of anger… Thankfully it will only be towards Tommy for getting himself in this position, and not Evan for unknowingly putting him in it. “Let’s go home,” Sal says, and he has always referred to his home Tommy’s home… There have been plenty of times in their friendship Sal’s home was the only home Tommy had known. It soothes him a little more, and finally he has his bearings back enough to nod and follow Sal out of the airport. 

*

The rain is pouring down and the baby is expected any day now. 

In actuality, the baby isn’t due for a few more weeks… but as it stands, with Tommy’s sickness worsening by the day, his doctors don’t expect him to make it to his due date. He sits in his big comfy recliner, and stares out the window at the rain pelting against the ground, creating puddles in Sal and Gina’s front yard. Outside his room he can hear Sal stomping around pissily, gathering his bags and filling them with just enough for a trip to LA and back. 

He wants to stop him… to run out of his room begging and pleading with Sal to not do this— it won’t help, it’s not fair— but he can’t. He slowly moves his eyes down to his body; it’s frail and pale and too weak to do much of anything beyond sitting in his big comfy recliner, and staring wistfully out the window. 

It had been too good to be true that everything would turn out okay… too good to be true Evan could be left out of it until after the baby was born, like Tommy is sure he is going to want to be once he is told the truth. Of course good things and Tommy don’t mesh well, and he took a turn for the worse a month ago. 

Up until then Tommy was doing fine. The sickness had almost subsided completely, he was on a temporary transfer to Virginia Beach Fire Department. He could even go as far as to say him and the baby were thriving. 

Tommy started to let himself enjoy being pregnant. He loved feeling the baby kick against his hand as he told them stories, or sang them songs. He was growing more and more excited to become a papa, and when he had hard, sad days… he would be wrapped up by his family and allowed to soak in their love laced scents to get his mind back on track. 

He didn’t need an alpha— he didn’t need his alpha… He had enough. It would be enough. He would be enough… 

It almost was enough. 

It started to snowball down a very steep hill when April rolled around… 

Tommy walked into the kitchen, grabbing a strip of bacon from Sal’s plate— he snorted out a laugh as Sal grumpily swatted his hand away— Gina greeted him with a kiss to his cheek and allowed him to scoop Tori up from her arms. The routine calmness of the morning was interrupted when Sal mentioned it being a year since Tommy let Howie talk him into nearly losing his job to save Nash’s ass. 

A whole year… since he met Evan. 

Tommy stares out the window at the rain pouring down and combined with the tears filling his eyes he can barely see the Uber logo illuminated in the car windshield that comes to a stop outside the house. He hears his door creak open, and Sal’s scent fills the room as he steps inside. Tommy struggles to breathe it in and he misses the days it actually helped with the aches and pains coursing through his body, and the constant state of nausea he feels. 

“Hey,” Sal says softly, pulling up a chair to Tommy’s side. He waits for Tommy to slowly turn his head and face him, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. “Don’t look at me like that, T…” Sal says, and he reaches up to adjust the oxygen tube in Tommy’s nose, careful of the feeding tube also taped down to his cheek. Tommy can feel his lips tugging down, and he’s really not trying to make Sal feel bad— it hurts to see how much looking at Tommy like this clearly hurts Sal. 

Sal blames himself, in a way… for Tommy getting worse. Unjustifiable as it might be, Tommy knows Sal does. He had come to his room that evening— after bringing up the reunion of the cruise ship disaster— and knocked gently. He apologized through the closed door for reopening that wound; he said he thought he’d gotten over the kid, he talked about him so rarely. But Sal hadn’t known the truth behind Tommy’s silence… and that’s on Tommy. 

“Come on man, can you please open the door?” Sal had said, and he sounded so broken up. Tommy forced himself up and out of his self wallowing, dragging his feet to the door to open it. 

He was able to fake it for just a few days. Then the sickness took hold and Tommy stopped eating. He stopped sleeping… He stopped talking. He began feeling himself disassociating from the pregnancy: the kick’s brought him anguish instead of joy, the thought of giving birth to his child was overpowered by the reminder it was also Evan’s child… and Evan no longer wanted him. 

Evan had rejected him. 

His alpha had rejected him.

His mate had rejected him. 

The sickness spread so quickly no one— even the doctors— knew how to combat it. 

“I don’t understand…” he had heard Sal say outside his room. Lucy had flown in when Gina had called to inform her things had taken a turn for the worse, and now they were out there going back and forth about his condition. Tommy laid in his bed, hooked up to all kinds of machines trying desperately to keep him alive, and listened, unable to intervene or contribute at all. “He was getting better… then suddenly he’s in his feelings about that damned Buckley kid and—” Tommy listened as Sal sighed, long and deep and frustrated. “Son of a bitch…” 

“Sal—” Gina said softly, quietly… but Tommy heard her anyway. 

