#this thing is both TOO sensitive and not sensitive enough

[poseidonsworst]

Okay, as someone with MCAS aka (allergic to everything syndrome) this is the absolute BANE of my existence, but I do have a little wisdom to share.

First, if you haven't gotten Patch Testing see if you can. It's mostly for skin reactions, but really sensitive folks (like me) often get gastrointestinal and systematic symptoms in addition to contact dermatitis.

The two patch test positives relevant to this post are Balsam of Peru and Fragrance.

Balsam of Peru is a tree sap mostly harvested in Ecuador. It's used as a natural flavoring in a lot of different foods, because it's tastes/smells like vanilla and cinnamon. That's because it contains cinnamic acid, cinnamyl cinnamate, benzyl benzoate, benzoic acid and vanillin. It is possible to be allergic to only one of those, but commonly there's a lot of cross reactivity.

As you can imagine vanillin is found in vanilla, and anything with "cinna" at the start is found in cinnamon. Both of which you should avoid if you have a Balsam of Peru allergy. There's a lot of other things too, but instead of listing them, I'll point you to This Site that has a pretty great breakdown.

Fragrance meanwhile, is FUCKING EVERYWHERE! Whenever an item says it has "artificial flavors" it's likely that ingredient falls under the umbrella of fragrance. Like Balsam of Peru there's different subtypes of fragrance allergy, and they're tested for with different fragrance mix patch tests. I know less about fragrance than I do balsam of peru, so I'm not going to talk much about it. But if strong perfume makes you feel sick or scented lotion gives you a rash, it could very well be a fragrance allergy, and (if you're sensitive enough) those can come with gastrointestinal problems because your body will react to those same chemicals when they're ingested.

This is mostly just general suppositions because sometimes one extract that's considered "natural" in one case can be considered "artificial" in another. Food labels are absolute fucking bullshit, and companies are so cagey about this cause they're scared of their competitors stealing their oh so precious recipes. Which is stupid as fuck and dangerous to people with allergies. This bullshit is another goddamn example of all the ways capitalism screws people over, especially disabled people.

TLDR:

I'M SPEAKING IN GENERAL NOT GIVING A HARD AND FAST RULE!

If you're allergic to Balsam of Peru (or cinnamon, or vanilla, or almost any commonly used spice) avoid anything that says Natural Flavors.

If you're allergic to Fragrance (perfume, scented soaps and lotions, or any other Strong Smell that's supposed to smell good) avoid anything that says Artificial Flavors.

Capitalism is the root of all evil.

Disability is not a punishment, but I think the world would be genuinely improved if every person involved in writing or regulating ingredient labels was mysteriously inflicted with at least one food allergy falling under each of the following categories: "natural flavors," "modified food starch," "artificial flavors," "spices," and "color." Down with ingredient labels so vague that they defeat the entire fucking point.

[witherby]

I think a really cool day idea for Conner and mouse would be like the circus scene from Teen Titans were Robin let Starfire try some cotton candy and it’s really cute 



I remember that scene!!! Robin's absolutely lovesick expression was so romantic to me, even back then.

I didn't replicate that one-for-one, but they're certainly at a carnival! I hope you like it!

The Littlest Wayne: Carnival

(features: established relationship, Conner Kent x gn!Reader, fluff, discussions of structures that aren't OSHA compliant, kissing)

Masterlist is Here!

"That doesn't look safe."

"None of these rides really are," you admit, queueing into the line to ride the Wave Swinger with your boyfriend. "Pop-up carnivals are designed in such a way that they can be thrown up and taken down within a day or two. You can't really afford to bolt anything down because it isn't going to be there in a week."

Conner looks at you with incredulity. He looks like he's trying not to pout, which is adorable. You barely refrain from kissing him.

"Then why are we lining up to get on one?"

"S'part of the vibe," you explain, lifting your hands for emphasis. One of them is interlaced with your boyfriend's, so his arm gets swung around, too. "You don't really go to these things to walk around and then leave again. You gotta ride a ride while wondering in the back of your mind if this is how it ends. You gotta spend way too much money playing a rigged game to win a prize that wasn't worth even a third of what you spent to earn it. You gotta eat a bunch of deep-fried foods that shouldn't be deep-fried and feel incredibly nauseated for the next two days about it. That's the real Carnival Experience™."

"This doesn't sound fun, M," Conner says. "I can take you on a flight and pretend to drop you a couple times. I can ask you for an absurd amount of money and not pay it back for like a week. I can cook you dinner and narrowly avoid giving you food poisoning. We don't have to be here."

"Trust me, it wouldn't be the same," you insist, moving up in the line. This swing ride is one of your favorites, next to The Whip, but you haven't seen one of those in a few years. "It's also the atmosphere. You're surrounded by fun, neon colors and happy strangers and screaming children — it's all part of the experience."

"Yeah..." Conner grimaces, gaze a little distant. "I could do without the screaming children."

"Oh, right," you frown, digging out a specialized pair of earbuds from your pocket and offering them to him. They help muffle out extra sensitive sounds for him, like breathing and footsteps and other people's heartbeats, so he can better control what noise he chooses to perceive. "Here."

Conner takes them, briefly letting go of your hand to put them in, then un-tenses his shoulders and offers you a thin smile.

"That's better," he admits, "but I still think getting on rides knowing they aren't bolted down properly is stupid."

"Welcome to the carnival," you grin. You both shuffle forward in the line, close enough now that you'll be able to get on next round. "You're gonna love this."

"I can fly, M. I don't think I'm gonna care."

Then it turns out he cares. He cares a lot. He actually cares so much. When you and Conner get strapped into your seats, he's white knuckling the chains keeping his chair suspended off the ground.

"You're joking. There's one little bike chain keeping me in this chair and there's a single hook on top holding me up. You're actually joking."

You start spinning and twisting around in your own chair, gleeful. "Isn't it great?"

"No??"

"Alrighty riders. Please refrain from bouncing, spinning, twisting, or yanking on the chains. When the ride is in motion do not grab onto other riders' chairs. Keep the strap secure across your waist while the ride is in motion, and do not attempt to remove it until it comes to a complete stop again. Enjoy."

Conner flinches when the chairs lift into the air. He watches the ground get pulled out from under him, shitty carnival music starting to come out of the speakers while the lights on the ride start flashing. If he weren't invulnerable, he'd be losing his mind right now. How are you able to enjoy such risky activities!? Are you insane!? Actually — you're the one civilian child to a family of crime fighting vigilantes. Of course you're insane.

He looks up to make another comment, but the words quickly die in his throat. Because you look stunning.

You look great all the time, of course. Conner loves to look at you, and you know that. But as the ride starts to spin and your chair starts swaying with the wind, you throw your head back and laugh. You spread your arms out to your sides and kick your feet, eyes closed and hair fanned out.

You're practically ethereal when you're having fun. Conner watches the colorful lights dance over your skin and feels himself falling even more in love with you than he already is. He never wants the ride to end, if it means he gets to see you like this forever.

Using the trick Clark taught him, he speeds himself up to slow the world down, giving himself more time to admire you. To you, it's just a couple minutes in the air, but to him it's hours of unbridled admiration. When you're finally lowered to the ground again, he's unlatched himself from his seat and come around to kiss you.

"Let's go find another ride," he mumbles against your lips. You smirk, victorious, and grab his hand. He's utterly helpless to do anything but trail after you.

"Knew you'd come around. It's the Carnival Experience, babe; it pulls everyone in! Never should've doubted me."

"Yeah..." He says, smiling like a lovesick idiot. It's definitely the rides and games and people making him feel this good, and not the echo of your happy heartbeat or the image of your carefree smile under the neon lights burned into his memory. "Shouldn't have doubted you."

[kirbmey]

̩̩͙* ㅤ─────ㅤ 𝓟anties & 𝓒ream . . .

