#it’s like he’s trying to electrocute himself

[shanastoryteller]

Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

~

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

~

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[cheshitora]

❝ psycho x killer ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

hanma shuji ver. (2/3 valhalla trio)

on the stand :: hanma shuji x afab!reader

crimes comitted :: DARK CONTENT, aged up characters, muder, mentions of death, blood, stabbing, gun usage, electrocution, explosions (well, you blow him up), you make a bomb, body parts everywhere, immortal hanma, body rejuvenation, Read at your own discretion, MDNI

che's verdict :: oh he's def guilty and he doesn't care either lol. part 1 with baji is up and i have the original with sanzu up as well. also with the way this one was coming out, i didnt wanna add smut to it. its kind of sweet in a twisted and morbid way yk? anyways enjoyy <33

word count :: 1.5k

"we're in a very weird and strange relationship..."

Hanma’s not like Keisuke that he stops you from killing him. No - instead, he encourages it, roots for you, cheers you on to do better, to think cleverly and be as eccentric as you wish to be.

A supportive husband indeed, even if it’s about helping his dear little wife try to find new ways to kill him.

The best part about him - he doesn’t fight back. He casually lets your modes of attack happen as if it were a normal occurrence in your daily life, and at this point, it had been.

When your dark haired lover first informed you of his immortality, you had become slightly more intrigued about the nature of his eternal life. The first death that took place in your home was actually an accident. Really, it was.

There had been a string of robberies going around in the neighborhood that put you on edge, forcing you to become acutely aware of every odd sound and sight that didn’t make sense. Hanma had been out buying you flowers to surprise you with. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his sweet wife that he had come to adore, especially on Valentine's day.

Now imagine his surprise when he arrived home quietly in an attempt to surprise you. He expertly snuck up behind you as you were cutting meat for tonight's dinner, speaking in your ear with a low, hushed voice, catching you by undelighted surprise.

“Surpri-”, that was all he could muster after finding himself at the end of your steel kitchen knife, having been spooked by your own husband and retaliating by instinct. The news of the robberies had you on edge all day and you hadn’t anticipated your husband coming home so suddenly and without notice.

Your blade was plunged in the center of his forehead, blood trickling down from the open slit, coloring his face in red as the blood splattered onto his glasses and down his cheeks and eyes. All he could see was red, the familiar coppery taste dripping onto his tongue and lips, like he had a mouth full of pennies.

In his last moments of consciousness, he struggled to figure out if he was mad or impressed by your reflexes. Either way, he knew he was dead, falling to his knees, his body tilting to the side until he met with the cold, tile floor of your kitchen, dark red fluids pooling around his head as you stared down at him in terror.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head as you began to scream, piercing cries of sorrow echoing throughout the house as you kneeled down next to your dead husband. You never meant to kill him and it was evident in the way you mourned him, mentally berating yourself for your own carelessness. And no, you hadn’t missed the bouquet of peonies in his grip when you stabbed him, making your heart ache even more.

Your hands shook as you tried to discern what your next course of action should be. Should you call the cops? Clean up the mess? You weren’t in the right headspace to make such a decision. Luckily, you didn’t have to, as Hanma’s once lifeless eyes began to blink rapidly, inhaling a hoarse breath of life as he pushed himself off the ground, his dark and gold locks soaked in his own vital fluid.

Hanma pressed his hand to his temple, a strong pulse making his head throb as he turned to face you, your horrified expression burning into his retinas. He started chuckling, then his chuckles turned into a full on maniacal laughing fit.

“Wow, didn’t think you had that in ya,” he choked out in between laughs. Your face had gone pale, almost ghostlike as you watched Hanma stand up from the ground, readjusting his glasses on his face. He patted your head as he swiped up the discarded bouquet of peonies he had picked out just for you.

“Happy Valentines Day,” he said, an affectionate and loving smile on his face as he handed the bundles of flowers to you, your body still struck with fear.

From then on, any opportunity he saw, he took. It was a game to him at this point - to see how many times he could die and how fast he could rejuvenate. You had merely gone along with your husband’s twisted ideas, though you always hesitated to pull the trigger, literally.

When he handed you a 9mm Luger pistol with its safety off, you could imagine what he wanted you to use it for. He held your hand in his as he guided the barrel to his forehead, a sly grin on his face as he waited for you to take your shot and end his life.

But it was always too much for you to handle and yet, you found yourself slowly easing into murdering him anytime he voiced another idea. His favorite death by far had been electrocution by a defibrillator to his temples, the jolt of electricity coursing through his nervous system, breaking him down by the second before he collapsed to the floor.

Every time you effectively killed Hanma, after allowing his body time to heal, he’d shower you in praise, kissing your cheeks, letting his lips trail down to your neck, whispering against your skin how proud he was of you for being the incredible wife he always wanted, finding joy in the rush adrenaline you gave him.

Twisted love, indeed - morbid, to say the least and yet it was profoundly sweet. You’d cook his favorite meal, dress him in his best clothes like a man heading to Sunday service. In a dark way, you adored the smile that stretched across his lips just seconds before another planned death.

You knew he had enjoyed the electrocution death more but today, you had concocted a devilish plan. You were going to blow him up. In the past week, you secretly had been looking up ways to build a bomb in your own home - a small one with a force destructive enough to rip your lover apart but not strong enough to take you out as well.

You were going to be on the FBI watchlist now but it didn’t matter.

After Hanma returned home from whatever business he attended to, you dragged him outside to your expansive backyard, quickly strapping the makeshift bomb to his chest with an eager smile. He smiled down at you too, his heart thumping from the sight of your excitement.

You swiftly ran away from him, leaving him out in the open as you ran back inside, the small switch in your hand. You sincerely hoped this bomb wouldn’t kill you too but there was only one way to find out.

Without a second to waste, you flicked up the switch, triggering the bomb attached to him. A loud explosion rang through the air, shifting the house on its foundation as the ground. Your small house rattled uncontrollably for a few seconds before resting in its place, the smell of smoke quickly filled your nostrils as it seeped in through the cracks of the windows and doors.

You remembered hearing the sound of debris hit against the frame of your home, inciting you to inspect the damage left behind from your scheme. You tiptoed towards the back door, eyes falling on the sight of smoke clearing in the air. As you pushed the door open, you realized what you had heard was not debris - well, it wasn’t rocks.

Your gaze fell upon the scattered pieces of your husband’s body littering the grass, some splattered against the side of your home while others neatly decorated your bushes and flower beds.

You stepped back inside, shutting the door as you took a seat at your table. He was gone, possibly for good. Was it possible for him to recover from this? Would he be able to put himself back together and if he could, how long would it take?

You didn’t let your mind wander for too long. If in the event he magically respawned, you wanted to uphold your tradition of making him his dinner and wait.

After two hours, he still had yet to pop in. Worry flooded your body as you silently prayed you didn’t actually send him back to the underworld. Another hour rolled by and he wasn’t here. His plate of food had gone cold and you were becoming more and more anxious the longer he stayed away.

You settled your head in your arms on the table, closing your eyes as you silently wept. Maybe you actually killed him this time. The fourth hour flew by and he hadn’t reappeared. Your body went limp with exhaustion, soft sighs leaving your lips as you slept peacefully. And as you slept, the back door creaked open, Hanma’s disheveled figure coming into frame, his eyes finding you resting on your arms.

He smiled softly as he inched closer to you, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m home,” he whispered, and even in your sleep, your heart swelled, immediately recognizing the sweet sound of your doting husband. He didn’t bother to wake you. He sat across from you, pulling his plate of food close, his gaze never leaving your sleeping form.

Your relationship may have been strange but you were the only one who could get his heart racing with adrenaline and that was true love.

©ABOVE WORK BELONGS TO CHESHITORA. PLAGARISM AND STEALING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR ORIGINAL CREATORS

[mandareeboo]

You know what would be fun?

Valerie and the Fenton parents creating a support group of "Wondering Why TF Danny Stayed" because I think about this a lot.

All three of them love Danny. All three of them have or want t beat the crap and kill Danny. It doesn't really matter that it's Phantom, it's still Danny. And he still loves them and stays with them (I hc Jazz's own love is extremely tense, with her having a bag ready to get tf out if her parents found out and reacted badly).

Like, that would mess them up.

I think it's so fascinating that most reveal 'fics I've read have focused on the Fentons' innate ineptitude as an explanation for why Danny forgives them. Because, like. Think about that! Danny doesn't hold a grudge because they weren't able to hit him. The intent was still there! More than once the Fentons got seriously close to injuring him! But forgiveness is based off of the fact that they didn't.

And then we see 'fics where they did. They manage to hit him, experiment on him, strap him down and do what they always threatened. And he still usually forgives them! It's not often that Danny doesn't forgive in these stories.

Valerie, meanwhile, Danny blames himself for. Valerie blames him for losing her status and home, when it was really just a big mistake! If Danny hadn't been there, Cujo would've done far worse to the building. Danny managed to do damage control. But 'fics where Valerie finds out, he bases his forgiveness on the fact that she was just angry.

Danny thinks it's okay for people to fire at him if A.) they miss or B.) they're mad at him. That's kind of fucked up????

[s0dium]

YOU'RE A PERVERT!!!

/ˈpərˌvərt/

a person whose sexual behavior is regarded as abnormal and lewd

Synopsis: How perverted are JJK men? What are their perverted tendencies?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso Warnings: Voyeurism, Gojo uses a vibrator on you in public, cockwarming, fantasizing, public sex, dub-con, male masturbation, mating press, begging, blindfolding and restraining, breeding

Gojo Satoru

7/10 on the pervert scale

This man is full of kinks and thinks about sex quite often.

His kinks aren't necessarily abnormal but he can be obsessive

Has sniffed your panties and used them to jack off

A shameless pervert

Would be into blindfolding

The rich man he would invest in some toys and is a fiend with them

"Shit." You mumble under your breath, biting your lip to prevent any more sounds from bubbling up.

As you sit in the glossy, high-ceilinged conference room surrounded by the austere faces of the Jujutsu Society high-ups, you keep your head down, staring desperately at the floor as the toy inside you buzzes against your clit and your gspot. It's fucking unbearable. Across the table, Gojo sits, the picture of nonchalance with his trademark blindfold, his lips curving into a barely-there smirk that only you can decipher.

The vibrations of the toy are slow, most certainly on the lowest setting which you are almost thankful for. The sensation is like warm sunlight filtering through a window, gentle yet insistent. The dual stimulation of your clit and gspot has you practically gasping for air, it is delicious, slow, and not enough, not what your body is starting to crave. You can feel the thrum of pleasure at the tips of your fingers and toes, then spirals inward, igniting every nerve ending with a whisper of pleasure. The warmth expands, filling you to the brim, making your breath hitch unexpectedly.