“Does he know…” Sal asked; Lucy didn’t respond… “What the fuck T…” Sal groaned, and Tommy stopped trying to hear the rest of the conversation. He let his eyes fall closed and allowed exhaustion to pull him into a very restless sleep. 

The outlook was so bleak. Lucy had sat beside his bed and cried as she tried to get him to eat some jello. Sal grew angrier and angrier with the situation. The younger of the kids stopped being allowed in to see him; his appearance was so haggard and ghastly it had frightened Tori and Gino… SJ chose to stop coming in on his own; he couldn’t stand to see his Uncle Tommy waste away, he’d told his mother. 

Tommy hated himself for causing the people he cared about so much despair. 

He’s pretty sure he can even pinpoint the exact moment in it all that he pushed Sal to make the decision to go get Evan. 

The night nurse hadn’t arrived yet and Tommy’s bedding needed to be changed. He tried to plead with Gina to wait— to not call Sal in to help. I’m fine, he thought… but could not force the words to come out no matter how hard he tried. He could do no more than grunt and weep, then finally just give up and let it happen. Tommy turned his eyes away, and tried to pretend he didn’t hear them both gasp at seeing him fully exposed. 

“I’m going to get that little shit and bring him here,” he heard Sal tell Gina and Lucy; no hesitation in his voice, he was very clear actually. 

“What if he refuses to come back with you…” Lucy countered. 

“Oh that’s not going to be an issue,” Sal stated very matter of factly and Tommy felt a tear slide down his face. Neither woman seemed willing to argue further, and that was that. 

Now, Tommy stares at Sal tiredly. He really wishes he could convey how much he doesn’t want him to do this. It’s not fair to Evan, Tommy thinks. It’s not his fault, he didn’t know… He blinks and the tears fall; Sal quickly swipes them away. 

“Don’t worry, you big softie… I won’t hurt him… too bad,” That gets a genuine laugh from Tommy, albeit weak. “Believe it or not I care about your hard headed ass, and don’t plan on losing you; so what good is he gonna do me in helping keep you around, if he’s dead…” Tommy gives a slow weak nod, and Sal cups the back of his neck helping him hold his head steady. “We’re gonna get you through this, okay?” 

Another nod, and Sal pats Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy watches him stand and walk to the door, notes how he quickly wipes a hand over his face before turning back towards him. He smiles and waves and Tommy uses the very limited amount of energy he has to do the same. Then Sal’s gone, and Tommy’s alone with his thoughts. 

He looks back out the window and watches Sal walk off the porch, turning to pull Gina into his arms— into a deep, passionate kiss— one more time. Tommy wishes he had that connection with someone— not someone… Evan. God he misses him. 

He feels the baby shift, and move, and brings his hand up to rest atop the taut bump. He is so tired, and as he slowly slips into unconsciousness… he just hopes Sal is right. He hopes bringing Evan actually works. 

He hopes he has the strength to make it through if it doesn’t. 

[aladaylessecondblog]

The Whore AU - Voryn I

Author's Note: no nsft yet, but this girl getting collared.

-----------------------------------

To the chief of the False Gods,

Consider the yearly offering no longer necessary. The one last sent has proven to be more valuable than first expected.

Vivec sucked in a sharp breath. No. This was not happening. Further investigation of the whore's background had given more hints, hints he REALLY thought the Temple should have noticed when investigating her in the first place. The corprus infection and recovery should have been noticed. SOMEONE should have seen something!

He went on reading and ignored certain insults. What came next was more alarming anyway.

Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, will offer you a six-month truce under one condition: Send Nerevar's bones, of which we are certain you are possessed, to Kogoruhn.

Vivec waited until he was sure he was alone and screamed. He didn't have these outbursts as a rule, because they didn't help solve the situation...but it was impossible not to. They'd handed the Nerevarine to Dagoth Ur, offered unknowingly that very thing which drove him to do all that he did.

And it had been a whore. A fucking WHORE. Someone who had no reason not to accept some sort of counter-offer, someone who had admitted to the Temple she wouldn't mind getting out of the life. Or perhaps Dagoth Ur was simply refusing to let her leave - either way the result was the same.

The Sharmat had Nerevar back, and they had no choice but to send him the bones. Six months - they could do a lot with six months of truce.

Vivec took a deep breath and started a letter he would later hand to an ordinator, regarding a certain hidden chamber in the Puzzle Canal.

-----------------------------

Nerevar, sweet Nerevar had returned, practically been handed to him on a sacrificial platter, and here he was completely unprepared for it! Perhaps the woman was, too--she seemed aware of what was going on, yet confused about what it meant. She obeyed the commands the same as Nerevar always had, with the same eagerness - there was an echo there, the presence he meant to swell in its appearance.

