all im saying is ✨Logan with a knot✨ and Wade overstimulating you bc you cant get away -🦐
shrimp anon more like shrimp COLORS bro your vision is INSANE!!!!!!
soooo idk conventional a/b/o rules and i kinda don't care so im picturing a heat cycle as once a month endeavour. and bc you're on T you're a HORNY motherfucker and you're angry and violent so it's basically whoever can get their hands on you or knot in you first will take care of you. then as long as you get bred at least once you're fine. then you calm down and it's big aftercare hours bc your post-heat clarity endorphins are going CRAZY
now since your heat only comes once a month, wade treats it as a special occasion. and it wouldn't be fair of him to do the honors EVERY month, now would it?
so even though he's home with you, and logan's not, and won't be for a while, wade wilson will refuse to fuck you. it's not his turn. he did it last month.
and your heat is MISERABLE. imagine the worst period cramp you ever had, combined with hot flashes, searing rage, and it gives your cunt the sensitivity of a fucking bear trap. you'll clamp down on anything that touches you.
so no matter how much you suffer. no matter if you scream, cry, beg, grovel, bite, or commit acts of gratuitous violence against him.
he will hold out.
he will hold out until logan gets home and finds you naked, cuffed to the bed by your hands and ankles, a chewy ball-gag in your mouth getting crushed by your gritting teeth, and wade's holding a wand vibrator to your cunt.
he waves gayly at logan, "hey pinkie pie, merry christmas! wanna come open your gift?"
"jesus christ, are you fucking torturing him?! the hell is wrong with you?!"
"with ME?! where's your holiday spirit?"
logan just stares at him blankly, puzzled by what this psychotic dipshit could possibly be talking about. in response, and in the spirit of the season, wade sings him a song.
"🎼it's the mooost wonderful tiiiiime, of the mooonth~!🎵"
now he gets it.
"oh... okay. so then why did you tie him down like that?"
"well, we had a little INCIDENT earlier..."
--
you had managed to grab one of wade's guns and shot him in the chest
"OW!!! you RESOURCEFUL little shit!!! GRRR, oh~ mysweetboybabydarling i'msoproudofyou, butnoi'mnot, BAD BOY!!!"
--
"no, i mean why didn't you take care of him your-fucking-self, wilson? you really gotta make this my problem as soon as i walk in the fuckin' door?"
"your PROBLEM?! i hand you some prime-time, limited-edition, hot and bothered, ripe for the breeding, tranny boy BUSSY on a silver platter, and that's somehow NOT where your dick wants to spend its evening? am i hearing that right? please tell me i'm not. please tell me you're not this stupid, pookie bear."
instead of arguing back, logan goes quiet. he's thinking. and then, he laughs. that low, husky laugh that you have when you're marveling at the nerve of whatever dumb motherfucker is talking to you. or maybe, when that dumb motherfucker is making a point.
"heh... y'know what? fine." logan angrily strips his clothes off, one by one. his tanktop, "you want me to be the one to knot him? huh?" his belt, his jeans "can't do anything yourself, can ya?" and lastly, his boxers. then he grabs his cock and shakes it at wade.
"so then get me hard, you faggot." he clicks his tongue twice. "c'mon."
wade throws himself at logan's knees and gives him that gawkgawk4000turbotyphoon treatment to get him up. logan sighs in relaxation, grateful that wade was putting his mouth to such better use. once his eyes flutter open, he nods at you, finally giving you even a modicum of attention while you're under intense distress, and he merely waves at you nonchalantly, like how a pedestrian does to a car that lets him cross.
"hang tight, bub. be with ya in a second."
wade works him over until his knot is just barely starting to swell. he then takes his fattened cock and slaps wade across the face with it.
"take his chains off."
"hm... are you sure you want me to do that, princess? he's feisty, y'know. might get yourself bit, if you're not careful."
logan slaps wade again, but this time it's a bitchslap, using the back of his hand. and his claws.
"take. his fucking. chains off."
"mmm, right AWAY, your majesty~!"
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On TAZ-
Wow that sounds like I’m about to summarize some sort of discourse but I promise I’m not. I guess I’ll say that I really like this show and I will keep listening even if my worst fears come to pass, so keep that in mind!
For reference, I started listening near the end of Amnesty.
I’ve noticed, with the past few arcs- really since Ethersea- the narratives have just… not been fulfilling their promises, so to speak. They’ve been placing a lot of guns that don’t go off. What I mean by that is, the characters are great. Excellent, really. Lady Godwin? HELL YES. Emerich Dreadway? Fuck yeah! And so on! And the settings and premises have been epic- the goofiness and also horrifying nature of Engrave, the mad and thrilling world of Steeplechase- these things are COOL AS FUCK.
and then the actual narratives keep flopping?
And honestly, I notice it most in the endings, because you can really tell when an ending doesn’t land. You feel the sense of disappointment. But with vs. Dracula, for example, I could kinda see leading up to it that the ending couldn’t really BE anything special, because they lowkey didn’t set themselves up for it.
