#would you be surprised if i told you i was trying to make a point about basic human decency

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

""They will tell someone they're in pain, someone they trust, and that person will say no they're not. That didn't hurt. It can't have. They're being selfish/dramatic/lying."

Yeah, that sounds like an awful thing for a child to experience. The reason it happens so often is that a lot of adults have a default assumption about child behavior something like "If a child acts like an ordinary experience was some kind of torment for them, they're probably lying or exaggerating or being manipulatively dramatic in an attempt to weasel out of having correct discipline imposed on them, and the correct reaction is to punish or at least shame them for it so they learn it's antisocial behavior and adults will not indulge it." If you have that as a default assumption about how children behave, it is likely to make you abuse children. The correct thing to do with that assumption is discard it and replace it with assumptions that are more respectful of children's explicitly and implicitly stated preferences, not add a bunch of "but if they're autistic or..." disclaimers to it."

This is it exactly.

Autistic or not my parents did this with real injuries and real allergies and illnesses. Neurodivergence asides they had this bias and assumption of me and it would have been abusive whether I was autistic or not. I already had autoimmune conditions and shitty connective tissue as a child. I had joint problems and bones that grew in at uneven rates. I was already reacting to the sun and having near constant headaches, I had some kind of pneumonia on and off, allergies and asthma, all undiagnosed too.

At least once even before being a teen I got some kind of infection that made my jaw swell shut so bad I couldn't eat or drink anything except through a straw. I was not brought to a doctor, I was left to sleep off the fever on the couch drinking vitamin water and chocolate milk.

The fact that my stepmother would later punish me for expressing pain or surprise at something -like dropping a knife near my foot etc- or that adults in my life treated me like I was trying to avoid fresh air, sun and exercise for no good reason, or any amount of sensory issues that were piled on top was all kind of besides the point. I was being forced to eat foods I was allergic to and told I was acting out if I got sick to my stomach, which had nothing to do with autism.

I'd like to say my mother wasn't as bad, but when I was a child and ants had infested my mattress and were biting me at night, she would rather believe I was experiencing some kind of temporary psychosis because of the divorce and just kept telling me the wounds were from scratching at my back -even where I couldn't reach- and that I was imagining the bugs. I learned when I was a baby at some point not to go to adults when I was having a problem for a reason. She did not want to deal with the needs of 1-2 kids and it just always showed.

Autism probably made it worse, sure, but the whole approach to parenting is always a problem.

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

06 | big dipper // series m.list

note: hihi ,, thank u for waiting !! this ch is def worth it tbh </3 no warnings ,, just like ... oc goes off on jungkook ,, jungkook gets blindfolded ,, more context on their auras ??? yeah ... tension too ! pls do not be shy and send in ur thoughts !!! i would love to know how u're liking the fic so far as it's my first fantasy au !!!!! (clearly still very nervy lmfao) mwah ,, enj !

//

the past few days have been anything but easy for jungkook.

not that he deserves easy—he knows he doesn’t. if anything, this is exactly what he should’ve expected. what does surprise him, though, is just how well you execute the petty treatment. how effortlessly you lock him out. how, no matter how many times he shuts his eyes, focuses, and tries to slip into your thoughts—he can’t.

it’s like the connection doesn’t exist.

which makes no sense.

because it does.

the string between you is golden and bright, undeniable to everyone who has ever seen it. and yet, there’s this… knot. this missing piece. it’s so fucking strange. he felt you before—felt the way your heart would race, the heat that would bloom across your skin. he knew when you were sick, when you were anxious. when the bond first tied, his own pulse had stumbled just trying to match yours. he cared so much when it happened...

but now?

now, it’s empty.

like someone cut the string without actually severing it.

he first noticed it that night in the garden.

you had only been soulmates for a few hours, and still, he felt something. at first, he thought maybe he was imagining it. overhyping the entire invisible string phenomenon. but then, the symptoms started stacking—waves of nausea when you were overwhelmed, your voice in his head when you caught his stray thoughts in class.

you’re in his head.

but he’s not in yours.

and if he’s not in your head, then what about your heart?

after that night, jungkook had gone to bed feeling like absolute shit. you told him he made you feel better—but he couldn’t feel it. couldn’t be sure. how could he trust words alone when everything inside you was a blank slate to him?

it freaked him out.

it got to him.

he spent the night tossing and turning, unable to catch even fifteen minutes of real sleep. and then, the next morning, when you walked in well-rested and seemingly fine—it hit him like a freight train.

it’s him.

he’s the problem.

and as fucked up, childish, and selfish as it is—that’s why he called you boring.

because you are.

because you’re blank.

because he, the so-called master of manipulation, can’t get inside your head.

but he sure as hell can get under your skin.

"so everyone, partner up—and obviously, soulmates go with soulmates," namjoon announces, finishing his rundown of the sparring activity.

you barely register the rest.

instead, you watch the class shuffle into place. soulmates move toward each other. friends pair up. the guys—still without soulmates—team up amongst themselves.

and jungkook?

jungkook leans against a tree, one foot propped lazily against the bark, arms folded over his chest. his expression is unreadable, but the tilt of his head, the barely-there smirk, sends heat curling up your spine. he plays with his lighter.

you exhale sharply and motion for him to come over.

he stays put, smirk growing.

then, he mouths, "don’t wanna."

your jaw clenches. you point at him, then to the ground in front of you.

"come here. now."

jungkook blinks, feigning innocence.

you cross your arms.

you wait—a second, a minute, a moment too long.

then, just as you start to turn away, he appears right in front of you.

"you're impatient today," he remarks, voice smooth, teasing. "is that how fast you need me? i can teleport wherever you want me to go. tell me to go away, i'll do it."

you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. before you can retort, he lifts his hands, and with the subtlest flex of his fingers, two sparring sticks float from the pile and dart into his grasp. he catches them effortlessly and offers you one, grinning.

across the field, namjoon groans.

"jungkook, did you really need to use your aura for that? just walk like a normal person."

jungkook huffs.

"wow. it’s like everyone hates me today."

"maybe we do," you mutter, snatching the stick from his hand.

this was foreseeable.

you don’t need jin’s aura to know how this is going to go. the class knows, too. there’s a shift in energy, hushed murmurs, amused glances exchanged.

from where he leans against a tree, jin exhales a chuckle. “this should be interesting.”

and it is.

because while everyone else has started, you haven’t moved past the first three strikes.

not because you aren’t trying.

but because jungkook isn’t.

you lunge forward, aiming a strike at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch. his own stick twirls idly in his fingers, his gaze flicking toward the treetops like he’s more interested in cloud formations than the fight.

he dodges every attack without breaking a sweat. side-steps. pivots. barely moves.

and worse—he looks bored.

your foot pivots. another strike slices through the air. jungkook steps back just enough for it to skim past his sleeve.

“getting closer,” he muses. “try again.”

irritation burns at your spine. you exhale sharply, feint left, strike right. this time, you land it. the stick grazes his arm—not enough to bruise, but enough to count.

jungkook stumbles back dramatically, hissing through his teeth as if you’d run him through with a blade.

"shit—"

the class falls silent for a beat.

then, snickers ripple through the air.

"oh, come on," you deadpan.

jungkook blinks at you, playing it up even more. "that was—you stabbed me."

taehyung mutters something under his breath. jin actually laughs. namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

jungkook sighs, twirling his stick again. then, in a movement so smooth it’s almost insulting, he flicks yours aside with a gentle tap.

wood clashes.

you stumble back.

cheers erupt from the watching trainees. but you just glare at him, chest heaving.

"again."

you grip your stick tighter, eyes narrowing. across from you, jungkook still looks at ease. hands loose. weight shifted just enough to be casual. like he’s humoring you.

the heat in your chest flares.

“jungkook, are you even trying?”

he shrugs, nonchalant.

“dunno. are you?”

jimin chokes on a laugh. "god, jungkook’s asking for it."

your jaw locks.

the room feels warmer. everyone's watching. you’ve never cared about proving yourself before—but this feels different.

nam joon's voice cuts in, sharp. "jungkook, get it together. look at ___! she’s clearly upset.”

jungkook’s eyes flicker toward namjoon. then back to you.

and something changes... his teasing drops. his fingers tighten around his stick.

“you want me to try?”

you swallow, nodding once.

he shifts, expression unreadable. “whatever you want, p.”

then, he moves.

the first exchange is fast. too fast. you counter, but his strikes come harder, sharper. for the first time, he’s fighting back.

and you’re losing.

badly.

his strikes come faster, sharper. his movements are precise. he isn’t holding back anymore, and suddenly, you’re struggling to keep up. the wooden sticks crack against each other, loud against the backdrop of rustling trees and hushed whispers.

then, in a split second, he spins.

your stick is wrenched from your hands. before you can react, jungkook grips it, tugging it toward him—until you’re standing nearly chest to chest.

then—

he taps himself out.

a grin spreads across his face. the trainees erupt into giggles. your shoulders rise and fall as you catch your breath.

jungkook extends a hand.

"good game."

it wasn’t.

it wasn’t fair.

it wasn't good.

it was just so him.

instead of shaking his hand, you shove your sparring stick against his chest and avoid his eyes.

"excuse me," you mutter before turning away from the group and heading towards the garden.

jungkook watches you leave.