The ash creatures were going through the several boxes of things - things left from the First Era, that had been carefully preserved. A few random robes (he would take one of those, too), old relics of House Dagoth miraculously preserved through the end of the First and the entire Second Era, collected.

But until he reached into the box and pulled out that strip of leather with the brass buckle on it, he was not content.

"Nerevar has returned to us," he said, directing his words to the ash creatures standing and watching him, "And this will be celebrated appropriately - but tomorrow."

He looked at the strip of leather.

"Tonight I do not wish to be disturbed."

-----------------------------------

Sadara had no idea what was going on. She'd been kneeling for five minutes now and still Dagoth Ur hadn't returned. Perhaps this was part of his request...or his desire...he wanted to be waited on somehow. The roleplaying of being above her, even though he already was. Perhaps he meant to catch a worshiper at pray, sort of thing.

Just as she was thinking of getting back up, she heard footsteps and lowered her head.

"What is your name? Where have you lived?"

"Sadara," she said. "From Cyrodiil, but I lived in Ebonheart."

"Dragon-born, and far-star marked..." Dagoth Ur said it softly as he approached. "You have read the prophecies, I assume."

"No," she said, "People talk of them, but I've never read them. No point in it, considering..."

"As it turns out, there is every reason for you to have done so."

He stopped beside her.

"If I know who and what you are," he said, "It is no doubt that the Temple does as well. What have you told them?"

What was going on? Was this part of his little game? They'd discussed nothing as she'd done with the other brothers.

"I told one person I'd had corprus, but...I joked that I got better. And I turned down the potions of Cure Disease they offered me," she said, still not looking up.

"So they will know." There was a pause as he crouched beside her.

She shivered.

"What I want," he said, "Is what I had with Nerevar. You comprehend?"

"Somewhat. I don't--understand very well what's been happening. The commands in Ald Chimeris..."

Dagoth Ur spoke quietly as he reached out to wrap that strip of leather about her neck, and then fastened it, "Nerevar enjoyed very much being taken care of. As King he had always to be in control, to give commands to his people and his armies. It was to me he came when he needed to be free of that stress."

"What was the command that--?"

"Sit, boy." He stroked her hair, and then stood back up again. "The final test, the test that proved to me that you are what you are. That you are Nerevar, come back to me. No one else would react to those words that way, but Nerevar. Or his incarnate."

"The--Temple is going to kill me." She shivered again.

"No, no, we can't have that." A dark little chuckle came then, and he stood back up. "You clearly need this as much as Nerevar did. Now."

His tone shifted and he spoke in what she assumed was Ald Chimeris again.

"Follow."

Clearly, this was going to be a long night.

[drewswife]

warnings — fluff and angst

summary —  Chris found Aurora pregnancy test in the bathroom…….. shes 3 weeks  

a/n: part 2 

The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the room. Chris lay awake beside Aurora, her soft snores a comforting rhythm. He couldn't stop thinking about the pregnancy test. Three weeks. It still felt surreal.

He gently traced the curve of her cheek with his finger, his heart swelling with a mix of joy and fear. What if they weren't ready? What if they couldn't give this child the life it deserved?

He remembered his parents, always stressed, always working. He didn't want that for his own child. He wanted to be there for every milestone, every scraped knee, every first day of school.

A sob escaped Aurora's lips, and she stirred in her sleep. Chris pulled her close, his hand finding its way to her stomach.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It's okay."

She mumbled something in her sleep, her grip tightening on him. He held her close, the warmth of her body radiating through him.

He knew he had to tell her. He couldn't keep this secret from her any longer. But he also knew he had to be careful. He didn't want to scare her, to overwhelm her.

He decided to wait until after breakfast, when they could talk calmly. He would tell her about the test, about his fears and his hopes. He would tell her that he loved her more than anything in the world, and that he was in this with her, no matter what.

As he lay there, listening to Aurora's steady breathing, he realized that his life was about to change forever. And for the first time, he felt a wave of excitement wash over him. He was going to be a father.

The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen, a comforting aroma that usually brought a smile to Aurora's face. But today, a cloud of worry hung over her. She'd woken up with a strange feeling, a mix of excitement and fear.

She glanced at Chris, who was flipping pancakes with a practiced ease. His fluffy brown hair was still damp from the shower, and his blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. He looked so peaceful, so content.

She wanted to tell him, to share the news with him. But the fear held her back. What if he wasn't happy? What if he thought they weren't ready?

"Something on your mind, sweetheart?" Chris asked, noticing her hesitation.

Aurora took a deep breath. "Actually, there is," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I found something in the bathroom yesterday."

