#his own memories and can problem solve on his own

[donkoogrr]

Ayo, I'm looking for a fic that has the ABSOLUTE BEST reasoning for why the Joker is still alive. I read it once and can't find it again.

Basically, it's from Jason's pov as he died his Red Hood schtick, but Batman reacts very differently to the identity reveal. He tells him that the Joker that killed Jason is dead, he has been avenged, and that the Joker he's holding hostage is someone else.

Bruce talks Jason down, promises explanations, and gets him to return to the Batcave.

Cut for spoilers and length.

It turns out that the Joker has been running a stealth immortality campaign for years. He injects innocent people with what's essentially a time bomb of his own DNA, memories, and Joker toxin to rewrite a person's mind and change their body. It is very comic book science.

What it means is, every time the Joker dies, a random person in the world has their life destroyed as they become the new Joker. And there's no telling how many people are infected. There's no telling they can't all be triggered at once if Batman lets on that he knows what's going on.

Maybe they've never even met the true Joker and there's just a person out there constantly spreading this plague while someone else rots in Arkham or carries out their various plans.

Batman implores Jason to understand what would happen if the truth of this got out into the world. Forget the Gay/Trans Panic Defense, people would start killing each other for laughing suddenly or looking too pale or dyeing their hair green. Governments would definitely overstep boundaries. There would be mass panic.

All Batman can do is keep the only active Joker alive and contained as best he can while he tries to find the source of the problem. It's taking years, yes. He has to be careful, and shit keeps happening. There was an earthquake, an outbreak of genetically modified super ebola, a broken back, so many immediate world crises. But he's always been working on this.

And when Red Hood finds that he can't fault this logic, that this Joker is just some missing person case that won't be solved until he's a corpse, Batman drops the other bombshell.

He believes that Red Hood is also a missing person who only believes he is Jason Todd, because the LoA has access to the same technology. Ra's and Joker were working together when Jason was murdered. He's gonna just knock Jason out real quick now and get that little chip of recorded memories, and DNA out of him.

Except that when Jason wakes up, he's still Jason and his Dad is at his bedside, head in hands, having found no microchip.

SO YEAH it's my favorite excuse as to why Joker stays alive and why his personality/violence level keeps shifting. And I can't find the fic that inspired it. Please let me know I'm not in the wrong timeline and that this fic does in fact exist.

[askcosplaysenpai]

Nice pic you got for your header image now spill the tea👀

Prepare yourself, this is a full cup.

All of this is relevant.

My earliest memory is from sometime in the late 80's, falling asleep on my dad's lap at my grandparents house while he watched Star Trek: The Next Generation. I used to run around with a headband over my eyes because I wanted to be Geordie LaForge. I have, quite literally, loved Star Trek for as long as I can remember.

My dad was a boy when the original series started airing. He is genuinely one of the most insightful people I've ever known. Put him in a room full of strangers, and watch the ripple of heads turning to listen to what he's saying. He can fix anything. He is honest and fair, but never cruel. He's comfortable being in charge because he believes in doing what's right and trusts his own decisions. And I wanted to be just like him.

My partner's dad was a teen during the TOS era. I don't know if I've ever met anyone more intelligent. Math, philosophy, art, you name it, he knows it all. He can critique with an acumen that cuts like a knife. He is fiercely loyal to those he loves, and cares not for the opinions of others. Fact, not emotion, is the way he approaches problem solving. And she wanted to be just like him.

Fast forward to last summer. It had been a while since I'd delved back into Star Trek, but I was feeling the itch and the things we love are better shared. She and I both have a great appreciation for stagecraft, and pre-digital midcentury acting is really only one step away from theatre. I found non-remastered versions on DVD, and we sat down to watch them.

I'd seen TOS before, but watching it anew with her was a completely different experience. We both fell in love, with the franchise and the characters specifically. We realized how much we related to Kirk and Spock. Soon after, we realized we'd been grandfathered their personalities from our fathers. We decided to take them to our annual trip to Yama-Con in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

I teach costume design at the Portland Fashion Institute. Accuracy is important to me when it comes to making a cosplay. I did my best to source original patterns and materials, and made what I couldn't find from scratch. My partner has a brilliant hand for makeup and hairstyling. She even cut my hair to match Kirk's.

I've been a guest panelist/cosplayer at Yama-Con every year since it started in 2013. My partner has joined me there as a guest in her own right since 2021. We coordinate our costumes to each other and to the panels we run.

The convention is usually the first week of December, so the con offers photos with Santa. Professional Santa and professional photographer. We have become friends with both the Santa and the photographer. At the convention, we schedule a (santa-less) photoshoot, then use those photos for our guest announcement for our next year of conventions.

The photographer and his partner have season passes to Dollywood, and we all went together after the con last year. He took photos when I proposed to her. A minute an a half later, he took photos when she proposed to me. Neither of us knew the other was proposing. I tell this side story to showcase how in sync we are, as no one who knows us was surprised by this.

So to answer your question: My header image is from our Kirk/Spock photoshoot from last year's Yama-Con, three days before we got engaged. I'm posting that image in full, as well as a few of my favorites from the shoot.

@tumbleofdorks is my partner<3 Here is the photographer

[betty-fran]

S01E25  “This Side of Paradise” or one of the K/S talks

I've read at least a few good analyses of this episode, which I don't want to repeat, but I also have a few thoughts on the subject.

I'm sharing Star Trek run right now with N, my sister, which is entirely justified by my tendency to hyper-fixate and her love of old movies, but what always surprises me is that when we look at the same things, we see something completely different. After all, we see the world not as it is, but as we are.

And then I ask myself, is K/S so obvious to me just because of who I am?

N liked Spock/Uhura since we first watched AOS about 6 years ago, which is still one of the main reasons we argue when we watch TOS today. My sister is an HSP, she enjoys reading Zweig and Maurois, unlike me (I was only able to read his history of France), and is a romantic, in the true Ivanhoe way. And while, in my opinion, Spock is objectively difficult to read in the light of a classic heterosexual hero, N somehow manages to do it, and I have to leave room for that because she's my sister. After all, he's so different from other male characters on screen, so noble and reserved that you really know - when he will fall in love, he will love only one person and be faithful to them all his life. Perceiving it this way, it's indeed possible to imagine him caring for the woman next to him, treating her with respect, but such a reading of his character is, at the same time, a complete disregard for his internal conflict, a rejection of even the possibility of this conflict existing.

The problem with TOS is that it's actually hard to tell what was planned from the beginning and what came out of reading between the lines. TOS is incredibly multi-layered, and it can be taken either completely literally or delved into the most subtle philosophical space, depending on the depth of the viewer's thought and their own life experience, but even in a literal reading, it always remains quite ambiguous.

It's obvious that Spock's conflict over his own otherness, his inability to feel that he belongs, is fundamental. This is exposed starting with S1EP3 "Charlie X", and only intensifies as the plot progresses. This may not be related to his sexual orientation, given his pronounced neurodivergence in the first place (read: Vulcans), but I believe it can explain a lot more things about him. There's a great analysis of the K/S dynamic and especially Spock, in his repressed homosexuality, here by @anghraine, which reminds me why Spock is a more difficult character for me to read than Kirk. Even with a literal reading of TOS, Kirk's character remains clearly bi/pan - despite existing objections from both sides. The experience of accepting my own homosexuality, its catharsis, was completely unknown to me. My orientation was never a difficult moment for me; my "something wrong with me" didn't depend on it, and couldn't be solved by it. I loved the women in my life just as the men, but as an autistic person, I saw in the eyes of both women and men the same inability to accept me for who I am, the fear of it. It's hard to erase from your own memories the moment of understanding that the only option to be with another person is to change your very essence. S01E25 “This Side of Paradise” certainly brings this to mind. Leila's declaration of love is both selfish and completely hopeless because it's also her realization of the impossibility of accepting Spock for who he is. The happiness she speaks of could only exist because Spock was a different person all this time, and this scene strikes me with its cruelty:

LEILA: I love you. I said that six years ago, and I can’t seem to stop repeating myself. On Earth, you couldn’t give anything of yourself. You couldn’t even put your arms around me. We couldn’t have anything together there. We couldn’t have anything together anyplace else. We’re happy here.

But more important to me is the scene on the bridge before this, when Spock is about to go to the transporter room to talk to Leila:

KIRK: Mister Spock, Miss Kalomi is strictly your concern, but should you talk to her while she's still under the influence of the spores? SPOCK: I'll be back shortly, Captain.

It's not particularly interesting in terms of dialogue, but it's incredibly valuable in the way it's played. It's a quiet, chamber theater scene of almost intimate realization - for Kirk, that Spock can leave him, and he can't hold him back because he has no right to; and for Spock, that he can never leave him, even if he wanted to. Spock's response is incredibly soft, almost reassuring; it comes easily because he's already accepted it. He means it. He will return, he always will. But Kirk, left alone in the semi-darkness of the studio set, must embrace his own zugzwang. This isn't the most revealing scene of jealousy on his part, but it's probably the first one so clearly realized. That's why I find this episode so important, not only for revealing the internal conflict of both Spock and Kirk, but for defining this unspoken tension between them.

Among all of Roddenberry's quotes, there is one that is not usually mentioned, but which is actually the most profound in explaining his attitude towards K/S:

Oh, I think for the same reason that most heterosexual relationships are not so much for the purpose of sex as many of us — many of the people even who are involved in them assume they are. Most of us go through life trying to find someone — trying to make contact with some of these strange aliens on this planet. . .on this precipice — seeking some assurance that we are not alone. That we are not just "bags of skin." That our consciousness will not just be snuffed out and forgotten — all too soon. Sex is — a great part of sex has nothing to do with the physical — the physical act is not so important — unless it affects the other person — but the real reason for touching a person is just to make this contact. To hold each other.

For me, Roddenberry remains a very controversial figure, because he is the reason for this Schrödinger's Cat, when K/S is at the same time the only objective canon, and can never be in the classical perception of it. He created a story about love, but he left no room for its physical expression. And I understand him better than I would like to - his desire to show that real things, the most important things, are above the physical. This is actually talked about often in TOS - in S1EP19 “Arena” Kirk, after defeating the Gorn and refusing to kill him, receives approval from Metrons, a much more spiritually advanced race, the inhabitants of this system where they were stopped for showing aggression, and who expresses hope that one day humans will evolve enough to make contact with them. Likewise, in S1EP27 “Errand of Mercy,” the Organians, who imitate a simple medieval life, are actually such a highly evolved race that they have long since ceased to be attached to a physical body, having only a spiritual one. This idea of ​​a higher form of existence that transcends the standard physical body is one of the core and often repeated ideas in TOS, and is a beautiful idea that, unfortunately, so far doesn't connect well with our mortal, physical world. Wanting a body does not mean wanting a soul. But, unfortunately, it also works the other way around. Would it be enough to have only one thing? What's worse - being physically close to someone who can never fully accept you, or loving someone you can't touch? Unfortunately, this is what makes people who easily read the depth of love between K/C on screen, freaks in the eyes of people unable to see it. They love each other, but it's still not enough for any average viewer to believe. That's what Roddenberry left us with, out of his good intentions. They never kissed, never really touched each other, not like lovers do, and this is the truest and most insidious proof that we are wrong. This makes K/S an almost Shakespearean tragedy in modern reality, a tragedy for people who can understand them, to see themselves in them, for people who don't fit into the accepted idea of ​​what love should be, whose love will always be wrong, insufficient, too much, strange, and frightening.