Around the table, the meeting drones on, a background hum to the electric thrill dancing under your skin. You shift in your seat, trying to contain the heat that Gojo’s toy stirs within you. Under the table, he is most certainly playing with the remote, circling the buttons that could at any moment lead you to your doom. How did he even get you to do this in the first place? Each brush of your clothes against your skin turns into a caress, intensifying the sensations that you desperately try to mask.

The more you squirm, the wider Gojo's smile grows, though it never reaches his eyes, which are focused intently on you, enjoying the scene he orchestrates from across the room.

Your face flushes a deeper shade of red with each passing second, a silent plea for respite mingling with the fear of being discovered. The heat pools at the pit of your stomach, waves of pleasure cascading through you in relentless pulses. You clench your hands under the table, nails digging into your palm to anchor yourself to reality, to the droning voices discussing projections and quarterly returns.

But Gojo is relentless, you can practically hear the click of the remote that speeds up the toy inside you. You immediately jolt as if you have been electrocuted and you cross your legs to try and tame the ticklish pleasure coursing through you like a tidal wave.

"Everything ok Y/n?" Someone from across the room asks, and you feel everyone's gaze turn to you.

Before you can muster up the strength to say anything, Gojo cuts in.

"Oh she's fine. Just excited to be here isn't that right?"

Geto Suguru

6/10 on the pervert scale

Geto prides himself on keeping his composure intact.

But the man has so sick fantasies roaming around in his head

Behind a kind smile and hazle eyes he is mentally tearing away your clothes and fucking you on the desk you are sitting behind

Totally acts on these thoughts. Eventually he will find a way

Doesn't really care about what others think of him, which makes him very bold

He is less of a pervert and more of a "sex lover" if that makes sense

"Stay still baby, dont want anyone getting ideas do you?" Geto coos into your ear and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your self from moaning. Thank god you wore a long skirt today because if it was any shorter you were sure everyone would know you weren't just sitting on your boyfriend's lap. No, you where impaled on his dick.

You glance around, your cheeks heating up as you catch a few curious stares from nearby moviegoers. Geto seems unfazed, his focus calmly fixed on the screen ahead. You can feel your body instinctively squeeze around his length, desperately yearning for friction, but two big hands keep you secured on his lap preventing you from moving.

Geto's presence is both arousing and disconcerting as you try to focus on the movie, hyper-aware of every shift and breath. As the room darkens with the film's start, you attempt to blend into the dim anonymity, hoping the engulfing shadows hide your flushed face and the flutter in your chest.

Suddenly, Geto slightly bucks into you, so his fat tip presses against the part of you that you only dream about reaching with your fingers. As the waves of pleasure gently cascade through you, you press your lips tightly together, restraining any sound that threatens to escape. You force yourself to remain utterly still, despite the overwhelming sensations of his large member that tempt you to move. The restraint heightens every tingling sensation, each pulse becoming more pronounced, more insistent. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt beneath you, gripping tightly as you focus on the subtlest of movements—a breath, a slight shift—that could betray the intensity of your experience. The stillness becomes a challenge, a game of control where every fiber of your being is acutely aware, and every small victory in maintaining composure amplifies the pleasure silently swirling within.

"Doing so well baby, you sure you can keep this up?" Geto mummurs into your ear, nibbling on the skin of your lobe.

Choso

7/10 and for very good reason

Listen, the man has never experienced intimacy before.

So when he experiences sex for the first time, oh boy, choso is down for the count

he wants to try it all, do it all with you, to you

He's the type to think about stealing your panties or is tempted to look up your skirt but reprimands himself for it

"Come on baby just keep your legs on my shoulders. Can you do that for me?" Choso's breath is hot against your ear. "F-fuck please" he says through a groan. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind you would think that he was actually begging. And you were right. Choso swears his isn't a whimpering man but here he is, voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt  

You are too dumb to reply, only spurting outcries and whines about how good he was fucking you. Choso snapped his hips so fast that everything seemed like a dream, the bed was shaking immensely with the headboard banging on the wall and you were losing your mind from the friction of his dick against your walls. How long have you been in this mating press? How many times have you cummed? How many times has he cummed in you?

"Wanna fuck you every day,"  he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal brutal. "fuck fuck fuck," Choso swears, as he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses your lips onto his. Your so dazed you practically drool into the kiss, letting him entangle his tongue with yours until spit smeared on either side of your lips. He doesn’t slow the movement for a second as he kisses you, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

Suddenly, it hits you. Like an ignition of fire your brain goes white and you feel yourself ascend to euphoria.

“You gonna cum baby?" he coos into your hear, pressing light kisses on the hollow of your neck. "fuck, cum for me baby, please, cum on me."  Choso's hand flew between your bodies to rapidly rub your clit back and forth, hurtling you towards your orgasm. Your pussy tightens so hard around his cock that he nearly has to stop his thrusts. Your mouth grows lax as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“That’s it,” He fucks you through your orgasm, pouring every ounce of his strength into chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy, hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flushed against yours, burying himself in your creamy cunny.

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

Sukuna Ryomen

This is difficult, sukuna is not much of a pervert as he is a sadist.

So on the sadist scale, he is a 10/10 and the correlation with pervertedness would also be a 10/10 because of the wild things he does to you

He just loves to see you embarrassed and degraded. If that means fucking you in public so be it. If that means cumming on your panties and making you wear them so bit it

There isnt much he isnt open to (unfortunately)

You feel dizzy.

The soft fabric presses gently against your eyelids, urging them to remain closed. With your sight stolen away, your world narrows, funneling your awareness to the heightened sensations that begin to bloom from your core.

You whine at the feeling, squirming at the sensation of sukuna's fingers massaging your gspot. His pace his maddening, every curl of his fingers is so slow and exact, so much so your muscles tremble from the pleasure.

"Faster, faster please" you mewl, and you don't even need sight to know that there is a devilish grin on Sukuna's tattooed face.

"You feel good dont you? Poor thing." Sukuna chuckles.

The material encircling your wrists is smooth, almost silky, tying your hands behind you leaving them free to roam but only so far. As the pleasure builds, coiling tightly within you, the lack of sight only deepens the mystery and intensity of each contact, each sensation. You're adrift in a sea of touch and sound, each wave crashing over you with more pleasure than the last.

"So pretty, I love it when you're desperate, god," Sukuna groans and he leans in close so you can feel his breath against your ear. "You're making me so hard baby."

Your hips buck up when you feel the pace of his fingers quicken. The fiction is delicious and his digits fill you so much better than your small ones ever could.

"Want me to fuck you?" Sukuna purrs and you desperately nod in response making him chuckle. "Look at you, of course you do."

[starlightseraph]

house md will always be remebered as the most insane thing ever broadcast because of how unabashedly feral everyone involved was.

a short collection of things that happen on the show, just off the top of my head, not even scratching the surface:

- house shoots a random dead body in the morgue and then sticks him in an mri machine, which pulls the bullet out of the dead guy’s head and destroys the machine, costing the hospital millions

- foreman gets bitten by a person with rabies

- chase kills an african dictator

- cameron steals drugs from a patient after possibly getting hiv from said patient

- house induces a migraine and then takes a drug made by his arch nemesis (who he’s been stalking for 25 years) to get the drug taken off the market. he then takes lsd (in the hospital, in the middle of a case) to cure the migraine.

- chase goes into anaphylaxis after doing body shots

- house stops an elevator so he can perform a cavity (vaginal) search on a teenage heart transplant patient who’s in cardiorespiratory arrest

- they give a neurosurgeon mushrooms to cure his food poisoning, then they stick him in an operating room. the neurosurgeon strips in front of a health board assessor.

- kutner dies for gay marriage

- house sets an autopsy room on fire while trying to juggle flaming bottles

- house gets recruited by the cia

- taub gets held at gun point after diagnosing a stripper with skin cancer

- in almost every single episode, the team breaks into multiple houses

- house fakes terminal brain cancer so he can get drugs implanted directly into the pleasure centre of his brain

- house cons us immigration to get his fake wife a green card. he also uses his fake wife’s ukrainian food truck to spy on people

- house tries to get wilson, his closet case boybestfriend, into bed every few episodes. every other sentence out of house’s mouth is about wanting to rail wilson.

- taub has a kid with his ex-wife, after they divorce, at the same time he has a kid with his 25 yo side piece. the kids’ names are sophie and sophia.

- house and wilson have a bet on who can hide a chicken in the hospital the longest without anyone finding out

- house tries to kill himself like 6 times and always fails (insulin shock, overdoses, electrocution, jumping off a building, cutting, etc)

- house fakes his death to get out of a prison sentence after violating his parole so he can live out his bi love story with his gay best friend who has 5 months to live

[calypso-rt]

When Rafe Realizes...

He’s Falling for You

-> Rafe x F!Reader

-> Pt. 2: Your Favorite Dates with R.C.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting golden light over the backyard as Rafe leaned back in his chair, the legs precariously balanced on the uneven patio bricks.

You were sitting beside him, scrolling on your phone, the occasional sound of your laughter breaking through the hum of cicadas.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but lately, he found himself watching you more than he should...at least more than someone who was supposedly "just friends" should.

He told himself it was harmless. You were easy to look at, after all, with your beautiful hair catching the light and your lips quirking into tiny smirks when you read something funny.

"Rafe," you said, your voice cutting through his daydream. You barely look up, your attention still on your screen. "Your hair is doing that weird thing again."

"My hair doesn’t do a weird thing," he shot back defensively, running a hand through it out of instinct.

You snorted, finally glancing up at him. "It absolutely does. Hold still."

Before he could protest, you leaned in, your fingers brushing against his forehead as you flattened a rogue piece that had sprung up, defying gravity. The touch was brief, just the lightest pressure of your hand smoothing over his hair, but Rafe felt his entire body tense like he’d just been electrocuted.

"There," you said, sitting back with a satisfied nod. "Now you look less like a mad scientist."

"I didn’t look like a mad scientist," he muttered, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

"You kinda did," you teased, your focus already back on your phone.

Rafe leaned back again, a smug retort dying on his tongue as he felt the ghost of your touch still lingering. It wasn’t like you’d done anything grand. Just fixed his hair.

People did that kind of stuff all the time, right?

Except… no one else did it to him. And certainly not like that. There was something so natural about the way you’d reached over, like it was second nature, like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to touch him.

And now he was stuck, hyperaware of how the air still smelled faintly of your sunscreen from when you’d leaned in.

How the air between you had felt charged, even though you’d gone back to scrolling like it was nothing.

He shifted in his seat, trying to push the thought away, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind. How could something so insignificant make him feel like the air had been knocked out of his lungs?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you laugh softly at something on your phone, oblivious to his internal crisis. He swallowed hard, his chair tipping back a little further as he tried to refocus.