They spent the campaign fucking around in Engrave, finding clues and solving problems and not really experiencing any particularly meaningful character arcs or growth or, idk, forming relationships? So there wasn’t much to pay off, I’m not gonna lie!
Of course it doesn’t feel quite as dissatisfying when you’re in the thick of it, because they’re funny and the stuff is cool and- oh hey! Lady Godwin’s been turned into a werehorse against her will?? that’s got some real potential for a LOT of allegories and exploration of some fun character development! And then it’s kinda played as a joke. And then they do that again and again.
And they actually said that that was a move they made intentionally, in the TTAZZ. I’m not quoting them perfectly here, this is from memory, but I do remember them mentioning that they wanted lighthearted comedy without the burden of real life story stuff. And I get that, honestly, but… it’s not the choice I would’ve made. I do think you can keep a lighthearted tone while also, idk, forming relationships and wholesomely engaging with some amount of emotion. And sometimes going way too deep is funny as a tone shift!
But I digress. One thing that’s also popped out to me is the almost complete lack of any kind of romantic storyline or even references. This becomes obvious if you’re in a fandom because everyone is always dying to ship SOMEONE, and you can tell when people are really getting desperate. I don’t blame them for not wanting to roleplay romance with their family, and I do think stories lacking romance are COOL and SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED!
However if you can’t find ANYBODY to ship together… that may mean you just don’t have character bonds. The growing popularity of the PC polycule is interesting to me; I wonder if it’s partially because
a) none of the pcs have significant relationships outside of their party and
b) even within the party, there doesn’t seem to be much chemistry between any given pair of characters…? I hope I’m making my point well here- the PCs all seem equally close and have more or less the same relationship to all of their compatriots with little distinction, meaning, essentially, no shipping fodder that doesn’t involve just all of ‘em.
Either way, it makes me wonder if I can blame the “Graduation has too many NPCs!” critique. They really stopped giving the parties tag-along main NPCs after graduation, with the exception of maybe.. Urchin? Kodira? Shlabethany? Poppy? and even they get relatively little “screen” time. Steeplechase has great NPCs, I love them to death, but none of the PCs seem to ever have one on one conversations with NPCs or each other that do not explicitly focus on the plot. And I think that’s part of why the characters feel so underdeveloped despite having spent a lot of time with them- because in this character-driven genre, we get very little insight into their feelings or motivations or even their rudimentary backstories.
I started watching Fantasy High recently and it made me realize a couple things about TAZ.
1) Recently, TAZ has sooo few core NPCs, and it’s weird that the characters aren’t doing more one-on-one purely character based scenes. And that makes it really tough to develop them.
2) TAZ is- and I should have realized this before- one of many good dnd podcasts. They’re probably looking for a niche they can master.
And it sounds like they’re trying to get back to that old “Here there be Gerblins!” energy. They’ve referenced it so many times in recent TTAZZes- they wanted to be job-focused, allowing story stuff to happen organically, so they tried a more open world vibe with Ethersea. They wanted to be less afraid to kill stuff, so they tried playing criminals (and were still afraid to kill stuff). They wanted to be silly and light on character, as they tackled with taz vs dracula. Now they’re trying to bring in the silly cartoon vibe with Abnimals. I think they’re trying to make that family-friendly, funny and goofy show their niche. Something other actual plays can’t be better at them at.
And honestly it kinda makes me sad, that they keep trying to go back to Balance while ignoring everything they learned during it. Because I loved Dust. Because I loved Amnesty. Because I loved Ethersea. I loved these past arcs! But they keep doing their brilliant characters dirty for some reason!!! And i don’t know why!!!!
You know that meme about people who ask questions in movies and then the person responds “Have you ever been to a movie before? You watch them and the information is revealed.” There have been so many times in TAZ recently where information has Not been revealed and if they keep doing it the audience will stop bothering to suspend their disbelief, because the trust just isn’t there.
What is Montrose’s deal? What on earth was Carmine Denton’s whole thing? Tell me more about Zoox’s feelings, about Devo’s past, about Amber’s future. Show me how Lady Godwin feels about the body horror that is her life- like, seriously! WHY DID WE HAVE TO COMPLETELY DISMISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO DISCUSS GENERATIONAL TRAUMA IN MUTT’S LIFE FOR A JOKE??
Do you remember in Steeplechase where the boys were getting medical attention or something- i don’t remember, but they were all in one room and only talking about The Plot. And Poppy literally banged on the door (speaking for both Justin and me, tbh) and was like “does anyone want to share any feeeeelings??” and they were like NOPE! and they moved on!!
like. cmon. you can’t just put a character like montrose out there and then leave them severely underdeveloped to the point that what would be interesting in proper context, with audience insight, becomes confusing and chaotic.
I just wish they would take their stories as seriously as we do.
It feels to me like they don’t believe in themselves, and it makes me sad. Maybe they didn’t get the response they wanted from Ethersea and so they’ve been trying to pivot, hoping to recapture whatever it was that earned them a loyal audience.
Again, I love them. They’re so funny and I’ll keep listening until the day they stop making this show, and when it happens I’ll cry.