And while we're free to ignore it, it's still something that emotionally compromises me. For some reason, for reasons I don't understand, it feels like if they can't have this happy ending the way they are, I, as I am, can't either.

[wildstar25]

"No matter where I go, I can always depend on Couscous to be right by my side. An adventurer's best friend through and through."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[dearlenore]

NASTY DOG • S.REID

SUMMARY: sometimes spencer can’t help the impure thoughts he has about you…

PAIRING: fem!reader x perv!spencer

tags: reader is a bombshell, reader wears heels, reader canonly has big breasts, Spencer cannot stop fiending over reader, he needs a face full of boobs

a/n: perv Spencer solves all my problems 😵‍💫 not proof read and I’m currently high as a kite

w/c: 3.0K

DR SPENCER REID had a problem. A big one. And it wasn’t his IQ, eidetic memory, or statistical knowledge of serial killers.

It was you.

You, with your radiant smile, your effortless charm, and a body that could make grown men weak in the knees. The worst part? You had no idea.

And that drove him absolutely insane.

You were oblivious to the effect you had on people, strutting into the BAU in heels that made your legs look just a little bit longer, wearing dresses that clung in all the right places. It wasn’t intentional—you just liked to feel cute—but Spencer? Spencer suffered.

He tried to be a gentleman. He really did. But then you’d absentmindedly play with the chain around your neck, biting your lip in concentration as you studied a file, and suddenly, his mind wasn’t on the case anymore.

It was on you. Your lips. Your fingers. Your throat.

The way your perfume lingered whenever you passed him, floral and sweet, was enough to short-circuit his brain. You’d lean over his desk, oblivious to how your cleavage was right there, and ask something completely innocent.

“Hey, Spence, can you help me explain this profile again? The LAPD is a little confused.”

His throat would go dry. His hands clenched under the desk, willing himself not to let his gaze drop. Not to let his mind wander to things it definitely shouldn’t.

But his thoughts always betrayed him.

And God help him when you stretched, arms above your head, making your shirt ride up just a little, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. Or when you bent over to pick up a fallen pen, giving him an unholy view of your curves.

Spencer wasn’t proud of it. The way his thoughts turned filthy in a matter of seconds. The way he sometimes found himself staying late in the office just so he could sit in the chair you had occupied, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume like a desperate man.

The way he memorized the little noises you made when you were frustrated, so he could imagine how they’d sound in… other contexts.

He was down bad.

And the worst part? You had no clue.

You giggled at his jokes, touched his arm casually, leaned close when he talked—probably thinking he was too sweet, too innocent to ever have impure thoughts.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

One day, you caught him staring—really staring—as you licked a bit of icing off your thumb after a slice of cake Garcia brought in. Your brows furrowed.

“You okay, Spence?”

His jaw clenched. He tore his gaze away and nodded stiffly. “Mhm.”

Spencer was unraveling.

The moment you caught him staring, really staring, at you licking icing off your thumb, he knew he was doomed.

He’d been careful before. Kept his thoughts contained, maintained the illusion of control. But that moment? That single, fleeting second when your brows furrowed in concern, your lips still slightly parted, your thumb glistening? It had cracked something inside him.

And now, everything was worse.

Everything about you was a test, and Spencer was failing.

Like now.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging your legs slightly, the soft click of your heels against the wood filling the space between you. The team had just wrapped up a case, and everyone was unwinding in their own way—Morgan and Garcia were engaged in some playful banter, JJ and Emily were chatting quietly, and you?

You had made yourself comfortable next to him.

“So,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against the case file in front of him. “Explain this whole… psychics magic thing to me again? I swear, sometimes I think your brain runs on another frequency.”

Spencer swallowed, his hands tightening into fists in his lap. He could explain it. It was an easy enough request.

But you were so close.

Close enough that if he turned his head just a little, his lips would nearly brush against your shoulder. Close enough that your perfume was clouding his thoughts, floral and sweet, a scent he’d come to associate only with you.

And then you did it again.

You bit your lip in thought, eyes scanning the file, completely oblivious to the way Spencer’s gaze dropped like a magnet, drawn to the soft, plump curve of your mouth.

He had to force himself to look away, focusing on a spot anywhere that wasn’t you.

“Right,” he started, voice tight. “Well first of all the reaction—”

But then your fingers brushed against his.

It was nothing. A fleeting touch. You were just shifting, adjusting, existing in your usual, unconscious way.

But to Spencer? It was an electric shock straight to his spine.

He inhaled sharply, shifting in his chair, pretending to be deeply invested in the case file when, in reality, he hadn’t registered a single word on the page.

“Spence?” Your voice was soft, teasing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No.

Not even remotely.

Because now, your fingers were still touching his.

His pulse was a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He needed to move. Needed to put distance between you before he did something stupid.

But then you tilted your head, your hair cascading over your shoulder, and that was when he noticed it.

Your necklace.

That damn, delicate chain you always fidgeted with. The one that had driven him insane more times than he could count.

And now? Now it had slipped down slightly, the pendant resting against the hollow of your throat, drawing his attention there.

Spencer clenched his jaw.

He could not be thinking about your throat. He could not be wondering how it would feel if he pressed his lips there, how your pulse would flutter beneath his mouth—

“Spence?”

His head snapped up.

You were staring at him, brows raised, a small, knowing smile on your lips.

Oh, no.

You knew.

Or at least, you suspected something.

“I, uh—” He cleared his throat, yanking his hand away as if your touch burned. “I should—uh—get some tea.”

Lame. So unbelievably lame.

But you just giggled. “You don’t even drink green tea .”

Spencer muttered something unintelligible and practically fled to the break room, gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white.

This was getting out of hand.

He had always been good at controlling his impulses. He had trained himself to push past distractions, to focus, to keep his thoughts in check.

But you were proving to be an impossible equation.

It only got worse when the storm hit.

The team had been planning to leave early that evening, but the universe had other plans. A sudden downpour, heavy and relentless, had trapped everyone in the office. Morgan had grumbled about the drive home, Emily had sighed dramatically about her soaked shoes, and you?

You had sighed, looking out the window with a soft pout, clearly disappointed.

Spencer had to look away before he did something stupid, like stare at your lips again.

Eventually, the team had scattered, each person waiting out the rain in their own way. Garcia had dragged JJ off to help her with something, Morgan had disappeared down the hall, and somehow—somehow—Spencer had ended up alone in the bullpen.

With you.

You were perched on his desk again, scrolling through your phone, completely at ease.

Spencer, on the other hand, was about to lose his mind.

You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a small hum, and his gaze betrayed him again, dropping to where your shirt rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of soft skin.

He needed help.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you mused, looking up from your phone.

Spencer blinked. “Uh. Just thinking.”

You smiled. “About what?”

You.

He coughed. “Uh. The, um. Rain. It’s—uh—very hard- I mean uhm heavy..?”

A beat of silence.

Then you laughed.

A real, soft, sweet laugh that made his stomach flip in the most inconvenient way.

“Wow, Spence. You’re really on a roll with the small talk tonight.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t—I’m just—”

And then you did it. The final straw.

You scooted closer, your knees brushing against his, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He didn’t think. He didn’t analyze. He just acted.

One second, he was struggling for words, drowning in the scent of your perfume. The next?

His lips were on yours.

Soft. Hesitant. Like he was waiting for you to pull away, to laugh, to tell him he’d completely misread the situation.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you melted into him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and suddenly, hesitation was gone. His hands found your waist, gripping tight like he was terrified you’d disappear.

And when you let out the softest little noise against his lips?

Spencer was done for.

By the time you pulled away, both of you were breathless, your eyes wide, lips slightly swollen.

“Wow,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Wow.”

A slow, teasing smile spread across your lips. “So that’s what’s been distracting you.”

He groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder, and you laughed, wrapping your arms around him like you’d been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

Even now that you were dating, Spencer Reid still had a problem.

It was worse, really. Because now that he was allowed to touch you, kiss you, and hold you close, the temptation had only become harder to resist.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He did, more than he could put into words. But Spencer, being Spencer, was always just a little too shy, a little too embarrassed to fully admit how much you affected him.

Like right now, for example.

You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, your legs draped over his lap as you typed on your phone. Spencer sat beside you, trying desperately to act normal, though his mind was anything but.

He was so close to you. Too close, really. The scent of your perfume lingered around him, sweet and intoxicating, and every time you shifted, the soft curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers itched to touch you, to run his hands over the smooth fabric of your clothes, but his brain screamed at him to keep his distance.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, attempting to focus on something other than the way your skin seemed to glow under the soft light of his apartment. “Just thinking.”

You paused and glanced at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “About what?”

Spencer’s heart raced as his mind blanked. Don’t look at her, he begged himself. He could feel his gaze drifting toward you, the curve of your body so impossibly close. “The case from yesterday,” he managed to croak out.

You seemed to sense the tension, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Sure, Spence,” you teased, “the case. But you seem… distracted.” You leaned forward slightly, your legs shifting in his lap as you adjusted yourself. Spencer’s throat went dry. His heart pounded.

He wanted to touch you so badly. He wanted to let himself just be with you—really be with you. But the thoughts swirling in his mind were overwhelming. He didn’t know if he could handle it. You were so beautiful, so confident, and here he was, the shy, awkward genius, struggling just to sit beside you.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, unable to help himself. “I’m just… not good at this.”

You tilted your head in that familiar, concerned way, and Spencer knew it was now or never. He couldn’t keep bottling everything up. “At what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Being close,” he admitted softly, “being… with you.”

You blinked, a soft understanding crossing your features. “Spence, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re together. You can let go.”

Letting out a breath, Spencer closed his eyes, feeling the overwhelming warmth of your words. He shifted slightly, too aware of the heat between you, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you shifted again, this time with a casualness that took him by surprise. You leaned back slightly, looking at him with those soft eyes of yours that made him feel like the world had faded away.