Chris's smile faltered. "Something...?"

Aurora nodded, her eyes fixed on her plate. "A pregnancy test."

The silence that followed was deafening. Chris stopped flipping pancakes, his hand hovering over the griddle. He turned to face her, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Are you...are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Aurora nodded again, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's positive, Chris. Three weeks."

Chris stared at her, his mind racing. Three weeks. It wasn't a mistake. It was real. They were going to be parents.

He wanted to say something, anything, but the words seemed to have deserted him. He felt a wave of emotions crashing over him - joy, fear, excitement, uncertainty.

Aurora reached across the table, her hand finding his. "I know this is a lot to take in," she said, her voice soft. "I was scared to tell you."

Chris squeezed her hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. "Scared?" he repeated, a soft smile gracing his lips. "Aurora, I..."

He paused, searching for the right words. "I'm...I'm happy," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm scared too, of course. But I'm also incredibly happy."

Aurora's tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. Chris pulled her into a hug, holding her close.

"We'll figure this out," he whispered, his voice filled with a newfound determination. "Together."

As they held each other, a sense of peace settled over them. They had a long road ahead, but they had each other. And that, they knew, was all that mattered.

[baekhyunsbestie]

kept thinking about it, and I feel like you'd be the PERFECT person to hear me out and give your opinion since I love you

what size do you think each member has like what do you think it's their juicy details, yk?? I feel like jm would be thick like bh and like sh would be the longest... ANYWAYS let me know!!!

omg cammy we r always on the same FREAKuency, i love it so much.....i love u so much.....

also, listen......i know all of the exos are naked mole rats and we r all sad abt that but we're just gonna pretend some of them aren't in this one, k????????? k <3

⟢ jongin

a masterpiece of a dick. it’s so ridiculously pretty—almost unfair, really. long and lean, wit that perfect balance between elegance and functionality. it’s slender, sleek even, yet manages to hit every spot like it was designed with you in mind. not too veiny, but with a subtle curve to the left that only adds to its charm.

sensitive? oh, absolutely. the kind of sensitive that makes him gasp the moment he’s inside you, your walls snug around his tip, already pushing him to the edge. and the way you tease him—sucking him all sloppily, then blowing cool air over his length—he shivers so hard it’s mesmerizing. it’s the kind of reaction that feeds your ego and makes you want to do it all over again.

always clean shaven, no exceptions. whether he’s single or with someone, he keeps it fresh—not just for himself but for you. he’s thoughtful like that, especially knowing how much he loves deep throating and wanting to make it as comfortable as possible for you.

jongin, the man, the myth, the considerate legend. get yourself a man like that <3333

⟢ chanyeol

huge—broad and substantial, its thickness undeniable. the tip flushes into a deep, dark red when he's hard. he loves prepping himself for you, gripping your head, guiding you to coat him in your spit, leaving his shaft glistening and ready. and honestly? it’s a sight. his dick, not overly veiny but marked by one or two prominent lines, manages to look both imposing and gorgeous. he’s not clean shaven—he’d do it if you asked, but his love for teasing means he’ll play coy just to hear you threaten him with something like, “no sex!” like the true fucking freak who lives for your reactions.

and the weight of it, god. hefty and swinging freely, that print in them sweat pants always gets you weak off in your kneeeeees. 1000% a freeballer when he's home. partly for comfort, mostly to tease you.

yeolie, please...... just gimme one chance. that's all i ask 🙏

⟢ sehun

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! monster cock!!!! it’s gotta be like 8 inches—please. just look at him. doesn’t he scream 8 fucking inches? tell me he doesn’t. is that even realistic?? who cares???? not me. yeah, he’s eight inches. longer than it is thick, though, but trust—you’ll feel him in your guts. a perfect pink tip, curving slightly to the right, always ready to ruin you. but he’s considerate, always preps you first, because seriously, how the hell are you supposed to take all of him when you're drier than the sahara desert? exactlyyyyy. he gets it.

he never shaves—ever. occasionally trims if he’s in a generous mood. and that happy trail? immaculate, leading straight down to temptation. his dick is a work of art, especially when it’s wet and glossy, catching the light just right. loves pressing down on your tummy when he's deep in it <333

⟢ kyungsoo

a fat cock. it’s not the longest but the sheer girth? devastating. he has to prep you forever before you can even think about taking him, stretching you inch by inch until you're trembling from the effort. it’s veiny, a roadmap of need, with a slight curve to the right that finds places inside you that make you gasp.

it’s thick, so impossibly heavy in your hand, and the weight of it feels so satisfying when you stroke him. inside you? holy shit. it fills you to the brim, every thrust leaving your mind blank and body trembling. he used to let it grow wild, but after getting a partner, he started trimming. oh, and that happy trail? lethal. it’s perfectly soft, teasing its way down from his stomach, and when it peeks from under his shirt? game over.

it took him a while to learn how to use his dick—so thick, so unrelenting—but even when he loses himself and fucks into you with such finesse, you’re left a wreck. and then there’s the way he cums. it’s unreal, an overwhelming amount that leaves you dripping, his cock glossy and messy in the best way possible. loves to cum in you obvi, but that pretty toothy smile you flash up at him when he finishes painting your face, has him cumming again almost instantly—this time on your tongue.