But i KNOW they have more in them. Remember the “we’ll grow gills” monologue from Justin in the Prologues? Remember Travis’s SOLID acting with Devo? Or his awesome choice to give Lyndon/Beef a clearly delineated work/irl identity? His excellent narration and prose? Remember when Montrose described being lonely?! Remember all those moments where Shit Got Real and you cared??? The nanofather said some dope shit! dracula and victor and sweater dracula had such a wild dynamic! Clint’s acting in Dust 2- I can’t remember the characters name right now- was ASTOUNDING, I genuinely didn’t know he had that in him and it blew me away!
I’m not referencing Balance on purpose, both because the fandom is way to hung up on it and because I want to prove that you don’t even have to look at Balance, or even Post-Balance arcs, to see this kind of good cool stuff!
GAAAAAAAGHHHH!!! I want them to have fun. But also. We’re starving out here.
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Hi! Idk if you’re requests are still open but!
Could you do a Donnie getting mad/having a bad day and he kinda explodes (with no reason/gratuitamente) with reader (she)? And they stay away from the lair for a while, and happy ending! (Just want heart-crushing angst with happy ending hsuahs)
(Tbh the prompt I actually thought was “Donnie was stressed and tired of being different, reader who’s autistic says they relate, so he explodes saying they don’t, how could they?” But idk if you’re ok with writing that, so I simplified it! ~I’m autistic, that’s why I thought of that~)
If my ask is to complicated or didn’t inspire you that’s tots ok! I understand! (Sorry this ask was so big too!)
Have a good day/ night! ☺️
It's okay, your prompt is amazing ☺️ Sorry for keeping you waiting for too long... I had to deal with college in the past several months.
I hope I did write the way you asked. Enjoy 💜
It was a quiet night in the lair, but that didn't reflect Donatello's internal state. The laboratory was plunged into darkness, save for the dim light of the monitors that cast dancing shadows on the walls. The frantic sound of the keyboard echoed, the only sound apart from the hum of the machines at work. Donnie was exhausted, physically and emotionally. His brain was burning with data overload, with formulas and calculations that didn't fit together as they should. It had been days of incessant research, of failed experiments, of trying to find solutions to problems that seemed to multiply.
Every mistake, every failure, was a nagging reminder that he needed to be better. He had to be better. There was no room for weakness. His brothers depended on him, the world depended on him. And the constant pressure to deliver results was starting to implode inside. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he kept pushing, ignoring the body that was crying out for rest, ignoring the accumulated stress.
She entered the laboratory, as she had done so many times before. Her steps were soft, as if she were trying not to interrupt, but her presence always brought a sense of comfort that Donnie appreciated, even if he never admitted it out loud. He was so focused that he barely noticed her coming until he felt the soft touch of her fingers on his shoulder.
"Hey, Donnie..." Her voice was soft, a gentle touch to his swirling mind. "Are you all right?"
Donatello barely lifted his eyes from the monitors, trying to recalculate a complicated sequence. "I'm busy now," he muttered, his fingers still running across the keyboard.
She waited for a moment, watching the tiredness on his face. She knew that he threw himself into his work when he was frustrated or anxious, and she had learned to give him space when necessary. But now, there was something different in the air. He seemed more tense than usual, more closed off.
She let out a little sigh, hesitating before speaking again. "I know you're busy, but... maybe it's time to take a break? You've been at it for hours..."
Her touch should have been a comfort, but at that moment, something in Donnie snapped. The pressure, the frustration, the accumulated tiredness - it all blended together in an explosion of emotions that he could no longer control.
“I said I'm busy!” His voice echoed louder than he had intended. He stood up abruptly from his chair, his eyes blazing with anger, anger that wasn't hers, but which ended up being directed at her. “Don't you understand? I can't stop! If I stop, I'll fail. If I fail, everything falls apart! And you here, distracting me with… with your unimportant things!
She took a step back, shocked. The impact of his words had hit her like a punch in the gut. Never, in all the time she had known him, had he spoken to her like that. Always so calm, so controlled… but now, he seemed on the verge of collapse. Her eyes filled with tears before she could control herself, but she refused to let them fall. She didn't want to show how much it had hurt her.
“I'm sorry for… bothering you.” Her voice was low, broken, almost inaudible.
She turned quickly and left the lab before he could say anything else, before the tears flowed. Donnie stood there, his heart racing, the echo of his words still hanging in the air. For a few seconds, he remained motionless, trying to process what had just happened. Then the guilt began to set in, slow and corrosive.
He had hurt someone who had never been anything but kind to him. He had hurt her.
She walked aimlessly through the streets of New York, the cold of the night beginning to bother her, but nothing compared to the tightness in her chest. The emotional pain was much stronger than any physical discomfort. She couldn't stop thinking about his words, the tone of his voice. It was as if the Donnie she knew, the one who always cared, who listened and understood, had disappeared, replaced by someone she barely recognized.
She walked for hours, wandering around the city, trying to find some clarity amidst the confusion of feelings. Part of her wanted to understand why he had exploded like that. He was overwhelmed, that was obvious. But did that justify what he'd said? The sharp words still echoed in her mind, and she wondered if he really thought that.