“Come here,” you said gently, pulling him closer. Spencer’s stomach twisted with nerves as you guided him down to your chest. The way your body moved against his made it almost impossible to concentrate. He was on the edge of losing control, but you were just so warm.

And before he could stop himself, he lowered his head to rest against your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat calming him, making him feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. He let out a shaky sigh, feeling a mix of relief and discomfort flood his senses.

Your fingers gently combed through his hair, and Spencer couldn’t stop the tiny hum of pleasure that escaped his throat. He was so close to you now, so deeply buried in the softness of your chest, and all he could think about was how he was finally allowed to feel you like this.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. The tension that had held him rigid before melted away under the comfort of your embrace.

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair again. “I’m glad you’re relaxing, Spence. You deserve it.”

He wanted to stay like this forever. In this moment, there was no case to worry about, no evil lurking in the world. Just the two of you, together, as you held him close. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing into yours.

The temptation to touch you, to feel every inch of your body under his fingertips, was nearly unbearable. He kept his hands at his sides, gripping the fabric of his pants, trying not to act on the thoughts swirling in his head. But the sensation of your soft chest beneath his cheek, the faint scent of your perfume filling his lungs—everything about this was too much.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you shifted slightly, and your hand slid gently over his back, drawing lazy circles against his skin. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent a jolt of heat through Spencer’s body.

“Spence,” you murmured, your voice tender. “You can touch me. It’s okay.”

He immediately froze, unsure whether he should listen to you or not. He felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over him. What if I touch her wrong? What if he crossed a line he wasn’t ready to cross?

But then, your hands found his, guiding them to your waist as you softly cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours. The softness of your touch, the way your hands moved over his body so effortlessly, made him feel like he was losing control in the best way possible.

Spencer swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t know if I can… I don’t want to make it weird,” he admitted, his voice cracking as he spoke.

You smiled at him, your lips curving up in a gentle, loving way. “Spence, it’s already a little weird,” you teased, “but that’s what makes it fun. We’re figuring this out together.”

He gave you a nervous laugh, a small chuckle that held all his uncertainty. And then, before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips gently to your chest, right where your heart beat beneath your shirt. He felt the warmth of your body against his lips, and the contact made him dizzy with sensation.

When he pulled back, he saw the softness in your eyes, the affection. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t judge him. You just… let him be.

“Spence,” you whispered again, a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’re so cute

[purple-obsidian]

unconditional (18+, red hood jason todd x fem reader) wc 1.5k

⭓ this post contains explicit sexual content and is not suitable for minors. reader is afab and described as shorter than jason. established relationship. if you sense a theme in my writing, what can i say. i'm a sucker for sleepy sex. dedicated to @janybabyy who is always down to proofread my work at a moments notice.

You awaken with a start, the familiar creek of your front door closing, pulling you from your uncomfortable half-slumber.

The hall light flickers on, casting a tall, dark shadow over your perch on the oversized recliner in your shared living room.

“You actually used the door.” You mumble sarcastically, recognizing the hulking frame as your boyfriend.

Your greeting is reciprocated by a raspy exhale, followed by a heavy footstep, then another. “You should be in bed.”

He's already rid himself of his helmet. You admire the outline of his shaggy hair as he stalks closer, your heart beating stronger when he pauses several feet in front of you.

“Says who?” You ask, a coy grin itching at the corner of your mouth.

“Me.”

Exhaustion is apparent in his voice. You can practically feel it radiating off his body. Jason reaches a heavy arm to massage away an ache in the back of his neck as you stand up and approach.

He’s leaning into your touch before your palm even reaches his cheek. Another long exhale escapes him, your touch akin to a cool drink of water after a long run in the heat.

”Can’t sleep without you here.”

“Huh. Yeah right,” he presses his lips to the skin of your wrist briefly before continuing, “I know I wake you up. Don’t lie.”

His arm snakes around your waist, the most natural movement in the world to him. Muscle memory. That’s where you belong, in his arms, by his side. Even so, you know he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that some people are worth losing sleep over. That his love is worth the occasional sleepless night, whether it’s staying awake from worry, or comforting him through his ever-present night terrors.

“Jason…” You bring your other hand to cup his face gingerly, feeling a pang of guilt at the dark circles under his eyes.

He works so hard.

Before you realize it’s happening, you’re guiding him down into a slow kiss. His lips, warm and familiar, are tinged with the taste of salt and blood. You allow yourself to indulge for a beat before shying away, wanting to check him for injuries. But as you rescind, needy lips follow, an almost desperate groan rumbling in his throat.

“Don’t.” He mumbles, lips flush against your own. Rough hands grip you closer at the small of your back. “Please, sweetheart. Need you. Missed you.”

You swoon, allowing him to consume your senses. Eyes closed, lips entangled once more, Jason Todd never needs to ask more than once for your affection. Ever since the day you confessed your love for each other, you give it to him, freely and willingly. You are his safe space, his haven. The one person he’s finally let himself be vulnerable with, where there’s no need for his reticence.

And in return? You have, in him, a best friend. Your protector, your lover, the only man who can make living in this hellhole of a city worth it. There are very few problems in your life that he cannot solve. Nevermind that most of those problems are caused by dating him in the first place. Dating a vigilante has its dangers, but Red Hood seems to be at the top of the ‘food chain’ when it comes to Gotham’s criminal underworld.

All that influence, all the money and power that comes with it, and he still chooses to come home to you. In your mediocre flat, with spotty internet, expensive heating, and a dishwasher that never seems to stay not broken, no matter how many times he fixes it.

Several articles of clothing, discarded in a tired haze of affection, lead a telling trail to the bedroom. Jason lifts you effortlessly, laying you down on the bed, keeping himself close so he’s on top of you. Cognizant of his size, he remains propped on his forearms, caging you in but graciously allowing you to breathe.

“Need you too.” You whisper up at him, basking in his attention. You bite your lip, and reach down for the waistband of his boxers, the only remaining article of clothing keeping him modest.

“M’gross.” He mutters, voice tinged in hesitation. “It’s been a long night.”

But he doesn’t stop your fingers from tugging on the elastic. He helps you, kicking them off, and settling his frame over yours again, allowing his lips to rest against your forehead.

“Don’t care.”

You turn your head, allowing your breath to fan over the scarred skin of his neck.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you, Jay. Besides…” You nudge your nose against him, inhaling deeply, savoring his musk, eyes rolling back at the rush of feel-good hormones that flood your brain from the familiarity.

Your boyfriend chuckles, “Yeah? Besides what, hm?” Peering down at you with lustful eyes, his deep tone sends a tingle down your spine. Nerves on fire from the closeness, you reach for him, slow yet confident, not disappointed when your fingers wrap around his length to guide him to the space reserved for him and him alone.

He knows what.

“No prep? You sure, sweetheart?” His voice is tired, strained, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness in how he addresses you. You know he doesn’t have the energy to get you warmed up. He barely has the energy to be on top.

“I can handle you, handsome. Just take it easy on me.”

With no willpower to contest your assurance, Jason's heavy eyelids flutter shut as he slowly lowers himself flush on top of you. Chest to chest, skin to skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushes his aching cockhead inside the familiar warmth of your body. Your velvet walls weep from his intrusion, the sting in your inner muscles one you’ll never quite get used to. It’s a bittersweet pain that you've come to associate with this behemoth of a man you share your home with.

Jason takes his time. His movements are slow, languid, letting you grow accustomed to him an inch at a time. He keeps close, exhaling little praises into your ear every time a pained whimper escapes your throat.

“Good girl, shhh, nice and slow.”

“Been thinking about you all night.”

“That's it, relax for me, beautiful.”

His unhurried thrusts, tender and deliberate, are slow enough that the cool air of the bedroom has enough time to cool your slick along his shaft before he pushes his progress back in. Your strained panting fills his ear, the way you cling to him urges him to continue on despite the stretch you feel. You don’t want him to think he’s too much.

He’s never too much for you.

Never.

“Jason… Please.”

You clench around him when he pushes deeper, your body finally catching up and leaking your desire around his girth that’s splitting you open.

“Fuck.”

The muscles in Jason’s back tense and release. He pauses his hips, biting into the pillow behind your head, adjusting one arm to hold a bit more of his weight.

Desperate for more of him, you shift your hips up and buck him deeper inside you in short thrusts, digging your fingertips into his back. You’re careful not to use your nails, having promised yourself long ago that you would never be the cause of one of his scars.

But deep down you know, this man would wear a scar from you proudly. He’s proved on more than one occasion that he would die for you.

Just because he would take it, doesn’t mean he deserves it. Which is why you use your self control to restrain yourself while you cling to him gently, crying out in pleasure when he finally starts moving again to match your rhythm, heavy breathing shaking his whole body.

The friction from the increase in pace has you flexing your feet and writhing, nodding your head, stuttering out his name.

“I love when you’re like this…” He admits. “Fuck, you feel so, ugmmmph!” Jason loses his breath, his orgasm hitting him unexpectedly, like an ocean current that sweeps you away so quick, you don’t know which way is up. All he can think about, all he can perceive while the pleasure spasms down his legs is you.

“Y-yes!” You stuffer, helping him bottom out deep inside you, his tip kissing the entrance to your womb, decorating it with his essence while his climax peaks.

Taking advantage of his euphoria, you wrap your legs around his strong abdomen, and hold him closely, showering his neck in fervent kisses.

The noises he makes in response to your affection sound guttural, like you’re fulfilling a primal need of his that he’s been deprived of for too long. A need all humans have. Something Jason Todd, specifically, was lacking most of his life, until he met you.

Enthusiastic, genuine, tender affection. Love that’s unconditional.

The type of love that doesn’t care if he’s dirty and scarred. The kind of love that understands not every instance of intimacy will be an epic performance. It’s the love that finds it endearing when his gentle snoring fills your ear less than a minute later, still one with the most intimate parts of you.

if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[shhhhimwatchingthis]

Dead Boy Detectives has everything:

Co Dependent queer platonic tough to define Best Freinds who would and have gone to hell for each other. they have an office with a cupboard full of board games, and a long history of Noodle Incident cases of '04, and also a bunch of maneuvers with code names. They are also ghosts who solve mysteries for other ghosts.