How does something so insignificant feel so important?

"Careful," you warned without looking up. "Fall off that chair and I’m not driving you to the ER."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

You had no idea, did you?

No idea that one absent-minded touch had just tipped his entire world off balance.

"Thanks for your concern," he said dryly, finally steadying himself.

You gave him a fleeting smile, one he tried to memorize. Because somewhere in the chaos of his overthinking, Rafe Cameron was beginning to realize something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He was falling for you, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Rafe leaned against the counter of the grocery store, pretending to scroll on his phone while you wandered the aisles. He hadn’t even wanted to stop here, but you’d insisted on grabbing snacks before heading to the beach.

"What’s the big deal? It’s just food," he’d grumbled earlier, but you’d only rolled your eyes and dragged him along anyway.

Now he was waiting impatiently, glancing at his watch every few seconds. “You done yet?” he called out.

“Almost!” you yelled back. “I’m looking for something specific.”

He sighed dramatically. “We’re going to miss the sunset at this rate.”

When you finally rounded the corner, a triumphant grin on your face, you were holding a bag of… lemon pepper sunflower seeds?

“What’s that for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. “For you, obviously.”

Rafe stared at the bag, then back at you. “What?”

“You told me a few weeks ago you used to eat these all the time when you were a kid. Remember? You said your dad used to bring them home after his fishing trips.”

For a moment, he was silent, caught completely off guard.

He had mentioned that, hadn’t he?

Some random memory he’d thrown out one evening, barely thinking about it. It wasn’t even important. Just some passing detail about his childhood.

But here you were, holding a bag of sunflower seeds like it was the most normal thing in the world to remember something so small.

“I didn’t think you’d…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Didn’t think I’d what? Listen to you?” you teased, tossing the bag into the basket.

“Well… yeah,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I always listen, Rafe. You just don’t talk enough for me to prove it.”

There was a lightness to your tone, but the words hit him harder than he expected. You listened to him. Actually listened. To the stuff no one else cared about, the random memories he’d barely even registered himself.

“Sheesh,” you said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “If I’d known this would blow your mind, I would’ve grabbed these for you weeks ago.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling now, following you toward the register.

As you paid, chatting casually with the cashier, Rafe kept glancing at the bag of sunflower seeds in your basket. Something so simple, but it made him feel… seen. Like you actually cared about the parts of him that most people ignored.

Walking out of the store, he finally nudged your shoulder. “Thanks. For, uh, remembering that.”

“Of course,” you said, flashing him a grin. “Just don’t eat them all at once. I’m not buying more if you get another craving later.”

He laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he fell into step beside you. Inside, though, his chest felt warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

She actually listens to me, he thought, stealing a glance at you as you debated what playlist to put on in the car. How is she so thoughtful?

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle slid into place. He was falling for you, headfirst and helplessly, and he wasn’t even mad about it.

The rain was relentless, pounding against the pavement like a drumline gone rogue. Your car sat lifeless on the shoulder of a backroad, hazards blinking uselessly in the downpour.

You’d tried everything.

Turning the key again and again, Googling quick fixes, even giving the steering wheel a good, frustrated whack.

Nothing worked.

Which is how you ended up sitting in the driver's seat, soaked from your earlier attempt to check under the hood, dialing a number you swore you wouldn’t use unless it was an absolute emergency.

“Rafe?” you said when he picked up, voice sheepish.

He immediately picked up on the edge in your tone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you rushed to say, cringing at how pathetic you sounded. “My car broke down, and it’s pouring, and I’m kind of stuck on the side of the road. I just… I didn’t know who else to call or...or what to do...”

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the rain hammering against your windshield and the faint noise of his car’s radio in the background.

“Where are you?” he said, tone clipped and serious.

You gave him the location, muttering something about how you didn’t want to bother him if he was busy, but he cut you off.

“Stay put. Lock your doors. I’ll be there in ten.”

True to his word, Rafe’s truck pulled up exactly ten minutes later, tires skidding slightly as he parked in front of your car. You barely had time to roll down your window before he was at your door, an umbrella in one hand and an intense look in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning down to peer inside.

“Yeah, just a little damp,” you joked, gesturing to your soggy clothes.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he opened your door and handed you the umbrella before crouching to look under your hood himself.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” you said, feeling a little guilty as you watched him fiddle with something. “I could’ve called a tow truck.”

“Yeah, and waited an hour for them to show up while sitting out here alone?” he shot back, not even looking up. “Not a chance.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his tone.

“Rafe, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine,” he interrupted, standing up straight and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Your car’s dead, you’re soaking wet, and it’s pitch black out here. What if someone stopped by who wasn’t me, huh?”

The thought made your stomach flip, but you tried to shake it off. “I had my doors locked.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

You stared at him, taken aback by his uncharacteristic panic. “Why are you so worked up?”

“Because I care about you!” he snapped before freezing, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You… care about me?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I care, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being stuck out here alone in the middle of nowhere. It freaks me out.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The Rafe you knew was cocky and confident, never flustered or vulnerable like this. Seeing him so visibly shaken made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Well,” you said softly, “thanks for coming to my rescue.”

He finally looked at you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. “Always.”

You smiled, holding the umbrella a little higher to shield him from the rain. “Guess you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t let that get around.”

As he helped you into his truck, soaking wet and dripping water all over his leather seats, he couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

You shivered, hugging your arms to your chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

Rafe’s eyes softened for a split second before he quickly reached for the spare jacket in the back seat, tossing it to you. “Here,” he muttered. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You gave him a grateful, but shaky, smile, slipping the jacket on. “Thanks, Rafe.”

He didn’t respond, but you caught the way he kept his eyes on you, making sure you were okay. The warmth of his jacket, the concern in his eyes, it was enough to make the cold rain outside feel like nothing.

She called me. Out of everyone, she called me.

And that’s when it hit him, hard and fast like a tidal wave. He wasn’t just smitten. He was utterly and completely gone for you.

Rafe sat back in his chair, his gaze lazily sweeping over the busy café. He had his usual coffee in front of him: black, no sugar, no cream.

Just the way he liked it.

It was a Saturday morning, and the place was a bit quieter than usual, with only a handful of people scattered at tables around him. His fingers tapped the rim of his cup as his mind wandered.

He was halfway through a text to a friend when he noticed something that made him stop mid-typing.

You had slid to sit across from him, sipping on your own cup of coffee. When you lowered it, you caught his eye and gave a small smile.

"Coffee’s perfect today," you commented, stirring it absentmindedly.

Rafe blinked, then stared at your cup for a second. It was identical to his: black, no sugar, no cream.

"You—" he started, his voice trailing off in confusion. You hadn’t ordered the same thing, had you? No, you always chose the caramel latte, but you had started transitioning to more bitter coffee...

His eyebrows furrowed, watching you take another sip.

"What?" you asked, noticing his stare.

"Why’d you..." Rafe caught himself. "Never mind."

He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. You’d been unconsciously drinking your coffee just the way he did. Had you even noticed?

His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back, his gaze not leaving you. You’d also been humming that same song he had been listening to on repeat all week. An old track by some band he'd introduced you to, one that had been stuck in his head for days.

When you softly hummed the chorus as you fidgeted with your phone, he couldn’t help but grin.

"You always hum that?" he asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

You stopped and blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize it was the same one we were playing the other day, though."

He sat forward slightly, his eyes searching your face for a moment, trying to figure out if you were joking, but there was something in the way you said it that made it clear: you weren’t aware of the little things.

How, over the past few weeks, your habits had begun to align with his.

And in that moment, Rafe felt a quiet thrill spread through him. You were becoming his person without even trying. Without even realizing it.

He leaned back, smiling to himself, then took a sip of his coffee. “Guess we’ve got the same taste,” he said with a half smirk, watching you carefully for your reaction.

You looked at him and shrugged again, clearly clueless about what had just happened.

"Guess so," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

Rafe’s heart gave a small, almost imperceptible flutter.

You weren’t his yet. Not officially, at least. But in this small, unspoken moment, he was already beginning to feel like you were.

You had spent hours upon hours, which felt like minutes, talking, joking around, and watching ridiculous movies with stupid plots, chowing down on various snacks.

The door had clicked shut behind you with the usual soft thud, and now that you were gone, he couldn’t help but feel that sharp pang of longing in his chest. It was like someone had tugged at something deep inside him, pulling a part of himself along with you as you left.

Rafe’s lips pressed together, and his gaze drifted to the spot on the couch where you had just been sitting.

When did she start taking up so much space in my life?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how true it was. Every time you were around, everything felt just a little more... right.

Even the way the silence between the two of you felt more like a conversation than an awkward pause.

With a groan, he grabbed his phone, half-wishing he could text you to come back, but he knew that was ridiculous. You’d left, and it was just the way things were.

Still, as he sat there in the quiet, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so used to your presence in his life.

And how much he already missed it.

Pt 2: Your Favorite Dates with R.C.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

[blissfullsvn]

wish you were sober

pairing. kim leehan x reader genre. best friends to lovers (?), fluff, a sprinkle of angst, mutual pining word count. 1.8k warnings. reader is drunk and attempts to kiss leehan in this state (+ reader is shorter than leehan and wears makeup) masterlist

all it takes is one call from you, calling out his name with a voice that’s poutier than normal, before leehan’s striding out the door with his car keys in his hands.

when he sees you, you’re leaning against an electric pole, hugging it like it’s your lifeline. your other friends are around you, trying to pry you off, but you only push them away. from where he parks, he vaguely catches his name falling from your lips before he marches towards you and calls out your name himself.

you look up, eyes widened like saucers. instantly, as if you’re electrocuted, you pull away from the pole and glare at it, reprimanding. “you’re not leehan.”

the group around you bursts into laughter, and leehan can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him either. when he walks closer to you, you immediately cling onto him the same way you did to the pole, your cheek squished against his chest.