。 。 imagine dry humping with bigbother!caleb gone wrong [ 𝗍𝗐𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 ] ♡ྀི

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝒓eblog ⠀& ⠀𝒇eedback .ᐣ

you spent the whole friday with your stepbrother caleb, he took you to the mall and bought every single item you landed your eyes on— something that slowly became a habit at the end of the week.

you’ve noticed how he seemed unsettled, anxious when driving back home, something about the way you smelt, the way you hair fell down your back and the way your skirt hugged your body tightly was hard to ignore for him. caleb was trying to be patient with you, let things take a natural course, but there was only so much he could take. he was a man with needs after all.

the way you’d lick sauce off your mouth with that wet and pinky tongue of yours, blushing when he stared at you too intensely, the way you’d ask him to help you choose between dresses, having to witness your naked body inside the changing room. he wanted to play it cool, normalize your sister—brother relationship but it seemed his dick had a mind of its own.

how was he supposed to keep his hands to himself if you sat on his lap when looking for a movie to wrap up such a perfect friday? squirming while trying to find a comfortable position on top of his muscular and long legs. he could feel the fabric of your damn panties against the sweats he put on when stepping inside the house— if he tried harder enough he could smell a faint scent of sweat coming from your skin due to the body heat he emanated.

caleb just couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t give you more time. he just had to place his feet flat on the ground while holding your hips, thrusting his own in a circling motion, the gasp escaping your plump lips another reason to keep going. your silky panties became wet and the friction was so much more smoother, grabbing your throat to push your back against his chest and pepper wet kisses all over your face, shushing you when questioning what he was doing— “ shh, pips, gege is just playing a little game cuz this movie is so boring. ” “ it’ll be a lot more fun, you trust me? ”

and of course you trust him :( letting your big brother manhandle you against the comfort of your bed, opening your legs wide to settle between them and take a look at the silky fabric, massaging your clit slowly. you were incredibly wet, but he needed it wetter. messier. his mind running foggy when the heat engulfing his balls became too much, having to take a second when his head started spinning.

he didn’t think about it and just took a bottle of cherry scented cream from your nightstand, pouring it over your stupid panties and his now free cock, moaning at the cold feeling. god, caleb knew he was even more sensitive than you, moaning louder than your vocal cords could allow you, starting to rut against your core with sloppy movements.

the softness of your unaware sighs pushed him to the edge, penetrating your pussy through the damp fabric, his glasses getting foggy and adding to the mush he had going on his fucked up head. — “ f-fuck, yes, yes… ” is all he could murmur, leaning over to spit in your droolly mouth and lick your parted lips :(

you (he) were like two puppies in heat who didn’t know how to get off, rutting against each other and spitting in your love—bitten lips, moaning harder against his when he turned you around, toying now with the hole you never dared to touch. — “ g-gege, nngh, not there ! ” “ shh, princess, take it . . . you’ll fucking love it. ” and so he fucked his cockhead into your ass, grabbing onto the fat of your hips.

hard, sloppy and wet.

it didn’t take long for both of you to come undone, his balls full of cum he had to hold on for the whole day, shooting warm white ropes against your back while your juices dripped all over the mattress, pooling underneath you, almost passing out against the soft and welcoming fluffy pillows.

you don’t even remember when caleb knelt behind you to lick your panties clean, spreading your pussy lips underneath the fabric with his thumbs as he fucked the cloth against you over and over with his tongue, not getting enough of the cherry taste. let’s say he edged himself over and over while you definitely passed out.

he waited long enough and now he would take you as long as he wanted . . . <3

[floipenstein]

Ok I had a bunch more thoughts about this than I thought I would, and I really needed to exorcise them from my brain if this essay is gonna go on my blog. Basically, Executive Dysfunction is real, and the part of the essay I have a problem with is the implication that it's not.

Read more if you wanna read my whole hastily-written fucking rant though (not blaming you if you don't honestly).

Alright, I think this essay is great and actually describes ADHD in a very accurate way. Like this essay is totally worth a read to understand ADHD better. This person has a very good understanding of ADHD. It makes me want to pursue body doubling as a thing instead of just thinking about how it might help me. HOWEVER this is also not to say that body doubling would solve all ADHD problems. This essay is like, ALMOST actually invalidating a bunch of stuff about ADHD at the same time that it's trying to defend ADHD and explain it.

The essay does kind of address this though. It says that ADHD is a real neurotype, which is great, because it is. It points out that meds genuinely help many ADHDers. Which they do, like myself. Without meds I'm like some kind of slug. With meds, I actually have a hope of getting myself to do things, and I can actually put my thoughts together the way I want. They make me feel more like me.

I agree with some parts of what the essay is saying about how society causes a lot of problems that ADHDers have. Like people really do ingrain an individualistic mindset. A lot of people seem to think you should just be able to do stuff on your own. I've also been surprised at how many people think you shouldn't feel rewarded for doing something basic even if it was really difficult for you, which I think is in the same vein of that individualistic idea.

But I think the essay kind of also invalidates a lot of things that I would definitely struggle with even if society were very different. I think my biggest problem is with the paragraph that talks about the duality of ADHD things. "ADHDers lack focus, except for when they don't" etc. Like, all of the things in that paragraph are things that I struggle with, and they are all real, and not just real because society doesn't accommodate me enough or because clinicians see me a certain way.

Both lack of focus AND hyperfocus can and do fuck me over all the time. Without my meds, I AM emotionally volatile AND spacey. Too much for ME! Like I don't enjoy the experience! It's not just that society doesn't accept me a certain way, or that I take meds just to fit into society better. It's that ADHD symptoms fucking suck in their own right! Even if I have the day off, no responsibilities in sight, give me my fucking meds man, I want to fucking think straight.

I do also think that Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria is real. And not something caused by the way that society treats us our whole lives. And also not something that everyone goes through. That is the kind of invalidation that I don't like about this essay. Like, executive dysfunction is real, and worth identifying. This essay is so callous against the clinical definitions of ADHD that it kind of points the gun back at the victims imo.

Executive dysfunction is real and worth identifying. Like I said, this essay is great in a lot of ways. Body doubling is tits and I want to more seriously pursue it after reading this, because it will probably help me a lot. But if I want this thing on my blog, I have to make clear what parts I endorse and what parts I don't.

I think anything else I could say would basically be me rambling instead of exorcising thoughts. There. RANT OVER.

Despite how popular and effective body doubling appears to be, empirical research has not tested it as an intervention for people with ADHD at all. It’s a shockingly simple way to address a variety of problems, from a child struggling to complete his homework, to a grown adult who can’t tackle the massive pile of used clothes on her couch. Doctors prescribe stimulants to ADHDers facing “executive functioning” difficulties like these all the time. Yet no clinician has ever examined whether prescribing a body double would be an effective treatment — despite the fact that anecdotally, it addresses the problem more directly than meds do, and it doesn’t come with the risk of building up a physical tolerance or any unwanted side-effects.  To understand why body doubling is so neglected by professionals, we have to look at the flawed way that psychiatry and psychology conceptualizes the ADHDer’s experience. Professionals largely view ADHD as a disorder of motivation and attention, a disability located inside the mind that must be solved on a solely individual level. This framing makes it impossible to understand the ADHDer as a unique, neurodivergent social being interacting with a broader cultural and economic context.  Every feature of ADHD, as it is clinically described, is one of pathology and lack. ADHDers are “time blind”: they don’t have an instinct for what hour of the day it is, or how long a task takes. Nevermind that humans have relied upon time-keeping technologies for as far back as recorded history goes, suggesting that none of us approach time by instinct.  ADHDers lack focus, except for when they don’t, in which case they’re suffering from hyperfocus, and that’s actually a problem too. ADHDers are emotionally volatile — but they’re also too spacy. They dissociate from reality too much, but when they take steps to address this, they are guilty of needing too much stimulation and being too active. And they’re lazy — except for when they’re staying up very late at night working, being most productive during the hours society tells them they ought to be asleep.  If the many complex features of Autism can be best summed up by saying that we have a bottom-up processing style in a world built for top-down processors, then the best way to summarize ADHD is this: people with ADHD are highly socially motivated, but they live in a world where independence is prioritized. 

Read the rest of this essay for free on my Substack!

[deepspacenova]

Zayne teaching you & Caleb how to touch each other HCs

Zayne x Caleb (x Reader)

Inspired by the replies in this post about Zayne and Caleb being each others' firsts and how Zayne would revel in being the bridge between you and Caleb during sex.

I wrote some HCs for Zayne x Sylus a while back (incidentally, also influenced by @leighsartworks216 - aka the equally lovely and evil genius on my shoulder) so... let's call this a spin-off?

Caleb and Zayne become each other's firsts and it starts off very awkward, they're doing it for the sole reason of not botching up their chance with you but;

Unexpected side effect after a few times? They ended up mildly obsessed with each other (physically). "Practice" became more of an excuse than a reason yknow (Like, did they really need to 'practice' in an empty classroom at school for your sake??);

Needless to say, Caleb and Zayne knew exactly what made the other tick in bed by the time they parted ways;

You and Zayne have been together for a while, so of course you know what he likes, every sensitive spot, every sound he makes when you touch him in the right places;

Now that the three of you are together and you know about Zayne and Caleb's history, something hits you at an inconvenient moment: Zayne is behind you, panting into your throat, while Caleb’s chest brushes against yours, his eyes dark, breaths uneven;

Your fingers hover uncertainly over Caleb’s jaw when he leans in. You know how to touch a man, obviously, but with Caleb, it’s new, and it’s been so long, and you don’t know what to do yet, but… Zayne does, you realize;

Ever-attentive Zayne feels your hesitation, realizes what's going on, and immediately starts to put you at ease: tracing the tip of his nose down your neck, he shoots his gaze to Caleb and commands, “Lie back.”