One is a sassy well read diva in a stupid little bowtie. he keeps meticulous notes, and went to hell on a technicality. he has no rizz and has a sexual awakening at the hands (paws?) of a supernatural Cat King

the other is a cheerful happy bruiser, the brawn with a pocket demension only he can navigate in his backpack, a magic cricket bat, and wells of anger deep down

they team up with a cool psychic (whos also a pretty tree) dealing with her asshole abusive boyfriend who was literally a demon while also trying to restore her memories (she also has a hilarious hate off off with the nerdy one)

then they add a sweet shut in who isn't very brave but is very inquisitive and has excellent reading comprehension and is actually the most brave

and their landlady is a hot goth Sapphic butcher who is done with their shit (but not really)

and the main antagonist is a cunt serving witch with an iron cane chewing up the scenery, just camp queen obsessed with Beauty and Revenge as she should be

she turns her crow familiar into an astrology loving twink to honeypot the nerdy one but the crow catches feelings whoops

the cat king who deserves his own mention again. he's here to seduce a stuffy British detective/tease, cause problems on purpose, reluctantly help solve those problems and mostly slut it up.

a bureaucrat learns to VERY reluctantly embrace the beautiful power of friendship after being swallowed by a fish

its set in a gorgeous seaside town with a light house! and a malt shop!

because this is all A Scooby Doo homage!

It's an episodic Case Of The Episode format! with strong serialized elements!

and as if that wasn't enough there's even Death of The Endless.

what more could any person possibly want in a show.

oh and there's a lot of really interesting themes around internalized homophpbia, abusive relationships and trauma and toxic anger and learning to love and trust and help other people again in spite of and because of the bad parts.

[shycloudkitty]

Just one more minute...

Summary: Your husband has to leave for yet another mission but he's not quite ready to let you go yet… So he just savors…each… moment… 

Pairing: Death Island! Leon × Fem reader

Tags: a bit angsty but lots of comfort, Leon sleeping peacefully for once in his life, fluff, established relationship. Just overall a short comfy read <3

WC: 1.3K

Small droplets of rain splatter on the windows of your bedroom. The soft sound created a soothing lullaby for the ears for those who were sleeping to it. The cloudy weather and the chill air contributed in making it the most serene environment while you stay snuggled up peacefully in your husband's arms with a warm blanket over you. 

His arms stayed around your waist holding you gently in a warm embrace, face nuzzling your hair, gentle breathing warming your neck. This was always his favorite position to fall asleep to. Your smell, your soft touch, your weight beneath him, telling him that you were really here… You were real. 

Your arms were wrapped around his bare torso and face buried in his chest. Feeling his body warmth seep into your skin. Limbs trained to take life, now just protecting you from the chill air and comforting you in your sleep. 

It was such a simple moment, just a couple sleeping and relaxing in each other's comfort. But at the same time it was so rare between you two. Just having these simple moments with him felt like a blessing. It was heaven.

And why wasn't it normal for both of you? Right. He had a job of saving the world, do or die, special agent... You get the idea. Except his job wasn't exactly a James Bond one. That only happened in movies. No, this was more grim than what they show in the movies. But what can you do when these are the cards life dealt you with? 

But he always felt inspired by you, how you handled every situation thrown at you with grace. Obviously, he wasn't a fool, he could see it was tough but still tried your best. Even in this relationship, you handle everything with so much love and care…he never had someone who sticked with him more than a few months let alone actually get married to. 

He didn’t hold anything against his exes, like his life was basically swamped with work so he understood why they left. What was actually confusing? You staying in his life, despite everything. You stayed even when he missed some of the important moments of your life. Sadly, that was the reality of his job. You win some, you lose some.

He was obviously happy that you stayed with him despite everything but he never quite understood why? He couldn't help but ask you this question. He remembers seeing your cheeks get red, avoiding his gaze and softly saying ‘I love you’. He also recalls saying ‘thank you’ in response because of how flustered he got from the confession. 

That memory always makes him facepalm himself.

After the day of your confession it was like his world flipped. And even though he didn't understand it fully at the time he wanted to do everything in his power to keep you in his life, even if it meant catering to your every whim. He listened to everything you said, trying to remember the best he could. 

He actually has a secret folder on his phone containing everything about your likes and dislikes just in case he needs a refresher. 

He didn’t even realize when it happened but he fell in love with you and wanted to keep you in his life forever. Thankfully, you felt the same way when he got down on one knee and asked if you wanted to marry him. He almost lost the ring with how nervous he was, fidgeting with the ring box in his pocket every 5 minutes.

It's been a few years since he tied down the knot with you and it was the best decision of his life. Sure, being married presents its own set of problems, sometimes things get rocky between you two, but there was nothing you both couldn't solve. Sometimes the problems needed talking, other times he could tell without you saying a word. But each time he makes it known that he loves you. Always. 

The soft rain slowly stirs Leon awake, he glances at his surroundings and then looks down at your sleeping face with his bleary eyes. He yawns and rubs his eyes, the digital clock on his nightstand read 6:30am. 

It was still half an hour early before he had to go to work today for some missing person assignment Hunnigan gave out. He didn’t wanna go but apparently it was top priority and needs his immediate attention. He told you about it last night, you weren't exactly happy since it was last minute but at this point you had grown used to it.

He tilts his head and looks at your serene face, caressing your cheek and sighing. His lips press a soft kiss on your forehead and gently threads his fingers through your hair. His voice comes as a soft whisper. “I don't wanna go either… you know that, right?” You probably knew how he felt about going too. You could read him like a book at this point. 

His eyes flit through your soft features, taking note of your breathing, slow and deep, fully relaxed. He smiles to himself and whispers in the same soft voice. “God, you’re so beautiful. You always are.” he lovingly brushes some hair out of your face. “I'm really lucky I get to see you like this, feels like I'm in heaven even if I probably won't ever go there. You do so much for us, I wish I could just stop this moment for us and never let go.”

He sighs softly and slowly pulls you closer to the warmth of his chest, trying not to jostle you too much. He closes his eyes briefly, focusing on your warmth. And starts mumbling to himself. “Honestly, if I was a poet I would have written dozens of poems about you. They probably would have been corny but you would have liked it.”

He gently starts brushing your hair again and continues. “But since I'm not… I don't have enough words to fully express how much you mean to me. The fact that we’re still together, makes me the luckiest fool ever lived. My heart hurts sometimes because of how happy I get cause of you.”

He sighs and mumbles. “I'm not normal…never have been. But with you…I feel that I finally became the man that I was supposed to be. And that I finally have a place called home."

He scoffs to himself, shaking his head. He didn't know what had possessed to become so sentimental this early. “I'm really cheesy aren't I?”

He felt soft teardrops on his chest where your face was resting. You had woken up from his rambling. 

His heart clenches from realization. He gulps, feeling the sudden lump rise up in his throat. He hugs you tighter and rubs your bare back. “I will come back, I promise.” Softly pressing a kiss on your shoulder. 

He glances at the time again. It was nearly 6:55am. He had to start getting ready for work. 

He slowly tilts your face, wiping away the tears from your shining eyes. His expression softens, cupping your face in his hands and softly kisses you. He feels you kiss him back, your grip on his arm tight. 

After a few moments you both slowly pull back from the kiss, eyes closed, foreheads resting against one another, soft breathing filling the quiet room. He softly mumbles. “I have to get ready now sweetheart.”

He feels you shake your head in response. Your soft voice fills the room. “No…wait for few more minutes. Just stay.”

He gulps and nods. He wasn't strong enough to deny that request. He pulls you close, covering both of you in the blanket. “Of course, darling.” And press soft kisses on your shoulder. 

Enjoying these quiet moments of solace with you. Even if he couldn't make this moment last forever, he knew he would come back to relish it again... 

Usually I wouldn't say this but I would very much appreciate it if you left comments, obviously if you want to. It helps me improve and encourages me to write more. 😊❤

-Bella

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Thingol, Luthien, and Dior’s claim to the silmaril bugs the living daylights outta me and I’m gonna break down why. This goes a bit beyond ownership laws.

Starting with basics. What are the silmarils? Gems created by Fëanor that hold the light of the Two Trees. Who in Beleriand saw the light of the trees and no doubt misses it like a limb? Are here in part to avenge their destruction? The Noldor.

The Sindar never went to Valinor. They might find the gems beautiful but that’s it. There’s no cultural or emotional connection to them beyond ‘pretty stone, look how awesome our princess was.’ There’s no appreciation for what they hold. No understanding that this stone is one of the *last* things that holds the ancient light of the Trees.

The Noldor meanwhile not only saw the Light, they had entire festivals surrounding it. Grew their entire culture, their lives, under and around it. Now the trees are destroyed, their king killed defending these jewels. And this last beacon of hope, a piece of the home they can never return to, a piece of light that will never come back, is being kept by people who can’t even begin to understand the significance of what they keep.

Now imagine being the sons of the one who made this jewel from a culture of people who value craft above all else.

Not only is it light, it’s the result of years of toil and experimentation of your father, the one who managed to do what no one had ever even thought of. Fëanor’s sons would have been the first to see these jewels, probably saw him make prototypes, work equations whilst they worked on their own crafts. Provided what relief they could to his ever working mind and inadvertently gave him ideas that helped solve problems he encountered along the way. Suddenly it’s not only a key part of their culture, it’s something core to their family.

Then Fëanor is killed and in many ways it’s the most important thing they have left of their father. Now it’s a source of memory too, for someone doomed to the Halls for eternity. Who they’ll likely never see again unless they’re killed.

Now from what I’ve heard, Tolkien says the Fëanorions lost their right to the Silmarils when they killed for them. Which makes no sense considering the Silmarils were *created* by Fëanor. Yes the light was created by the Valar, but what, you’re gonna say ‘I created electricity so that lightbulb you made is actually mine.’ That’s not how it works. Fëanor made the casing for the stones and figured out how to hold the light, without aid from the Valar. It doesn’t matter what actions they take, the right to the Silmarils remain theirs and theirs alone. The jewels hold no power of their own, they’re literally objects. Healing objects at most. Morals do not dictate their ownership, hallowed or not.

Tolkien going on to say the right of Doriath’s Silmaril actually goes to Beren and Luthien for taking it from Morgoth gives me frankly coloniser vibes.

‘Oh this thing I stole was originally stolen from you? Too bad. I took it so it’s mine now. Don’t care how important it is to you, your entire culture, and your people.’

Get where I’m coming from?

All in all the whole situation gives me Bad Vibes and I really don’t like the attitude the Sindar have to the Silmaril. In terms of Elwing, I can partly forgive her purely based on trauma response. Fine. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand. But that never would’ve been a problem if her father, grandmother, or great grandfather had the sense to acknowledge the silmaril was never theirs to keep. Don’t like the Fëanorions, (too bad) at least give it back to the Noldor.

[cryptfile]

★ kinktober file 01 — wandering star, d. winchester

based on this request here, fem! reader, 18+ mdni, warnings of established relationship, degradation, dumbification, edging, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, english is not my first lenguage (thank god!) any mistakes? i’m not sorry for it, feel free to hit me up with requests in my inbox to keep kinktober going! <3 also, dividers by @cafekitsune!

He’s cocky after a hunt goes the way he wants.