“my leehan is here,” you mumble.

he would have melted—no, dissolved—if not for the fact that he’s wholly supporting your weight and that all your friends are eyeing the two of you giddily. hence, his legs are forced to hold up straight, even though his heart is nothing but putty in your hands. he translates this through his expression instead, softening as he looks down at you and gently pats your head.

after thanking your friends for taking care of you, he walks off with you in tow. with one hand placed securely on the small of your back, he opens the car door with the other and attempts to seat you in the passenger’s seat. it takes a bit, because you’re reluctant to leave your hold on him, but he eventually gets you inside the car.

still leaning over, he easily fastens your seatbelt with a click. when he tries to pull away, however, you immediately snake your arms around his neck, holding him in place. it’s so sudden that he drops his hand onto your thigh for balance, but he quickly moves it before the touch can linger.

you’re staring at him, eyelashes fluttering. unlike your previous demeanour, your eyes seem to have more clarity in them now. you’re looking at him as if you’re searching for something beyond, while he’s looking at you as if he’s searching for a way out.

it’s too much. the blasting music down the street, the whirs of engines on the road, the mix of breaths between you, the ghost of your fingers on his nape, the weight of your eyes on him, the beat of his heart against his chest.

he feels too much, and yet, he can’t take his eyes off you.

slowly, you drag one hand from his nape, your fingers brushing past his ears and sending shivers down his spine, until it settles on his jaw. you cradle it gently, your thumb caressing his cheek. then, for a sliver of a moment, you drop your gaze.

it’s just a split second, but he catches it all the same. without realising, he finds himself flickering his eyes as well, and it’s all the indication you need to pull him closer.

that’s when leehan smiles, and then removes your arms around him easily. “get some rest. i’ll wake you up when we arrive.” he pats your head before shutting the car door.

when he climbs in the car from the opposite side, you’re facing the front and blinking blankly as if you’ve been slapped. he resists the urge to hold your hand like he always does on car rides, and forces his eyes to the front before driving off.

you do end up falling asleep, and when he gets you out of the car, he has to hoist you up against him snugly because you’re leaning your entire weight on him again. he doesn't mind, never when it comes to you, so he keeps his arm around your waist the entire time he’s bringing you up to your apartment. even when he reaches your door and has to fish out the spare key you gave him from his bag, he makes sure his hold on you is secure and that you’re resting your head on him.

when he unlocks the door, it seems to have briefly snapped you out of your delirium, because you’re removing yourself from him and staggering towards the sofa, much to his concern. he swiftly moves next to you, guiding you to the soft cushions and gently laying you down.

you immediately shut your eyes, quick to fall asleep again. at this, leehan sighs as he brushes the hair away from your face. “don’t wanna wash up first?” he asks softly. when you scrunch your nose in displeasure, he lets out a small smile. “not even your makeup?” he prods, and you respond with a quiet groan before you fall silent again.

his smile increases and he nods. “okay. just rest.”

truth be told, the alcohol in your system has already started to dissipate bit by bit, so even if you wanted to sleep—and never wake up again after what happened in the car—you couldn’t help but register all the stimuli around you, effectively reconnecting your consciousness to the world. this includes the ruffles of leehan’s clothes as he stands up and the fading of his footsteps as he opens the door to a room, prompting a series of noises from within, before the footsteps are fading back in until they cease right next to you.

the shuffles are heard again as he sits down, then the light sound of bottles hitting the floor. you furrow your eyebrows, finally opening your eyes just in time to see leehan place a soaked cotton pad on your face.

leehan immediately smiles when he meets your gaze, and he wordlessly prompts you to close your eyes so he can place two cotton pads on them. you do so without a fight, though your insides are practically fighting.

“let me know if i’m too rough,” he says, then begins swiping a cotton pad across your skin. he lets the ones on your eyes sit for just a little longer before he gently wipes off your eye makeup. “i’m sorry,” he lets out meekly when he has to apply more pressure on a stubborn area.

you remain silent the entire time, but you open your eyes again when you feel a warm towel on your face. he meets your eyes and smiles, as softly as how he’s dabbing the towel on your skin, wiping away the residue of your makeup remover. he does this a few times; washing the towel in the bowl of water and squeezing out the excess; and you keep your eyes on him all the while.

when he thinks he’s successfully cleaned your makeup, he adjusts his position, ready to stand up, but your voice immediately halts him.

“leehan,” you call, quiet and almost vulnerable.

he places your skincare back on the floor and faces you completely. “yeah?” he responds, round eyes staring at you softly… and fondly.

“you just took off my makeup,” you state matter-of-factly, ignoring your astute observation which has only added to the whirlwind inside you.

leehan blinks, then nods. “did i do it wrong?” he asks. “but i did it like this last time too… and the youtube videos….” he trails off, talking more to himself than anything.

“leehan,” you begin, your eyebrows furrowing. “do you do this for your other friends?”

he looks almost scandalized at your question. “no?” he lets out in incredulity. “you know i only do this for you.”

recollections of all the times you had been drunk and all the times he had taken care of you without any complaints, including taking off your makeup, flash across your head.

you suck in a sharp breath, looking him in the eyes directly. “then why?”

leehan tilts his head. “what do you mean?”

you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling too seen by him. silence encompasses you for a while and he allows it, waiting for you but not urging you—it’s little things like this that made you realise you never stood a chance against the line that threatens to be crossed in your friendship.

you hope he feels the same when you ask, “why did you reject me?”

the air feels heavy when you drop the question, and the silence that follows is even more so. you don’t dare to look at him, especially after the prolonged hesitance from him. still, you wait, even though you’re already close to withering inside. but when he finally speaks, the last bit of hope you’ve futilely held onto escapes like a droplet of water from a broken pipe.

“you’re drunk,” he says, but he instantly realises the gravity of his words when he sees the way you falter, the way he can hear a crack from you—and he feels himself shatter as well.

“no, y/n, i didn’t mean it like that,” he coaxes, getting up on his knees and placing a hand on your arm when you turn away from him.

“what other meaning is there?”

he pats your arm, prompting you to turn around. “look at me, y/n, please,” his tone is so sincere that you waver, glancing back at him.

“i said you’re drunk not because i’m trying to dismiss what you said,” he says firmly, needing to be as clear as possible. “but because it’s just not right for me to accept any gesture like that in your state,” he starts, then adds softly; hesitantly, “as much as i wanted to.”

the tears prickling at your eyes had been so close to falling until you caught what he said at the end. suddenly, your tears are gone and all you’re left with is confusion.

“hold on,” you turn to face him fully, momentarily surprised by the lack of proximity between you before you focus again. “did i hear that correctly?”

leehan’s ears turn an evident cerise, but he doesn’t move his eyes that are blinking up at you roundly. “i don’t want to talk about this when you’re drunk,” he laments, almost petulantly.

“i’m not drunk,” you refute firmly, and while you know it’s not entirely false, you also know your best friend wouldn’t fall for it.

“i’d rather spill my heart out when you’re not seconds away from passing out.” he attempts a joke, one corner of his lips quirking weakly, even though he feels like his heart is actually about to spill out his chest with the way it’s rattling his rib cage in anxiety.

you don’t have the energy to entertain him, so you remain tight-lipped as you stare at him.

leehan breathes out, deflating as he opens his mouth again. “instead,” he says, all traces of playfulness gone. “please… remember this moment.” he looks at you through his lashes, suddenly seeming so small, and his tone is too solemn, too desperate. “i’m not sure if i can handle another seven years.”

a/n. i just wanted to write abt leehan taking off ur makeup when ure drunk idk why it turned into a word vomit 😭 but i hope it was enjoyable to read!

© blissfullsvn 2024. All Rights Reserved.

[keferon]

Hello, I have had your Mecha Jazz au on my brain all this day and I need to share a thought

While I’m sure jazz probably isn’t well versed in mechanics and is even less aware of cybertorian anatomy, I cannot stop thing about Jazz coming out of his mecha to do a field repair that’s to small for Prowl to do.

Actually I like to think Jazz knows quite a lot about mechanical aspects of mech repair. He can't really do electronics but welding and screwing? Easy. ..maybe electronics too but he gets electrocuted a lot haha

It would be logical for a pilot to know at least basics of repair work in case of emergency.

So yeah I 100% think Jazz would at some point repair Prowl's cracked plate or leaking energon line that Prowl cannot reach himself :>

(Bonus points if it's painful and Prowl has to try really hard not to move because his moving parts could easily leave Jazz without a finger or two)

[selfshippinglover2222]

Hazbin Boys When Their Partners Crying

Alastor: 📻

Would be very gentlemanly about it

He’d whip your tears away with his thumbs as he caresses your face

“What ever happened, Sweetheart?”

He’d listen quietly as you explain to him why you’re feeling so down.

He’s soothingly rub his thumbs on your face, continuing to whip off any tears that fall

If someone made you cry he’d eat them for dinner.

No one makes you cry and gets away with it

If you’re crying over something else, something he can’t kill, then he lets you vent before giving you some advice.

“I’m here to lighten your load, my dear. Allow me to do that by explaining how exactly o can help!”

He ls very proactive in dealing with it, and he wants it delt with quickly.

Lucifer: 🍎

Would feel your pain with you

He feels an ache in his chest everytime you cry. It almost makes him want to cry everytime he hears you cry

He embraces you in a tight hug, letting you cry on his shoulder as he hushes you, rocking you both back and forth.

“Shh, it’s alright honey. It’s okay.”

Would very gently ask what happened

If you don’t want to talk about it he just nods his head and keeps shushing you

If you tell him someone made you cry he feels immediate rage but calms himself down

You’re more important than that right now

If you tell him something else then he just holds you tighter.

“We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Husk: ♦️♣️

Husk would be very freaked out by your tear

At first he’s frozen, staring with wide eyes as he figures out what to do

He’d let you cry and vent, sitting next to you the whole time.

Slowly he puts his arm around you, letting you lean on him as he quietly listens.

If you tell him someone made you cry he’d growl quietly, holding you closer

“Fuck’em. You don’t need that in your life.”

If you say it’s something else, like being overwhelmed by school or other things, he’s nod and let you rest your head on his shoulder.

“What do you need me to do?”

He’s ready to help in anyway he can

Angeldust: 🕸️

“Oh, Baby.”

He’d run right up to you and wrap all his arms around you, letting you cry into his fluffy chest.

He’d hold you and just squeeze his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain in his own chest at you crying

You’ve been there for him in his worst nights, so he’s ready to be strong for you in yours.

“What’s wrong? Baby, whats happened?”

Frantic to find out why your crying

If someone made you cry he’d be ranting and raving about how much they suck

“How dare they say that to you?! Are you kiddin’ me?!”

If it’s something else he’d try his best to calm you down, giving small pep talks.

He just wants to support you best he can, even if he’s not the best at it.

Vox: 📺

“Who the hell made you cry?”

Immediately he’s ready to electrocute something, his arms tinging with electricity.

He feels about ready to kill someone

If you tell him someone did make you cry he’d teleport away to them and immediately ruin them.

He’d leave them alive but then ruin their reputation

They’d never find a job again and people on the street would hate them

If it’s something else he’d try calms down and sits next to you, pulling you in for a side hug as he listens to what you say

“Let me help. I can fix it.”

If your overwelmed with work or school he’d contact the officials and make it easier on you

He’s use his money and power to help you stay happy

Valentino: 🦋

“Amorcito…Baby what happened?”

He’d rush over to you and pick you up, cradling you like a child as he shushes you.

He’s very physical with his comfort, holding you close as all his arms rub you soothingly

Talks a lot, giving you a lot of comforting words as he coos at you

“They said what.”