Zayne starts with kissing, his voice soft in your ear. "He likes it when you bite. Not too hard- just enough to make him chase after it." When you test it, press your teeth and tongue against Caleb’s bottom lip and slowly suck it and tug, Caleb growls, gripping your hips;

As your proud smile brushes against Caleb's, Zayne's fingers ghost over your jaw. "Again. A little rougher." To which Caleb sighs, nearly whimpers into your mouth, hands gripping the back of your neck as he scrapes his top teeth against the inside of your lower lip;

The touching starts off slow as Zayne guides your fingers over Caleb’s abdominals. "Lower. Press just a little- yes, there." Caleb exhales sharply at the touch where his hip meets his inner thigh, eyelids lowering, muscles tightening.

Sometimes, if Caleb's done something to goad him or push his buttons, Zayne uses his evol, applying a flash of cold to Caleb's lips, neck, shoulder, hip, that you love to melt and soothe by dragging your tongue over them. Caleb's groans make the torture even more worth it;

More often though, Zayne slides his laced fingers with yours down Caleb's torso, directing your movements as every gentle command heats another inch of your skin, "Try- no, lighter. Mm. Now drag your nails until you get to his-" Caleb groans, hips lifting slightly;

"I think pip-squeak’s got it, Z,” but he can only gasp when Zayne leans down and kisses Caleb himself in response, slow and wet and deep;

You watch the movement of their lips, breath catching as one of Caleb’s hands tightens around your waist and his other fists Zayne’s hair. Zayne just hums, satisfied that he was right as he pulls away, kisses you, the flavor of Caleb still on his lips, and says, “Your turn.”

In fact, Zayne revels in knowing he’s the one in charge in this situation. The who bridges the gap between you both. The one who’s making it work. Caleb may be the one with the evol to literally control things, but here? Zayne was the one who pulled the three of you together;

He’s not afraid to boast about it in his subtle way either, like when Caleb's kissing you, Zayne watches intently for a few moments before pulling Caleb away by the nape of his neck, murmuring, "Not like that. Let me show you,” kissing you in a way that makes Caleb growl under his breath;

At the end of the day, though, Zayne takes the most pleasure in being the one to show Caleb how to touch you;

It's his win against Caleb, his trophy in their competition of "may the best man win you" because it's Zayne who's whispering in Caleb's ear, or guiding Caleb's hands all over the body of his obsession: you;

Neither of them says they’re competing of course, but it’s so obvious to you that they are when your ringing ears catch a smug “Pip-squeak came harder when I was down there” while Zayne licks his lips. To which Zayne grabs him by the root, eliciting a full-body shudder from Caleb when he murmurs, “Are you sure about that?”

Sometimes, Caleb retaliates by pressing one palm between your legs and the other into Zayne's throat. "Tell me something, Doctor. If I move my hand here, what sound will pip-squeak make?" Zayne's smile is small, and his voice is breathless when he shoots back, "You wish you knew like I did.";

That’s when Caleb is pushed to his limit. He's used to giving orders, not heeding them. And he's still full of raw power — I mean, he’s a high school jock turned military adult with the ability to control gravity — so when he finally has enough of Zayne’s teasing? Caleb pins him down with his evol, leaving Zayne gasping for breath;

What’s your favorite part of this? That comes a while later, when your hesitation is gone. When you’re reassured that Zayne and Caleb are in the palm of your hand. When you and Caleb find your rhythm and finally, finally team up against Zayne;

You and Caleb have every intention of teasing Zayne until he’s a pleading mess. Caleb's pinning him down with his evol as you hover over Zayne’s tip, just barely brushing over him before you straighten your thighs just out of reach. “Be good,” you taunt softly, bending forward to let your lips brush his;

You forget that Caleb’s behind you though, and that the sight of you in front of him and showering Zayne with so much attention could only lead to-

A sharp gasp is torn from your throat as Caleb uses his evol on you, forcing your body down down down with a, "You two were taking too long. Thought I’d help out.” Meanwhile, all you and Zayne can do is groan and pant, the breathless as he's forcefully stuffed into you;

The aftermath is the only time Zayne and Caleb set aside their competitive streak and become perfectly in sync;

Zayne focuses on the physical, on cleaning you up with a warm cloth, wiping you down with slow, careful strokes. Every pass of fabric is followed by a kiss on your thighs, stomach, shoulder, wherever marks were left. It's methodical and grounding, not just for you but for him.;

Caleb, on the other hand, focuses on the emotional, shushing your lingering cries. Stamping words of praise into your temple, your cheek, your eyelids. Each time you tremble or shudder he tucks your face into his neck, feeling his own lungs calm in tandem with yours when your lips brush his necklace;

When Zayne joins you both, he hooks your leg over his hips and rests his head in the crook of Caleb's elbow, nose pressed against your head, which rises and falls on Caleb's shoulder;

But their competition will come back again tomorrow, the teasing, the push and pull, the battle for control. And the need to see who could wreck you the best.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Somewhere Safe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This story touches on sensitive themes of domestic abuse. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that help is available. I've included resources below that offer support, guidance, and ways to take action. You are not alone, and there is always hope for a way out. Please take care of yourself as you read.

International Domestic Abuse Resource Link

Words: ~9,500

Tags: Violence, Abuse, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

The world tilted when Sebastian pressed his back against the wall, a slow, lazy grin tugging at his lips as the woman in front of him whispered something he didn’t quite catch.

K-something.

Karina? Kelsey? Kate? Fuck, had she even told him? Maybe once, over the roar of the music in the bar, the hum of Ominis and Garreth’s laughter, the clink of glasses and shouted orders. It was distant now, fuzzy around the edges. The only thing sharp was the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her nails scratched lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

He let his head tip back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for just a moment. He was tipsy, not drunk. The whiskey still swam warm in his veins, enough to make everything feel slow and a little surreal, like watching himself from the outside. Too much, probably. He hadn’t planned on drinking that much, but Garreth had been in rare form tonight, rambling about some catastrophic potion mishap that had almost set his shop on fire, and Ominis—miraculously—had tolerated them both for longer than usual before fucking off home.

Sebastian had thought about leaving then, too. He should have. He'd been about to grab his coat, already debating—instinctively—whether to call you.

It was always you. Even after all these years, through all the tangled, unspoken things between you, his first thought was always you.

But then K-something had leaned into him at the bar, laughing, a teasing nail dragging down his arm. The look she gave him was clear, unmistakable—an invitation, no strings attached, nothing complicated, nothing messy. Just one night.

That had been enough. He let her take his hand, let her press against him in the back of the cab, let her perfume wrap around him—something floral, a little too sweet. Not right. Not familiar.

And now, here they were. His apartment. His mind blank where it mattered.

The door had barely clicked shut before her hands were on him, pressing, pulling, trying to unravel him. Her lips were eager, swallowing the taste of whiskey on his tongue, coaxing him toward the bedroom. His fingers ghosted over her hips, hesitant, and for the first time tonight, the thought crept in—

I don’t actually want this.

He ignored it.

Sebastian let her push him back against the wall, let her fingertips skim the waistband of his jeans, let his mind fog over with something other than the sharp edges of thought. He was just loose enough to let his body take over where his mind was absent.

And then—

A thunderous pounding on his front door.

K-something startled against him, pulling back with a little noise of surprise. Another knock—louder, harder, more frantic.

“What the hell?” she murmured, but Sebastian wasn’t listening.

Something was wrong.

If it were Garreth, he’d be yelling something obnoxious through the door. If it were Ominis, he would have texted first, making some sardonic remark about how it was far too late for him to be dealing with Sebastian’s nonsense.

Then—

“Sebastian, are you there?”

Your voice. Hoarse and desperate.

“Who is that?” K-something asked, tilting her head toward the door, annoyance creeping into her tone.

Sebastian didn’t answer. His whole body was already moving—pushing past her, heart pounding.

Another hit—this one shakier, weaker. A small, broken sound from the other side.

His hands were on the lock in an instant, fumbling, his pulse roaring in his ears. The second the front door swung open, his breath caught in his throat.