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t move. but, after a few beats, jungkook follows.

you don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there.

you can feel it.

the ground hums beneath your feet, a faint tremor shifting the soil like the earth itself is attuned to him. the air turns crisp, infused with something familiar—fresh rain on warm stone, something sharp at the edges, something distinctly him. being his soulmate changes everything.

good and bad.

so you make him work for it.

you take the long way to the garden, slipping between hedges, ducking beneath ivy, fingers grazing the thick vines trailing along the palace walls. the scent of jasmine clings to your skin as you move, quiet and deliberate. you don’t look back.

but he follows.

always.

by the time you reach the stone bench beneath the willow, the late afternoon sun drapes golden shadows over the grass. the leaves rustle overhead, and the distant chime of a wind bell carries through the stillness.

he doesn’t speak.

you wait.

finally, after what feels like forever, jungkook exhales.

“you didn’t come last night.”

the words break through the quiet, heavy and deliberate.

“hmm?” you hum, dragging the sound out just enough to make him second-guess himself.

his jaw ticks. “i felt sick.”

the way he says it—careful, measured—betrays him.

a test.

a trap.

you don’t spring it... not yet.

instead, you lift your gaze, watching him with something unreadable.

“exactly how sick were you?”

his expression flickers—just for a second—but it’s enough. the shift. the realization that you know he’s lying. that you didn’t come because you didn’t want to. that he had waited for you, and you had chosen to ignore it.

he doesn’t like that. not one bit.

for the first time since class, he looks at you. really looks at you. and for the first time, you let him.

the garden is quiet this time of day. that’s why you go. but now, the quiet stretches thin between you, taut as a thread about to snap. the leaves sway overhead. jungkook shifts his weight.

then, without thinking, you step forward.

he doesn’t move. just watches.

you lift a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead.

warm. not feverish, but—warm.

jungkook stills.

for a split second, he stops breathing. the world falls away, distant and unimportant, because all he can focus on is your touch. the way your fingers linger before you pull away.

he reacts before he can think.

his hand catches yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not tight, but firm. firm enough to stop you.

you blink.

he tugs you closer.

your other hand lands against his chest, steadying yourself against the solid weight of him.

he is warm here, too. warmer than he should be. his heartbeat is steady, but there’s something frantic beneath the surface, a tension coiled too tight.

jungkook doesn’t know what to do with this. doesn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through him like something foreign. something dangerous.

his voice is quiet when he speaks. almost unsteady.

“what are you doing to me?”

your lips part slightly, breath catching—

then, you push away.

he lets go immediately, like your touch burns.

your expression smooths out, unreadable. you take a step back.

“nothing,” you say. “that’s the thing.”

jungkook exhales sharply, head tilting. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you hold his gaze. then, deliberately, you let your aura slip. let it expand—thick, unmistakable.

resistance.

jungkook’s breath catches.

“i can’t read you,” he says eventually, voice low, like he hates admitting it. “i... i could for a day or two... but it doesn’t make sense. this does't make sense. you knew i wasn’t sick last night?”

you nod.

“... you can feel—”

“yeah,” you breathe. “i can feel your symptoms. i can feel when your body reacts to me. i can hear your thoughts when you let me—when you want me to. i feel the bond."

his fingers twitch at his sides. his brows pinch slightly, like this realization is foreign. you inhale, steady. then exhale, letting down your guard just enough for him to feel it.

your aura glows—not to the eye, but in presence.

jungkook stiffens.

“resistance,” he pieces together. “that’s… that’s why i can’t—”

“i had my guard down when we met. i was giving you a chance, and you…” your voice softens, eyes searching his. “you can’t manipulate me. i refuse it.”

his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. then, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“who said i had plans to manipulate you?”

“isn’t that your aura?”

“and if it is?” he steps closer, chin tilting. “come on, p. you think you have me all figured out?”

your lips curl into a small smile. not sweet. not cruel. something in between.

“yeah, i do,” you say. “the truth is, i’m not upset that you find me boring.”

jungkook waits.

“i’m upset that you’re boring.”

his brows furrow slightly. “what does that mean?”

you step back, turning toward the garden bench as you speak over your shoulder.

“you think i’m just a princess? fine. to each their own. you think you’re too good for me—”

“i never said that—”

“what?” your voice sharpens. “you think you’re not good enough, then? see, i’m confused—frustrated, actually. i understand i’m the newbie to the divinity—to this… to you,” you pause, eyes finding his. “but why should i stand around and let myself be collateral damage to your low self-esteem and ego?”

his expression hardens. offense first, then defense.

“who the fuck said shit about me having low self-esteem—”

“no one,” you almost laugh. “but that’s it, isn’t it? your ego can't swallow the fact that you can't read me. that you can't manipulate your place in my life... that there's a possibility that you can and will fail and have to depend on trust and love to be enough for people like me to stay.”

jungkook clenches his jaw.

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about," jungkook spits. "do you think you're better than us because you're the divine?"

"no," you answer steadily. "i think i know more because i've been away from the divine. i have perspective. i know what's real—what's out there."

"i know what's out there too—"

"you didn't live in it," you breathe. "jungkook, people in the real world have to do things they don't want to do. no manipulation in time, no manipulation in feelings or things—they face life... you sleep during class. you don’t care when we spar. you don’t care about me—”

“___, you can’t possibly be calling me out and using these as your fucking excuses—”

“i just want you to know it’s okay,” you say it softer this time, like you mean it. “has anyone accepted you... just the way you are? if not, let me be the first one to do so. jungkook, do what you want. be who you are. figure things out or give up—it doesn’t matter. i can live like this, okay? we don’t have to be obsessed with each other. we can fight the bond if that’s what you really want—”

jungkook’s mind spins.

you’re saying so much shit that doesn’t make sense to him. this is escalating too fast. he wasn’t prepared for this. he didn’t know the weight of his words until now.

“it’s not what i want,” he spits out. “___, can you please slow down—”

you shake your head.

“i just want you to know this: you’re wrong if you think i’m the type to tend to someone’s inability to see their goodness. their worth… their purpose. i’m a big believer in accepting what you think you deserve. if you can’t accept me, that’s fine. maybe i’m not what you deserve. but that’s not on me, jungkook. you limit yourself. you don’t believe in fate. you don’t want this—”

“do you?” he croaks out. “do you want this?”

for a moment, you’re stunned.

regardless of all the shit he’s put you through in the past two weeks, you don’t have it in yourself to lie.

“i want more,” you say finally. “not this.”

more.

jungkook didn't know what that meant exactly... but this was a start. he isn't an apologetic type, so this is his... version of it.

trying.

again.

he stands in front of you, rolling his wrists, exhaling slow. his eyes flicker over your stance—checking, assessing, adjusting before he even moves.

“keep your weight forward,” jungkook instructs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “you hesitate too much.”

you nod, shifting slightly. he steps in, light on his feet, and you match him, falling into motion as he throws a testing jab. you dodge. pivot. counter. he blocks. you move again.

but it’s wrong.

every strike, every dodge, every block feels a second off. like walking out of rhythm with someone—close but not quite. you follow his cues, but there’s no flow, no instinct, just effort.

jungkook exhales sharply.

“again.”

he moves quicker this time, forcing you to react faster, but it only makes the disconnect more obvious. he shifts left when you expect right. your counters don’t land where they should. his frustration grows, simmering beneath his skin, evident in the slight drag of his feet, the way his breath turns shallow. he shakes his head, readjusting.

you know that feeling—the itch of something not working, of knowing it should but not being able to make it.

you step back, panting, watching the tension tighten in his shoulders.

“can we try something?” you ask, voice softer now.

jungkook pauses. 

he blinks at you, expression unreadable, before tilting his head slightly.

“try what?”

you don’t wait for his response.

“wait here,” you tell him before you turn on your heel, feet light against the stone path as you take off in a quiet sprint. the air is thick with the lingering tension of missed steps, of a rhythm neither of you could quite grasp, but you know—you know—it isn’t just about movement.

jungkook doesn’t call after you. 

he stays where he is, watching as you disappear.

when you return, there’s gold handkerchief is wrapped around your fingers. the fabric glows in the dim light, soft between your hands as you come to a stop in front of him, close enough that you see the slight furrow of his brow.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable.

“trust me?” you ask, already reaching up.

jungkook exhales. then, slowly, he nods.

you tiptoe, wrapping the cloth over his eyes, knotting it at the back of his head. his shoulders stay squared, but you feel the way his breath slows, the way he stills beneath your touch. his lashes flutter against the fabric before he adjusts his stance again, waiting.

this time, when you move, he doesn’t see you—he feels you.

“focus on me,” you tell him. 

“h-how—”

“i’ll focus on you too. maybe if we do this properly, our auras will meet. i can put my guard up any time, but putting it down is something entirely different. it’s beyond my control to put it down. it’s a reaction to you—your vulnerability, not mine.”

jungkook swallows, letting your words sink in. 

"how do you know this shit?" he attempts to hide his suspicion.

you laugh. "have you forgotten who my grandparents are? just because i was raised outside this palace doesn't mean i wasn't educated and trained for the divinity."

"you are the divinity."

"that i am, little prince."

you don't know it, but he rolls his eyes.

"and you're a princess."