While she was lost in thought, Donnie was back in the lab, but his focus had completely disappeared. The screens flashed in front of him, but he could barely see what was written. Guilt was consuming him from the inside out. He knew he had made a mistake, that he had said horrible things. The frustration he felt wasn't her fault, and yet he had taken it out on the person who least deserved it.
Finally, he got up from his chair and left the lair. He needed to find her, he needed to correct the mistake he had made. He didn't know exactly what he would say, but he knew he had to apologize, he had to make amends.
After some time, he found her. She was sitting on top of a building, her gaze lost in the horizon. The evening breeze swayed her hair, and Donnie felt his heart squeeze at seeing her so far away, so hurt. He hesitated for a moment before approaching. Each step seemed heavy, weighed down by guilt and regret.
“Hey,” he called, his voice softer than before, almost fearful.
She didn't turn around immediately, but he knew she had heard. Donnie sat down next to her, keeping a respectful distance. The silence between them was thick, full of unspoken words, but he knew he needed to speak, needed to break through that wall he himself had erected.
“I'm sorry,” he began, his voice low, sincere. “I… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You didn't deserve that. None of it was your fault.”
She remained silent for a few moments, and he almost thought she wouldn't answer. But then she sighed, her eyes still fixed on the city.
“Why did you do it, Donnie?” her voice was broken, and he realized how much his words had really hurt her. “I just… I just wanted to help you. And you pushed me away.”
Donnie closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his own failings. “I know. I know you were only trying to help. And I… I was an idiot. I was frustrated, tired, and lost control. But that's no excuse for what I did.”
She finally turned her face to look at him. Her eyes were watery, but the anger had given way to a deep sadness. “You didn't have to hurt me like that, Donnie. I'm always here for you, you know that. And yet… you blew up at me, as if I was part of the problem.”
Her words dug deep into Donnie's heart. He had been the cause of her pain, and now he could clearly see the impact his actions had had. It wasn't just the momentary explosion, but what came after - the insecurity, the doubt. He needed to fix that.
Donnie swallowed, feeling small in the face of what he had caused. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice full of regret. “You're… the last person in the world I wanted to be cruel to. I was just so overwhelmed, with all the pressure of being the brains, of having to sort everything out for my brothers… And I ended up taking it out on you.”
She sighed, looking at the horizon again. “I understand that you have this responsibility, Donnie. I know how much you carry. But I was also there, trying to share that weight with you. And you pushed me away, as if I wasn't important.”
Her words pierced his heart harder than any physical attack could. She was right. He had spent so long concentrating on his own burden that he didn't realize how much she was trying to help, how much she wanted to be there for him.
“I was wrong,” he said, with more conviction this time. “I was wrong about everything. I know I can be controlling and stubborn, but I need you. I… want you by my side. You're important to me. More than I can express.”
She remained silent, absorbing his words. He moved a little closer, reaching out hesitantly and placing his hand gently on hers.
“I promise,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I promise I'll try to be better. I'll work on myself, on how I handle things, so that this doesn't happen again.”
She looked at him, her eyes finally meeting his, assessing the sincerity she saw there. And she realized that, although he had made a mistake, he was willing to do whatever it took to make it right. It was a long road, but she knew Donnie was committed to walking it.
“I want to believe that, Donnie,” she murmured, her voice still tinged with a slight pain. “I just… need some time.”
He nodded, understanding. “I understand. And I'll give you as much time as you need.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, side by side, watching the city lights. The noise of life below continued, indifferent to the emotions that filled the top of that building. But there, between them, time seemed to have slowed down, making room for reconciliation, for forgiveness.
She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, a small concession. He felt relief run down his spine, as if that simple gesture was proof that things would eventually be all right. He knew he was lucky - lucky that she was still there, by his side, even after everything.
Donnie wrapped his arm around her, gently pulling her closer, as if he were trying to protect her not only from the outside world, but also from himself. His heart was pounding, but this time, not out of guilt or anger, but out of gratitude. He knew he had a second chance, and he would do his best not to waste it.
They stayed there for a while longer, the silence now less heavy, more comforting. The cold night wind blew lightly, but Donnie felt the warmth of having her close again. She was still hurting, and he knew it would take time for everything to heal completely. But he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to win back her trust.
Finally, she stood up slowly, and Donnie followed her. She gave him a small smile, still shy, but which warmed his heart. “Let's go home,” she said, and those words were all he needed to hear.
Together, they descended from the building and headed back to the lair. The walk back was silent, but the tension between them had eased. She didn't hold his hand, but she didn't push him away either. For Donnie, that was a start.
And he knew that, in time, they would find a way to heal - together.
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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.2 (Anemone) a3d2
[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]
Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?
Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.
Word Count: 4,218
Notes: I don't feel like the summary completely matches this story anymore. I'm also not really satisfied with this chapter, but I'm too tired to really get into a whole bunch of drafts and edits, I've just really been feeling poorly lately. The archive is for writing progress anyways, it's fine. I'll probably rewrite this whole chapter if I ever get to where I'd be comfortable posting finished versions to Ao3. I'm also just not fond of my writing style somehow. It feels too formal, doesn't flow enough. Problem is that I really talk like that lmao. Idk, I'll figure it out.