Dean Winchester’s always a damn headache after a sucessful solved case. He gets in this mood where he feels invincible and well, he just feels like he could win the lottery if he puts his mind into it.

Sam’s done by the time you guys are in the next town, checking into another cheap motel. The older Winchester has been a damn pain in the ass the whole ride so the first thing he does when you guys ask for separate rooms? Ditch the problem to you.

“He’s your boyfriend,” he’d say, obviously done with his sassy attitude as he left to his own private space — Sacred space he values since you appeared. “You deal with him.”

You love your boyfriend that’s for sure but after a hunt? Your muscles are sore, you feel like you’re going to get sick and on top of all? You been dying for a hot shower and bed.

Dean’s plans are way different, cause by the time Sam leaves saying he’s going to buy burgers in any open restaurant, he’s all over you. Literally.

“Why are you so needy?” you ask furrowing your brows, he’s in a good mood now that he survived a violent ghost who’s bones you had to burn, and honestly, it doesn’t make any sense: The rush of adrenaline? The near death experience? Usually he’s deep in his third dream by now, but that night? He got this grin in his face when he’s pushing you to the motel bed despite any response he could recieve—. “Dean.”

“Just want to make m’lady feel on cloud nine,” he says, planting soft kisses on the exposed skin of your neck, a fight you cannot possibly win. “Can I do that? Take care of my girl?”

Thing is, deep down, you don’t want to win any fight. Not that one at least when Dean’s pulling you to the edge of the bed, unblucking his belt as he lets the fabric of his jeans fall to the floor, he’s craving you ever since you pulled this show up in the morning when you said there was no time to shower together since the case was so important. Naked, standing in a foggy bathroom: You won’t let him have you? Not even ten minutes? Fucking unfair.

He can do a lot in ten. You do love it even when it’s rushed, when Sam’s pushing on the other side of the door screaming something about being late, his only goal is to take whatever he needs, so in ten minutes he can do plenty. He can kneel on the slippery floor, filthy thoughts as he helps you lift up your leg — “Such a pretty pussy, already dripping for me?” he would said, the sound of his voice imprinted in your memory. The warm water burns on your skin as he uses a hand to spread you open, buring his face in your cunt without a previous warning.

Even under the shower he makes you sweat. Dean’s damn skilled so he knows what spot he needs to hit to get you there, the wet sounds that fill the bathroom on random mornings — He knows you’re getting there when his digits finally fill you up in a way you can even describe, his tongue lapping over your clit, taking his time, savouring each sound he manages to get out of you, the way you say his name when he’s nose-deep in what he claims belongs to him.

And god you’re a mess. A fucking mess every single time.

“You owe me,” Dean says confident, “We solve the case, job done here. I want your full attention now.”

He has it soon after. Every ounce of it.

He’s not patient enough to play with you before like he would do in the morning, in the dirty motel you’re now at the hunter would mumble something about not giving a single fuck about preparing you cause you’re already wet enough for him, something about being already used to his size cause he’d fucked you plenty of times before, that your warm and tight cunt is already prepared for him cause you’ve been his for months, convinced that you can take him. No problem at all.

“You were such a bitch to me this morning,” he says, pushing your cheek against the matress, not caring enough about your comfort as he forces himself inside you, muffling the sounds of your moans as he places his hand on your mouth, keeping you in place—. “Do you have any idea of how hard is to concentrate on a ghost when all I can think is to have you beneath?”

He’s rough when he’s needy, straight up filthy as he lets his primal desires take over. Dean forgets about it all. His hand collides against your ass a couple of times, spanking hard enough so the skin is red to be visibly noticiable, to make you think about another pain more than the one you felt as he’s finally buried inside you.

“Atta girl” he praises, leaning to place kisses on your shoulders, giving you just enough time to adjust— “Lookin’ so pretty when full of my cock.”

He enjoys the view so much. So damn much Dean chuckles for a second, almost proud of the mess he’s done with you, always so damn tight, already clenching on his dick as you squirm desesperate to move. He got you where he wants you to be.

“Move that nice ass for me,” he says seconds after, demanding you to take him faster as he moves you at the rythm he needs—. “That’s it, fuck yourself pretty witch, work for it.”

“Dean,” you whine, the sound distant thanks to his fingers covering your mouth— “Dean-please”

“What are you begging for?” he chuckles, the sound of his laugh making your skin shiver as his hips buckle up to meet the pace you’ve been setting— “My girl is dumb for my cock already? Only a few minutes in and my baby is talking nonsense?”

He’s giving you exactly what you need, that nice pace as he grabs you by the tights, fingers buried in your skin as his movements become more erratic, desesperate as the time passes.

Dean waits. Cause he can be a cruel son of a bitch sometimes, drive you fucking mad cause he knows when’s you’re close to release, when you’re ready to cum as he slides his cock off, leaving you hollow as you loudly gasp.

“What the actual-fuck?” you ask clearly annoyed, looking over your shoulder as he offers you a sly grin—. “Dean, what the fuck?”

“We are goint to work in some manners here,” he says, grabbing you by the hair, roughly pulling your head to the side so he can look at your face while speaking—. “Cause you’re not doing to me what you did in the morning ever again. Teasing me all fucking day, acting all innocent about it. No. You’re gonna cum when I say so. And we’re gonna start all over again ‘till that big brains of yours finally gets it: No more leaving Dean Winchester all hard in the bathroom.”

next kinktober file [ art donaldson ] // masterlist

[psin314]

some dead and missing characters from murat's backstory. translated bio is under the cut.

his toyhouse page

At the age of 6, Murat was given to the Crows. He was taken under the care of a young but skilled master assassin, Esteban. Murat has no memory of his childhood until he was 12, and his mentor never said anything useful about it. He only said that Murat was an unbearable crybaby. Esteban taught Murat everything he knew. He taught strictly, punished him for any mistakes, but Murat still enjoyed being around him, because Esteban was funny and caring. When Murat was 20, Esteban was brutally murdered while on a contract.

The next 10 years of his life were not particularly interesting. He carried out contracts flawlessly, and spent the money he received on carousing. He spent everything on expensive aged booze and gifts for girls with whom he could not build long-term relationships, although he truly fell in love with each one. So once he fell in love with a girl from his own house, Layla, who was not interested in him. He did not lose hope and continued to try to win her over. One day, she finally reciprocated. It was strange, but Murat, in love, did not notice the trick.

Murat's 30th birthday was approaching, but he was not destined to celebrate it in a warm place. Murat, for no apparent reason, was grabbed by what he thought were his friends, and they threw him at the feet of the de Riva house talon. As it turned out, Murat is a traitor who has been sabotaging his own house for years, and there is irrefutable evidence of this, which Layla provided them with a heavy heart. Murat did not understand what was happening, he was definitely slandered and was not guilty of anything. No one listened to him, even Layla stood in tears. Murat should have been killed right here, but Layla stood up for him. She explained that Murat had done all this only because of his own stupidity. He was a good liar, but an incompetent crow. All this time, she had been correcting his mistakes for years, but she had failed to keep track of them all, and this is what it had led to. She was ashamed that she had covered for him for so long, but death for him was too much. As a result, Murat was kicked out into the street and ordered not to approach the faction again.

Murat tried to get through to them, but no one listened. He didn’t know what to do now. The Antivan Crows were everything to him. So he simply decided to get drunk on cheap beer in a tavern. For the next 10 years, he did nothing but that. For the first few months, other crows were watching Murat, but nothing suspicious was noticed, only his binge-drinking. A couple of years later, one of Murat's old friends came to him with good news - Murat was not guilty, everything was actually set up by Layla, who had currently run away and was hiding. That is, he can return. Murat attacked his old friend and sent him far far away. Nobody visited Murat again.

Until he was almost 40, Murat lived in a vicious circle of "no money - work - get money - drink." There were attempts to break it, but he always returned to the beginning. He made friends in the port with a fisherwoman, Paula, who helped him find a job. She sincerely wanted to help Murat with his problem, since he reminded her of her lost son. She was rude to him, but tried to help anyway. Paula had health problems, and one day her heart just stopped beating. Murat could have gone on a bender again, but he decided to try to change his life.

By the age of 40, Murat finally stopped drinking and returned to the Crows. Here, it was as if everyone had forgotten him. And his old friends no longer trusted him as much as before, although that situation was resolved long ago. Murat is passionate about the idea of ​​at least partially solve the problem of betrayal among the Crows. How - he has no idea, but he will definitely come up with something.

The rest of the story is familiar.

[whatifitis]

♡ can we start it all over again? - LN 4 ♡

Summary: The person you thought was the love of your life turned out to be a liar. So now you're left with nothing, no love, no home, and no plans for the future. Everything feels awful but as soon as you feel things are getting better, you run into your first love.

Author's Note: After a long ass wait, here's part 3 to 'i wish you would've stayed'. thank you guys for all the support on this little series <3 yall are the reason i write

WC: 3469

CW: cheating, thoughts about not breathing, yearning from Lando, excessive song references

What I thought was for all time turned out to be momentary.

After a long day at work, you were excited to be able to come home and finally see the love of your life.

Even after all this time together, the love between you two was still so exciting and palpable. You were practically running up the steps to your shared home, fumbling with the keys a bit. You opened the door and didn’t find Gabe in his office like he usually is.

You heard some noise coming from your bedroom and booked it down the hallway in excitement, but when you opened the door, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d have to see. Red auburn hair swayed as the figure rode Gabe, covering his face.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your mouth. The two heads turn to face you and shock is drawn all over their bodies.

“Mikayla?!” you question, watching as your cousin climbs off your fiance, failing to cover herself with your bedsheets.

“I-” is all she’s able to voice.

Gabe is scrambling off the bed, “It’s not what it looks like, baby-”

“Don’t “baby” me. You lost that privilege the second you stuck your dick in someone else.”

“No! I didn’t- It’s not-”

“Oh! So you just tripped and it fell into her vagina?!”

Being met with silence, you’re quick with your movements, walking to the closet and packing whatever you can grab in this moment of fury and despair. You can feel heat consuming your face and body. Tears are forming on your waterline but you refuse to let them see you fall.

You zip up your bag and make your way to leave, stopping for a moment to look at the person you thought you knew. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Someone will get the rest of my stuff later. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

You don’t even spare a glance at Mikayla. But, as you’re about to close the door, you pause, feeling the band around your finger: “Oh, and I guess you’ll need this for her” - you spat, tossing your engagement ring to Gabe’s feet.

After everything, everything you told him, he still went behind your back and chose someone else. Come one, come all, you guess. It’s happening again. He called you the love of his life. God, how could you be so stupid. You think back on everything, and it’s all making sense now.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily ecstatic when you’d told her that Gabe had proposed to you. You were disappointed and confused but brushed it off as she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time.