What the fuck happened to you?

Your hair was a mess, wild and tangled like you’d been running. Your shirt—torn, slipping off one shoulder—was smeared with something dark, and his brain tried to tell him it was just dirt,  instead of what he feared. Your eyebrow was split, a thin trail of blood tracing down your temple. The bruises blooming along your arms and neck were fresh, ugly, fingershaped.

You were shaking, too, and not from the cold. You were wrung out, your breath coming too fast, too shallow, like you were barely holding yourself together.

But it was your expression that really sent ice straight through his veins. Wide, fractured eyes. Lips parted, trembling like you wanted to speak but couldn’t. Like you were afraid.

"Fuck," he breathed. "What—"

Your eyes flickered past him into the apartment, taking in the scene—the woman behind him, her rumpled clothes, the way Sebastian had clearly been in the middle of something when you knocked.

Your face crumpled. Your whole body tensed. You took a step back.

"Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have come." Your voice wavered, raw and too damn small. Your fingers curled against your ribs like something there ached. "I didn’t mean to—"

Oh, hell no.

Sebastian took a step forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could slip away, but his voice never had the chance to follow—

A voice from behind him cut through the moment.

“Sebastian?” K-something called, her impatience laced with confusion. “Who is—”

She finally stepped closer, eyes widening when she took in your appearance. Her lips parted, expression shifting from irritation to realization. She wasn’t stupid. She could see what this was.

“…I should go.” She sputtered, already grabbing her bag from the counter. “I’ll call a cab.”

Sebastian barely heard her. He didn’t care.

She did hover for a moment, like she expected him to say something—to at least acknowledge her—but his eyes never left you. Eventually, she exhaled sharply and muttered something about Sebastian being a “waste of time” before leaving.

The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, the distant slam of the stairwell door barely registering in his ears. It was like a pressure valve had released, but it didn’t make anything better.

Because Sebastian had never—not once—seen you like this. Not even out in the field, back-to-back with him, dueling dark wizards without hesitation. Not even on the worst nights, when you were exhausted and bleeding but still smirking, still throwing out some dry remark.

But here? Now?

You were a mess of trembling limbs and wide, haunted eyes. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together, like if he breathed wrong, you might break apart completely.

His grip on your wrist was light—barely there—but your pulse raced beneath his fingers. You hadn’t tried to pull away, but you weren’t looking at him either, gaze flickering somewhere over his shoulder like you wished you could vanish entirely.

He swallowed hard, speaking past the gravel in his throat.

“What happened?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a shaky exhale that barely made it past your teeth.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you inside, stepping around you to close the door with a quiet click. You stood stiffly in the entryway, one wrist still in his hand, your other arm wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own ribs together.

Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. His skin still buzzed with whiskey, his body sluggish from the alcohol, but his mind—fuck, his mind was awake now.

Someone had hurt you. Not just in the way that left bruises blooming across your skin or a sluggish trickle of blood tracing down your brow—but in the way you stood, small and hollowed out, like something inside you had caved in.

And he was going to make them pay for it.

The rage inside him wasn’t just anger—it was something worse. Something deeper. A raw, seething thing that coiled around his spine, tightening with every second he spent looking at you like this. It clawed at his ribs, demanding blood, demanding violence.

Sebastian had done a lot of things in his life—things he wasn’t proud of, things he couldn’t take back—but none of it would compare to what he would do to the person who put their hands on you.

His voice came out strained. “Tell me who did this.”

He watched the hesitation flicker across your face. You shook your head once. No.

He felt his pulse hammer in his throat, hot frustration bubbling up beneath his skin.

“Who?” His voice came sharper than he meant, rough and edged with something dangerous. “Just tell me who—”

Sebastian felt the second he fucked up. The moment the sharp edge of his voice cut the air, you flinched—so small, so fleeting, but there. And suddenly, the anger curdling in his chest didn’t matter. You didn’t need his temper, his anger, the violence simmering beneath his skin. You needed the part of him that knew how to take care of you.

His grip on your wrist loosened instantly, shifting instead into something light, barely-there, just enough to anchor you without holding you in place. His entire body language changed—he softened, dropping the heat, the demand, everything that might make you feel like you were being cornered. Because you weren’t. Never with him.

“Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to push,” he said quickly, voice dropping low, steady, warm. “You’re safe now, love. You’re with me."

Your lips pressed together, a sharp inhale stuttering in your chest, like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

Sebastian took a slow step forward. Not too close. Just enough.

“I’ve got you," he murmured, even softer now. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your arm, barely a touch. Just enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t like whoever had put their hands on you tonight.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now, okay? We’ll deal with it later. You just—” His throat tightened. “Just let me help, alright sweetheart?”

Your gaze flickered to his, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, he saw it—relief. Not much, just a flicker. A tiny, fragile thing. But it was enough.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“Come here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was making an offering. A place to land. A way out of your own head.

And when you stepped forward—hesitant, small, but willing—he didn’t hesitate.

Sebastian’s arms came around you in an instant, warm and solid, pulling you in carefully, shielding, steady. His hands were broad against your back, his entire frame curving around you, like maybe if he just held you tight enough, nothing could touch you anymore.

Your breath stuttered against his chest, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a fraction. He felt it happen—felt the smallest bit of weight drop from you as your forehead pressed lightly against his collarbone, like you were finally, finally letting yourself breathe.

Sebastian shut his eyes, exhaling slow and controlled. His voice was a low, quiet promise against your hair.

"You're safe. You hear me, love? You're safe now. You're with me."

Your voice came out quiet, fragile in a way he’d never heard before.

“I—I’m sorry, Seb” you murmured shakily against his chest. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I just—I ended up here, and—”

Sebastian stiffened. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. His grip on you twitched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, to see the exhausted tilt of your head, the way your eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, how you were curling in on yourself like you could make yourself smaller, less of an inconvenience.

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

His hands ghosted down your arms, then one of them lifted before he could stop himself—fingertips barely brushing the side of your face, near the cut on your eyebrow. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You didn't 'ruin' anything. You can always come to me,” he murmured. “No matter what. Doesn’t matter where I am, what I’m doing—you can always come to me. Understand?”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out. Instead, your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping at him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

Sebastian exhaled softly. “That’s my girl.”

Your weight was pressing against him now, not quite leaning but… there. Trusting.

Then, so quiet he almost missed it, you hummed softly against his chest.

“I don’t even remember coming here,” you murmured. “I just… walked. It’s like my feet knew where to go before I did.”

Sebastian stilled. His mind tripped over itself, racing to keep up. You walked here? From your flat? That wasn’t close—at least three miles, probably more. At this hour? In this state?

His stomach turned.

Had someone broken in? Had they been waiting for you? Did you even get a chance to fight back? Why didn’t you use magic? His pulse roared in his ears, questions piling up faster than he could process them—

But he didn’t voice any of it.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers curling lightly beneath your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, sharp—wide with something like realization.

“You walked here?” His voice was low, too calm, too careful—like he was trying not to startle you. Like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you correctly before he let himself lose it.

You blinked at him, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that this was something he might react to. “…Yeah?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“That’s—” He exhaled sharply. “That’s miles away.”

You flinched, just barely, but this time it wasn’t from him—it was like you were only just now realizing what you had done, the reality settling in now that he had said it aloud.

“I—” Your voice wavered. “I didn’t even think about it, I just—” You shook your head, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just needed to go. And I guess—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish.

His hands were tightening around you in an instant—not gripping, not pulling, just there. Solid. Like he needed to convince himself that you weren’t still out there wandering the streets, hurt and vulnerable and alone.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping briefly against yours, eyes screwing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

The thought of you, alone, stumbling through the dark like a ghost, disoriented, wrecked, bleeding—it made him sick. You could have collapsed. You could have gotten lost. You could have—he couldn't even finish the thought.

Sebastian sucked in a slow breath, forcing himself to breathe, to be what you needed.

“Alright.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s sit you down so I can clean you up, yeah?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once in return.

“Good girl.” The words slipped out without thought, low and full of quiet, genuine relief.

Then, before you could process that—before he could process that—Sebastian was already moving, guiding you carefully toward his bedroom.

The dim glow from the bedside lamp bathed the space in soft, golden light, stretching long shadows across the floor. It was familiar, safe. You’d been here a thousand times before—kicking off your shoes without a second thought, making yourself at home on his bed, wrapped in that massive, worn-out blanket you always stole whenever you stayed over.

Sebastian barely had to nudge you down before you were sinking onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted, hands twisting together in your lap like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Without a word, Sebastian pulled the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, tucking it in carefully. You sank into it immediately, pulling the edges closer.