If someone made you cry you better beleive he’d be paying them a little visit

He’d beat the absolute shit out of them, no matter who it was

If it was something different then he’d coo and soothingly rub at your arms, back and head, giving you little pecks to help calm you down

He doesn’t know what to do but he does know he hates seeing you cry

It stirs up unpleasant feelings in his chest

[goldfades]

luke hughes + the reader being injured??

i recently had a health scare so this felt fitting

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i am so sorry, hon! i hope you're okay now, i'm sending prayers your way. i hope this fic cheers you up:(

You’re not sure what wakes you first—the dull ache in your throat or the sound of Luke groaning from somewhere nearby. It could be both, honestly. The room feels heavy, like someone stuffed it with wet towels, and even the pale light spilling through the curtains seems sluggish, like it’s had enough of trying.

Luke is sprawled across the couch, his long legs dangling off the side in defiance of logic, his arm thrown dramatically over his face. If this were any other day, you’d roll your eyes and mutter something sharp about his flair for theatrics, but today, your voice feels stuck somewhere between a croak and a whisper. A small mercy, maybe.

Your head pounds as you sit up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders and pooling around your waist. It smells faintly of the laundry detergent Luke swears by—some over-the-top scent that promises “mountain breeze” but delivers something closer to “mint gum and pinecones.” You hate that you know that.

“Are you alive over there?” Luke’s voice cuts through the stillness, raspy and half-hearted. His face remains hidden beneath the crook of his elbow, but you can hear the faint smirk buried in his tone. Always smug, even when he’s halfway to death's door.

You clear your throat—or at least, you try. The sound that escapes makes you wince. “Define ‘alive.’”

That gets a laugh out of him, a low, gravelly thing that almost makes you forget the way your chest feels like it’s stuffed with cement. Almost.

For a moment, the two of you sit there in silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or the soft creak of the couch as Luke shifts his weight. It’s not peaceful, exactly, but it’s something close.

And then he says it, casual and careless, like it’s not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. “You think this is, like, the flu? Or something worse?”

Your stomach flips—not in a swoony, butterflies way, but in the way that makes your heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

“Don’t,” you warn, sharper than you intend, your voice cracking on the word.

But Luke is already peeking out from beneath his arm, his blue eyes wide and almost childlike, like he’s just dared himself into a dangerous game.

You glare at him—or at least you try to. It’s hard to summon much menace when your nose is a clogged faucet and your head feels like it’s caught in a vice. Luke, ever the instigator, smirks like he’s won some kind of battle.

“I’m just saying,” he starts, and you can already tell this is going to be one of those things. “What if we caught some freak virus or something? Like that movie where everyone turns into zombies?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch cushion. “Oh my God, Luke. It’s a cold. Maybe the flu if we’re being dramatic.”

“Speak for yourself,” he retorts, finally sitting up. His hair is a mess of dark curls, sticking out in every direction like he’s just been electrocuted, and his hoodie looks like it hasn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in weeks. “I feel like I got hit by a truck. Twice.”

“You look like it too,” you mumble, earning a scoff.

Despite the teasing, there’s a hint of truth to it. Luke looks...rough. His skin is pale except for the flush on his cheeks, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. It’s unsettling, seeing someone who’s usually so full of energy—constantly moving, constantly talking—reduced to this sluggish, worn-out version of himself.

Not that you’re faring any better.

Luke notices you shivering before you do, his brows knitting together in concern. Without a word, he grabs the blanket pooled around your waist and tugs it back up to your shoulders, tucking it in with clumsy, overly large hands.

“Thanks, nurse Hughes,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way the small act of care makes your chest ache—not from sickness, but from something softer, scarier.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, leaning back against the couch, his head lolling to the side. “I’ll add it to my résumé. Right after ‘world’s best little spoon.’”

You let out a weak laugh, though it quickly turns into a cough that rattles your whole body. Luke winces, looking alarmed.

“Okay, you’re officially banned from laughing until you’re better,” he says, holding up a hand like he’s swearing an oath. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Since when are you a doctor?”

“Since right now.” He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Beneath all the jokes and dramatics, there’s something fragile in his expression, something that makes you wonder if he’s more worried than he lets on.

The silence stretches again, thicker this time, as you both retreat into your own thoughts. You hate it—this heaviness, this uncertainty. And yet, there’s something oddly comforting about sharing it with Luke, about not being alone in this miserable little bubble.

Eventually, he breaks the quiet. “If this is serious—like, really serious—we should probably call someone, right? A doctor or a nurse or...I don’t know, Jack?”

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion. Luke rarely mentions his brothers in moments like this, like he doesn’t want to bother them with his problems. It’s enough to make you sit up a little straighter, even as your body protests.

“We’ll call if it gets worse,” you say firmly, trying to inject some authority into your voice. “But for now, we’re just two idiots with bad immune systems and a bad case of cabin fever. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says, but his tone is tentative, like he’s not entirely convinced.

Still, he doesn’t argue, and for that, you’re grateful.

The hours blur together after that, punctuated by bouts of coughing, poorly muffled sneezes, and half-hearted attempts at watching a movie. Luke insists on something ridiculous—a cheesy action flick where the hero spends more time flexing than fighting—and you’re too tired to argue.

Somewhere along the way, you both fall asleep, your heads tilted towards each other, the sound of explosions and bad dialogue fading into the background.

When you wake, it’s dark outside, and Luke is still slumped against your shoulder, his breathing deep and steady. For the first time all day, the room feels light again, like maybe, just maybe, you’ll both be okay.

You let your eyes drift shut again, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. Whatever this is—flu, cold, or just plain bad luck—you’ll face it together.

The room is quieter now, save for the occasional sniffle or cough breaking the stillness. Luke has been lying back on the couch, his legs stretched out lazily, but his restless fidgeting hasn’t gone unnoticed. His fingers drum lightly against the armrest, and every so often, his gaze flickers toward you, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still breathing.

You’re curled up in a blanket cocoon on the opposite end of the couch, trying to ignore the dull throb in your temples and the growing itch in your throat. It’s not exactly restful, but you’re too exhausted to care.

"Okay, that’s it,” Luke says suddenly, his voice rough but full of determination. He sits up straighter, the movement jolting you out of your daze.

“What now?” you ask, blinking at him through half-lidded eyes.

“You can’t just sit over there looking all pitiful,” he declares, as if he’s just made a groundbreaking discovery. “Come here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Come where?”

“Here,” he repeats, patting the space next to him. “You’re obviously freezing, and I’m not letting you turn into a popsicle on my watch.”

“Luke, I’m fine,” you protest weakly, though the shiver that runs through you betrays the lie.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.” He gives you a pointed look, one that says he’s not buying it for a second. “Now stop being stubborn and get over here before I drag you myself.”

You huff out a sigh, but the truth is, the idea of being warm—of being close to him—is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Slowly, you shuffle across the couch, dragging your blanket with you like a reluctant child.

“Happy now?” you mutter as you settle in beside him.

“Not yet,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s pulling you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you against his chest.

“Luke,” you start, but your words trail off as his warmth seeps into you, the steady rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing.

“Shh,” he murmurs, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “This is non-negotiable. Doctor Hughes says you need cuddles for recovery.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how medicine works,” you mumble, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “It’s an advanced technique. You wouldn’t understand.”

Despite his playful tone, there’s an undercurrent of something more serious—something you can feel in the way his arm tightens around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s in the way his fingers trace absent patterns along your shoulder, a nervous habit he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

“Luke,” you say quietly, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see it—the worry he’s been trying so hard to mask with jokes and bravado.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s more for his benefit than yours, you think, but you nod anyway.

“We’re both gonna be okay,” you reply, letting your head rest against his chest again.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s heavy with unspoken words, but it feels safe—like the two of you have built a little cocoon against the outside world, even if it’s just for tonight.

Luke shifts slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. His other hand comes up to rest on your arm, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “If you tell anyone I’m being this nice to you, I’ll deny it.”

You laugh, the sound muffled against his hoodie. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The weight of exhaustion finally starts to pull you under, but as you drift off, you feel Luke’s lips press a feather-light kiss to the top of your head.

“Rest,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all day, you believe him.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

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

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

[chris-prank]

Home video

Oneshot

Yandere Ceo x GN Reader

CW: NSFW, Dubious consent of sending nudes, masturbation and anal fingering

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Esteban was trapped in a loop. Sitting at his desk, he tried to the best of his abilities to be productive, but quickly the thought of you filled his every thought. So he would take his phone once again, his finger looming over your name in his contact list. Each time, his conscience ended up taking over and he would throw his phone as far as possible on his desk, as if he had been suddenly electrocuted.

He had promised to stop calling or texting you every chance he got. He wanted to prove that he was putting in a lot of effort to get better. So, after dropping the source of his internal torment, the man tried to focus again on his computer, only for the cycle to continue. 

***

He was so proud of himself as he got home that night. He did it! He succeeded in not compulsively contacting you! Esteban could already hear all the praises and words of encouragement you will give him for being such a good boy. 

He waited and waited. The more time passed by the more his excited expression morphed his face into a worried one. You usually answered his text around this hour, so what was taking you so long?!

***

You felt bad. You truly did.

You knew that Esteban was working really hard to control his clingy and obsessive attitude towards you. So you felt your heart dropped when you realized you didn’t respond to his text at the end of your shift. But guilt quickly turned into curiosity when you saw that he had sent you a video one hour after you didn’t respond to his initial message. It had been sent fairly recently and under it was written “Ready for round 2?”.  

The thumbnail was already giving away the content of the recording, even if you try to convince yourself that it couldn’t be that. On it was Esteban, shirtless with his arms out of view of the camera, probably to put it in place. You hesitantly pressed the play button after sitting down on the couch. 

There were some movements paired with slight zooms before he seemed happy with his setup. Esteban walked away from the camera to get into the frame. Lowering his head onto the bed, he arched his back and spread his leg open. His movements were way too deliberate and precise for not to have been planned. 

Despite Esteban’s face being pressed into the mattress, you could still see his lovesick eyes glaring at the camera. It’s like he was directly looking at you. All of his private parts were on full display, giving him an extra vulnerable look in that position. He swayed his hips sensually from side to side, his hard cock following the movement. If you zoomed in, you would have noticed the small drops of precum dripping from the slit and how red his tip was. 

“I-I've been good for you all day… but… you didn’t answer and I just couldn’t wait anymore.” He whined, “You need to know how much I’ve missed you.”

One of his hands went between his legs as he spoke, grabbed onto his cock and he started stroking it. The other one gripped the sheets while slutty moans left his mouth. He looked like he was milking himself and now that you thought about it— he would look really good in a sexy cow outfit.

“I wish you were here Mmmf… with me. So you a-ah could… huff… you could reward m-me.” 