"you look so fucking pretty covered in my cum, doll." <333333

⟢ junmyeon

another unfairly pretty dick—like, genuinely stunning. the kind that makes you gasp the second his pants slide down, because wtf, how can it look that good? pale skin, a light pink head flushed and glistening with precum like it was made to be touched. thick and veiny. curving slightly to the right in a way that feels like it was crafted for perfection.

he’s not overly thick, not overly long—he’s just perfectly balanced, like the universe designed him for this. and oh, he knows how to use it. every thrust, every angle feels intentional, almost calculated to hit you exactly where you need him. clean shaven, of course, because he’s nothing if not meticulous.

but the control? that’s the fucking kicker right there. his restraint is insane, always riding the edge, his tip darkening to a deep, desperate flush, trembling for release. but it’s all for you, baby. every second of that teetering need is yours to take, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

⟢ baekhyun

he’s the epitome of 5.2 inches of pure audacity, strutting around with the misplaced confidence as if he was a solid 10. but, credit where credit’s due—he knows how to wield it. the soft pink head gleams against the rest of him, perfectly straight with no curve, slapping up against his stomach like it owns the place. he was clean shaven when you first started hooking up because some girl he used to obsess over apparently preferred it that way. but was she not a certified freak like you were???? cus when he lets a little scruff grow in, and he’s buried deep, deep, deeeeeep, that coarse bush of his brushing against your throbbing clit? a whole new level of divine. it’s so unfair.

his dick is pretty—annoyingly so. thick, with just the right amount of girth to make you wonder where the hell he's been all your life. deliciously veiny, but not overdone. and the precum? god, it’s like a faucet when he’s turned on. it’s impossible not to notice. like okay!!!!!!! we get it, baek!! are you cumming already or just showing off???

and don’t even get me started on the way he flexes it. just because he can. makes it twitch inside you like some kind of party trick like the clown he fucking is. all while your eyes brim with actual tears because you’re desperate, begging for him to just fucking MOVE ALREADY!!!!

"you look soooo pretty when you're like this, ya know???… huh??? did i already...cum????? ......well when you sound just like a fucking angel, begging for me, it's kinda hard not to."

⟢ minseok

he is—my god, i don’t even know where to begin??? good luck surviving this, seriously. he’s so thick, so veiny, you feel every ridge, every fucking pulse when he’s inside you, like he’s built to wreck you in the best way. doesn’t shave, and honestly???? he prefers it if you don’t either. a real man. he won’t stop you if you do, but don’t expect him to follow suit.

the audacity of this man—he’ll make you take him in your throat, hands tangling in your hair as he pushes your head down, guiding you exactly where he wants you. when he cums, it’s overwhelming, almost frightening in volume, leaving you breathless and dripping.

kim minseok, the poster boy for breeder balls, no question.

⟢ yixing

big, fat, and impossibly long—every inch of him feels designed to ruin you. and god, does he use every single bit to its full potential. the flushed tip darkens to a furious red when he’s properly worked up, and the way he moves has you feeling him everywhere, deep in your core, like he’s rearranging parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. it’s heavy, thick, and stretches you open in ways that leave you gasping.

he’s not completely clean shaven, but it’s perfectly kept, just enough to remind you he’s all man without being distracting. he loves watching you lose yourself, especially when you cream around him, leaving a glistening ring of your release wrapped snug around the base of his cock—a sight that makes his lips curl in satisfaction as he buries himself deeper and deeper.

and when he cums? it’s so much, thick and hot, filling you to the brim until you feel like you can’t take another drop, though he always pushes you to. you don’t just feel him; you’re consumed by him. it’s fucking overwhelming, every moment stretching past your limits until the pleasure spills over in tears you can’t hold back.

you can’t fuck zhang yixing and not cry.

"that's right, my pretty angel, i know you can take it all. that's it. there you go. take every last drop, it's all yours, love."

a/n: PHHEEEWWWW!!!!!! i need to lie down and close my eyes after this one, holy shit. anyways, thanks for coming to my ted talk!!!!! the end.