"Just sit tight," Sebastian murmured. "I’ll be right back."

You nodded—slow, small—and he gave your shoulder the lightest squeeze before pushing himself to his feet.

The moment he stepped into the ensuite, he exhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain of the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked as wrecked as he felt—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something raw and sharp.

The cabinet door creaked as he yanked it open, hands moving fast. A clean washcloth, warm from the sink. A Dixie cup of water. The first aid kit he’d barely ever needed but always kept—just in case. He nearly knocked over a bottle of cologne reaching for it.

When he returned, you hadn’t moved much. Still perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders drawn in, hands curled loosely in your lap. The trembling had eased, but not completely.

Sebastian set everything on the floor and knelt in front of you, careful, steady, slipping effortlessly into the version of himself you needed right now. The one who would take care of you.

“Here.” He held out the paper cup, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it. “Drink.”

You brought it to your lips, taking slow, small sips. Sebastian didn’t look away, watching carefully, making sure you drank enough. Making sure you weren’t about to fold in on yourself.

Then, once you’d set the cup aside, he reached for the washcloth, folding it into a neat square.

“Okay,” he murmured. “This might sting.”

Your gaze flicked toward his, cautious but steady, and you nodded.

His fingers were steady when they cupped your cheek, tilting your face just enough to give him a better look at the cut above your eyebrow. He barely even touched you, just the ghost of his palm against your jaw, his thumb resting near your temple.

And fuck, seeing it up close was worse.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was still bleeding sluggishly. The skin around it was red and raw, like you had wiped at it with the sleeve of your shirt at some point. There were bruises along your temple too, darkening by the second.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it sent a dull ache down his neck.

Breathe. Focus.

He kept his touch gentle, dabbing carefully at the blood along your brow, slow enough to avoid hurting you more than necessary.

You winced, breath hitching just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Your eyes fluttered for a moment before settling on him. And that was when he felt it. Like a thread pulling taut between you—delicate but unbreakable.

He knew that look. He’d known it for years. Had seen it a thousand times in fleeting moments—across the rim of a coffee mug, under the hazy glow of streetlights on late-night walks, in the quiet of stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Soft. Open. Trusting. Loving.

Even now. Even after tonight—after whatever fresh hell you’d been put through—you still looked at him like that. Like he was safe. Like he was yours.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing down the impossible tightness in his throat.

“Good news is,” he managed, trying to keep his voice light, normal, like he wasn’t seconds away from completely fucking losing it, “you still got your pretty face intact.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of your lips. Not quite a smile, but close—softer than anything he’d seen from you all night. More importantly, it earned him the softest exhale, a breath of sound barely there, barely audible, but approaching a laugh.

Sebastian let himself smile—small, reassuring, nothing too much.

His thumb moved before he could stop it, brushing over your cheekbone, the lightest, most absent-minded touch.

"Let me see your hands," he murmured.

There was hesitation—he felt it before he even saw it. Your fingers curled into the blanket, your body tensing, as if you weren’t sure you wanted him to look. Then, slowly, you unwound your fingers, releasing the fabric, and let him take your hands.

And fuck. Even your knuckles were torn up—split, raw, some still sluggishly weeping where the skin had broken open. Dark smudges of dried blood clung between your fingers, across your palms. The skin along your wrist was bruised, as if someone had grabbed you.

He felt his pulse slam against his ribs.

You’d fought back. Of course you did. Of course you fucking did.

Because you were you. Because you were strong, stubborn, fierce even when the odds were stacked against you. But the thought of you having to fight—having to defend yourself like this, having to claw your way out of something horrible—

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose.

He forced it down—the fire, the violence curling under his skin, the instinct to demand names, places, details—he swallowed all of it.

Later. He’d deal with that later. Right now, you needed him.

Sebastian lifted the washcloth again, pressing it carefully to your knuckles. You hissed softly at the sting, hands jerking slightly in his grip.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, thick with something that sounded like devotion. “I’ve got you.”

He cleaned away the blood with slow, deliberate strokes, careful and methodical. Taking his time, as if it might make a difference. As if he could erase what had happened, wipe it from your skin, lift the weight from your shoulders and take it onto his own.

The silence between you settled, thick and heavy but not suffocating. Not tense. Just… there. A presence in the room.

When he finished, he set the washcloth aside and reached for the first aid kit again, fingers brushing over the zipper before he pulled it open. His hands were steady, practiced, as he found what he needed—a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

He twisted the cap off and squeezed a little onto his fingertip.

Neither of you spoke when he smoothed it gently over the cut above your eyebrow, his touch featherlight. You didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, just let him. And when he moved to your knuckles, carefully spreading the ointment over the split skin, you watched him—eyes dark, unreadable, but there. Present.

When he was finished, he squeezed your hand. That part wasn’t strictly necessary, but he did it anyway. A small thing. A quiet reassurance. And thenyour fingers curled around his, squeezing back—just barely.

Sebastian swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m getting you a clean shirt,” he said softly.

He turned to his dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling through the mess. Because you were not staying in that fucking t-shirt. Not when the collar was torn, stretched where it shouldn’t be, the fabric stained with blood.

The thought of you still wearing it made something ugly curl in his stomach.

So he found the softest thing he owned—one of his old hoodies, oversized and warm, worn to hell but clean. Safe. Something that smelled like him.

He turned back to you, pressing it into your hands.

"Thanks," you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric, the sleeves bunched between your knuckles.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You can change in here,” he said. “Or the bathroom. Whatever’s—”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

His entire body went still. The words weren’t loud. If the room had been any noisier from the traffic outside, he might have missed them. But they hit like a gut punch, like a fist curling around his ribs and squeezing tight.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was downcast, fixed somewhere near the floor, but your posture told him everything. Shoulders curled inward. Small. Hesitant.

Sebastian turned back to you instantly.

"Alright," he murmured, voice steady, unwavering. "I'll stay right here."

Something in your expression shifted, like the tension in your chest eased just slightly. Then slowly, carefully you peeled off your ruined t-shirt.

Sebastian tore his gaze away, jaw clenching. Not because he didn’t want to look—fuck, that was never the problem.

But because this wasn’t about that.

You needed comfort, not whatever mess of feelings he was shoving down, not whatever heat curled low in his stomach whenever you were close. Not the part of him that had spent years wanting to touch you, years wanting you in ways he’d never said aloud.

So he clenched his fists and stared at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric as you pulled his hoodie over your head.

A moment of silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Sebastian turned back.

The hoodie was massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair before nodding once. “Better?”

You gave the smallest nod.

“Good.” His voice softer now, the rough edge smoothed just slightly. “Right then, let’s get you settled.”

Sebastian reached for the bed, moving on instinct. He pulled back the messy covers, shaking them out before propping up the pillows against the headboard, making sure they were stacked just right. Then, with quiet purpose, he turned back to you, nodding toward the bed.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

Your gaze flickered up at him, exhaustion dulling your eyes, but beneath it—gratitude. Silent, unspoken, but undeniable.

Slowly, you crawled onto the mattress, shifting beneath the blankets, and the second your head hit the pillow, you curled in on yourself, like your body had been waiting for this—this warmth, this safety—to finally let go.

Sebastian grabbed the blanket—your blanket—and tucked it securely over you, smoothing it over your shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed, just close enough to reach you if you needed him.

“Anything I can get you?” he asked. “Tea? A snack? Whatever you want, love, just say the word.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, your brows drawing together slightly like you hadn’t even considered that option.

“I—” Your voice was quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet, almost amused sound. “Not exactly a helpful answer.”

You exhaled a soft breath—one that might have been the ghost of a laugh if you weren’t so drawn out—and ducked your chin into the blanket.

Sebastian watched you for a second, then nodded to himself, already making up his mind.

“Alright,” he murmured, standing. “Something to eat, then.”

You blinked up at him, looking so small, so tired, but you didn’t protest. Sebastian took that as a win.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, already scrolling through the UberEats app with single-minded focus. He wasn’t just looking for just anything—he was looking for your favorite restaurant.

He knew what you liked. Knew what you always ordered when you were too exhausted to cook, when you’d had a rough day, when you needed something warm and familiar to make the world feel a little less harsh.

And besides, it wasn’t like he had anything useful in his kitchen. The last time he’d checked, his fridge contained precisely one beer, a half-empty bottle of hot sauce, and something that might have once been a loaf of bread but was now a science experiment.

Not exactly ideal.

But even if he had groceries, it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d said you didn’t want to be alone. So he wasn’t going anywhere—not even to the damn kitchen.