"that i am not."

he chuckles. so do you. the moment is light.

then, he takes a deep breath and envisions you.

in his head, it’s hazy. there’s only so much of you that he memorized in a short period of time—but he hopes it’s enough. he recalls the way you turn your head and how pretty your neck is. how long your hair is and how your eyes smile before your lips curve into one.

before you know it, the air shifts and he strikes. there’s a slight tremor in your breath when you hesitate—a quiet hitch when he moves too close.

his body reacts without thinking, syncing to yours in a way sight never allowed. he follows the push and pull, the rise and fall of your heartbeat, matching it, learning it. and for the first time, there’s no disconnect—no distance or this… force that pushes him away. 

no struggle.

just instinct.

just you.

and then, in a way he can’t explain, he knows where you’ll be before you even move. 

he anticipates every pivot, every feint, as if something unseen is guiding him—no, pulling him. there’s a thread between you now, stretched taut between his ribs and yours, humming with energy. it tightens when you step back, loosens when you exhale. he feels it with every shift, with every breath you take.

it’s disorienting at first, the pull, the quiet certainty of it. but it’s right. more right than anything has felt in a long, long time.

his heart pounds, syncing to yours. for the first time, jungkook doesn’t fight it.

instead, he lets it fall.

in so many fucking ways, he lets himself fall.

you bend over and tug the handkerchief off of him. 

then, you extend a hand.

jungkook squints, adjusting to the night. then, he stares at it for a beat too long, his pride hanging in the space between you. you didn’t exactly win… but you didn’t lose either. regardless, he feels defeated. 

the garden is quiet except for the sound of both your breaths, still uneven, still trying to settle. the tie had been hard-earned—one final strike knocking him down, leaving him on his back, staring at the night sky like it held the answers he didn’t.

you wiggle your fingers. “good game?”

his lips press into a line before he exhales, reaching up. his palm slides against yours, rough and warm, and you brace yourself as he uses the momentum to pull himself to his feet.

too strong.

the force drags you forward, nearly colliding into his chest.

you stumble, hands reaching for balance, and jungkook catches you before you can fall completely. one hand wraps around your waist, the other grasping your arm, steadying you like it’s second nature. his fingers press firm into your skin, and for a moment, neither of you move.

your palm lands flat against his chest.

a sharp inhale. not yours.

his heartbeat hammers against your touch, wild and restless. the same way it felt when he was blindfolded—when he had to rely on instinct, when the rhythm of his breath synced with yours and something unseen pulled tight between you.

you lift your gaze.

jungkook is already looking.

your eyes meet and it’s like you’re the only thing he sees. you see it. you look into his eyes and freaking see what he sees. 

you. only you.

his lips suddenly part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. his eyes flicker, unreadable, caught between hesitation and something heavier. his grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it lingers, fingertips pressing in like he’s mapping out the shape of you, committing it to memory.

"what are you thinking right now?" he asks rather shyly. “since i… i can’t read your mind.”

your voice is soft. it curls between you, laced with something you’re not sure you want to name.

jungkook swallows. his grip tightens—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it… seconds stretch.

then—before anything else, before you let yourself think too hard about it—you smile. you let out a small chuckle, tapping his chest with the back of your hand.

"figure it out, jungkook."

the walk back is quiet, but the air hums with something… different. 

the weight of the sparring match lingers between you—his hands on your waist, your fingers on his chest, the breathless moment you shared before you pulled away. now, as you walk side by side beneath the moonlight, the space between you feels impossibly small, as if the night itself is pushing you closer.

your fingertips brush once. a fleeting touch, barely there. but it’s enough to send a pulse through the invisible string that binds you.

twice. his breath stutters. 

three times. 

fuck.

you hear it. 

not aloud, but in the space between your thoughts, in the echo of his heartbeat. it’s his voice though. you know it is… and it’s the sheer panic in his mind and the way his body that betrays him. you giggle before you can stop yourself, and jungkook tenses beside you, as if caught in something he wasn’t ready to admit. 

his jaw tightens. 

his ears burn red.

you reach your doorstep too soon. your heart is still racing, tangled up in him, in the weight of his presence. and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "i can send a guard to take you back to yours—"

jungkook scoffs, low and amused. “i can handle myself.”

you fumble for an excuse. 

“it’s just that… it’s dark.”

he glances up, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. the night sky is dark, but the stars shine almost as bright as you. it’s enough for him to know where he’s going.

“the stars are out.”

you follow his gaze. the sky is vast, endless, and speckled with constellations that stretch far beyond the palace walls. the kind of night that feels infinite.

“they are…” you exhale softly. “wow, they’re so bright here.”

jungkook tilts his head. “you do live in the highest point of the palace.”

you laugh, shaking your head.

“still. regardless of where i am, i can never spot the big dipper.”

he hums, tilting his chin toward the sky. “really? it’s over there.”

“where?” you ask, mimicking his gaze.

“made you look.”

you gasp, swatting his arm, and he grins—really grins, boyish and unguarded, like the version of him that slips through when he forgets to keep his walls up. it sends something warm curling in your chest.

you soften, stepping back toward your door. 

“goodnight, jungkook.”

he lingers, just for a moment. the moonlight catches in his eyes, in the way he watches you like he wants to say something but doesn’t. instead, he exhales, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“goodnight, princess.”

you slip inside, shutting the door behind you. the guards reposition themselves and ask jungkook if he’d like to be accompanied back. he shakes his head, declining the offer. then, he puzzles the guards for a moment. 

jungkook doesn’t leave immediately. 

he waits, glancing up at the stars once more. and then, with a quiet flick of his fingers, the sky shifts. the darkness of the night sky almost flickers. the clouds part ever so slightly, rearranging the constellations.

the big dipper, now perfectly clear. 

just for you.

[sreppub]

straight up, I wish you would write a fic to go with the art of Bruce crying over baby-fied Duke and Damian 🥹

The art in question :)

"Why are you crying?" Tim's incredulous toddler voice actually kind of surprises Bruce into stopping, just for a moment. It's not like he hadn't realized his eyes were getting glassy, but he thought he'd be safe to relax a little bit in his Alfred-ordered isolation with three drowsy babies while the older, noisier kids were being kept busy in a completely different wing of the manor.

The younger boys had been getting fussy but, thankfully, went to sleep within minutes of Bruce reclining on his bed with the both of them. He and Alfred had figured out how to troubleshoot with them pretty quickly; with Damian, try putting him down, and with Duke, try picking him up. Like two angelic little charms, Damian had settled down in the crook of Bruce's armpit, and Duke found peace atop Bruce's chest. Tim, his little wildcard, had been extremely wiggly when Bruce instructed him to lay on the bed beside Damian, so after some deliberation Bruce told him he instead could sit on the floor with his dinosaur encyclopedia (Bruce's, actually, from decades ago). Quiet time was still restful, right? Probably. Tim had seemed pleased—at least, until he wasn't and looked up to see if Bruce had gotten up to anything new while he'd been whispering, "Wow!" at faded dinosaur illustrations for the last half hour.

Are all three-year-olds capable of sounding so judgemental, or is his kid just special?

God, kids are so funny. If terrifying.

"I guess I felt sad," Bruce answers after a moment. He'd been grieving, mostly. Damian may not have died when Bruce thought he did, but Bruce had lost him. He'd missed out on a tiny, round-faced baby that drools like a waterfall, inherited his stupid pointed eyebrows, and has a dimpled little baby grip like a vice. Duke, who they'd thought would be funny to be dressed in pastel yellow, is happiest when he's being held, and all Bruce can think about is two people who were probably so in love with this kid they could barely put him down between them (and he couldn't blame them), and he feels like he has stolen this moment from them. He also couldn't give it back to them if he tried.

Bruce can only guess at what an appropriate level of honesty with a toddler is, so he just distills his rabbithole of heartwrenching thoughts into 'sad'.

Tim scrunches his little face in confusion, and Bruce's heart clenches because it's unbearably charming.

"The babies are making you sad?" It's clear from his tone that he's skeptical that the babies are capable of much of anything. They're not even awake, is the implied judgement. Before Bruce can formulate a response, Tim has scrambled up onto the bed and the man watches in slow motion as his fat little hand reaches for his fat little brother.

"Tim—" Bruce hisses, but the boy has already gotten a hold of Damian's chin, and is now... playing. The infant's sleeping pout is popped open, and closed, and open again, as Tim waggles his fingers. The first incredible thing that happens is that Damian remains fast asleep, sparse eyebrows furrowing but otherwise generally unbothered by the action. The second incredible thing is that Tim starts growling, in his soft little baby voice, in time with his puppeteering of Damian's mouth.

"Rrrroaw," he murmurs. "I'm a Dami-saur. Rrrrahh." And then he looks up at Bruce expectantly, like there's no way anyone would still think this baby is sad, when he's clearly a dinosaur and is therefore awesome.

Bruce still feels somewhat overwhelmed, but for different reasons now. He risks reaching for Duke's sleeping little face and mirroring Tim's antics. "Grrr." The two babies have a very gentle but thought-provoking back-and-forth conversation until Tim also drifts into sleep, his little hand caught in a very tiny raptor grip.

[midnightshindig]

You write the Cecil’s kid hc’s so well! Could we see him assigning his kid who’s already friends with Mark to try and get more info on him after the events of season 3 (basically betray his trust and spy on him a little)? Bonus points if Mark didn’t know the reader was related to Cecil when they became friends :)

Idk how to title this just read the ask

This is such a cool idea!! I've been kind of frustrated with Mark this season, but he's also a teenager just trying to navigate the world in a way that makes the most sense to him.