Esteban sped up the pumping motion on his dick as he spoke, all the while he tried to move his hips to hump his hand. 

“I’m just a… Nnnf… slut. Ah! I just Ngh… want to be fucked by yo—” He had bitten his lips, the wave of pleasure making it hard for him to speak. 

You swore you saw his asshole open slightly and clench onto nothing. Your intuition was answered to be right as his left hand tentatively brushed against the curve of his ass to finger himself. Since Esteban didn’t have anything to hold his weight anymore, his face got pressed even more into the mattress. His words and moans were coming out partially muffled because of it. 

“I want Aaah… I want you so badl— Ngggh.” 

His finger successfully found his asshole and had begun circling the entrance. It didn’t take long before Esteban pushed two fingers inside, not wanting to waste any more time. It went in with such ease that you suspected him to have lubed it in advance. 

Unconsciously, both of his hands started to move at the same paste in a rhythmic pattern. When he would stroke back to the base of his dick, his other hand would pull out of his hole. Then the same thing would happen again, but in reverse. 

He looked adorable when his eyes rolled back as the combination of sensations coming from both his ass and cock was getting too much for his poor brain. It was also getting harder for you to comprehend what he was babbling out, but you rejoiced in the sounds he made nonetheless.

His movements became more messy. In this hazed state he had to force his fingers out of him to focus both of his hands on his dick instead. Esteban gripped his shaft and started making a tight twisting motion, pulling additional moans from him. His body was covered in sweat with all the effort he was putting into this private little show, for your pretty eyes only. 

You knew that it was all a sign that he was inching closer and closer to release, and you were soon proven to be correct. You knew your good boy well after all. 

“I’m Mmm gon’ c-cum—”

He cried out your name in a high-pitched whine as he came, coating his stomach and the sheets with thick ropes of cum. He bucked a few more times in his hands, before gradually slowing down his movements. 

"Aaaah…Ngh... n-nngh..."

He lay motionless for a few seconds, except for the occasional shudder of his legs. He painfully got up, every one of his movements seemed slowed down. When he got closer to the camera, you could finally see his messed up face in all its glory. He had drool leaking down his chin, his cheeks were red as if he got slapped and you could see traces of dry tears on his skin. He gave you a weak smile, then the video stopped.

You were left there, in the complete silence of your room, after witnessing the most toe curling video of all time. You slowly clicked on the call option while getting ready. This was going to be a long night. 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I hope this satisfied the thirst of the Esteban simps 😌

[ceroseis]

⋆⁺₊ ༄ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 . . . megumi fushiguro

nsfw ◞ minors dni ┊ ‧₊˚ word count : 800 cw ┊ ‧₊˚ gn!reader, college au, oral sex (m!receiving), praise, petnames (baby)

thinkin' hard abt being tsumiki's college roommate. feelin' oh-so guilty abt having a big fat crush on her little brother. as an upperclassman, you should be guiding him through his first semester of sophomore year, not blowing him in your shared bathroom while she sits on the couch, one deadbolt lock away.

megumi looks so pretty from your special place between his legs— pants shoved haphazardly down his thighs, ruddy cheeks and midnight black hair stuck to a sweaty forehead, lips bitten a beautiful cherry red in his attempt to quiet himself.

"shit-! baby, jus' like that," he hisses between his teeth, knuckles white from their iron grip on the countertop behind him.

your knees are beginning to ache, but you ignore the pins and needles in favor of doubling your efforts. as much as you'd love to take him to the hilt and watch his soul leave his body, you can't risk the noise. another time, you think. instead, your head bobs faster over his crotch, doe eyes blinking up at him as your tongue swirls around the tip.

your right hand clutches the outside of megumi's clothed calf, nails digging into black denim as the involuntary twitch of his hips threatens to cut off your air supply. he always gets like this right before he comes: his heels flex and his fingers find their way to your scalp and he'll try not to shout, but he never really succeeds and—

"ohhh my god, fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck—!"

you make sure to keep your eyes open for this part. his mouth drops open and his cheeks explode in an almost embarrassingly bright shade of red as he unloads in your mouth. that wild look in his eye is something you'll never tire of. he seems to be floating somewhere halfway between this reality and another. it never fails to make you smile.

your movements slow, but you don't pull off his cock, content to let his long, gentle fingers sweep the hair out of your face. his hand slides down to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing over the swell of your cheek. sweet, is what he is. how're you supposed to resist those flushed cheeks and whispered praises of good, so fucking good, baby, so good f'r me as he comes down from his high?

eventually, megumi's calloused palms come down to the sides of your neck, cradling your head as he guides your perfect mouth off of his softening cock.

his spend drips obscenely from your tongue, fat globs depositing themselves back onto his twitching length. a quiet giggle bubbles up from your throat at the stupefied look on his face. your hand slides all the way up his leg to wrap around the base of his dick. the other finds its way to his shaft, giving a few slow, sensual pumps, spreading his own mess over his length as it squeezes and squelches between your fingers.

you can't help but hold him over your face as you press not-so-innocent kisses to his spent balls, sucking on them one by one as your hand teases at his tip.

megumi's arm shoots out to the side to steady himself from the overstimulated buzz electrocuting the base of his skull, smacking his palm flat against the wall. he groans again, low and drawn out, and you've both fucking forgotten just where exactly you are and—

"'s everything alright, megumi?" tsumiki calls out, voice only a little muffled from the seemingly insignificant panel of wood separating you two from what would be an undoubtedly horrified look on her face.

megumi's eyes shoot open as he chokes on his own breath, mumbled curses spilling from his lips as you watch his system reboot, getting his brain back online. "y-yeah!" he replies, trying his best not to sound like he just ran a marathon. or got his dick sucked.

"you sure? i told you to stop eating random stuff in my fridge— those tuna wraps were old!"

you'd laugh out loud if it wouldn't give you away, so you settle for a teasing quirk of your brow. "bad, bad brother," you mouth, shaking your head in faux disapproval.

he curls his lip at you, peeved that you're part of this conversation at all. "'m fine! just knocked something ov-er!" he squeaks, voice cracking as you pop his tip back in your mouth.

the look he gives you is murderous, but you pay no mind to it as you suckle on his head, eyes fluttering shut, tonguing at the slit.

megumi's head falls back at the sight, his dick giving one last utterly pathetic twitch in the confines of your hot, wet mouth before the door swings open.

"you better not have broken anyth–"

horrified, indeed.

looks like you have something else to feel guilty about.

sorry, tsumiki.

@seiwas + dilly . . . thank u both for being so encouraging & so patient with me during all my writing slumps and breakdowns. i hope you enjoy. 🤍

[jesuistrestriste]

Puppy art squirting 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

art’s laid out on his back with your hand around his cock, three loads pooled and shot out over his toned abdomen, and you’re still stroking him.

he’s whining and letting little punched-out gasps escape his chest, but it’s no use.

he knows you won’t stop.

i think the words you had used were ‘milk you dry’ when you had explained what your plans for him were tonight.

the blonde’s hands stayed behind his arched back, right where you told him to keep them, and tears pricked at his eyes as he squirmed and bucked his hips up into your first. sweat dripped down his trembling thighs, but you ignored it from where you sat between them.

“shh, puppy,” you coo, “relax for me… a lil bit came out last time, so you still have at least one more in you, ok?”

he shakes his head vehemently, trying his best to protest, but his swollen cock is doing most of the talking as it throbs and jumps.

your hand strokes him a little faster, and he all but wails.

“noo—! oh, god, please—” he sobs, tears threatening to spill over.

you only stroke him faster at the sound of his cries and focus your attention on his oversensitive tip.

“Art,” you say lowly, almost a warning, and you swear that you can imagine a tail tucking between his strong legs just from the look on his face.

he’s withering, pouting even, and then he’s back to moaning. you knew how to push him back into his place, and he enjoyed that. even if it sometimes made his dick feel like it was being scratched and tickled at the same time.

pain and pleasure. he could, and would, take it all for you if it made you happy.

a few more moments go by, and you then move your palm to glide right over his leaking slit.

art’s body convulses like he’s being electrocuted and his eyes go from being screwed shut to flying open.

“AH—” his hands fly out from behind his back and reach down for your wrist without his permission, wetness finally dripping down his cheeks from his flooded eyes as he shudders and hisses with oversensitivity.

“no, no, wait— wait,” he pleads, shaking his head, and he shakily retracts his touch from yours, but his palms hover over his twitching length, “that’s gonna be too much, it’s too much, it’s so much—”

he’s babbling now, gasping and slurring like he’s drunk, while your hands stop for the longest (and first) time since this whole thing started.

you look to his eyes, one hand wrapped around the base of him.

“you’re going to be ok,” you say softly, using your other hand to lean forward and wipe the tears from his cheeks, “you’re just gonna cum again.”

he shakes his head, sniffling.

“no, no, that felt weird,” he tries to explain between breaths and jolts of his spent body, “like something was gonna happen..”

you quirk a brow and then your entire body heats up as you realize what he’s describing. you’d seen it once or twice online, but you had no idea that art was able do it. and now, you were realizing, maybe he could.

you smile softly and breathlessly, giving him one firm stroke up and down before you pause your hand again. he curls in over himself and keens.

“do you trust me?” you speak gently.

he whimpers, but he nods. there’s a bit of hesitation in his head’s movements, as if he’s processing that you’re about to make his body do something that he’s never experienced before.

“hands behind your back, please,” you hum sweetly, but authoritatively nonetheless, and he complies without question.

all it takes is that one little indication of obedience from him, and your other hand is gliding up to swiftly start rubbing circles over the very tip of his cockhead with the flat of your palm.

he instantly sobs and cries out, shaking his head and digging his heels into the bedding while his head tips back into the pillows.

this only goes on for about fifteen seconds before he's gasping and lifting his head up to look down to you.

“oh my god, oh my god— oh— OH— no, no, something’s gonna come out, i’m gonna— it feels like i’m gonna—!”

your hand squeezes his tip now, and you begin to swipe the pad of your thumb rapidly over his slit.

“OH F-FUCK!” he yelps.

his legs kick out frantically on either side of you, his whole body arching up towards the ceiling as the strange coil in his gut finally snaps. he lets out one long, rushed, strangled moan, and then he squirts.

your jaw drops open as you watch the clear, watery fluid gush and fly out of him like a geyser, and you chuckle breathlessly.

“holy shit,” you murmur.

your thumb continues to glide back and forth over his tip as he releases more liquid, your digit faltering the stream, and he sobs harshly as he grasps at the sheets under his curved back where his hands remain.

after a couple long moments, the rush of fluid tapers off and he moans and whines little dopey, fucked-out words that make no sense.

you stop touching his tip, and glide that hand down to meet the one still holding his base. you sigh breathlessly as you sit there completely in awe.

art’s body collapses and his chest is heaving like you’ve never seen; for a second you’re worried he might pass out or hyperventilate, but he comes around.

his cheeks are flushed a bright red, tears muddling his baby blues, and his mop of shaggy blonde curls is a mess against the satin cushion under his head.