As he flicked through the menu, your voice broke the silence.

“…Seb?”

He glanced up immediately, his full attention snapping back to you in an instant.

“Yeah?”

“…Will you lay with me?”

Something thick and impossible to name lodged itself in his throat, pressing against his ribs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving. “Of course.”

He climbed into the bed beside you, careful and deliberate, mindful to keep a respectful distance—giving you space to breathe, to settle, to feel safe. But the second he was still, the second the warmth of him fully registered beside you, you scooted closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant. You curled into him, pressing into his side, burrowing against his chest like it was the only place you wanted to be.

Sebastian barely had a second to process it before instinct took over.

His free arm came around you automatically, pulling you in, keeping you there. He didn’t even think about it—just moved, just held.

And fuck, you fit against him so perfectly it made his heart lurch.

He ignored it.

Ignored the way your warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, ignored the way your breath ghosted against his neck, ignored the way his own pulse stupidly, traitorously picked up speed as you curled your fingers into the hem of his hoodie like you had no plans to let go.

Instead, he adjusted the angle of his phone so you could see the screen, keeping his voice casual. Normal. Like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Here,” he murmured. “Do you want your usual?”

“…Yeah,” you said, voice half-muffled against his chest. “That sounds good.”

Sebastian hummed, tapping the order in without question.

“Alright,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

His fingers flexed lightly against your waist, soothing, absent-minded, and you sighed, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian swallowed hard, ignoring the way something deep in his chest ached at the feeling. He was in trouble.

But fuck it.

He’d deal with that later.

The next little while passed in silence—not the uncomfortable kind, not tense or heavy, just quiet. Steady.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Neither did you. You just lay there, curled into him, your breath even and slow, the warmth of you pressed into his side.

But Sebastian didn’t need words.

He was just thankful you were here, that your body had finally started to relax, that the tension had drained from your limbs.

Then, eventually, the soft buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke the stillness.

The food was here.

Sebastian sighed, shifting slightly, preparing to get up, but the second he moved, he felt it. You stiffened. Barely perceptible, just the slightest tensing of your fingers against his shirt, but enough. Enough for something cold to crawl up his spine.

So instead of pulling away completely, he murmured, “Alright, come on then,” and reached down, slipping his arm around you.

You made a soft, startled sound as he shifted, rolling forward until you were draped across his back. His hands hooked securely under your thighs as he straightened, carrying you with him as he padded toward the door.

You didn’t protest. You just buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers loosely gripping his shoulders as he moved.

Sebastian grabbed the takeout bag with one hand, snatched a couple of forks from the kitchen drawer on his way back, and carried you straight back to bed.

He placed the food between you, climbed in beside you again, and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. Some random YouTube video started playing—something dumb, nothing serious, just background noise to keep things from feeling too quiet.

You didn’t eat much. Just picked at your food, nudging pieces around with your fork.

That was fine. Sebastian didn’t push. Didn’t say anything about it. Just sat beside you, eating in easy silence, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

And then, finally, you spoke.

Your voice was soft, quiet, but clear.

“…Sebastian.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah, love?”

You swallowed, staring at your food like you weren’t really seeing it. Then, slowly, you set your fork aside, taking in a shaky breath.

“I'm... I'm ready to tell you what happened.”

Sebastian’s fork stopped midway to his mouth.

The words settled between you, quiet but heavy, sinking into his ribs like a slow, aching weight.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you as you stared down at your takeout, your breath uneven like you were preparing yourself.

Slowly, he reached for the remote. The video playing in the background cut off instantly, plunging the room into a thick, expectant silence. Sebastian set his fork down on the nightstand and turned his full attention to you.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

You inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, and when you spoke, your voice wavered—small and fragile in a way that made something in his chest splinter.

“It was him.”

The second the words left your mouth, his stomach dropped, and a sharp, seething hatred coiled hot and violent in his chest.

Sebastian knew who you meant. It was him. 

And fuck, of course it was. How hadn't he put it together sooner?

Sebastian had never liked your boyfriend. Never. Not even in the beginning, when everyone else had acted like he was some goddamn catch. Sebastian hadn’t needed a reason, hadn’t needed proof—he just knew there was something off about him. Something that never sat right with Sebastian, no matter how many times you swore he was nice.

He’d never said anything, though. Not outright. You were happy, or at least that's what you said, and Sebastian—Sebastian, who was a selfish bastard on the best of days when it came to you—hadn’t wanted to be the bitter one. The one sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to go wrong.

But now—now—he was fucking furious at himself for not pushing harder.

Because if he had, if he’d done something, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here, hands trembling, voice wrecked, telling him about how the person who was supposed to love you had put his fucking hands on you.

His fists clenched in the blanket.

He had never understood why the fuck you got with him in the first place. A Muggle, sure, fine—Sebastian didn’t give a shit about blood status—but him?

You were brilliant, sharp, always three steps ahead in a conversation, in a duel, in everything. You had a way of reading people, of understanding things too quickly, like your mind was always moving, always making connections that no one else could see.

And your boyfriend? The guy was dense. It wasn’t even an insult, just a fact.

Sebastian had been baffled when you first introduced him. Because what the hell did you even talk about? He wasn’t clever, or funny, or anything that made sense for you. He was just… there. All tall, broad-shouldered, perfect-featured statue of a man, like some idiot Greek god who had never had a thought deeper than his own reflection.

And you, who could debate theory for hours, who could outduel anyone, who never backed down from an argument—had ended up with him?

It made no fucking sense.

At first, Sebastian had assumed it was just a passing thing. Maybe you were into the whole tall, hot, and dumb aesthetic. Maybe you just wanted something easy. Someone who wouldn’t challenge you, someone who wouldn’t drag you into the kind of shit Sebastian always did.

But then the relationship had lasted. For months.

Sebastian tried telling himself that his problem with your boyfriend was just jealousy, that it was something ugly in him that hated seeing you with someone else.

But deep down, it wasn’t just that.

He had never liked him. Never trusted him. And now—now he fucking knew why.

Your fingers tightened in the fabric of Sebastian’s hoodie, but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze stayed locked on the blanket draped over your lap, like you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

“He went out drinking,” you murmured, voice thin and raw. “Came home late. I was already in bed, and I—I could hear him from the other room. Slamming drawers, throwing shit. He was mad about something—probably work, or maybe just the fucking weather, I don’t know. But I knew it was bad. I knew the second I heard him that it was one of those nights.”

Sebastian didn’t move. His entire body had gone tight, coiled like a wire stretched too thin. One of those nights?

How many times had you stood there, listening to him throw shit around the apartment, waiting for him to come for you? How many nights had you lain awake, breath shallow, heart pounding, afraid of the man who was supposed to love you? How many times had you flinched at the sound of keys in the door?

Sebastian's breath was slow, measured—too controlled. He had to keep himself in check. Because if he let himself fully think about it, if he let himself process the fact that this wasn’t just some freak incident, that you had lived like this—

You kept talking, your voice quiet but raw, and he forced himself to listen.

“I tried to pretend I was asleep,” you muttered. “Hoped he’d just pass out on the couch. But then he came into the bedroom. Flicked on the light. Stood in the doorway for a second, just looking at me.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“And then he started talking—no, ranting—about everything that had gone wrong today. Like it was my fault. Like I was supposed to fix it. I told him to calm down, but that just made it worse.”

Sebastian swallowed, his throat dry as fucking sandpaper.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, knuckles pressing against your ribs like you were trying to hold yourself together. “He got in my face,” you continued. “He does that sometimes, to intimidate me, I think. I told him to back off, but he didn’t.” Your voice broke slightly, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I reached for my wand.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

And then, he knew. He knew what was coming. Knew it.

But when you finally said it—when the words left your mouth, shaking, broken—he still felt like the fucking floor had been ripped out from under him.

“He grabbed it out of my hand,” you whispered. “And he snapped it in half.”

But you weren’t done.

“And then he grabbed me.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fucking break something.

“I hit him,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I tried. That’s why my knuckles are—” You gestured vaguely to one hand with the other, your fingers trembling. “But obviously I was never going to win against him. Then he shoved me, slammed me against the wall so hard I thought my head was gonna split open.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched against the blanket. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp. He needed to stay still, needed to stay quiet because this wasn’t about him, but—fuck. You were shaking now, and it took everything in him not to pull you into his arms right then and there.

“I—I must have hit the dresser on the way down,” you said, voice thick as you reached up, brushing a fingertip over your eyebrow.

Sebastian felt sick.