SEASON THREE SPOILERS!!

Hcs below the cut!

After Nolan goes insane and abandons Earth, Cecil decides he needs a constant feed of information on Mark's mental state

Enter stage right: his teenage child

Who, up till now, was a secret from all but the highest ranking government officials.

but now he's transferred you to Reginald Vel Johnson High School, rigging the system just enough so that you have three classes plus lunch with Mark.

He gently suggested it might be a good idea to make friends, and send you on your way.

and much to his chagrin, you and Mark hit it off immediately!

You only find out why your dad made you change schools when Mark reveals his secret identity to you

but luckily for Cecil, you know your dad well

He has reasons for things

"Y/n... I'm... Invincible."

"oh? OH-! Cool- thats- amazing, Mark, really! I'm gonna be right back!" And you crash into the hallway, running down the stairs out to your car and calling your dad

"Y/n I told you not to call this line at wo-"

"YOU SET ME UP WITH INVINCIBLE?!"

"Woahhhh, no. No, not like that I just- I need to keep an eye on him. I'm not asking you to spy or betray anybody, just make sure he's level-headed and not an evil Viltrumite. Okay, kiddo?"

So you begrudgingly start reporting to your dad on Mark's mental state

And this goes fine, for a while

You and Mark get into college together, staying in contact even when Mark goes rogue

All until Mark threatens Cecil, and Cecil reveals he basically has an audio bomb implanted into Mark

Mark comes home to tell you and William about it, not understanding when you choked on your drink at the news

"He did WHAT?" You yelled, slamming your mug down onto William's dorm table and pulling yourself to your feet "That fucking- I can't believe-" You mumbled incoherently, trying to keep your cover

Would Mark still be your friend if he knew?

Would your dad blow this for you?

You didn't know what to expect at all

Mark's right across from you, talking about how he threatened your father, and you don't know if he would do the same to you

I mean, of course he wouldn't

You've known Mark almost two years by now, you're practically family

You go on like this, nervously keeping your fathers secret

and it's fine until he starts asking more and more of you

Ask deeper questions, get more specifics, figure out what he's planning, try and convince him Cecil is right

and how can you say no when his throat is purple and bruised

you loved your dad

and so you start digging deeper into Mark

"Say, Mark," you pop a fry into your mouth, him, you, and William at a drive through parking lot "Why don't you believe in rehabilitation? I mean, like, you were pretty anti prison in highschool, remember that whole presentation we had to do?"

Mark tenses, and he can't give you a better answer than "It's just not right. Y/n, it just.... it isn't okay."

There isn't a lot you can do with that.

Mark, in secret, is growing suspicious

He's paranoid, though, and can't take his suspicious seriously

What if though? What if you're an alien or a spy or someone who could get someone really hurt?

He asks Rudy to run a background check on you

"I'm surprised Mark, what do you want to know?" He seems candid, like this is an unusual request but nothing he can't do

"I want to know- uhg- everything! Where they come from, are they evil? A criminal past? Wh-"

Rudy cuts off Mark, with a curious voice "Where they come from? Mark of course they're human, just as human as Cecil is, and he swears the mother was human as well"

"What does Cecil have to do with this?"

"Oh. Oh you don't know."

Mark is growing impatient "Don't know what, Rudy?"

"Y/n is Cecil's child. How else would I know them?"

"I didn't know you knew them! I- what???" Mark is furious, his chest starts heaving and he crouches down on the floor of teen teams hideout

He has to talk to you.

Tensions are high when you meet

in the woods

behind your university

alone.

He knows, he has to know, there's not way he doesn't know and he's not going to totally murder you oh noooooo

So when Mark arrives, and you're shaking like a leaf, it only reaffirms your guilt in his eyes

"Y/n- You're working for Cecil? Why?!"

"Why? Mark- he's my dad!" You're on the verge of crying, a state of hysteria Mark has never seen you reach

But he's relentless, and continues "Our whole friendship was a lie?! You've been, what? Spying on me? Poisoning me slowly in my sleep? What- are you just waiting to strike?!"

He approaches you, and you duck to the ground, covering your head with your hands

"Please don't hurt me!!"

Mark pauses, watching his friend- who never felt scared of him before- cower beneath him, flinching when he raises his voice

He felt his soles hit the ground, unaware he'd even begun flying

"Y/n.... I'm not going to hurt you."

He patted the top of your head as you looked up at him, bleary-eyed

"But... I can't let you hurt me either."

and with that, Mark was gone, the fallen leaves flying everywhere as he left

and you were left alone in the woods, still shaking like a leaf

Mark was hurt and betrayed, and he couldn't hurt you

but he could definitely hurt Cecil

and he just might.

[demolitionsweetheart]

Sonic the hedgehog x mobian!reader (p2?)

Part 1

Request: Can I request more headcanons about him? Maybe both movie! Sonic x mobian! Reader completely clueless about their feelings for each other, everyone can see that both of them are in love except them (Sonic and reader subconsciously holding hands, cuddling, gift giving)

It was moments like these you felt most content. Sonic had fallen asleep on your shoulder, the low hum of that boring rom-com still played in the background. "You two are practically joined at the hip" Tom's voice broke over the silence as he glanced over from the kitchen. You shot him a look, eyes half lidded and unamused. But his comment hung in the air longer then you'd admit.. Surely, all these things were just friendly.. Right?

✫ Sonic always had a tendency to pull you along to show you things or surprise you but his hold always lingered, longer than what seemed necessary.

✫ He was always in your space too-not that you minded though. When he talked, he was always enthusiastic and animated, always leaning in, sometimes even resting against you as he rambled about something stupid. He was that friend who could not stay still when you walked together always hand in hand or steering closer and closer.

✫ Every movie night you've ever had ended the same way-him drooling on you. At some point you, you would just stop trying to move him, your limbs naturally tangling together as he shifted non-stop. He would drape his arm over your waist and hook his leg over yours ˃̵ᴗ˂̵

✫ It happened often,  even when it wasn't accidental. Hed commandeer your bed and refuse to leave, insistent you hug him like it was nonon-negotiable. And of course, you'd end up giving in since he was 'sooo tired being a hero.' with that he'd throw himself on to you... Maybe this wasn't exactly normal friend behavior.

✫ He had an odd habit of giving you little trinkets or random things he thought you would like. Given the randomness of the act, you could never tell if it was because he wanted to see your reaction or if he genuinely thought you'd love whatever strange item he deemed 'perfect' for you. When Tom told him about valentines, Sonic took it to heart in his own messy way. he'd gift you a bunch of oddities along with sweets. His excitement to present the gifts, despite how random, always made you smile- there was something so warming about the way he always wanted to make you happy, even if he didn't quite know how.

Sorry it's short, it's just a p2 but thank u for reading and thanks for the request @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

Requests are open!

Pictures from Pinterest

Dividers by @pixxiecup

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART FOUR)

Braden always teased me for how much Junior took after me, but it wasn't when my son was pregnant with our second child that I fully realized the bond that was developing between me and Junior.

A lot of it was the stretch in which Brade was too tired for the usual games of catch or even his normal parenting stuff. Seven months and starting to really show, my son had to take breaks and lie down in the bedroom. I brought Bill Jr into the chores like it was a game. "Daddy does so much work around the house... why don't we help him out for a change, buddy?"

Junior's face beamed in happiness. He didn't like doing chores, but he liked time with his dads. "Sure thing Dad. Daddy's OK, isn't he?"

I ruffled his hair. "He's OK. Just tired."

"I get tired, too," Junior said in all earnestness. Damn, to have that innocence of a 5 year old.

We told Junior he'd be having a little brother, soon. That the newborn might get extra attention at first, but we loved him in a special way and that wouldn't change.

***

It was one Sunday, and as I watched golf on TV, I felt wistful, because it was normally Brade's day. But he was taking a nap. Selfishly, I missed the hot pregnancy sex Brade and I had before Bill Jr. was born, but now my son-husband usually wasn't in the mood. I'd stroked off in the shower so I'd taken care of my physical needs, but I missed the emotional connection of sex.

"Hey Dad." God, it was Junior. I thought he'd been playing a computer game, but now he seemed eager for my company. I'd learned to read the kid's moods pretty well by now, in a more intuitive way than I'd ever felt when raising Braden.

"Hey kiddo," I smiled, moving my feet off the couch and sitting up in a more proper way. "Wanna go out and play catch?" I asked. "I'm not as good as your Daddy, but you can make me run for the long ones."

Junior shook his head and laughed. "No, sir.... I was wondering if I could watch golf with you."

Talk about surprise. "You sure that's not boring for you?"

Junior sat on the couch, eager to show off his enthusiasm. "I enjoy it, Dad. You seem to get into it." I almost laughed to think of the contrast with Brade, who teased me for the years watching golf alone in the living room.

"Well, sure... have a seat, kiddo..." I patted the couch next to me.

He seemed happy to be joining, like he was privy to some adult thing he wasn't allowed to do. I honestly thought he'd start squirming or sighing in boredom after a while, but he watched the tournament with attention.

"Who are you rooting for, Dad?" he asked at one point.

The kid was pretty curious, I'll give him that. I tried to think of a way to explain that was honest and clear but didn't dumb it down. "It's not like other sports, at least not for me. I kind of root for the guy who's playing the best, the one who's having a great day on the course."