[propenseverbosity]

Honestly thank you for doing these, it's great to see people participating in the act of creation 🥺

Today I'm working on a prequel fic for my Rook! I love the Shadow Dragon backstory and wanted to add in my own twist to it.

-----------------------------------------------

Minrathous was no Kirkwall, but the violence, anarchy, and blood magic that plagued Dock Town certainly reminded Varric of home. Petrichor from the near-permanent rainfall only barely managed to cover the scent of stale liquor and low tide.

He arrived at the Cobbled Swan around mid-day, as instructed by the letter he received from Maevaris. Her invitation mentioned nothing more than a casual lunch, but the concern on her face as Varric sat down across from her suggested otherwise.

“Well, this feels ominous…” Varric chuckled, attempting to mask his own worry. “What’s the matter?”

Mae glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in close to whisper, “Dorian is missing.”

Varric tried his best not to panic, but the fear in her eyes really wasn’t helping the situation. “What exactly do you mean by ‘missing’?”

“He was over in Nessus to investigate a potential slavery ring-”

“You let him do that alone?”

Mae rolled her eyes. “You know what he’s like. He refused to wait for backup. Said the longer he waited for the Magisterium to do their jobs, the longer those people would continue to suffer.” 

“Damn…” Varric breathed, knowing he was right. “Alright, when did you last hear from him?”

“A few days ago. He was supposed to contact me on the crystal once he was on his way back, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.” Mae reached for the thin silver chain that housed her own sending crystal, a teardrop-shaped aquamarine. “Last night, the crystal activated on its own, and I overheard some Venatori talking about leveraging a Magister for information on the Inquisitor.” she added, turning the gemstone over in her hands, as if waiting for Dorian’s voice to suddenly call out to her.

“I suppose that’s good news? In a way? It means they won’t just kill him.” Varric pointed out. “They’ll probably have him under heavy guard, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to smuggle him out of there. I’m on it.”

Mae shot him a stern look. “Varric, you already have your hands full with Solas.”

“Neve and Harding can handle things for a few days.” He argued, casually. "Besides, I could use a break."

“I have people we can send to get him back. I just thought you’d want to hear it from me first. We should let the Inquisitor know as well.”

“No way. If the Inquisitor finds out his husband is missing, all hell will break loose in the south. Whoever you're sending, I need to be there to make sure Sparkler comes home in one piece.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Mae asked.

“Hey, I love the kid, but he’s got too much of a soft spot for Tevinter mages.” Varric added, hoping to lighten the mood. “Seriously. If Aramil finds out what’s going on, he’ll drop everything to be here, and the Inquisition needs him a lot more than it needs me right now.”

“Fine.” she sighed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Varric said, with a polite nod. “So, what’s our first move?”

“Come with me.” Mae said, as she stood up from the table. “I’ll introduce you to the Shadow Dragons.”

Good mystical morning, everyone!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Just:

Reblog this post with a snippet of (one of) your current project(s) and I’ll reblog it again with commentary/encouragement !

It doesn’t need to be DA related, you can share whatever you want!

Very chill, no pressure at all! Hope you all are having fun writing/drawing/creating!

[arguablysomaya]

Nightwing's weird fem-coding

! LONG POST !

Finally got around to jotting down my thoughts on the weird way that Dick Grayson (Nightwing) often occupies female-coded roles without being a particularly feminine guy. This is entirely due to me procrastinating on my finals. Okay!

Dick has often been cited as the hero who plays into the "female gaze", and he takes up some key roles that are typically reserved for women characters.

A large portion of Dick's fem-coding is contingent on his being with his family, and when he's not with them, this fem-coding kinda drops away, such as when he's with his various teams or acting solo.

His most prominent (and imo, complex) femme-coded role is:

-> Eldest Daughter + Widow

Eldest daughter syndrome means " frequently feeling like you’re not doing enough, like you’re struggling to maintain a veneer of control, like the entire household relies on your diligence." It's born out of the unique way that first-born girls are expected to take on adult roles around the household before they've had an opportunity to fully experience childhood (an opportunity their younger siblings will have, in part due to this sacrifice). It creates a strong sense of independence and a desire to be a good role model, but also leads to undue pressure and perfectionism.

Dick acts as a central emotional pillar for those in his family. To the point that when he fakes his death, it breaks something fundamental in the family dynamic:

Not only is it repeatedly made clear that Bruce depends on Dick to act as a lifeline for his own mental struggles, but moreover, his siblings do as well. In a very literal sense, the maintenance of the batfamily rests on Dick's shoulders. Bruce is so rarely available for emotional support that these children turn to the next best thing, which, to be fair, is better than what Dick had growing up. He has to clean up so many breakdowns, it's honestly pretty staggering.