“Wh—” he mumbles, clearly still in a haze as the liquid trickles down the sides of his torso where most of it landed, “what just happened to me..?”

a breath.

“did i just… did i pee…?”

he whines softly and you remove your hands from his cock to lean down over his shaky form and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“you just squirted, it’s fine,” you try to reassure him, but this only seems to embarrass and confuse him further. although, the kiss helps ease some of this internal discomfort, even if just slightly.

he removes his hands tremblingly from under his back and pushes himself upright a little to look down over his wet stomach. he drops himself instantly back down and covers his eyes with his hands.

“i just pissed,” he says, his soft voice cracking with humiliation and exhaustion.

you frown and shake your head.

“Art, no, i promise you that you didn’t,” you tell him, trying to further soothe him, “it can happen when you get overstimulated, it’s okay.”

he tries to process your words, he really does, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity for it yet. he just moves to wrap his arms around you and push his face into your neck.

“i’m sorry,” he wheezes.

you kiss him some more. twice on the side of his head and then once over his shoulder. he relaxes a little more.

you return the embrace and sigh, rubbing his upper back as you pull his heavy upper body into your arms a bit further.

“don’t be sorry,” you whisper, “you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all fine..”

he doesn’t say anything but you can tell that he’s too busy recovering to really take your words to heart.

you can take a quick shower with him, make him some dinner, cuddle and dote on him, and then maybe—just maybe—he’ll be open to talking about it. maybe he’ll even want to do it again.

who knows?

after all, he’ll do anything for you.

[elaacreditava]

Have I found you, flightless bird?

Azriel Shadowsinger x reader

Summary: Rhysand brings back home a mysterious girl with a distaste for Illyrians. Azriel feels attracted to her and compelled to change her view on things.

Warning: angst, blood, gore, pinning and fluff

Word count: 4.661k

Note: This is my first writing ever. Never thought about writing fics, only reading them (obsessed) but I couldn't take this fic out of my mind so I decided to write and share it.

After Amarantha's death, Rhysand winnowed back to Velaris with an unknown female. As soon as he saw his family, Rhys fell to his knees and was hugged by Mor while cried and said repeatedly "she's my mate". His cousin, Amren, Cassian and Azriel stared incredulously at the mysterious woman in the corner of the room.

"Who are you?", the Illyrian commander asked after the shock of the situation has passed.

"I'm Y/n and no, he's not talking about me, I'm not his mate", Y/n answered feeling the need to get rid of any misunderstanding. No one asked any more questions while all of them sat down after Rhysand had calmed himself enough to start explaining everything that had happened since the beginning.

When Rhys was done hours later, Azriel noticed how little he knew about Y/n, as if Rhys was leaving her out of it as much as possible intentionally, only saying that she was Amarantha's slave just like him.

Seeing Y/n rounded ears, no scales, horns, wings, slitted eyes or anything that made her high fae or lesser, Azriel deemed she was human, the most beautiful female he has seen in his life with her smooth long hair, slender body and sharp face, no older than 25. But what got Azriel most about her were her eyes, more than the exquisite color they had, the look she gave at them, the kind of look of someone that had been through a lot and would never let it happen again was always present. He needed to know more about her, so he decided to pry for answers.

"Why did you bring the human back with you? Why not send her back to the mortal lands?" Az asked Rhysand but as soon as he finished his sentence, Y/n eyes turned in his direction and the shadowsinger knew he had made a mistake. "The 'human' is no human at all and she hates when someone talks about her as if she's not present." Y/n said in a disgusted tone and with such fury that Azriel felt like he's been electrocuted, but being the spymaster he is, he didn't let show how much the storm in her eyes affected him.

"Y/n isn't human, she's... something else, but that's not my story to tell. She will tell whenever she feels ready to share." replied Rhys trying to keep the conversation under control. Azriel and Y/n kept staring at each other for a while and he had a feeling she didn't like him very much. When the silence was uncomfortable enough for everybody else in the room, Azriel was the first to speak "Apologies, I didn't mean to, I see you and know you can speak for yourself." That caught Y/n off guard. Was it possible for an Illyrian to be different from all the ones she has meet before? Apologizing and looking at her as if had worth stirred something in her chest, something she hadn't felt before, like a tug in her heart. But she decided to not let it show and only nodded in return.

After introducing Y/n to his family, Rhysand decided the conversation would be over for now. "Y/n and I must rest" Rhys said to everyone and turning to her he finished with "Nuala and Cerridwen will help you getting settled." With that, the High Lord left and everybody else went to their own affairs while the half-wraiths took Y/n to the room she would be staying.

A warm bath was waiting for her and since she was feeling the need of washing away everything that happened she went in. Scrubbing the skin raw has become a tradition, the necessity of getting rid of Amarantha's touch and smell she could feel on herself after she was used, like Rhys was. Even now, with Amarantha dead, Y/n could smell her as if it was impregnated on her skin, as if she would never be free of it. So she scrubbed and cried and scrubbed some more like she did for years and years.

Having left the bath and changed into a short sleeved knee length dress, Y/n felt as clean as she could get. She was thinking about taking a walk around to explore the house when someone knocked on the door. Y/n went and opened it coming face to face with Azriel. Looking at him from this close, she could see the green in his hazel eyes, the light freckles on his cheeks, how his sharp jaw could cut anything. He was breathtaking. And breathless she was... until she realized they were staring at each other, so she cleaned her throat and said "Can I help you with anything?"

Azriel noticed her puffy eyes from crying during her scrub session and the raw skin of her arms and neck, so red that looked very sensitive to touch. The dark blue dress she was wearing complimented her curves and skin tone. He could only think about how was it possible to someone to look so mesmerizing even with puffy eyes, raw skin and a simple dress.

After a moment he averted his eyes "I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Azriel, spymaster of the Night Court." he extended his hand, palm up, his shadows went to his fingertips, eager for her to make contact so they would jump to her warm fingers. Y/n put her hand on his and he kissed it and gave her a little bow while he saw his shadows circling her wrist and caressing her forearm "They seen to like you" his lips twitched trying to hold a smile before he continued "I was wondering if you need anything. Perhaps a tour around the place?" he said looking at her eyes now with a little smile, still holding her hand, and Y/n was wondering how soft his lips would feel against hers.

No! She couldn't get involved with him! After everything she's been through, she didn't need an Illyrian brute controlling her choices, taking away her freedom like she knew was part of their culture. As soon as she thought about it, she snatched her hand back and said "No thanks, I don't need to go anywhere with your kind" dismissing him. She was ready to close the bedroom door but he stopped her, holding the door ajar. She could see hurt and fury in his eyes, his shadows back around him were bristled when he asked "What do you mean with 'my kind'?" at that moment she thought he probably didn't always need to torture to get the answers he wanted, the look he was giving her and the tone he voiced his question was almost enough to make her apologize and cower in a corner. But she didn't suffer all she did all those years to run and hide when confronted any male.

"I don't need an Illyrian male telling me what to do and where to go, soon enough you'll start telling me what to wear and how to behave" she replied coldly.

"What?! I was just trying to be nice since you just got here and don't know your surroundings. Never wanted to control you in any way, just thought you would feel more at ease knowing how to come and go." He took a step closer, she could smell night-chilled mist and cedar coming from him "Don't compare me to other Illyrians you have met before. You don't know me", his low voice giving her goosebumps and making her heart race.

Azriel felt an anguish in the current situation he hasn't felt before. Being compared to everything he had fought against his whole life.

"Whenever you feel like leaving your prejudice behind, I'll be around." with that he left leaving Y/n stunned by the door. She was so shocked by his words that she didn't remember closing the bedroom door, walking to her bed and laying down. She felt a mix of rage and shame, how he talked to her, after she patronized him, how her prejudice made her think they're all the same when all he showed her was kindness. She took a deep breath and got up ready to find him and apologize but as soon as she got to the door and opened, Rhys was there. "Hey! I just saw Az leaving, looking mad, what happened?" he asked, so Y/n told him everything about their encounter.

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Y/n. The brooding face, shadows and bat wings might give you the wrong impression but once you get to know him, you'll see that he's nothing like you ever knew. Let the past in the past and try to be open minded" the High lord said, making her feel even worse about the situation. So she got up fast and said "I need to go, Rhys. Do you know where I can find him? I really need to apologize."

"He's probably at the library, it's where we usually find him when he's pissed. It's on the lower floor, fourth door to your right." he instructed her knowing she had no idea where was anything in the house. "Thanks Rhys, wish me luck!" she said passing Rhysand and giving him a peck on his cheek.

"No problem! And you won't need luck, Az is a nice male and you are you. He will understand and both of you will be fine." he said with a smirk looking at her as if he knew something Y/n didn't. She went to the lower floor and the fourth door to her right was a large one, very library like so she got in and started looking for him. The place was so big, with endless shelves full of books. She will definitively spend some time here in the future. For now she had to find him, but had no idea where to start.

Something on the ground was trying to get her atention and when she stepped closer she noticed it was one of his shadows. When she bent down to touch it the shadow moved to an aisle luring her to follow it and so she did. After some twists and turns she found him sitting on a sofa with a pile of books and reports laying on the table by his side. He looked very comfortable, with his legs spread, one hand holding a report while the other arm was resting on the back of the sofa holding his head in place. His wings were behind the sofa resting, just as spread as his legs. And damn, if the rumors about wingspan were true, the male in from of her was very blessed. Fuck, she comes to apologize and can't stop thinking about those things, not nice!

As soon as she came into view, he stiffened and fixed his posture, looking tense and ready to fight. "I've come in peace!" She stated quickly while holding her hands up in a surrender position for him to see. "I was so unfair comparing you to others, I am very sorry about it. I've had some bad experiences in life but that doesn't excuse how I treated you." Az looked her over, her guilty ridden face told him she was being sincere.

"It's okay, I forgive you" he replied and she instantly looked so relieved and for a couple of seconds he just kept gazing at her, something in her was so entrancing, he couldn't take his eyes off of her until -"wait, how did you find me here? This library is like a maze" he said imagining the trouble she went through until finally finding him.

"Uh, as soon as I entered the library one of your shadows found me and guided me to you" she said and his jaw dropped. His shadows always helped him to hide, not to be found. It didn't matter who was looking for him, they never gave his whereabouts to anyone. "You little traitors" he scolded them playfully. Even feeling a bit betrayed by them he felt glad that they did it and the air between Azriel and Y/n could be cleared.