"Oh," Junior said, not getting it but trying to.

I patted his shoulder. "Golf's about finding your best game within you." I could imagine Brade's eyeballs rolling.

We watched for a while longer. It was getting late in the afternoon. I worried about Brade and would need to check on him soon, but he just needed his rest, I knew. And I was enjoying this bonding moment with Junior. As a dad you crave times like this.

Braden and I had a division of labor. He was the stay at home dad and did more of the playtime bonding and day-to-day stuff with our son. I was the disciplinarian. Braden and I decided it would be better to have clear authority so our kids wouldn't play one of us off the other.

My other responsibility was to have the harder father-son talks. It was too early for the birds and the bees talk with Junior, but I knew I had to have a series of discussions about his parents. And I wanted to take advantage of the closeness Junior and I were feeling now.

"Buddy..." I stared, muting the TV. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Junior looked at me. Trusting. Open. "Sure, Dad."

I sighed but tried to keep like I was bringing up anything difficult. "You know how we've talked about privacy before."

He nodded, like he proud he'd learned his lesson from school. "Oh yeah, I know if your and Daddy's door is shut, I gotta knock." That had been a previous talk.

"Um, yes, buddy, like that," I said. "But you're getting to be a big boy now and you probably know that your Daddy and I are not a conventional couple."

"Is it because I have two daddies? Because Bobby has two daddies too."

"Does he?" I asked in mock surprise. "I guess that is more common." I continued. "But your Daddy and I are different than a lot of those families. See... your daddy is my son. Just like you are."

"I know, Dad," Junior said. "He calls you Dad sometimes."

We'd never fully hidden it, but now that Junior was entering kindergarten he needed to be aware. Careful.

"A lot of people don't understand that, kiddo."

"Why not?" Junior asked. I was glad he didn't seem to respond to any sense of impropriety.

I shrugged. "It's just how it is. Your daddy and I have a very special bond, a special love. And we love you very much. That's all that matters."

Junior seemed OK with that answer. But he seemed to be thinking over this talk. "Is that why you say you're my grandad when you pick me up sometimes?"

I nodded. "I am your granddad, too, Junior. And your father. It's complicated."

He smiled. "I don't mind, Dad. It's kind of cool. Like I'm special."

"You are special," I smiled, ruffling his hair. "You just can't talk about it with anyone. Not your friends or your teachers or anyone who's not family, hear?" I was combining my loving-dad and disciplinarian.

"Yes, sir," Junior responded.

I gave an encouraging smile. "So, buddy... what do you say you help me whip up some dinner? I think Daddy needs his nap today."

****

The next day might as well have been a different month. The alarm went off early, real early, and I felt Braden's warm body snuggle against mine. He was completely naked, and just the feel of his pregnant build against my arm and hip and leg was enough to wake me up, fast.

"Um, what time is it?" I asked in a morning voice. It was pitch black out.

Braden was still not fully awake, even as he was initiating sex. "I thought maybe you could come home early today, Dad... it's been a while."

I grunted an assent and turned to kiss Brade. Sure we'd given each other a good night or good morning peck of a kiss, as husbands, but I missed kissing him deeper. I could tell he's missed his too. His free hand was all over my body, my chest, my abs, my briefs-covered cock as we made out.

Over the last year, we'd gotten into a good rhythm of married sex. I'd worked out a flex schedule, where I'd go into the office real early a few days a week so I could get home while Junior was still at preschool. This gave us time for longer sessions in addition to the quickies we could sneak in.

That rhythm had been disrupted by the tough pregnancy Brade was enduring this time around, but I was more than happy to pick things back up.

Particularly now that my hunky son-husband was turning away from me and turning on the bed lamp. I could see his strong ex-footballer, ex-Marine build. Brade's a few inches shorter than me, which makes his brawn stand out even more. Even with pregnancy, he kept up at the gym, and I could see the strong lats and broad back and that muscle ass. Best of all that eight-month preg gut made visible love handle-like swells along his waist.

I knew how to read my son's body language and the silent way he could communicate his needs in the bedroom. I slipped down my underwear and then reached over to fumble for the lube in the nightstand. It had been nearly two months.

"Think Junior's asleep?" I heard Brade ask.

I slicked up my boner. "Like a rock," I said. It was about 5 AM, and if Bill Jr. took after me in a lot of ways, he was gonna be like his Daddy when it came to not being a morning person.

"I want us to talk, Dad," Brade said. "If that's OK."

My dick was rock hard and I turned toward Braden's strong body and scooted up toward him. "You want an incest fuck, son?" I said. We often had to put the kibosh on verbal sex when our son was in the house. Even with a closed door, you never know.

"Mmm hmmm," came the reply. Brade pushed back against me, savoring the feel of my big father cock in his ass cleft. My son was in heat, pregnancy hormones kicking in.

My own hormones were doing their work, and I felt my heart beat fast. I placed my hand on his belly. Big and round, I loved the way Brade's pregnancy gut was hard and soft at the same time.

"How's my grandson doing in there?" I growled.

"He's gonna be a strong, healthy one, Dad."

"It's because he's an incest kid, Brade. Made by a father and son."

"I love my father's cock," Braden hissed, lust in his voice. "Love that you knocked me up, sir."

I pushed into his ring. Slowly, because it had been months.

"I can feel that breeder cock, Dad."

"Your father's cock."

"Yessir... took my cherry. The night before Basic." Brade's insides were opening up for me now. It was like riding a bike for him I suppose. Or maybe he was reliving that deflowering in his head.

"Sent you off with your own father's cum inside you."

"Hell yes.... I wish I hadn't been on the pill then."

My dick surged inside Braden. I kissed along his neck and rubbed his stomach. "You wanted to get pregged on your first fuck, Sport?"

"You could have done it, too. Potent dad cock working me open."

I was now pushing all the way inside. My son's insides were hot and tight and alive. I missed this but the best part was that Braden had clearly missed this, too. He bucked back against me.

"Unprotected dad cock," I hissed.

"You lectured me so much, Dad," Braden hissed. "But I wish you'd just taken me raw and put your kid in me. At eighteen"

"Damnit, Brade," I said in a tone that was only annoyed by how much that turned me on. "I never told you, Son," I said. "But I made you the night I lost my virginity."

That gave Braden a pause. "For real?" He couldn't tell if this was just sex talk.

I fucked faster, holding onto this big bulk. Fucking a very pregnant Brade was one of the hottest things, almost as hot as knocking him up on the first place. "For real, Son. I fucked your mother the first time out, and all of a sudden I was a teen dad."

"God, Dad," he hissed. I could tell he was trying not to get too loud. I love Braden, but my son can be a screamer in bed. "That's so fucking hot."

I don't tend to be loud in sex, but I was getting worked up myself. "I'm thinking of that moment now... when I made you...." I slowed my thrust to be deep and purposive. "When I made Junior...."

"Fuck!" Braden hissed. His hand left his cock to grip the top of my own hand that was on his big belly, coaxing me to rub it all over.

"When I made Evan," I growled, kissing Braden's neck. For me it was all coming together, the sexual power of fatherhood, of breeding.

I could sense Braden's back muscles tense. Now that I'd slowed my thrusts, going for power rather than speed, he was bucking back against my dong again. Hungry for it. "Just like you're gonna make our next son... and the one after that."

"Oh god..." I hissed. I'd tried to make this mating last, but I was getting closer to orgasm.

"After Evan..." my son muttered, trying to keep his bedroom voice down. "I don't wanna wait for the next..."

"Yeah?" We'd talk about this seriously, later, but my sex addled brain was entertaining the idea.

"Yessir... I want you to bring my home from the hospital and bend me over and rough fuck me right then..."

It was wild and a total Brade thing to say.

I was cumming inside my eldest boy, hard.

I felt my pregnant husband squirm on my spurting dick, and only after a few seconds did I realize Braden was orgasming hands free.

We came down and caught our breath and I held my hunky son's big body from behind.

"I love you, Dad," Braden finally said.

"God, Braden, I don't think I could love you any more."

He nodded in a way that said he loved hearing that. "Dad... I'm proud of how you've stepped up with Junior."

I rubbed his furry preg belly and just savored the warmth and heat of his back against my chest. I was still firm and buried inside him though slowly softening. "You do the work, buddy." It was easy to take for granted what Brade did as a stay at home dad, but I knew he was incredible and hard working at it.

"I mean, emotionally... it takes a real man to grow... it feels weird saying that."

I chuckled. "Weird.. why?"

"Cause you're my dad," my husband said. "Like, I can't imagine any other sons talking to their fathers like this."

"We're husbands, too, Brade. Partners, equals."

"Parents."

"Fuck yes," I hissed, kissing his neck softly.

Finally my dick plopped free and Braden turned around to kiss me. He was still hard and I could feel the tip of his prick against my leg.

"Can I let you in on a secret, Dad?"

"Of course." I figured Braden and I had few if any secrets between each other at this point.

"The equal idea... what you just said... I love that, sir..." he started. "But I also love that you're always gonna be older and wiser and the man I looked up to from my childhood."

"Brade," I said, emotional and getting hard at the same time.

"It's true dad," he said, snuggling up to me, and reaching down to feel my prick. "Just the idea that you've knocked me up twice and are going to do it again..." He didn't finish his thought. We were too busy making out once more.