When you confessed to Gabe that you were disappointed in Mikayla’s reaction, he reassured you and told you he’d talk to her for you.. Gabe was always quick to problem solve and he always enjoyed making you happy, so when he jumped at the chance to speak with Mikayla, you didn’t think anything of it. After her “talk” with Gabe, Mikayla was giddy. She apologized for her initial reaction to your engagement and asked if she could help you with the wedding planning.

Planning the wedding with your cousin by your side was amazing. The two of you had a shared taste in aesthetic so it made everything feel a lot less stressful. Now you realize why she was so excited. Helping you plan the wedding allowed her to invite herself over a lot to “go over details”. It was almost as if she was planning her own wedding.

You are such a fool. You ended up lost inside a memory of someone’s life, it wasn’t yours.

After everything that just happened, you weren’t sure of what to do or where to go. You were driving around in silence, trying to keep from completely breaking. You call a friend of yours, asking if you could spend the night with her and that you could leave in the morning. Pietra, your friend, assured you that you could stay as long as you need.

After a long and dreadful drive, you had arrived at Pietra’s house. She sat you down on the couch and handed you a cup of tea. “Y/n, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and tried to stay composed enough to tell her, but you couldn’t. The words you wanted to say were stuck in a lump in your throat. Your breathing became irregular as you struggled for air. All you could do was break down into tears as Pietra moved closer to you and pulled you into her arms, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

The weight of everything just came crashing down on you now. You lost the love of your life, your cousin, and all your future plans in one day. You don’t have a home. You don’t have love. You don’t have the one person you trusted with your life. You don’t have the person who put you above everything else. You don’t have the person who had the ability to turn your bad days into good days. You don’t have the person who loved you for you.

You don’t even have Olive anymore.

The two of you grew fond of each other after you and Gabe moved in together. Olive became your best friend in a way. As crazy as it seems, she helped you pick your outfits a few times. But she's not yours. Nothing is yours. Was anything ever really yours?

Time passes and you’re able to calm your sobs. Through your hiccups, you tell Pietra about everything. You tell her about Mikayla, about Gabe, about how you feel so lost now.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t expect this, honestly. But don’t worry about finding a place to stay. Stay here for as long as you want, it’ll be nice to have you around. It’s hard to find time to hangout with you and I miss seeing you.”

“I missed you too. And thank you for letting me stay here, I don’t know how to repay you. I can pay some rent or something.”

“No. Don’t worry about that. Just help me make some brigadeiro when you feel up to it.” she says, offering you a soft smile.

“I’ll try. I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I gotta get to the office early tomorrow.”

“No. What the fuck? You just got your heart broken. Your whole life just fell apart. No offense. Take the day off, matter of fact, take the whole week off. We’re gonna take a break. Okay?”

“I kinda wanna go to work so I can have a distraction from the fact that I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing, y/n. Gabe failed you. Mikayla failed you. None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this.”

“At some point, I have to realize there is something wrong with me. My relationships never work and the common denominator in all of them is me.” you say, shrugging your shoulders and accepting that maybe love isn’t meant for you. You stand to go to your temporary room. “Goodnight, Pietra.”

“Fine. You can go wallow in your sadness but call your boss cause you’re not going to work tomorrow. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”

You shut the door to your room, not having the energy to counter Pietra’s demands. You have to fight every bone in your body to keep from sliding down the door and sobbing. At least make it to the bed, you tell yourself. Your feet heavily drag across the carpet, trying to get you to the edge of the bed and when you do, you collapse onto it and break. You cry and cry as you curl into yourself. It gets harder and harder to breathe, but you won’t be able to feel the relief of ceasing your breath completely. There’s a hole in your gut in the shape of everything you had and lost.

Gabe played you, for years. It was like he was mocking you with everything you ever confided in him. You had told him things that you’d never told anyone else, and now you regret that. You wish you could unrecall how you almost had it all. Everything you’d dreamed of, being loved and wanted.

All those braids of lies. All those “I’ll never leave”’s and “You’re more than enough”’s.

If you could, you’d go back to the night you met Gabe. You’d go back and tell yourself that he wasn’t the one. You wish you’d never met him. You had all of him, then most of him, and now none of him. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Once your sobs subside briefly, you send a text to your boss, letting her know you won’t be in tomorrow, and probably the day after. You won’t be able to get stuff done while in this state. Maybe Pietra is right. It might be best if you take more than a day or two off work to get yourself back up on your feet.

The next week is spent with Pietra glued to your side. The two of you spent everyday either relaxing or going on mini adventures around town and shopping til you dropped. While it’s been nice, spending time with P and just going out, it doesn’t take away the pain or distract you from it too much. There’s still an empty space in your chest that feels like it will keep expanding until it consumes you into nothingness.

It seems as if your soul is disappearing, leaving you to be a ghost. You still don’t know how it ended. Yes, he cheated, probably more than once, but how? Why? Were you not enough? Did you do something to push him away?

You can’t feel it yet, peace and acceptance. But you are waiting. Desperate to feel anything but this, or nothing at all.

Days and weeks pass and you’re slowly coming to. You’re back at work and you’ve been touring some apartments with Pietra. She insisted that if you moved out, you would at least live close by. You agreed to this condition and you just sent an application for the apartment you liked most. It was beautiful with a few big windows to let the sun in, a window nook you could relax in, and a magnificent view of London.

You were on break at work when your phone pinged with a notification. You look down and see his name pop up on the screen. Gabe texted you, letting you know he packed the rest of your stuff so it’ll be an easier and faster process for you to get whatever was left after that night.

Without responding, you text Pietra, asking her if she could go and grab your stuff with her boyfriend, Max. You don’t think you could stomach going back there. Not after knowing what happened in what was your room. Not after you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling questioning how many times it happened. Where it happened.

Without hesitation, Pietra says yes and lets you know that she’ll have your stuff in your room by the time you get home. You’re forever grateful for Pietra for being there for you through all this, for allowing you to live in her home. You would mention Max as well since it’s his home as well, but you found out that he had told Lando about your situation in full detail. So, he’s on probation right now.

The work day wraps up quite late so by the time you’re driving home, it’s dark and cold. You call Pietra and let her know that you were on your way back, asking if she needed you to pick up anything on your way home. She says no but keeps you on the phone to make sure you get home safe. The two of you talk about work and make plans for the weekend.

As you pull into the driveway, Pietra is already waiting for you at the door, dancing around as you hear a one direction song being played from inside the house.

“Welcome home, bestie.” Pietra screams.

You run up to her and hug her so tightly. You had just seen each other this morning but it felt nice to feel appreciated and wanted. In the past few weeks, you two had grown closer and it felt like you were kids again.

You enter the house and drop your stuff onto the couch when you feel something furry run along your ankles. You look down to see Olive.

“Pietra, what the hell?”

You look up to see Pietra with a guilty look plastered on her face, “Well, when I went to get your stuff from that bitch, I was grabbing the last bag and he had Olive in her little crate. He said he wanted you to have her. He said that the two of you had grown close and he wants you to have her. And if it makes you feel better, he said she’s been shitting in his shoes since you left.”

Bending down to pick up Olive, you look at her face and just hug her close. Turns out she is a girl's girl, and you’re grateful for her, even if she is just a cat.

“Thanks, Pietra. For getting my stuff and bringing my little Olive.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you got something good out of all this.”

“Me too.” you say, watching as Olive curls into you and purrs as you scratch beside her ear.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling with Olive and listening to Pietra vent about her own work life and personal life. Apparently her manager wants her to do a brand deal with a cheese company? When Pietra is lactose intolerant?

The next morning, you are awoken by birds chirping outside your window as rays of golden sun make their way to warm your body. It’s a beautiful day outside so why let it go to waste?

After kissing the top of Olive’s head, you start getting ready for the day and put on one of your favorite dresses. It’s a beautiful, pink sundress that’s loose and comfortable but hugs your figure nicely. It’d been a while since you’d worn it, having forgotten about it after Mikayla told you that it made you look like one of the twins from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Maybe you should’ve seen the signs.

You decide to head to your favorite cafe that’s down the street. After moving in with Pietra and Max, you’d ventured to each establishment in the area and just fell in love with the aesthetic and aura of this cafe. It was cozy with cream colored walls, big windows that allowed the warm sun to shine through, and potted plants in every corner and crevice of the place.

After ordering a coffee, you take a seat at a table in the corner where you can read your book in peace. That was until you heard an all too familiar voice. “Y/n.” - Looking up from your book, you’re met with his eyes. The eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Lando.”

With a shaky exhale, he quickly explains himself, “Max told me you were here. Actually, I kind of berated him to tell me where you were and if I could talk to you. I heard what happened with Gabe and I just had to see you. Can I have a seat?”

“I’m not in the mood, Lando. I’m tired and I feel like I’m just starting to get back up on my feet. I don’t want to entertain this.”

He takes a seat in the chair across from you and you watch the pleads that leak from his body. “Please, Y/n. I just want to talk. I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done to you and I just need you to listen. Please. I don’t expect to get back together or for you to forgive me and all that. I miss having you in my life and I would really like it if we could at least be friends?”

You just sit there with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. You know as soon as you see him, you’re gonna wring Max’s neck for telling Lando about what happened and about where you were.

Realizing you weren’t going to speak, Lando continues, “I fucked up, bad. I disrespected you and essentially used you. Like I said the last time we spoke, I didn’t realize what I had til it was gone. I didn’t realize that I actually love you, like a lot.”

With a deep breath, you tell him everything you never said. “Sometimes I can find peace with the fact that you left, accepting that this wasn’t meant for me. Other nights I would bargain with God, asking him what I had to do or give up for him to bring you back. After all of this, I don’t know why I’m holding on to you. There is nothing to hold on to. And I used to be scared of losing you. I think I still am somehow, which is weird. Like if I let you go then I officially lost you. If I just hold on to every little memory, maybe you’ll come back, even if I shouldn’t. And that’s even scarier. It’s scary knowing that after all this time, you still have this hold on me. Like all you have to do is say something, and I'll come back.”

“So why don’t you come back? To me? I’ve grown, Y/n. I’ve changed. And I’m still changing and learning. I love you. And I know that even if I love you wholeheartedly, that’s not enough. I will work everyday to prove to you that I love you. I will work every moment to show you how much I care about you. The day that I left, I lost the love of my life. I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose the love of your life, Lando. You just lost the person you had loved the most so far in your life. You’ll find the love of your life, someday. But it’s not me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know life without you. Everyday that’s passed since I ended things, you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. I found you then I lost you and looking back is torture. It hurts to know I hurt you. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it differently. I would’ve never let you go and I would have treated you better. I would have loved you better.”