Dividers by @saradika
Warnings: She/Her Reader
Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3
Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (coming soon <3)
Bangchan clambered into the van behind Felix, Minho and Jisung loading into the row in front of them. It always felt a bit weird to not spend some time swapping seatmates around based on who was clinging to who at the moment, but on days like today it was easier to just board the vehicles as quick as possible.
He's ended up with a relatively quite combination of their cluster today, and Chan was grateful for it as he settled into his seat with a pained grimace.
He wasn’t sure when it had started, but a persistent on-and-off pain had been roaming around his back for the last twenty minutes as they’d said goodbye to Stays and prepared to leave the venue. He’d be more worried about it, except the sharp, needle-like, pains would settle into a gentler ache before kicking back up again.
As it was, Chan was pretty sure he’d pinched a nerve or strained something and would simply rest when he got back to the hotel. Maybe call up the PT. For now, as three of his soulmates settled in around him, Chan was content to leave it be.
Well, almost. Another twinge of pain makes him wince as he twists to buckle in, and Chan decides that maybe it’d be a good idea to know what he was working with. For comfort’s sake, if nothing else.
“Felix,” He prods the blond next to him, “Can you look at my back for me? I think I pinched something.” He motions toward his lower back, where the majority of the pain had been accumulating.
Felix immediately nods his acceptance, their group’s resident massage expert always willing to lend a hand. Especially if it let him lay hands on his very well built soulmates.
Chan scooches forward and rotates around, balancing with his hand on the headrest of the seat in front of him. He helps Felix shimmy his shirt upwards, struggling with it where it gets caught in the seat-belt.
Chan ends up stuck struggling on his own as Felix chooses that moment to direct his eyes and hands to the afflicted area.
“There’s your first issue,” Felix tuts, “You’ve left your concealment tape on. You’ll give yourself a rash one of these days, hyung.”
Chan gives a sheepish smile from where he’s managed to trap himself in a cloth prison. His head is free, and the shirt his appropriately bunched up over his shoulders and around his neck. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to free his hands, so he’s got a bit of a t-Rex thing going on right now. It’s fine.
“I forget it’s there,” he confesses with a whine, “I can’t see my own back, y’know?”
Felix rolls his eyes at their oh-so-glorious leader, carefully peeling the thin material away from Chan’s skin as he scolds, “You still need to take it off. We sweat way too much to not at least change it after a performance.”
He’s bunching up the extra-strength tape to maybe toss at Jisung in the front seat (maybe Minho, if he’s feeling very brave), when he spots something off.
More than half a decade into having found each other, the members of Stray Kids were intimately familiar with each other’s soulmarks. Every drop of color, every line, every curve.
So when Felix looks at the freshly uncovered canvas on Chan’s back, familiar trees, bushes, and rocks painting a forested landscape that describes their impact on their eldest, something new immediately catches his eye.
There, on the fallen log that bridged two banks of a crystal-clear creek, was a moss blanket and a cluster little shelf mushrooms. They added life to the previously defunct object, a little bit of color that couldn’t have been said to be missing until it wasn’t.
The closer Felix looked, the more he saw. A mushroom here, a mossy patch there. Little signs of life and decay that he could have sworn weren’t there the last time he looked.
He looks to Jisung, who’s blissfully unaware.
As the first of their cluster to paint Chan’s skin with color, he was the most familiar with their leader’s mark. Jisung had been too young for his own mark to have appeared when he’d met Chan, but that didn’t stop him from influencing their eldest’s. They all knew he’d spent a lot of time studying Chan’s mark (and Changbin’s when it had appeared, already partially colored in) while waiting for his own.
If there was anyone who’d be more than certain of a change in their soulmarks, it’d be Jisung.
Felix swiftly removes his hands from Chan’s back, earning him a little noise of confusion from the prone man, and reaches over to poke Jisung harshly in the side.
Jisung immediately flinches away from the offending fingers with a loud yelp, attracting the attention of Minho, who’d been peacefully scrolling on his phone. Jisung swiftly fixes Felix with an offended glare, ready to retaliate, but is cut off before he can even try.
“Look at Chan’s mark for me.” Felix demands.
“My mark?” Chan echoes, baffled and alarmed. “What’s wrong with my mark?”
“Nothing, hyung,” Felix assures, “I just need to check I’m not seeing things.”
A series of furtive, silent, and, on Felix’s part, urgent, gestures are exchanged before Jisung finally relents and leans around the back of his seat, grabbing Minho’s for balance as the van departs.
Jisung lazily traces his eyes over Chan’s soulmark. All of Stray Kids had huge marks, but Jisung privately thought that Chan had them all beat. His mark spanned his entire back, not an inch untouched by the image. From shoulder to hip was an oil painting of a mark, filled in from what used to be a desolate landscape to what was now a thriving forest.
Jisung used to think it was so overwhelming to be part of such a mark. To be loved so much, and so deeply. It was evident in every brushstroke of the image on Chan’s skin, and in every action of the man himself.