"We doing round two, Sport?" I asked, running my hands along his side.

Braden shook his head. "Save it for later, OK?"

I forced myself to pull myself from his embrace and slip out of the bed. "In that case, I better get ready." I stood by the bed and got one more good look at Braden's amazing physicality as his eyes stared at my rigid dad cock sticking straight out.

***

Maybe it was getting laid, maybe it was just seeing Braden get his energy back, but I was in a great mood all day. I did miss the time driving Junior to kindergarten, which I'd been doing lately, but I'd make sure to catch up with my son and play with him in the evening, after dinner.

I had a busy work day but threw my head into it and focused and banged out a lot efficiently. By 1:30 I was texting Brade to let him know I was leaving the office.

"Hot damn... we get a nice long session then," came the reply.

When I got home, I had a good idea where I'd find my son, back in the master bedroom, half naked or fully nude.

But as I pushed open the door I was thrilled with the obscenely hot sight. My ex-Marine son was naked on the bed, an extra sheet on top of the mattess. He was watching some intergenerational porn but not really jacking off, more just letting his hard dick ride up against his pregnancy swell. Best part was his normally hairy torso was shaved smooth and looked shiny.

"Jesus, son," I'd hiss as I unknotted my tie and kicked off my dress shoes. "Looks like Evan is ready to pop out any minute." I was exaggerating, since the due date was still a few weeks away. But Brade and I knew how to go into the fantasy and push each other's buttons.

My son just smiled and lay back into the pillows, spreading his legs. "You gonna induce labor with that big dad dick of yours?"

I felt my throat go tight. "I never know how far is too far to go with you, son."

Braden smiled. "Physically or verbally?"

"Verbally," I said, stripping off my suit jacket and undoing my belt. I was rock hard, just like I hadn't gotten off that morning. I'm sure Brade could see my erection riding up the crotch of my trousers. "I know not to go rough when you're this far along, Sport."

"I know, sir," my son said softly. "I just like working you up."

I took a look at the TV screen. I had wider porn tastes than my son and in any case preferred to watch only when I had to stroke a quick load out without Braden. But my son was very focused on daddy-son pairings and roleplay stuff, and he liked when we watched it together. "One of your favorites," I said. I'd seen this video several times with Brade.

"Yes, sir," my son said. "I just wished there was mpreg porn... or real dad-son teams."

A thought came to me. "You ever feel like taking the Connors up on their offer?" Jeff Connors and his father Frank had become part of the incest social circle Braden and I had, along with the Fiedlers. It had taken a few months for Frank to get comfortable with it, but now he was the one dropping hints and finally an outright suggestion that it would be hot to have a dad-son foursome. For all their flirtiness, Todd and Adam Fiedler hadn't gone that far.

Braden's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah? I didn't think you'd go for that, Dad."

I unbuttoned my shirt. Normally, I'd be pouncing on Brade's naked, knocked up body, but I knew we had a solid hour and a half for sex that day, before I had to go pick up Junior.

"And you would?" I asked. I wasn't sure if this was going too far. Brade and I had talked about the possibility of playing with others but only in an idle way.

"Oh yeah"," he said. "I'd love for them to watch you fuck me."

"I think the polite term is 'making love,' Sport," I winked.

"Trust me, Dad, when it comes to incest... you make love and then there gets a certain point where you just fuck."

I now pulled down my trousers and briefs, showing Brade my paternal hardon. This ritual would never, ever get old. "Is that right, Son?"

Brade nodded, his brown eyes hungry. "You can be a total beast, Dad. I fuckin' love it."

I gently folded my trousers and peeled off my button down shirt. "I think Frank wants to make a play for you," I cautioned him.

Braden grinned. "Dad... you've been wanting to nail Jeff Connors since you met him."

I blushed. "Come on, Brade..."

He laughed. "I know your an incest man, Dad. But you're also a man. Men look. And fantasize. It's OK."

A had a bit of jealous streak but also a real curiosity about spicing up our sex life with a threesome or foursome. And as a dad-son couple it would have to be someone we trusted. I stepped up to the bed and ran my hand along Braden's leg, feeling the hairs and knotted calf muscle, then tracing my fingers higher.

I watched his cock jerk and his dimples form on his face. "Nice, sir.." He put his hands under his big eight month belly to frame it for my gaze. "We don't gotta, Dad... but I figure it would amplify the incest, being with another dad and son." My son nodded toward the night stand where a new bottle stood. "I got some massage oil. Why don't you put some more on me?"

I felt that crazy horniness as I did just that, smearing the oil all over that freshly shaved muscle, feeling up the full muscle tits and those strong arms. I oiled his legs, massaging the quads before I finally go to the big prize, that big round stomach. I added extra oil and admired the vision and feel of that large belly.

"Oh fuck, he's kicking," I growled. I could feel it.

"Our son, Dad," Braden said, excited. "Our second son."

I leaned forward and deep kissed Brade, feeling his own sexual excitement and emotion coming back to me. We made out for a good ten minutes, each of out touching each other as we got into it.

"Evan Braden Drake," I finally muttered into my son's lips.

"I love giving you that gift, Dad. A second grandson."

"Baby boy," I hissed. I now felt his fingers curl around my prick, which was dripping.

"Make love to me, Dad. Nice and slow... like that the night you took my cherry."

"Damn, buddy."

I did my best, but it was hard given Braden's size. But as he scooted to the bed's edge and I placed his calves on my shoulders, I entered him slowly, very slowly, lubed up from all that massage oil. It was a new thing. Not being the Beast, not going hard into him. Just seeing how gentle I could be with my son. That slow pump lasted ten minutes until like a tantric cum, Braden and I came at the same second.

I had to pull out to kiss him again. Lazily I rubbed his belly more, smearing sperm into the oil as we kissed.

"You better go pick up Junior," my son finally said. "I'll clean up." It was funny to see my son be the responsibly minded and practical one. Life throws surprised your way for sure.

"Yeah," I hissed before claiming one last kiss. I hopped in the shower and got dressed again.

Braden moved slower at 8 months, but he'd gotten up and was stripping the sheet. Still nude, he was a beautiful sight.

"OK if I reach out to Jeff?" I asked. I needed to check if the idea was as appealing post-nut.

Braden smiled. "Oh yeah. We can get a baby sitter for Junior. If you're cool with the idea, Dad."

"I think we should," I said. "I want to show us off... in the right circumstances." I looked at my watch. "Gotta go... " I stepped up for a last peck of a kiss.

I made good time getting to Junior's school and had a few minutes to wait. I texted Brade. "Love you so much, Sport." Then I pulled up Jeff Connors contact. He was the one who usually contacted me or Todd Fiedler, not his Dad. Plus, I had my own flirty dad-substitute vibe with him. "Hey man, Braden and I are open to your Dad's idea... if you guys are still game."

Junior was all smiles when he came out. He'd gotten a gold star on a drawing he'd done that day. I told him it was going on the fridge. "Feel like stopping for ice cream, kiddo?" I asked.

"Won't it spoil my dinner, Dad?" the kid asked.

"Probably," I admitted. "Don't tell your Daddy," I winked. I was in the mood to spoil my younger son a little.

***

It wasn't until Junior and I got home that I noticed a reply text from Jeff Connors. "Oh yeah! We'd love that."

"This weekend?" I asked. "Saturday? We can get a babysitter and come to your place."

A few seconds later. "Dad says ok. God, I can't fuckin' wait."

I smiled and slid my phone back in my pocket. I'd tell Braden later. For now, he was back in parent mode, asking Junior about his day. Time for me to enter parent mode, too.

[1queasycrow]

Why I think it makes sense to lock Lucanis’ romance behind the city choice but not Neve’s

Alright Ive been sitting on this for a while now, it might piss some people off, such is the way of opinions.

Fair warning, this may not cast a flattering light over many peoples favourite Antivan prince. I am not intentionally bashing him, rather observing things about his character through his words, actions and the in-game lore we receive.

Alright, here we go.

On their upbringing

Since he was young Lucanis has been told he is special, he is important, he means something, his needs should be attended, yes it is in service to a position he does not want but that doesn't change the fact that Lucanis has always been told he matters.

Neve has been a blemish on the family, she has been told and shown that she does not matter, her whole quest asks you to tell her what she means to Minrathous (Dock Town). The city that itself constantly “stabs her in the back”. It has been driven into her that she should not expect more because she does not deserve it and and even if she did, people would not give it.

Here we have two very different characters starting points so one can see why, though Neve may be more vocal about it, Lucanis is 'worse' off if you do not save Treviso.

His needs, his city were not ‘important’ (perhaps not for the first time but still, very few times has this been the case). So it hits Lucanis harder.

With the exception of a Shadow Dragon Rook, Neve does not expect you to come to Minrathous, so when you don’t it is not a surprise, perhaps a disappointment but not one she wasn’t expecting.

On their state upon meeting Rook.

When we first meet Lucanis, it is in a prison which he has been tortured in for the past year, this is not a prime mental state to start any serious relationship (we will get to Lucanis/Neve later). Then when he gets home it is to news that his favoured relative (Catarina) has just been murdered. Add to the fact that he is likely taking in this new information, that he is not the Center of the world, and poor boy's head is probably spinning so fast it's liable to come off.

Contrast this with Neve’s world at the start of the game which could probably be best summed up with ‘same shit different day’; the venatori are zealots, the shadows are trying their damnedest yet still loosing and Dock Town remains its same old tragic neglected self.