"So, I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Y/n. Would you mind giving me a tour around the place?" she used almost the same words he did hours before by her door so he barked a laugh, got up, took the hand she extended, kissed it, put it around his byceps and told her "It would be my pleasure."

He didn't fail to notice how his shadows would naturally run from him to hers, excited to touch her warm skin and back to him bringing her smell with them.

Months have passed and the dynamic between them both was as if they have known each other for centuries. They would talk for hours about a book they read, go to a cafe to have their favorite pastries, walk down the Rainbow while chatting about the future, training hand to hand combat, since Y/n begged to learn anything because she felt the need since she was never able to fight back in her slave days or before that.

Everything was great between them, except for the fact that Y/n still didn't disclose anything to him about her past. He didn't know what she was, where she came from, how old was she, and that made Azriel confused. She was comfortable enough to have him around, to do almost everything together, even sleep on his shoulder once when they were reading together side by side on the couch and she fell asleep, laying her head on his shoulder, then moving to his chest, and when waking up, not being embarrassed about it, as if it wasn't the first time this was happening and as id it wasn't almost gave him a heart attack.

Her head near his face, he could smell her hair, feel the softness of it on his cheek, he wanted to run his hands through it, feel it between his fingers. Then she moved a little bit to get more comfortable and her nose was almost touching his chest. He could feel her breath on his skin since the V neck he was wearing showed some skin. It tickled him and gave goosebumps.

He couldn't concentrate on his book any longer. All he could think about was how would it feel to have her hair between his fingers while she kissed his chest, his abs, his- never mind! He took a deep breath and tried very hard to take his mind off of it. They would be very flirty with each other all the time but it was just a joke, she would never be interested in him more than friends. She was so kind, brave, smart and pretty. And he was just him.

Today was training day and they were stretching at the center of the ring before starting with hand to hand combat. Y/n was wearing leggings and a long sleeved shirt. Azriel noticed Y/n never wore sleeveless clothing, she would show her arms sometimes but never her back. He tried to dismiss this information but it kept nagging at him.

Azriel was wearing his combat leathers, and Y/n couldn't stop staring at his muscles, how good he was looking. He kept giving her a welcoming smile, an encouraging one since they were about to start fighting and he would handle her ass to her. She has been training for months now but he has been training for centuries, it didn't matter what a great professor he was, she would never win a fight between them, even so with her getting distracted when their skin touch, when he imobilizes her and she can feel his breath on her neck, when he's so close that everything she can do is do her best to keep herself under control and not kiss him then and there.

It was impossible not to fall for him. He was amazing, she could spend the whole day with him and would never tire of his company. Everyone saw him as a serious fae, never smiling and always in the shadows, but with Y/n he was funny, attentive, respectful and smart. Gods, she wanted him so much. But he would never want her, a broken girl, her years as a slave only left a shadow of the person she was. He would answer her flirtation with the same tone but of course it was just a joke to him, he could have anyone, why would he choose her?

"Okay, today we'll test the grappling you've been learning lately. We have tested your kicking lessons and punching ones in the last classes. Today, no kicking, no punching, only imobillizing, got it?" He asked and even knowing what was coming, she got nervous. He was very built, tall and large so she would have trouble dealing with it.

He taught her how to take down bigger opponents but one thing was just theory and training other was to use it to really win the fight. Y/n just took a deep breath and nodded in confirmation.

They started to circle each other, looking for a weak spot to take advantage of. She tried to trip him tackling his legs but he just pushed her back and gave a little laugh. She knew he was playing her, that he could have finished it already but he wanted to see what she had learned. So back at circling she remembered a takedown she read about, trained the movement in front of the mirror many times but never really did it on someone. If she was able to execute it, Azriel wouldn't be expecting it since it was one he never taught her.

Y/n keep a natural stance while moving closer to him. She then gripped his left wrist with her right hand and hooked his left armpit with her left arm. Taking a big step forward, she rotated her body and dropped to her knees between his legs, with her back to him, using the momentum to change Azriel's center of gravity and pull him over her shoulder and onto his back on the mat. He looked so surprised that Y/n kept staring at his face with the biggest smile he has ever seen. He took a second to save that scene in his memory and in the next he dropped her and mounted her waist.

"That was one hell of a takedown, but instead of gloating you should've held me down so I wouldn't get up and take you down" he said looking down and smiling at her.

Y/n was breathless. She didn't know if it was because of the takedown, or of when he caught her off guard after it or because he was sitting on top of her with that smile that melted her every time.

"Hey, are you okay?" He whispered thinking she could be hurt and moved his hand to move her hair away from her face. Lost in his actions, he didn't notice the mischief in her eyes. She hugged his forearm and bumped her hips to the side, making him loose balance and falling on his back again. This time she learned her lesson, before he could close his legs around her hips or get up, Y/n moved fast and mounted him as he did to her minutes ago but now, she held his wrists above his head.

They both were breathing heavy, their noses inches apart, looking at each other's eyes. His eyes moved from hers to her lips and back to her eyes.

"I yield" he breathed against her lips. She threw all control away and kissed him deep and hard. Moving one hand to his hair and the other to the back of his neck she tried to show him through that kiss how much he meant to her, how glad she was to have met him and how she wanted a future with him.

With his arms now free from her grip, Azriel buried with fingers in her hair and his other hand moved to the small of her back. He waited so long for this to happen and to have her kissing him back, gods! He hoped she could feel how in love he was with her, how he never wanted to part from her, have her in his arms all the time would be everything.

Y/n lifted her head a little bit, just enough to look at his face, that's when she felt it. That tug in her heart so strong that made her gasp. The bond snapping into place. She widened her eyes in disbelief. Azriel was her mate.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The shadowsinger asked, noticing the change in her demeanor. He moved his hand from the small of her back to between her shoulder blades and saw when she instantly winced in pain and pushed his arm away, getting up and turning her back to him, ready to leave.

Before she could go, Azriel grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. When she looked at him, her eyes were shining silver with tears. He knew he didn't hurt her back, had mastered enough his fighting skills to be sure of it. The pain must be from a wound badly healed from her time Under the Mountain.

"Please, talk to me" her mate pleaded, "please, I want to help, I want you!" With that, she looked at his hazel eyes and saw all the love he had for her. It was time to trust him with her secrets since her mate always showed himself to be loyal and reliable.

Y/n moved her arm from his grip but didn't walk away, only turned her back to him. When he thought she would ignore him, she started taking her shirt off. Under that she had a spaghetti strapped top and where he touched her back before were scars. The red and twisted tissues were in the same placement of his wings.

"I'm Illyrian, Az. Amarantha severed my wings with her sword after I tried to run away from Under the Mountain years ago" she told, looking at him over her shoulder with tears running down her face. "My father was Rhys' father Illyrian commander. The night Tamlin's family was killed by Rhys dad at Spring Court, my father was there helping them. So Amarantha slaved Rhys and I for our parents part in her ally's death."

Azriel was at loss for words. Y/n had wings once. And they were cut off of her with a sword. The pain she must have felt. It's a wonder she's still alive. He had so many questions but afraid of overstepping he started slow with "that's how you know about Illyrian culture, why you thought I was like them all."

"Yes, I grew up witnessing how females were treated by males in our village. Always being submissive, ready to serve, never fighting back" she told him with rage in her voice. "When I was old enough, my father clipped my wings. Told me it would be easier to marry me to someone this way, as it was a display of submissiveness. He died the same night as Rhys' father, by Tamlin's hands. And when Amarantha came for me, I couldn't fly away and didn't know how to fight to defend myself. So she took me." Her father made her a flightless bird, always caged, never able to feel the wind on her wings ever again.

By now, Y/n was on her knees with her forehead on his chest, the conversation having taken all her strength, while the spymaster kneeled before her, holding her as if he could prevent her from breaking, from falling to pieces.

"After years of serving in Amarantha's bed whenever she felt like it, I tried to run away. It was the best chance I've had in years, I would have made it if I could fly after leaving her court, but with clipped wings I had to walk, that's when the Attor got me" Y/n was sobbing so hard that Azriel was shushing her, caressing her hair and promising he would never anyone hurt her again. She believed him, knew he would burn the world down to keep her safe.

After taking deep breaths to calm herself, she continued, "Amarantha said that clipped wings weren't enough to make me submissive, she would need to try harder. So she grabbed her sword and severed them. I'll never forget the pain I felt that day, the sound of my screams, the blood spilling from my back. After that, she called for Rhysand, told him that his mission was to not let me die of blood loss and left.

"Rhys found a healer and they did the best they could in the conditions presented to them. I survived, but a wound this bad needed better conditions to heal properly, that's why is more sensitive than a normal scar. Madja's already working on it, prescribed some balms and potions to lessen the pain and make it less sensitive but she said it will take a while to be completely painless."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry this happened to you, all of this! What your father did, the price you paid for his actions, all you suffered before and during Amarantha's reign. I wish you never went through situations were you had to show your strength but going through it all, you were so strong, so brave!" Azriel said with choked voice while holding Y/n face in his hands, touching her forehead with his, drying her tears with his thumbs, caressing her cheek in reassurance. The shadowsinger himself was on the verge of tears, keeping a hold on his emotions while trying to comfort Y/n. "I would do anything to save you from all this suffering, anything" Azriel whispered to her.

Y/n felt so light, having someone to share the burden, someone she trusted, was like having a boulder removed from her chest. And to hear all reassurances he was giving her made her feel so safe and seen. She gripped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly but with so much love that he felt the bond snapping into place right away.

Azriel gasped, opened his eyes and Y/n was staring at him with a smile on her face, eyes rimmed with tears. She gave a tug on the bond and he gasped again, she laughed and said "Can you feel it?"

Her mate just nodded gaping at her. She laughed harder then said "thank the cauldron! I thought I'd have to endure ages until it snapped to you too!"

"You're my mate" he whispered, she nodded. "I've found you... I can't believe it" he was stunned. "When did it- oh, minutes ago when you were looking at me after our kiss!" He realized, dumb struck.

"For a spymaster sometimes you're very clueless, you know?" She said giggling. "I've been giving you clues about how I feel about you, flirting and spending as much time as I could with you. Mates or not, I've been in love with you for a while now."

Azriel was dreaming, he was sure of it. No way this was real, it was too good to be truth. Y/n was his mate and was in love with him. He never thought he was deserving of a mate, much less deserving of her and here they were, mates and in love. The Mother blessed him with the greatest gift.

"Looks like you bested me this" he said smiling, then cupped her jaw to to lift her face and capture her eyes and said "I will protect you with my life. I'd die and kill for you."

Y/n knew he was speaking the truth because she could feel through the bond and also that's how she felt about him. Knowing all he has been through since a child, she would die and kill to keep him safe.

Her lover, her mate, her Azriel.