As the OG sidekick, Dick receives quite a bit of hero worship, particularly from younger heroes/sidekicks, who look toward him for guidance. As a naturally upbeat and welcoming person, Dick ends up in the position of bringing light to everyone, not just Bruce. For example, here's Cassandra:

This balancing effect is unique to Dick's skill set. However, this can (and does) backfire very easily. The same pragmatism Bruce engages in hurts extra bad when coming from Dick: like when Dick had to take Robin away from Tim. Not to mention just how intimidating Dick's legacy is, which can create resentment when his successors aren't able to play this role so easily. For example, Jason both before and after his death expressed insecurity that he felt he was constantly being compared to Dick, and falling short.

As the original character that people think of when they think "sidekick", DG Robin (and his successors) had the advantage of not losing prominence even as his contemporaries (Kid Flash, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, etc.) were de-prioritized in favor of independent teenaged heroes (like Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, and Starfire). But that means Robin as a concept now has to deal with questions that weren't so prominent in the earlier decades, such as: "How do we justify a grown-ass man using a child (and in fact, children) as emotional crutches?"

It's icky to think about, but there's no denying that early Batman and Robin got side eyes for homosexual subtext. I mean, they literally call each other "partners". So while that "subtext" was, and remains, just audience speculation, given Dick is literally Bruce's adopted son, there is room, I believe, to call into question how healthy it is for Bruce's oldest kid to be taking on a nearly-parental role and be a core pillar of Bruce's emotional regulation.

Hot take here, but I think Dick's relationship with Bruce was/has been pretty emotionally incestuous for a long time.

-> Emotional incest

"Emotional incest[...] is a type of emotional abuse performed by a parent. In cases of emotional incest, parents rely on their children for significant emotional support, which is a reversal of roles. Emotional incest is more than just relying on your kids on occasion—rather, it is an extreme dependence on them." (There's a pretty good argument to be made that Bruce has been emotionally incestuous with all his Robins, especially Dick and DEFINITELY Tim, but y'know. Small steps.)

Emotional incest is a semi-common consequence of eldest daughter syndrome; the natural conclusion of deputizing a child to manage the other children combining with an inability to see the child as a child, still in need of emotional guidance, but more like an adult capable of shouldering the burdens of grown-ups dumping their traumas on them.

To be clear here, while emotional incest may not be incest in the most traditional, taboo sense, it is still abuse. It's putting a burden on a child they shouldn't have to carry, even for children that aren't dealing with such extreme burdens as "grown-ass man running around in a fursuit needs me to keep him from getting himself killed". It's a perversion of a healthy parent-child relationship, where the child is treated more like a partner than a child. In Dick's case, it further exacerbates the parentification he already experiences. This is made more explicit when Bruce "dies" and Dick is cast into a sort of "Widow" role.

Dick reluctantly dons the cowl in an attempt to bring order to his family members. He's also left to parent Damian, alone. He has to make the decision to take Robin from Tim, and try to deal with the fallout from that decision. He has to put a stop to Jason's fratricidal rampage. He's made into the de-facto head of the family.

And the thing about this is: Dick's not even bad at it. In comparison to Bruce's litany of disasters-in-parenting, Dick does a pretty bang-up job of managing his siblings, heading the Justice League, and being Batman. But the crucial point is that he does this at the expense of his own mental health, which is the crux of eldest daughter syndrome. There's no denying that at the time, Dick was most certainly the best choice for New Father Figure, but it was a choice he was pushed into, and a sacrifice he had to make. When this sense of responsibility to the point of self-sacrifice is pushed to its logical conclusion, it has the effect of making Dick a Martyr-type figure.

-> Protector/Mama Bear/Avenger

Dick has shown repeatedly that his hot button is his family. From Tony Zucco to allowing Blockbuster to be killed after the villain targeted Haley's Circus, going after Nightwing's family is a pretty good way to earn yourself an asskicking. Probably the most infamous example of this is when Dick thought the Joker had killed Tim, beating the clown to death to avenge both Tim and Jason.

And while this role isn't particularly feminine, I do think it's interesting that Dick protects his family members from each other with almost the same frequency that he protects them from outside threats. He's pretty notorious for wrangling Damian and Tim, foiling Jason's murder plans, and most importantly, beating the shit out of Bruce whenever he crosses a line, such as when Bruce asks Dick to conceal being alive from their family to join Spyral or when Bruce wanted to abandon the Bruce Wayne persona after the murder of Vesper Fairchild. Or of course, more recently after Bruce's latest MK-ULTRA shenanigans.

This basically puts Dick in the position of being the glue that holds the family together, at basically all times, but especially in times of conflict. This also means he's put in the dangerous position of bodily defending his younger siblings from Bruce's wrath or irresponsibility, a position made even more awkward given the whole emotional incest thing.