“He grabbed me again,” you continued, voice unsteady. “By the arms. He was yelling, I don’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. I—I tried to claw him off, and then he—”

You stopped. Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He could feel what was coming next, and it terrified him more than anything else you’d said.

His voice, when it finally came, was low. Too low.

“He what?”

You swallowed, voice thick with unshed tears. “He put his hands around my throat.”

Sebastian’s world went fucking silent. The breath was knocked out of him. His heart slammed so hard against his ribs he thought it might crack them.

“And I—I couldn’t—” Your voice wavered, raw and unsteady. “I couldn’t breathe. I was kicking, and I—I think I got him in the ribs or something, because he let go just long enough for me to shove him and run.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“ I didn’t think. I didn’t even grab anything,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I just—I had to get out, so I ran, and… and I dunno, I ended up here.”

Sebastian couldn’t breathe. You had to run from your own home. You had to run for your life.

Sebastian was going to kill him. No—he was going to do worse.

And then, then, his mind supplied the worst possible thought.

His voice came out strained. Tight. Lethal. “…Did he do anything else? Did he— did he touch you?”

You shook your head. Small. Quick. Immediate.

“No,” you whispered, voice thick. “No. He didn’t.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to collapse with relief. But the fact that he even had to ask—the fact that he had even worried about it—was enough to send another wave of fury rolling through his chest.

His voice, when it finally came, was flat, cold in a way that barely sounded like him.

“Where is he now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the blanket, his jaw locking so hard it ached.

“I don’t know if he chased me down the street,” you muttered, voice distant, "or if he just passed out on the floor in the flat.” Your mouth twisted slightly, bitter. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sebastian saw red. Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. The words slammed into him like a punch to the gut, a brutal, taunting echo that wouldn’t stop.

How long? How long had this been happening? Had there been times when you’d wanted to tell him? When the words had almost left your lips, only to be swallowed back down by fear? How many times had you thought about leaving but been too scared?

Sebastian’s stomach twisted violently, a sickening, nauseating weight settling deep in his ribs.

Had he ever looked at you and missed it? Had you ever shown up to work, to his flat, tired or distracted, wearing long sleeves even when it was warm? Had he ever caught a glimpse of something he should have seen—some hidden bruise, some flicker of fear in your eyes—and fucking ignored it?

His vision blurred at the edges. He should have known. He should have fucking known.

And now—now it was too late, because it had already happened, and you were sitting right here, bruised and battered, wearing his hoodie because your own clothes were ruined, voice small and wrecked as you told him about how you had run for your life.

Sebastian couldn’t sit still.

The rage was too much, too sharp, clawing up his throat, curling around his spine, making his limbs itch with the need to move, to do something, to fucking fix this.

So he shoved his takeout onto the nightstand, barely registering the sound it made, and pushed off the bed before the anger swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t get far.

The second he was standing, he felt it—your fingers catching weakly at the fabric of his shirt, not pulling, not stopping him, just… holding.

Sebastian froze. His hands twitched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing the violence in his throat.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice hard with finality, “I’m getting all your stuff from your place.”

Your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly, but Sebastian didn’t let you speak.

“You’re never going back there,” he continued, unmoving. “You live here now.”

Your lips parted, and for a second, he saw it—that flicker of resistance, the part of you that was always so fucking stubborn, always ready to argue, to find some logical excuse for why you couldn't—

Sebastian didn’t give you the chance.

“No.” His tone was unyielding, “You don’t get to argue with me on this."

Sebastian steeled himself, forcing himself to be rational, to speak in the way you’d actually listen instead of just demanding you do what he fucking said.

“You don’t have a wand,” he reminded you, voice rough but steady. “You don’t know where he is. I’m not letting you walk back into that flat. Ever.”

You swallowed hard. “But—”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No. This is your home now,” he said. “For as long as you need. As long as you want.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but finally—so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“…Okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders just slightly, just enough that his hands didn’t feel like they were about to break something.

“If you want to report it,” he said, steady, certain, determined, “we’ll figure it out. We’ll go to the Ministry if we need to, or the Muggle police.” His throat felt tight, but he pushed through it. “Whatever you need. Whatever justice looks like for you—we’ll get it.”

Your breath stuttered slightly, but you didn’t speak.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We can ask Ominis which one to go to. He’s good with this shit—he’ll know what to do.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “And if you don’t want to tell him… that’s fine, too. I’ll sort it out myself.”

Because he would. If you wanted to handle this the legal way, he’d be right there beside you, every step of the way. And if you didn’t—

“But if you don’t want to do that,” he said, voice dropping lower, gentler, softer in a way that made his ribs ache, “that’s okay.”

It was your choice. All of it. For what was probably the first time in months, it was yours.

Sebastian was about to say more—was about to ask if you wanted him to do something now, to go to the flat, to find that fucking bastard—but then you made a sound. A small, barely there sound, like something breaking apart inside you. And before he could even process it, your shoulders shook, your face crumpling as the first sob ripped out of you.

Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Fuck—

What did he say? What did he do?

He had tried to be so careful, but now you were crying—really crying, for the first time all night—and fuck, had he pushed too hard? Had he said something—

Your hands were reaching for him.

Sebastian barely had time to breathe before you were clutching at him, holding him with all the strength left in you.

He melted. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in, one hand cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into his chest. He felt the shudder of your breath, the way your whole body trembled as you broke apart against him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was low, rough, but so fucking gentle. "I've got you. It’s alright. Just—just let it out."

You gasped between sobs, fists curling into him like you needed him to keep you steady.

And then, through the shaking, through the broken sobs, “Thank you.”

Sebastian's breath stuttered, his grip tightening around you. You were still crying, still wrecked, still clinging to him, but the words were so raw, so genuine, it made something ache deep in his chest.

"Don’t thank me," he muttered, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. "You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. This—" He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would do anything for you. You do know that, don't you?"

You let out a soft, breathy laugh against his chest, barely more than a shaky exhale. It wasn’t light, wasn’t joyful. It was exhausted, raw, frayed at the edges like you didn’t quite have the energy for it but couldn’t help yourself. A sound that came from somewhere deep, somewhere aching.

And then, you whispered, "Yeah, Seb… I know."

Your voice was hoarse, wrecked—but sure in a way that made his ribs feel like they were caving in. Like there had never been a doubt in your mind. Like you had always known.

And something inside him cracked.

All the anger, the panic, the terror that had been keeping him upright—keeping him steady—just snapped, and suddenly he was unraveling too, spilling apart at the seams before he could even think to stop it.

Because the truth, the reality of this finally hit him—really hit him, slamming into him all at once like a freight train, like a fist to the ribs, like something he would never recover from.

You could have not made it here. He could have lost you. Not in some abstract, distant, what if kind of way.

No.

This had been real. This had happened. And if things had gone just a little differently—if you hadn’t gotten away, if that bastard had held on just a second longer—

The thought suffocated him, dragged him under, wrenched something raw and painful out of his chest. His breath hitched sharply against your hair. His shoulders trembled. And then, before he could stop it, before he could even fight it, a choked, wrecked sob ripped out of him.

Sebastian never cried.

Not when his uncle died. Not when he thought he’d lost Ominis for good. Not even when he lost Anne and the weight of his own mistakes had nearly crushed him. He’d swallowed it all down, shoved it away, because crying never changed anything.

But this—

This was different. This wasn’t grief. This wasn’t regret or guilt or self-hatred.

This was terror.

Pure. Crippling. The kind that hollowed you out, carved into you like a knife, left you feeling like there was nothing inside but raw, open wounds.

He could’ve lost you.

His breath came too fast, uneven, the pressure in his chest too much, and his mouth was already moving before he could stop it.

“I swear to God, I don’t— I don’t know what I would have done if—” His voice cracked, a raw, fractured thing that barely made it out past his lips.

“I—I should’ve known, I should’ve done something—” His grip flexed, desperate. “I knew something was off about him, I fucking knew, and I didn’t say anything—”

“Sebastian—”

“And I—fuck, I can’t stop picturing it. You— you walked here, you were just, just out there, all alone, and I wasn’t—” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. “I wasn’t there, I didn’t know—”

Your hand lifted, soft and soothing, brushing against the side of his face, and it wrecked him, because fuck, you shouldn’t have to comfort him. Not after what you had just been through. Not when he was supposed to be taking care of you.

But you did. You just held him.

Sebastian let out another ragged breath, desperately clinging to you. “I could have lost you.”

Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, gentle, careful, steady. "You didn’t.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a sharp exhale and a broken laugh, because that wasn’t the point. The point was that it had been so fucking close.