On Neve/Lucanis if you save Minrathous

Disclaimer, I don't like Lucanis/Neve, it aint my jam and I think Neve deserves better. Not the point here because I am actually in support of the idea that this ship is wholly plausible even if you lock out Lucanis/Rook.

I think, that the reasons stated above are enough to put anyone off a romance but if you save Treviso Lucanis a) doesn't have to deal with some of them and b) isn't mad at Rook for the same reasons. So given that, it makes sense he would gravitate to someone else with a shared grief. He might have wanted Rook to save Treviso but he would never ask that of Neve, as one can surely see it would be akin to asking him to save Minrathous. Therefore it is logical that he would not be as upset with her. Can I guarantee their romance would be the same as Lucanis/Rook? No of course not, they're different people and that's how the world works, but that is a post for another day.

All of this is to caution against being accidentally bigoted towards the best damn detective in Thedas.

Thank you for coming to my THED Talk.

[ceasarslegion]

I am asking for the list of weirdest things you have found in passengers' bags 🙏

Yippee!

Just off the top of my head:

-a panel from a satellite array that took up the entire bag

-10kg bucket of peanut butter (asked her where the hell she got it, she said costco)

-one time we called emergency on what turned out to be a custom build gaming PC that the passenger had stuffed her old breast implants INSIDE of. When we asked why she would put them there, she said "I didn't know where else to put them." Please note this PC case was not a thumb screw panel, we had to unscrew it with a proper screwdriver

-heated coffee mug that looked exactly like a pipe bomb on an x ray image. I ended up making the call to search it instead of calling emergency because too many red flags were missing. Passenger told me "the officers in Vancouver called the cops on me for that! :))" SO WHY DO YOU STILL TRAVEL WITH IT

-amazon-bought acupuncture machine that looked exactly like a bomb on an x ray. We thought we were being punked because the real thing would never be that obvious. When I say that even the most untrained, inexperienced eye would go "that's a bomb" i mean it.

-actually, a lot of things that look exactly like bombs on x ray images exist. You'd be surprised

-this isn't the item itself but a guy from Toronto asked for a selfie with me holding the empty bullet shell he forgot in his shirt pocket after his buddies took him to the shooting range. I told him he was damn lucky we found it in this backwards country province and not in Ontario where'd they'd call the cops on him

-found a taser in this lady's purse and in a moment of utterly incomparable genius I proceeded to make sure that it really was a taser before I hit the police button by pointing the prongs directly at my face and pressing the on button. You could see the YouTube buffering wheel pop over my head in real time after discovering it wasnt charged

-a guy tried to conceal a box cutter in the lining of his bag and then proceed to claim it was an essential medical device when I asked him why he was trying to hide something that could be used as a weapon from us. Man I was born on a Wednesday but not LAST Wednesday

-lady screamed for my supervisor when I wouldn't let her ancient laptop go that was missing every key the battery panel was duct taped together, she refused to turn on, and it was stuffed full of some strange inorganic ashy material coming out of all the ports. Ma'am I don't think anyone wants whatever the fuck this is on the plane so if you can't turn this on and show me it's a functioning laptop I'm not comfortable letting it go 😭

-had a guy in stanley cup season who had a bag stuffed full of Florida panthers merchandise and when I told him I didn't know anything about hockey he turned to his livestreaming phone and went "I GOT THE ONE GUY IN THIS WHOLE PROVINCE WHO DOESNT CARE 😭"

-and perhaps my whole weirdness crowning achievement: the guy who had multiple ziploc bags full of room temperature breast milk with no wife nor baby in sight. What the fuck

[angelflms]

oh boy. guess i have something to say about CK after all. get ready. it's gonna be a fucking doozy because ima bout to piss off so many people.

yall cared wayyyy too much about robby (this is coming from a robby lover).

for a cheesy, straightforward show, some of y'all didn't understand its tropes at all. or at least what it was trying to tell you, especially when it comes to the roles miguel and robby are supposed to be in.

miguel has been and always will be the show's karate kid. he was supposed to be the daniel of the story, hell even GQ just said it in an article about the show recently. robby was always supposed to be a johnny-like foil to miguel. the thing is that the show tries to bamboozle you into thinking otherwise because of who's training them, how they're trained, and how they act because of the type of training they're initially recieved.

yes, miguel acts very similar to johnny in the show. yes most of the og TKK call backs they make with him are in relation to johnny, but he is the underdog character. you know how everyone expected johnny to win in TKK because he was a fucking champ and such. it's almost like how we as an audience for awhile assume that robby is gonna be the final end all champ of the series. but just like with johnny, we're proven wrong. it's just that the bullet was in a different gun this time. it's the one in the ck gi who won this time.

idk why people get so mad over miguel's victories when it was always supposed to be him that was gonna win. the show is called cobra kai for a reason, therefore, the final winner of the show is gonna be someone from that dojo. it only makes sense. and since the main karate kid that started off the show was a ck member originally, surprise! he's gonna be the final victor of the show.

---

now im seeing a lot of hatred towards johnny's character, again because of robby. now yes, johnny was a fucking horrible dad. and as a girl who's bio dad is a piece of shit like johnny was and has never been in my life (even started a business similar in the world as johnny's), i understand robby's dad pain a lot, even more so than miguel's.

but what you don't understand is that cobra kai is a show about generational pain. generational trauma. generational grief. generational hurt. the whole story revolves around pain that started 30 years prior (even further if you bring up kreese). the show also is about breaking the cycle once brought upon you to better the future for those who look up to you.

johnny is close to miguel because he was his second chance at being a better father figure to him. he didn't expect that he would get robby back in his life the way he did (robby literally told him to rightfully stay away) so he focused heavily on miguel and his family. now once he and robby reconciled, it was a huge breaking the circle moment because johnny lawrence is a victim of physical and verbal child abuse from both his step-dad, sid and his father figure, kreese. kreese was to johnny what he is to robby, but less abusive. and robby was to kenny what johnny was to him, but robby eventually broke the cycle, something that johnny was able to eventually do himself.

that emotional scene between johnny and kreese wasn't just emotional but kreese's final moment of realization that he was a horrible man and father figure to johnny. he hurt him so bad that he couldn't be a normal human being, which in turn caused him to be an absentee parent to robby. not saying that it's okay but it's understandable. not getting that johnny is a broken person just ruins the whole point of the show's point of generational pain, something the show is nearly spoon feeding the audience to.

yes johnny is horrible as a father, but damn it the man didn't have a father figure as a model. all of his figures were abusive, absentee drunks who never saw his potential. that was a norm for him.

---

ive said many times that y'all talk wayyyyy too much shit about miguel for no reason. and the way this season ended and how much y'all are upset, im starting to look at a lot of you in a side-eyed way. like his character arc is poorly written but that's not his fault. the writers hate him i feel. look i love robby and i hated the way he went out but at the end of the day, you need to understand that he wasn't gonna be the final guy. maybe i think too much in terms of the nuances of shows but i'd like to think this was the most straightforward show about fighting out there. like there wasn't much of a hidden message as they told you what they were. maybe yall are too lost in the fact that y'all care so much about robby that you don't care. maybe im missing something as i have only been in the fandom for over a year. or maybe y'all just subconsciously racist atp because the hatred miguel and xolo get for no reason is beyond me.

but i will give everyone this: the show's writing sucks.

they didn't know how to write certain characters and i feel like it was due to wanting to please everyone because i remember the death threats this fandom threw towards so many people during the lockdown days. but the show genuinely can go past surface level shit and it sucks. i wrote a whole thing dedicated to how miguel's storyline should've went post-coma because honestly they fucked his character up BIG time. but at the end of the day, i do think, even with good writing, he deserved that ending. i just wished everyone else agreed.

[moodyseal]

I think I just had the most meaningless exchange of my entire twenty years of life on TikTok. Like what even prompted me to comment. Maybe it was my hubris or my pathological need to fuck around and find out idk

[arabela25]

are you going to make gifsets of each semifinal's entries? or have you already posted something similiar?

I'm planning on making a few gifsets/edits for the semi finals but I'll probably only post them near the contest date

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

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[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[nezuscribe]

you should be here.

you really shouldn’t be here.

but you were a good friend, maybe too good a friend one would argue, and one of your girls heard about this underground gig (boxing, fighting?) going on and roped you into going.

and knowing you, this was way out of your comfort range. she was shocked you agreed to it, but you were tired of being perceived as the sheltered on and decided to bite the bullet and tag along.

but now you realize that you should’ve just stayed home and rewatched some stupid show.

because this place was giving you all sorts of signals to just get out.

it was in what seemed like a dingy warehouse that could only be accessed through some sketchy alley. you truly have no idea how she found this place and your betting that it wasn’t some ad she told you she saw on someone’s story.

the vast room was barely lit, with only a few lights flickering as they struggled to stay on. you felt like you’d catch an undiscovered disease if you sat anywhere and opted to stand, but that was another issue.

despite how destitute this place seemed to be, it was packed.

there were so many people standing near the ring, everybody yelling praises or shouts of anger as somebody took a punch. you could hear skin hitting skin, could hear the breaking of tissues and bones even from where you were.

your friend dragged you by the arm, seeming as if there was no worry about this place, and it was too late to go back even though the alarms in your head were going off.

fuck, you start thinking, what is this place? what if you bump into someone weird? what if the cops come? what if the location gets leaked? what would happen to you two? what if….

your mind trails off as your friend wiggles her way through an empty spot, bringing the two of you closer to the ring.

you look at the fighters, mouth going dry at the sight.

one of the fighters, the one facing you, seemed bloodied to no return. his eye was black and weeks shut, nose dripping with blood. his face was salted with bruises, his body sagging as the other fighter, the one with his back to you, took another fighting stance.