These days, he found great comfort in it.
He’d gotten so lost in thought as he studied his soulmate’s mark that Jisung had almost missed what had caught Felix’s attention in the first place. But sure enough, his eyes catch on the same log that Felix’s had.
“Oh.” He whispers to himself. “Oh.” He says again, as Minho shoves his head under Jisung’s arm to look himself.
“No, yeah, that’s different.” He confirms, Minho nodding against him, having already spotted it for himself. The two of them find their eyes glued to tiny mushrooms, only sparing a moment to glance at each other before returning their gaze to Chan’s skin, each with their own racing thoughts.
“I thought so.” Felix nods to himself.
“What?” Chan questions, becoming more alarmed by the second, “What’s going on? What’s happened? What’s wrong with my mark?”
Felix lays his palms flat on Chan’s back and begins to rub gentle, soothing, circles. Any changes to a soulmark were stressful at the best of times, and they all knew how much Chan treasured his.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Felix soothes, letting the warmth of Chan’s mark resonating with his touch calm them both as he searches for gentle words.
“It’s just,” He begins hesitantly, “Well, the good news is that you haven’t pinched or strained anything.”
“Good news?” Chan echoes, “Is there bad news?” He lets a nervous giggle fall from his lips even as he relaxes into Felix’s hands.
“Not necessarily?” Felix says uncertainly, “It’s just. Well. Your mark has changed.” He pauses a second and pulls out his phone, quickly snapping a picture and then passing it around so Chan can see. “Something’s been added.”
Felix lets the implication of his words sit untouched in the air as the three of them wait for Chan to process what this means.
Ironically, Chan was the least familiar with his own mark out of all of them. His and Minho’s both resided on their backs so it stood to reason that the two of them didn’t see their marks very often. So it was no surprise that it took Chan several, very long, moments to spot the tiny changes.
When he does, Chan pulls in a deep, stuttering breath. The pain is already fading out to an ache now that it’s been acknowledged and Chan isn’t sure how he feels about the extra confirmation.
He carefully pulls his shirt back down, breaking his soulmate’s line of sight like they hadn’t already burned the image onto their retinas. He doesn’t remove his eyes from Felix’s phone.
“I...” He trails off, “I have another soulmate?” His voice is filled with wonder as he marvels at the picture of his mark. He looks up at the rest of his soulmates currently in the van with awe. “We have another soulmate?”
“Yeah,” Minho whispers, voice choked with emotion, “Yeah it looks like it.”
Felix doesn’t wait for Chan to fully turn around before he’s pulling their leader into a bone-crushing hug, giddy, disbelieving, laughter spilling out of him even as tears prick at his eyes.
“Oh my god!” Felix celebrates quietly as Chan wiggles to return his hug just as tightly. “Oh my god.” The other man agrees.
Even as his soulmates celebrate around him, each feeling their own storm of emotions, Chan can’t quite grasp the reality of the situation.
Stray Kids was a uniquely large soul cluster. From the beginning, when it had become evident that Hannie wasn’t his only soulmate, it had caused issues. Then came Bin, and the rest had followed like dominos. Each time their circle expanded he’d thought “this has to be it, right?” and each time there was a little voice in the back of his mind saying, “No, not yet.”
The issue was that that feeling, that little voice saying ”not yet”, the knowledge that they weren’t complete, had never gone away.
By the time they had all met, none of them could spot anything obviously missing from their marks. All of them were completely colored, lines drawn, images complete. And yet, every one of them felt that hollowness of an incomplete bond.
They’d talked about it a lot. Individually, as a group, in pairs and in quartets and seemingly endless combinations. It was hard, as the years went by, to ignore that nagging feeling.
Chan would always remember Jeongin crawling into his bed in the middle of the night, crying and apologizing for not being enough. Could never forget taking Jisung to a rage room so they could both break down their feelings or drinking with Changbin and wondering if it was wrong for them to be so greedy as to want more when they already had so much.
After so many years, they’d begun to wonder if they were just broken. If they didn’t have another soulmate out there after all, and it was all in their heads.
It had been hard. It was hard.
And now that little blank space in his soul was painted with someone else’s colors and Chan felt whole in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever experience.
It kind of made him want to cry.
He wanted to cry even more when Felix innocently asks, “So what were they like?” An unmatched eagerness in his eyes as Chan pulled away.
That one guileless question triggers a realization in Chan that has his groaning in despair and slumping forward back onto Felix’s shoulder.
“I don’t know.” Chan mumbles into the shoulder of the slighter man.
“What was that?” Jisung questions from where he and Minho were still turned toward him, obviously as curious as Felix.
“I said I don’t know!” Chan wails, wilting further into Felix’s frame.
“How do you not know?” Minho questions incredulously. Felix gasps as he connects dots he’d been too excited to before.
“I didn’t even know my mark had changed before now,” Chan explains miserably, “I don’t even know exactly when the pain started.”
Jisung sucks in a hiss of air, sympathy splashed across his face. “Oh geeze,” he breathes out, “How many people have we met today alone?”