“But you can’t. We both need to move on. This whole situation is not healthy for either of us. We can’t keep going around and around. You fucked up and you need to deal with the consequences. I need time and space from anything to do with love. I just got cheated on by someone who was supposed to love and care for me. I have to explain to every person I know why I’m not getting married anymore. I have to tell every single person that I’m not enough and I’ll never be enough. I have to tell everyone that I’m the disappointment they always knew I’d be.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Y/n. You never have been and never will. Let me show you what love really is like. I promise. We can go as slow as you’d like. We can be just friends. I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows 24/7. I can’t promise that there won’t be times where you’re mad at me. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. But, I can promise to stay. I promise to love you wholeheartedly, and do it proudly. I will love you loudly, shouting it from every rooftop. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take care of you. I promise to surround you with love. While I hope you can love me again, I know it’s not easy and not something that has a high chance of happening. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please let me in again?”

As you sit there looking at this person, this person who you loved with all your heart for so long. This person who took your heart and broke it into pieces. This person who has come back over and over again. This person who hasn’t loved or dated since the last time you two had spoken. This person who claims to love you.

“I don’t know, Lan. Can you?”

—————————————————————————

Tags for pt 3: @leclerc13 @f1fantasys @htpssgavi

I only tagged those who specifically asked to be tagged in pt 3 cause I didn’t know if those tagged in pt 2 wanted to be tagged in this one 😭😭😭

[ninikrumbs]

move in with me

satoru gojo x reader. fluff. independent reader. domestic satoru

You’ve always prided yourself for being strong and independent. Solving your own problems, dusting your own shelves, and you knew when everyone else lets you down, that you could always count on yourself. So when you started dating Satoru Gojo, it threw you off kilter.

To say that it was an adjustment would be an understatement. He treated you like a princess, not wanting you to lift a single finger. He would tie your shoe laces, open doors, cook for you, carry your grocery bags, and with one single grimace from your face- due to you unfortunately wearing heels to dinner- he’d carry you on one arm with your strappy heels on the other.

In the beginning you’d frequently voice out to him that it was unnecessary, that you could do all of those things yourself. But he would just shrug before saying, “I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”and when you wouldn’t budge, he’d add, “ Doing things for you, you relying on me makes me happy. And you want me to be happy,right?”

And what were you suppose to answer to that kind of blackmail? So eventually, you mellowed out. You slowly got used to relying on him and it was nice finally able to turn off you brain for once and just let him take the lead.

Going out for dinner? He’d say just wear something nice and he’ll pick you up at 7:00. Vacation? He’s got all the tourist spots all mapped out and you don’t even know what airlines your taking, only that the he has everything covered. Birthday? He’ll plan a full on surprise at the stroke of midnight with balloons, cake, a ridiculously huge bouquet of your favorite flowers, and that pair of cute earrings you’ve been eyeing for weeks now. All this simply because, “You deserve nothing but the best out of everything, princess.”

But time and time again you’d prove that old habits die hard.

Gojo watched amused as you paced around the living room of his spacious and modern apartment, trying to find a solution to your current predicament. You just got off from a call from your landlord telling you that he just doubled your rent due to market prices rising and other things you didn’t care about. All you knew is that it was too much for you to afford and your brain immediately went into problem solving mode.

“I could find a smaller apartment, but its dead in the winter. There’s barely any good apartments available this time of year.”

“Or I could move in with Shoko! Yes! She always wanted me to so it would take a load off her rent and this way I could finally help her stop smoking-”

Satoru pulled you by the hand to his lap on the sofa making you yelp in surprise. “Baby, slow down.” He snaked his arms around your waist as you made yourself comfortable on his lap. You huffed, “But Toru, Im basically homeless next month.”

He shook his head and pinched your nose making your face scrunch. “You’re not gonna be homeless, your forgetting that you have me.”

“If you’re gonna tell me that you have an extra apartment on hand, I won’t know how to answer that.”

He guffawed a laugh, the type that made your stomach flip that it was hard to not smile at him. “Baby, no- haha- no,” He pulled you closer to his chest and his thumbs made soothing motions on your side. “I’m telling you- no asking you to move in with me.”

“What?” You leaned back in surprise.

His hand gently cupped your cheek, making you lean in to his touch. “Move in with me, princess. I’ve got the space. You’re already here most of the time and I was already planning on asking you to move in with me anyways so this spans out perfectly.”

His ocean eyes held nothing but warmth and sincerity, yet you still looked at him skeptically, “Are you sure? I don’t want you too feel pressured into asking me, Toru”

“Baby, are you forgetting all the times I practically latched on to your legs to stop you from leaving?”The memory of him trying to bribe you into staying made you snort making him grin. “See? I want you around 24/7.”

“I don’t know, Toru.” You were coming around, but Satoru could still see a little doubt in your eyes. He pressed a kiss on your cheek, “I want to see your clothes besides mine,” a kiss to your other cheek, “Your ridiculous amount of skincare in the bathroom,” A kiss on your forehead, “I want the house to smell like those scented candles that you love so much,” a kiss on your nose, “I want to leave home with a kiss from you,” and finally a kiss on your lips, so soft and sweet as if trying to pour everything else he couldn’t say into the kiss. “And I wanna come home to you sound asleep on our bed if I get home late.”

Your face burned with warmth from his kisses and small confessions,”Okay..” He raised an eyebrow, “Okay, Ill move in with you.” You said with more enthusiasm.

With a satisfied smile, he pulls you into his warm chest, placing his head on top of yours, “Please rely on me more. Promise to rely on me more?”

You pull away a bit to look him in the eyes, “I promise, Toru.”

He leans his head down closer to yours, with a playful glint in his eyes,”You promise what? Use your words, princess.”

“I promise to rely on you.”

“Good girl.” He mumbles against your lips before capturing it in his, his hands move to cup your face as he deepened the kiss. His tongue danced with yours as a hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer, as if trying to eliminate any space between you. Your chest pressed into his, making you moan into his mouth. He pull away with a lustful groan, a delicate strand of saliva connecting your lips before he licked it away. He dazedly nudged your nose with his, “Yeah, I’m really gonna love having you around, princess.”

I accept requests ^^

[illyrianshadow]

Lost in Shadows (pt. IV)

Summary: Will you finally be able to reconnect with Azriel know that the truth of your connection has been revealed?

Warnings: don't think there really are any, though there might be a lot more coming in the next chapters 👀

A/N: It took me a while to write this one, I hope I did it justice. I don't know what possessed me to make these two so sickeningly sweet and tortured. I hope you enjoy, please let me know your thoughts!!

Word Count: 2.6K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

———————

Your hands wrap around the ice cold glass of water Azriel has placed in front of you. You relish the feeling of the cool material against your skin, willing the sensation to bring you back to reality. You need to focus, clear the haze in your head so you can properly face the male in front of you. 

You curse the mother for being this stupid, struggling to remember why you thought being drunk for this moment would solve all your problems. Now that you are actually facing Azriel, now that you know that he’s your mate, all you wish is for the effects of the alcohol to disappear as quickly as possible. 

Your hands are shaking as you lift the glass of water to your lips, the refreshing liquid taking away some of the burn the many drinks have left in your system. 

You urge the alcohol in your bloodstream to dissolve and try and force your head to clear. You don’t want to be drunk for this moment. You have waited too long for this. 

Luckily your Illyrian heritage sees to it that any alcohol you consume evaporates at a fast pace once you stop drinking, and it’s already been a little while since you had your last shot.

As you continue to drink your water, you can feel your drunken state easing off. The cool liquid mingled with the leftover remnants of alcohol lowering its effects to a soft buzz. This you can work with. 

You turn back to Azriel, savouring the feeling of his hand still resting on top of your own. You can feel the outline of his scars on your soft skin, the weight providing a comforting warmth. You feel dizzy, heart rate speeding up as you recall the words he’s just spoken to you. 

I can’t believe you’re finally here. 

Silver pools in your eyes and relief floods through you as you process their meaning. He remembers. 

A single teardrop starts to make its way down your cheek. One of Azriel’s shadows frantically reaches out to wipe it away before it can reach the bottom of your chin and drop onto the bar. 

He is still studying you. Worry clouding his handsome features as he tries to decipher what you’re feeling through the jumble of emotions now ablaze in his chest. With the bond now fully awake it’s hard for him to separate your emotions from his own. 

One of his hands reaches out to wipe away a fresh tear, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sensation of his skin replacing the soft touch of his shadow. He rests his hand on your cheek and tilts your face towards his own so he can study your eyes. 

“S?” His nickname for you falls from his lips, barely more than a whisper, and another tear threatens to fall from hearing it after so long.

He always used to say you were just as much a part of him as his shadows. He’d teasingly started calling you “his shadow girl”, “shadow” or simply “S”.

The mere memory is enough to make you feel fuzzy inside. 

You’ve not felt like this in centuries. 

You drink in the sight of the male in front of you, letting your eyes roam over his form freely now that he’s finally close enough to you for you to really take him in.  

He definitely looks… intimidating. You look down to the expanse of his chest, studying the exquisite muscles you can see underneath the stretched fabric. Letting your eyes wander to his broad arms, you notice the tattoos peeking out from underneath the short sleeves of his shirt and wonder how much more of the black ink is hidden underneath his clothes. You quickly look away before it becomes obvious that you are practically undressing him with your eyes. You let your gaze wander to his wings instead, and your eyes widen slightly at the size of them. 

You feel a slight flush beginning to form on your cheeks as you stare at the soft looking membrane. You can’t help but wonder if it’s true what they said about Illyrian males and their wingspans as you study them. You blame the hint of alcohol for your brazen thoughts. That and the overwhelming primal need to claim the male in front of you as yours. 

After a few moments of unapologetic staring your eyes shift back to his face. You find him examining you intently. Shadows swirling around him as he’s looking you over to make sure you are okay. 

He might be one of the most intimidating Illyrian warriors in history, but in the way he is looking at you right now, all you can see is that little boy staring up at you from the forest floor, eyes wide and vulnerable, all of his emotions readable in his open expression. 

One of his shadows wraps itself around your wrist in a comforting touch and you can feel some of the tension you’ve been feeling leave your body in relief. You’re really here, home, with him. 

You realise you have not said a word to him since he’s spoken the words you wished to hear for so long.  

“I told you I would find my way back to you.” you say softly, voice rough and trembling slightly from the lump forming in your throat. 

You lean slightly closer to him, the instinct to touch him overwhelming you. The golden thread connecting you is screaming for attention, begging you to get out of here as fast as you can and get lost in each other. To claim him. 

“I never doubted it for a second.” he whispers back, his hazel eyes burning with intensity. You can feel all of his emotions, the magnitude of both your feelings threatening to overwhelm you. 