That's not to say that Dick's relationship with his family is 100% unhealthy. Dick and his family members (including Bruce!) feel legitimate affection and care for each other. There are times when the dynamics here are indeed healthy. And like most people with eldest daughter syndrome, the unhealthy nature of this dynamic is usually understated. Oldest sibling syndrome is often just an unavoidable consequence of how parenting works. So while I am of the opinion that this dynamic is often unhealthy, hot take: I'm fine with that.

Now, though I've just listed some tropes that he only falls into around family, Dick also falls into some fem-coding all the time, regardless of who he's with, and these have to do mostly with his sexuality.

-> Sexual Assault & Harassment

Yeah, so nobody is surprised that this is a factor. Look up any list of the top ten hottest/sexiest/most attractive male superheroes, I guarantee 9/10 times Nightwing is number 1. However, unlike his father, whose attractiveness is usually played as a part of the male wish-fulfillment fantasy, something people aspire to be, Dick's attractiveness more often makes him an object of desire- very similar to how most attractive female characters are perceived.

And as an object of desire, Dick Grayson is constantly having to deal with being objectified.

Now, Dick Grayson being an attractive character is not the problem. Dick Grayson being sexually assaulted isn't even the problem. the problem is that he keeps being harassed, assaulted, and raped in ways that are flagrantly nonconsensual, and yet it's not treated with the seriousness it deserves. In fact, it took a full decade for Devin Grayson to retract her previous statement and admit that yes, the rooftop scene with Catalina Flores was in fact rape, and it's never been acknowledged in-universe (though, comics have always been atrocious at calling out sexual abuse of all kinds, let alone that which targets men).

Hell, even when he in-universe calls it out, he's dismissed immediately and the story continues like nothing happened.

Like???

Dick's adult sexcapades (which were consensual and enthusiastic) have long contrasted with the numerous times he's been harassed; times in which he comes across as bored, exasperated, and even frustrated with his own attractiveness and the vulnerable position it often leaves him in.

This puts him in the rare (in comics) position of being a male character who consistently and near-exclusively has his sexual agency and boundaries violated by women - a position that authors uniformly refuse to examine despite writing him into it all the fucking time.

Other characters around him frequently make comments passing off this harassment and assault as a natural consequence of Dick's own attractiveness, making "jokes" that essentially amount to "I understand why someone would want to assault him". Which- UH?

There is also, of course, the unavoidable reality that as an acrobat and an aerialist, he receives a very specific type of sexual harassment

the nature of nightwing's fight style necessitates a type of tight-fitting suit that male heroes typically don't go for: an extremely slick suit with bare-minimum armour that again, makes him vulnerable in a way most male heroes aren't, but a style female heroes wear all the time, whether it makes sense for them or not. This of course then allows artists to draw attention to this fact by posing Nightwing in poses usually reserved for femme fatales:

And unlike the Hawkeye Initiative, these poses are (largely) unironic, and not played for jokes. Dick isn't arching his back or looking over his shoulder to poke fun at how female heroes are treated; he does so because the artist (clearly correctly) sincerely believed these poses would play into the unironic gaze of the audience, and also probably thought it was hot. It's the same line of thought artists use when posing femme fatales.

He's even been known to use his sexuality as a bargaining chip, much like more traditional Femme Fatales. In Batman and Harley Quinn (2017), he refers to sleeping with Harley Quinn after being kidnapped by her as one of "the things I do for Gotham", to which she responds "I'm taking that as a 'yes'." And that's uh- not how consent works.

And this particularly sucks because- HELLO? The opportunity to explore the very real and tragically underacknowledged phenomenon of sexual violence against men is literally invaluable, especially with such a prominent character. It's one thing to ignore that men face sexual violence, it's another, entirely more unforgivable thing to continuously and explicitly depict such scenarios and play them off as jokes or not as serious as they clearly are. But what did I expect from an industry that has never had a good track record on sexual violence anyway.

-> Queercoding?

There's also of course the fact that DC has been, as of late, dropping hints that Dick might be bisexual.

That on it's own doesn't mean anything, but when paired with the fact that DC has been angling toward giving Dick a similar playboy persona that Bruce has, just with men included, it's just very interesting.

(BTW: The likelihood DC actually commits to making Dick bi is, uh, not a lot, but if they're gonna stick with this weird closet stuff for a while, let's hope they do so in a way that doesn't make him sound like a cross between Donald Trump and Harry Styles next time? Please?)

Anyway, all of this is basically to say I am forever fascinated by the gender dynamics of Dick Grayson, likely due to the fact that I'm projecting all my eldest daughter traumas onto him, and that someone who's background is in Gender Studies needs to get on this shit if they haven't already. I just love this character sm.