“Ok, well,” Felix interjects, “Not ideal, but we’ll figure it out!”
Minho turns his incredulous stare onto the optimistic man.
"How are we going to figure it out?" He demands, "Because there were tens of thousands of people in that stadium and I know every single one of us shook dozens of hands tonight."
Felix wilts a little bit even as Jisung comes to his defense, "We kind of have to figure it out, hyung," he points out, "And soon. We're back to Seoul soon."
"Okay but how?" Minho challenges, "And don't give me any 'with the power of love and fate' crap."
"We might have to rely on fate." Chan shrugs, dejected. "It's not like I have a description or anything to give out."
"It'll be okay Channie hyung," Felix pats Chan's back lightly from where they're still entangled together, "It'll have to be."
The van descends into silence as the four of them contemplate their new situation. After a few minutes Chan leverages himself up and out of Felix's embrace to frown aimlessly at his knees.
"Well," Felix breaks the silence, "We don’t have any more shows after this, and we have some days of break time, right?”
“Right,” Chan confirms, “We have tomorrow off and then we’re returning to Seoul to start working on the next album.”
“But officially,” Felix hedges, “We have, like, an entire week off, don’t we?”
“Not quite, but sure,” Chan hesitantly agrees.
“Well, we know they were in town for the concert at least,” Felix continues, “So as long as they didn’t leave the city immediately after, I mean, there's seven more first contacts to go, right?”
“Are you saying we should spend our break wandering around trying for first contacts?” Jisung asks, “Because I’m all for searching for them, but I don’t know that aimless wandering is gonna help.”
Chan holds up his hands to halt that conversation before it could devolve into a bigger debate.
“Let’s shelve that for now, and meet up with the others at the hotel,” He suggests, “We should discuss this as a group anyways.”
He receives a variety of agreements and the four of them settle in for the short remaining drive back to their hotel. He absently hands Felix’s phone back to him and retrieves his own from his pocket to ask the others to meet them in his room.
Chan looks out the window, post-concert fatigue all but a memory. As the buildings pass by, he can’t help but hope that their mystery soulmate was looking for them too.
You reaffirm your decision to never ever meet your soulmates as Taylor loads you into the car, arm wrapped protectively around your shoulder the whole way.
It was one thing when your stupidly large soul cluster was just an idea. Knowledge you held, but unactionable in any way.
It was another when you had evidence, in the form of little white flowers burning with warmth on your skin, that they were real, physical, people.
Even worse when you knew that they were a group of very famous musicians.
You hadn’t actually been sick when you’d texted Taylor, who’d thankfully managed to get all of the autographs he’d wanted before he’d checked his phone to try to find you, but you were getting there. Anxiety had nausea creeping up your throat like molasses.
You’re beyond grateful when your roommate doesn’t question your sudden illness, the both of you well aware that you were hale and hearty when you’d left the house.
Taylor just buckles you in like you’re something precious and fragile and takes the wheel.
The two of you drive in silence the entire way home. It’s not awkward, but you can’t deny the weight of something heavy in the air. The buzz of the concert still lingered between the two of you, and it only made the silence stifling and itchy.
When you pull into your apartment complex neither of you speak for a long moment.
“Sorry for ruining the day.” You murmur to the air in front of you. Taylor just reaches over to pat your thigh and unclip your seatbelt.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” He assures, “Don’t sweat it.” He hesitates a moment before continuing.
“I’m not gonna push,” Taylor begins gently, “But you know you can talk to me, right? Whatever happened, I’m not gonna judge. I just wanna be here for you.”
“What makes you think something happened?” You mutter mulishly. Taylor just gives you a look that has you sinking into your seat.
“It’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic.” You admit. He bumps your shoulder with his and climbs out of the car.
“It’s not nothing if it makes you feel something.” He tells you as he goes. The two of you walk up to the apartment in silence, contemplative this time.
You think about telling him as the two of you separate to wash the concert off of yourselves. You think about it as you take turns using the bathroom and as you make dinner side by side. You think about it as you settle in front of the couch at his feet as his hands automatically pull your head to his knees, his fingers digging into your hair just how you like.
You want to tell him, you decide. You do. It's just that. Well...
Your sister was right, in a way. You’d known Taylor for over a year now, but the two of you didn’t really know much about each other. You really were just roommates.
You didn’t know what his favorite color was. You didn’t know the names of his parents, or if he had any siblings. You barely knew what he did for a living. He’d only ended up your roommate by virtue of you responding to his “roommate wanted” ad with full willingness to be murdered on the spot.
At the same time, the two of you knew everything about each other. You knew how he took his coffee in the morning, that he preferred his eggs dry and over-seasoned. You knew the bands he liked and the games he played. You knew his hobbies better than you knew your own sometimes, and more about his friend’s drama that you ever wanted to.
You know the important things, you think.
You know that every word you tell him in confidence will be clutched tightly all the way to the grave.
“I met my soulmate today.” You confess, your cheek pressed to his knee, half-asleep.
The words somehow feel like they were snatched from the darkest depths of your soul as they spill from your lips. You make no move to take them back.