You notice the hand that is not on yours moving toward your knee, but Azriel seems to stop himself, seemingly not quite sure if he’s okay to touch you. You give him a small smile and reach out, moving his hand back toward your leg. The comforting touch makes your skin feel like it’s on fire. 

Your position feels very intimate considering your current surroundings and you wish there was somewhere you could go to be fully alone. 

You’re suddenly very aware of being watched. You look around and a rush of anxiety floods through you. People are looking at the pair of you, clearly wanting to know more about the female engaged in an obviously intimate conversation with the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

When you came back to Velaris a couple of days ago you promised yourself you’d lay low until you were absolutely certain it was safe. Seeing Azriel and making the decision to approach him had thrown you off balance, made you careless.  

You notice some of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around you both as if they share your need to be alone with him. Even after all these years they still seem attuned to your thoughts and feelings. 

Grateful for the illusion of privacy, you move your chair slightly closer to his until your legs are touching, the leather of his trousers resting against the soft material of your own. 

Azriel’s shadows wrap around you even tighter, sheltering you from the rest of the bar and creating a familiar blanket of comfort. 

“Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?” you whisper. 

The sentence has barely left your lips before you feel a familiar coolness wrapped around your form, followed by a sensation that makes you feel as if you’re being pushed through darkness. 

Not long later you feel cold air on your skin and cobblestones under your feet and realise you’re in an alley outside the bar. 

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you wonder what else his shadows can do now that Azriel has fully learned to control them. 

He smiles at you, stepping slightly closer. “I know somewhere we can go, do you trust me?” 

You just nod your head and before you have time to process what’s happening, his arms wrap around you as he lifts you up from the ground, cradling you against his chest. You squeal at the unexpected movement, a sound that draws a soft laugh from Azriel’s lips. 

You’ve not been in the sky in centuries. When you both got older and Azriel properly mastered his flying, he used to take you out sometimes. The trips were few and far between as he was only able to take you when it was dark and you were sure you couldn’t be spotted by the camp below. 

You used to live for those short trips. Being Illyrian, you’d always loved the feeling of being in the air. You hated being stuck on the ground, your instincts always causing you to look upwards, towards the sky. It had taken years to get over the grief of not having wings of your own. 

You look up at him from the position in his arms, a big smile now on your lips. 

“Hi.” The word leaves your lip in a soft giggle. 

“Hello.” He whispers back, an equally big smile plastered on his own face. It’s a funny sight, this big intimidating Illyrian male wearing such a giddy expression. 

He presses you closer to him, and you lean your head against his chest as you close your eyes and breathe in his rich scent. 

“Ready?” His warm breath touches your ear as he asks the question and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. Being this close to him makes you want to rip his clothes off and do very bad things to him. You pray to the mother that he doesn’t notice how this is making you feel. 

“Ready.” You reply, and you can feel him push off from the ground. 

As you soar through the air above Velaris you feel happier than you have in centuries. You forgot what it felt like to be airborne. You take in the view of the city from the top and marvel at its beauty. The sidra looks like liquid starlight and the little lights scattered through the streets below make the city look like the night sky. 

It’s breathtaking. 

“As are you.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of Azriel’s voice echoing in your mind and you feel a soft blush on your cheeks from the sentiment. Another part of your connection that you’ll have to get used to. You must have let your guard down enough for your thoughts to reach him through the bond. 

After a short flight you touch down in a small forest clearing and Azriel carefully puts you down, smiling at you sheepishly. 

Of course he brought you to the forest, it’s only fitting to do this in the place you both feel most at home in. 

You take in your surroundings. You can’t be too far away from the city. The trees are different from the ones in the forest surrounding Windhaven, but the environment is not any less peaceful. It’s perfect. 

As he sits down and pats the ground next to him, tears start to fall down your cheeks once more. You weren’t sure you’d ever get to do this again. You are overwhelmed by the fact that you’re here with him. 

The knowledge that he’s your mate, combined with both of your emotions ablaze in your chest, shatters the walls you put up to stop yourself from crying. You have not cried this much in centuries, normally taking pride in your ability to compose yourself and keep your emotions steady. 

As you start sobbing you lower yourself on to the ground next to him. He immediately pulls you close to his chest, shadows engulfing you both to block out the world from view. Your own secret hideaway. 

Sobs rack through your body as Azriels hands stroke your hair with a softness that makes you feel like it’s okay to show him your emotions. He’d always made you feel like it was okay to be vulnerable. 

When your breathing evens out and you feel like you can form words again, you lean into his side and take his hand in your own. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t remember me.” you say softly, not daring to look at him. The shadows are providing the same comfort they used to when you were younger, making you feel like you can whisper your deepest secrets into the darkness. 

You hear his breathing catch at that, a soft whimper leaving his lips. You feel agony flair through the bond and as you sit up to look at him, you notice tears streaming down his face, mirroring your own expression from not too long ago. 

“My love..” he says softly, and your heart swells at the term of endearment. “I could never forget you.”

He moves his hand towards the top button of his shirt, undoing it to reveal a thin gold chain. Attached is a small tube that looks like it can fit something inside. He unscrews it and shakes it softly to reveal a bit of rolled up paper. 

“My most prized possession.” 

He hands it to you, and as you unroll it reveals familiar handwriting. Your own. It’s the note you left him the day you fled to Velaris. How has it survived all this time? 

Azriel points at the little golden tube when he detects your puzzled expression. “It’s enchanted.” You notice a small blush starting to form on his cheeks. “I had to make sure I could keep a part of you with me. I wanted to keep a piece of you close to my chest. Close to..” he takes a deep trembling breath before speaking his next words. “Close to the bond. I think it comforted it somehow, relieved some of the ache.” 

The meaning of his words hit you. He’d known. All this time he’d known you were his mate, and had to deal with the knowledge by himself. Your heart breaks at the thought of the mating bond sitting unanswered for centuries. All you want is to feel him close. To show him you are here now, that you are his. That you’re not going anywhere. 

The all-consuming need to claim him overwhelms you once more. 

You’re sure the complete adoration you feel for him has to be written all over your face as you stare at him. You move closer, needing to feel his lips on your own. You’re about to close the distance between you when his eyes go vacant, as if all of his focus is projected inward. 

When his expression clears again he looks at you, all the colour drained from his face. “That was Rhys.” 

Anxiety starts to build in your chest. You know of the High Lord’s daemati abilities, and given the feeling of Azriel’s overwhelming fear building in your chest, you know whatever he’s about to reveal cannot be good. 

“There’s unrest in one of the Illyrian mountain camps. He’s worried there might be a rebellion coming.” 

You’re scared to ask the question burning on your lips. “What camp Az?”

He stays quiet for a moment, scared to reveal the truth to you. “Az?” you press. 

You feel like the world disappears from underneath you at the words that leave his lips.  

“Frost Edge.”

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[justiceiscalling]

wild opinion i know people will hate me for: i strongly dislike alfred pennyworth. i know what you’re thinking, “how could you hate him! alfred does no wrong!!!”

(loud incorrect buzzer) WRONG. omg, alfred can only do wrong in my mind. he is such a fucking enabler and then he wants to play devils advocate. recently, before starting ‘what the future holds’ i reread robin 1993—specifically tim’s birthday arc.

if you don’t know what that is i’ll tell you. on tim’s sixteenth someone delivers a package which is a holographic message from a future-alfred essentially telling him someone in the batfam is, like, evil, and trusting him to figure it out. eventually it’s revealed that the message was a test, part of bruce’s training, and ‘future’ alfred was actually just current alfred. it was a really good read, i believe it was issues #116-120.

point is, alfred WILLING sided with bruce on that shit. alfred was not held at gun point, his life was not under any threat, he was asked to assist and he. did. that. shit.

and after he had the audacity to be apologetic! ‘i’m so sorry master tim’ like no tf ur not???? like u did this, you allowed him to feel like everything was HIS responsibility and like he couldn’t trust anyone. which is just so fucked up on another level. he watched tim isolate himself and beat himself up over trying to solve this and he?? just?? let?? it?? happen???

and some how he can do no wrong?????

when tim first became robin, who gave him the suit? i’m pretty sure it was alfred. yes, tim was a relentless little kid—but that’s just that. he was a fucking kid, no older than thirteen. alfred gave him the suit. sure, it was to save bruce, but why did it have to be him? why couldn’t he call dick or superman or, hell, go out there himself? why’d it have to be the nosy ass neighbor?

also when bruce and dick used to beat the shit out of each other alfred didn’t do anything. he lowkey just let it happen. like how much is bruce paying bro for him to let that slide?

ALSO ALSO i would love someone to correct me on this, PLEASE tell me i’m wrong, but wasn’t alfred the one who put up the good soldier memorial? everyone hates on bruce (who, in a lot of ways, is a bad father) for that memorial being up but it was alfred. and i get he was but jason wasn’t just robin, he was so much more. and most importantly, he was a son. i know things were rocky for him and bruce but, god, that’s his son! like what the genuine fuck, yk?

and maybe this is only in some iterations but alfred literally influenced bruce to train to be a vigilante. he trained him when he was young, after his parents deaths. and yes, he was another one of those relentless kids, but there were things alfred could’ve tried to stop him from doing this.

what i’m trying to say is, im so fucking tired of this ‘saint alfred’ BS. he’s in the wrong! maybe not all of the time but a lot of the time. and i don’t know if that ‘jason loves alfred the most!’ thing is fanon or canon but either way i hate it. if you’re going to make bruce a bad dad, if you’re making jason and bruce’s relationship rocky, then alfred can’t be the exception. he should be held accountable as much as bruce.

like, if jason loved alfred so much and saw him as a grandfather, why isn’t he pissed at alfred for not killing the joker. sure he wanted bruce to do it but after bruce didn’t, why didn’t alfred take it into his own hands? alfred has no problems with killing people who deserve it. he was a soldier for crying out loud!

if jason and alfred are as close as fanon claims then jason should be beefing with alfred as much as he does with bruce for not avenging him.

okay, this turned into a rant about jason and alfred’s annoying fanon relationship but you get my point.

i don’t hate alfred, i hate fanon alfred and i hate this fandom and how they love to hold bruce accountable for wrongs that lowkey could be alfred’s fault too. and i also hate that’s it’s so hard to dislike alfred because people will yell at you for it. in my fics i try to keep him as out of it as i can because god forbid i make him how he is in the comics.

alfred is a flawed character—just like bruce and jason and tim and dick and damian and duke—and that’s okay! it’s better when they’re not so one dimensional, it makes them way more interesting as a character and also allows fanon to create perfect character development over the span of long ass fics that i love to binge.

thank you for coming to my ted talk.