“he’s who i wanted to see,” bri mutters excitedly, pointing her finger to the fighter with white hair, “i’ve heard he’s really good,”

you nod slowly, looking around in a skittish way. you knew you should’ve said no, but you really cleave no choice but to support her and her dangerous side quests.

he plants another fist to the injured one’s face, making him stumble back as the white haired fighter angles his body sideways, letting you two get a look at his side profile.

he seemed fine, a little bruising on the cheek but nowhere near the damage of the other guy. he must be as good as bri says you guess.

the people around you hoot and holler, pushing you further into on of the poles as you wince in discomfort, your face twisting in pain a little as some of the men behind you push forward with no concept of personal space.

you look over at bri but she’s just as engaged, shouting for the white haired guy to continue beating the other man up in ways that could only be described as primal and very, very illegal.

it’s only a few more minutes before the match is ended and the two fighters are pulled away from each other, the battered one looking like he was one punch away from becoming limp.

the yells around you grow louder and louder, the sound rattling around in your head. you wince, trying to smile for bri as she jumps up and down. you know this is only the beginning of the night and can’t afford to bring the energy down.

the white haired one turns around, raising his hands as he asks for the noise to grow louder, a smile on his face as his bandaged hands curl into fists, one pumped victoriously in the air.

but that’s not what takes you by surprise.

your eyes widen in shock when you see his face, mouth dropping almost comically when you realize this isn’t a random street fighter,

but the nerdy boy who sits next to you in your neuroanatomy class.

and judging by the way gojo looks around until he sees you, the proud smile on his face faltering for a second before his eyes cloud with utter confusion,

he wasn’t expecting to see you here either.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ snuggles for hire

summary: first years try helping you out with your touch-starved problem type of post: short fics (blurbs?) characters: leona, floyd, jade, vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

"Really? That's it?" Ace scoffs.

"So, they haven't been hugged in a while. Okay? Neither has Deuce,"

Deuce glares. It's almost menacing. "That's not true, and you know it! I get lots of hugs every time I visit home!"

"I do, too. But that's just the thing, though, ain't it?" Epel says. "They don't have no home to get hugs from."

The huddle of first years goes quiet. Some days, you become such a part of their world, they forget you're really not from it.

"...Okay, point taken," Ace sighs. "But they have Grim! And he only stinks like, half the time!"

"If memory serves, Grim usually sleeps on the floor..." Epel says. "Poor prefect, all lonely. Now even their sleep is suffering 'cause of it!"

Jack rubs the back of his neck. "It must be tough, not having anything to look forward to,"

Another melancholy silence. Finally, Ace stands, hands on his hips.

"Well, let's do something about it, then. There are tons of boys at this school- one of them should be willing to help,"

It's eight in the morning after another disappointing attempt at rest, and now you can't even sleep in. Damn visitors.

You throw open the front door.

"What? What could you possibly- wh- Leona?"

The housewarden smirks. He looks a little too proud of himself for this early in the morning...

"A little wolfie told me you weren't sleeping well. Lucky for you, that's my specialty. Now, are you gonna let me in, or what?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, letting himself in and making himself comfortable on the couch in the foyer.

He pats the spot next to him.

"Listen..." you say. "I don't know what you heard, but I'm fine."

"Don't be proud. I don't pity you, I just... owe you. Now get your butt over here, yeah?"

Leona isn't so scary when he's asleep. He's more like... the world's largest pillow. Of course, you're at risk of being smothered until you crawl into a better position, but once you're on top, he's surprisingly warm and comfortable.

You can tell you're being watched before you hear anything.

And you think you might just know wh-

"Shrimpyyy!"

For two boys so tall, the tweels are awfully quiet. Especially when it comes to "surprising" you in random places. This time: the hall.

Floyd pulls you into a bone-crushing hug while Jade watches from behind, smiling subtly.

When he finally lets you down, you're dizzy. (Though, at this point, you'll take whatever physical touch you can get).

"Shrimpyyy, why didn't you tell us you were lonely? We had to squeeze it outta Spade," Floyd pouts.

"His face makes fascinating expressions when he's afraid," Jade says, merrily.

Before you can answer, Floyd's already got you under his arm (seriously? Where do they find the strength?) and is heading straight towards the hall of mirrors.

You already know there's no getting out of this one...

Floyd is, unsurprisingly, all over, from leaning his whole body weight against you to lying across your lap, to biting your shoulder (in his sleep...?) Oh, and he drools, too.

Jade sits on your other side, one hand holding yours, the other leafing through an almanac from twenty years ago.

You're almost hesitant to admit just how nice it really is.

"And nothing else has worked?" Vil says, throwing open the door to your bedroom with no regard for a "hello" or, "how are you?"

You blink. "...Hello to you, too. May I ask what you're talking about?"

He storms inside, standing over you with his hands on his hips.

"Just that I overheard Epel Felmier asking my vice housewarden if he would be willing to satisfy your need for physical affection. You've been struggling? With sleep? And you didn't think to come to me, first?"

He almost sounds... offended that you didn't.

"...Well... I wasn't making a big deal about it,"

"So, no teas, no vitamins, no pills- nothing has helped?"

You shake your head. He sighs.

"Perhaps it is purely psychological... very well. Get up. I hope you don't toss and turn much, I'm a light sleeper,"

Vil is completely still when he sleeps. No tossing, no turning, no drooling, no snoring. He also insists on sleeping on his back, you, clinging to his side, and a single arm around you. Just as elegant as when he's awake. He'd be a true sleeping beauty if not for the mumbles of nonsense that come from him every few minutes. You swear you can make out your own name, once or twice or three times...

He is warm nonetheless, and his mumbles and idle stroking of his fingers on your waist is enough to satisfy you for a night of good sleep.

[heartswithinreach]

your post about sylus essentially conditioning the reader to sit on his lap hasjsakddf that was so perfect and in character 😭 i love it sm its given me so much brain rot - how bout this:

can i request the lads boys reaction to the reader randomly asking to be carried/picked up in the middle of walking? for no other reason just to see how'd they react lol

LaDS casually carrying MC

Xavier

The most casual. He just smiles at you and asks, "Bridal or piggyback?" in the same tone as if he's asking what you want to eat.

And he's not just playing along. He means it. He wants to be the one you lean on — metaphorically and literally.

You can try and backtrack but then you'll get those eyes. The bluest puppy dog eyes that can break the strongest of wills. "Are you sure? We still have a few blocks to go to the café, I don’t want you to get tired..."

You feel like you're holding out on him by not letting him carry you. The mind tricks this man is capable of to get what he wants are ridiculous.

You fold embarrassingly fast and Xavier is happy as can be with you on his back, your arms and legs around him like a full-body embrace. He can see the tactical advantage to carrying you like this during missions, too.

Rafayel

"You want me to carry you?“ Rafayel scoffs. “What if I pulled a muscle in my arm and couldn't draw for a week? No thank you!"

He refuses until you ask if it's not that he doesn't want to carry you, but that he can't.

Now you've wounded his pride. He might not be the God of the Sea anymore, but he can't let this go unanswered! Rafayel will be on you relentlessly to let him pick you up, no matter how long it takes.

"Whoa, be careful, cutie! There's no telling how deep these puddles are from all the rain — you're super lucky your boyfriend is here to carry you to safety."

When you finally break and let him do it just so he can prove a point, he realizes he likes this way more than he thought he would. You're like his adorable little prisoner and the only way you're getting out is in praise and smooches. This will become a regular thing, I fear.

Zayne

“I told you to wear more comfortable shoes.”

Zayne inwardly grins at how quickly you deflate at his blunt response. It's adorable.

But Zayne has a hard time denying you something so innocent as wanting to be close to him. So he guides your arm to wrap around his shoulders and picks you up with a strength that always takes you by surprise.

He waits for you to settle comfortably in his arms before he starts walking. He's aware of the disapproving stares from the people around you and not too long ago, he would've been one of them. How quickly his perspective has changed because of you.

Zayne is brought out of his thoughts when he feels you peck his cheek and now you get that oh so familiar look of gentle reproach from him. "I am working on being more affectionate but I'm not there yet, MC. Now, behave or your ride will end early."

Sylus

Sylus is so caught off guard that, for once, you can see his entire thought process play out through his expressions.

Surprise at your request, suspicion you're just toying with him, the realization you're being somewhat serious, and then the most gratified look you've ever seen on his stupid smug face.

Now you’re speaking his language. So delighted you’re finally catching on, he just picks you up and continues on his way without breaking his stride.

However, you didn't specify how he should carry you. So you're draped over Sylus's shoulder and to keep you there, his hand is dangerously high up on your thigh for being in public. The smack on your ass is so inevitable, you can feel it like it's already happened.

"You just said you were tired, now you want me to put you down? You need to learn to make up your mind, kitten. I'll just carry you until you're sure of what you want."