Taylor’s hand, to his credit, only pauses for a moment. Then he treats your hushed admission like any other comment made while you nod off to dramas the both of you know you only watch for him, resuming the soothing movement of his hand and humming lightly to acknowledge you.
You think it’s that casual treatment that lets you find the courage to continue.
“Well, one of them anyway.” You mumble. Taylor hums his interest, but doesn't take his eyes off of the screen and doesn’t stop petting your hair.
“I don’t want to meet them. There’s so many of them and only one of me, y'know? I don’t even know how to love myself, how am I supposed to love eight other people?” Taylor says nothing still, his eyes glued to an episode of a drama you know the two of you have already finished three times over.
“I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. I’m scared they’ll fuck me up.” Your voice cracks as you breathe life into one of your deepest fears. You realize as you say it that you’ve never voiced these thoughts aloud before, even to yourself.
Tears prick at the back of your eyes when you admit, “I’m not ready for them. I don’t think I can be.”
Taylor finally gives in to the seriousness of the conversation and hauls you bodily up onto the couch. You go willingly, but with rag-doll limpness. He rearranges you to his liking and you find yourself in Gossip Position, sitting criss-cross facing him.
“First of all,” He starts in, his usual levity giving way to a seriousness you rarely see from him, “Don’t be mean to my best friend. I’ll hit you.” You ignore his threat in favor of the warm feeling in chest at hearing him call you his best friend.
Take THAT Ma! No friends your glorious behind.
“Secondly, you are literally the most loving person I have ever met in my life. You would fit the entire world in there if you could,” He pokes your chest, right above your heart, for emphasis, “So I’m not that surprised you have more than one soulmate.”
“I have eight though,” You argue, “Isn’t that weird?”
Taylor just shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But weird is basically your brand, so...” He trails off with a teasing smirk.
You shove him a bit in retaliation, but he just grabs your wrists to still you and continues speaking before you can argue.
“I don’t think eight soulmates is enough for you, honestly,” He muses, “I mean it when I say you’re the most loving person I know. I think you’d even try to take care of Danny if he needed you to.” The mention of Taylor’s very creepy second cousin sends a shiver down both of your spines.
The worst part is that you can’t even argue with him.
“But you know, even with eight soulmates, you don’t have to be with them.” Taylor suddenly switches tracks to reassure you, “They’re your soulmates sure, but you’re your own person. They’re for you, it’s not like they are you. You can live without, if you really want to.”
The two of you let that statement settle for a moment. He’s right, you know all too well. Still, the thought leaves a wad of uncomfortable and complicated feelings lodged in your throat.
After a moment’s pause, you break the silence.
“I have too many years of trauma and not enough therapy money to unpack everything I’m feeling right now.”
Taylor cracks first, and giggles come pouring out of the two of you. The joke wasn’t even funny, but you guessed the two of you had been serious for far too long.
Some minutes later, when the giggles finally die down and you return to watching Taylor’s show, you find yourself with your head on his shoulder.
“Whatever you decide, you know I’m here for you, right?” Taylor quietly picks up where the conversation had left off.
“Sure,” you agree, “Like I was there for you when you cried over a boy I told you wasn’t shit.” You completely deserve the elbow to the side you receive for that comment.
“Shut up, I’m being cheesy!” Taylor scolds with a laugh.
“I’m lactose intolerant!” You complain, but obligingly fall silent.
“Seriously,” Taylor insists, “I’ll be here every step of the way. Whatever you need.”
You wrap your arms around the one of his that you’re leaning on and give a gentle squeeze to show your appreciation. “Thanks Tay.” you murmur.
“Of course. You got me front row tickets to a SKZ concert, we’re ride or die whether you like it for not!” You poke his side to scold him for not being serious after just insisting that you be, but end up having to fight for your life when he immediately retaliates by trying to tickle you.
It takes the two of you quite a while to calm down again, Taylor smug in his victory. He holds your ankles in his lap like trophies of war as you stare at the ceiling. The quiet creeps back in quickly, so you speak.
“I’m just not sure what I want, I think.” You tell him, “I don’t want to meet them. But at the same time, I really do, y’know?”
Taylor nods, “Just let the universe do its thing.” he suggests, “If you’re meant to meet them now, you’ll meet them regardless of what you want. But after you meet them, it’s all up to you.”
You nod along, humming your acceptance of his advice. He’s right, again. You can’t really fight fate, even if you desperately want to. But even within that large restraint, you’re a human being with free will. The world is your oyster and all that.
You let your thoughts fade out and just listen to Taylor yap about the drama on the TV as he finally tunes back into it.
It’s nearly dawn when the two of you decide to turn in, post-concert jitters having deserted you and heavy conversations having taken their toll.
“Did you manage to get their name before you bolted?” Taylor asks out of nowhere as you’re walking to your respective rooms. “Your soulmate’s” He clarifies at your confused look.
“Oh, I didn’t need to.” You answer absentmindedly, already opening your door and dreaming of your cozy sheets. “It was Bangchan.”
You close your door on his gawping face, blissfully unaware of the crisis you’d just sent him into.
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