“I—” His fingers curled against the nape of your neck, into your hair, gripping you like a lifeline. "You have no fucking idea—I just—I thought—" He inhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice turning frantic, desperate.

"Sebastian—"

"I knew he was wrong for you, I knew it, and I—fuck—I just let it happen—"

"Seb—"

"I love you."

It ripped out of him.

Messy. Raw. Completely unfiltered.

“I love you and—fuck—" his voice was wild, frantic, cracking over itself. "And I swear to God, I’m going to kill him." His breath hitched, a sharp, furious sound. " I’m going to bury him, I’m going to make him suffer, I’m going to make sure he knows—"

His breath came hard, uneven, furious, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"He’s done," His laugh was sharp, bitter, wrecked. "I mean it—I mean it, I will put him in the fucking ground, I will tear him apart with my bare hands—"

His voice was getting rougher, more desperate, more unhinged with every word that tumbled out. He couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop picturing it, him, with his hands on you, hurting you, breaking your wand, stealing your power, making you run for your life—

"I should’ve stopped this, I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve done something the second I saw him looking at you like you were his, I should’ve fucking known—"

"Seb—"

"You don’t understand—he put his hands on you. On you. Do you have any idea what that means to me? Do you have any clue what I would do for you?" His breath came sharp and fast, his words spilling out unchecked, unstoppable. "You—you’re everything to me—I love you, fuck, I love you—"

And that was when it hit him.

He said it.

Again.

For the fourth fucking time, actually.

He had said the one thing he was never supposed to say, the thing he had spent years shoving down under layers of denial and cowardice and self-preservation because it was safer that way. Because it was easier to pretend, easier to be your friend, easier to just be there for you without ruining everything.

But it was out now. It was out, and there was no taking it back, and fuck, he shouldn’t have said it—not like this, not when this wasn’t about him, not when you had just been through hell—

And suddenly, fresh panic was clawing up his throat, his mind spinning too fast, spiraling, trying to fix it, trying to backpedal—

And then you kissed him.

Sebastian’s mind blipped.

Just shut off completely.

One second, he was losing his goddamn mind, his body shaking, his hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from self-destructing, and the next, your lips were on his, soft and desperate and real.

It was like slamming into a wall at full speed.

Every thought cut out at once.

The rage. The panic. The terror.

Gone.

All that was left was this. You. The feeling of your hands curling into the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer. The way your breath hitched against his lips, the way your body melted against his like you had wanted this just as much as he had.

Sebastian made a noise in the back of his throat—wrecked, wild—before he sank into you completely.

His hands flew up, cupping your face, tilting your head like he needed more, like he was drowning and this was the only thing that could save him.

He felt your fingers shaking, gripping him like you needed him as much as he needed you, and fuck, if that wasn’t enough to destroy him.

He broke away just long enough to suck in a breath, his forehead dropping to yours, his whole body shaking.

And then—softly, like he couldn’t help himself—he let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh.

“…Okay,” he breathed, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Okay. That was—yeah. That was a good way to shut me up.”

Your lips twitched—small, barely there—

But there.

[elsajoyagent8]

I’m in the mood for angst headcanons because I CRAVE angst.

So here! With four for each character, here’s some of my…

TSAMS/ TLAES/ TEAPS Angst Headcanons

Sun

- Sun hates being left alone, it gives him flashbacks from when he was locked in that magic box by Moon.

- Sun sometimes gets overwhelmed at the daycare for what seems like no reason, and he always runs home and locks himself in his room.

- Sun doesn’t sleep very well when in this state. He tends just stay in one place and stare at the ceiling all night.

- Another headcanon of mine is that Sun literally has a permanent smile on his face. No matter what he does, he cannot stop smiling. And this is how Sun masks his sadness — a smile. Pretending he’s happy all the time.

Moon

- Moon pulls at the wool of his turtleneck when he’s overwhelmed. There’s a lot of loose wool around his sleeves and chest for that reason.

- Moon hates loud noises. It’s why he doesn’t like working in the daycare as much as Sun. If he’s in there for too long with all the kids yelling, he gets overwhelmed, runs into a corner with his hands over his ears, probably near tears.

- Moon scratches at the metal of his palms when upset. There’s now a few small holes in his hands.

- Moon goes completely mute when he’s really upset. No one can even force a word out of him. Sun has to coax him into doing things like eating or even getting out of bed.

Eclipse

- Eclipse has chronic nightmares, they’re almost impossible to ignore. This has caused him to have somniphobia, and refuses to sleep at night. His nightmares are always vivid and graphic.

- Eclipse refuses comfort in the form of touch. He feels like he’ll get too mentally attached to someone if they touch him too much. Heck, not even just touch from comfort. Just touch in general.

- Like Moon, when overwhelmed, Eclipse goes completely mute. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and therefore doesn’t want anyone to notice if he’s overwhelmed.

- If a boundary of his is crossed, Eclipse will run off after it’s resolved, away from everyone. Then, he drops his cold facade and struggles to breathe.

Lunar

- Lunar talks to himself to try keep himself calm when overwhelmed. Though this often only makes him more anxious.

- Lunar has a specific bean bag in his room that he sits in when he’s upset. He’ll often sit in it for hours just crying.

- Lunar gets flashbacks from when he hurt Earth everytime he uses his powers after he got them back. Everytime he has to stop and just get his breathing back in check.

- Lunar blames himself for what happened to Jack. In his eyes, if he never came back and therefore never got his powers, Rez never would’ve been around his family and therefore the beast never would’ve bitten Jack, furthermore also meaning that he thinks the creator getting revived is his fault.

Solar

- Solar is sensitive to being touched. Not because he’s afraid of getting too attached to people like Eclipse does— but because he was not just mentally abused by his Moon. He was also hit a lot. So now, he still flinches at any sudden touch to his shoulders and/or just in general.

- Solar struggles with both sleeping and eating. He doesn’t like doing either because it makes him feel like he’s not doing anything useful. If he’s not working, he feels like he’s not good enough. You have to either coax him into doing it or manually force him.

- Solar believes that he’s a bad parent. He feels as though he should be around for Jack more, and blames himself for his son’s kidnapping. Lunar might blame himself too, but Solar’s on a completely other level.

- Before he got Jack back, Solar struggled to do anything but try come up with ways to get him back. Doing regular work at the theatre got overwhelming at times and he’d have to clock out early, often to just go home to privately just… cry.

Earth

- Earth occasionally looks back on the fake memories that the Creator fabricated to try imagine what life could be like if they were real.

- When Solar died, Earth found the shirt she made him at Christmas and kept it in her room. She was the only one who couldn’t really move on from his death. When she found out Eclipse was bringing Solar back, she gave him the shirt to leave for Solar when he was revived.

- Earth misses the days where she could just walk like a normal person again. Deep down she still doesn’t forgive Lunar for what he did.

- Earth keeps up the fake smile a lot. Not as much as Sun. But she does, especially when in the daycare. She doesn’t want to worry the kids.

Ruin

- Ruin only talks about his past if it’s the good parts. He refuses to talk about his trauma because he doesn’t want to burden others.

- Ruin keeps an act up to hide the fact that he secretly hates himself underneath. He almost never drops it, he’s good at keeping everything bottled up. Only when alone or if he’s been woken up from a nightmare.

- Ruin feels remorse anytime he sees any Monty from any dimension. It reminds him of his Monty and how he was unable to save him. It’s also why he hangs around in Monty Golf a lot.

- When Sun and Moon needed time off after the whole Mimic situation, Ruin was told to work in the daycare. Sure, it was him going back to his roots, but after hours he always felt guilty that he couldn’t have done that in his home dimension.

Nexus

(transgender Nexus supremacy btw, bite me)

- Nexus never felt comfortable in her body, even before when she was just New Moon. She never really thought about it too much until she changed it.

- Nexus made herself out to be someone who knew what she was doing, but in reality she was just making things up as she went along and rolling with the punches. She was honestly afraid of her own power sometimes.

- Nexus was almost hoping that Solar still cared about her when she came to ‘visit’. She made out that she didn’t care, when in reality hearing her once ‘brother’ want her dead and not want her near him was actually eating her up from the inside out.

- After the encounter with Solar, Nexus threw away his old goggles that she kept. She hated the idea of just giving them back and felt guilty wearing them, so she threw them into the corner of her room and promptly forgot about them.

Now, a poll. Idk man, I like this and wanna know ur thoughts :)

Feel free to suggest characters you want me to torture >:3

[prettyangellllll]

Midnight Cravings

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, sleepy sex, soft Rafe, slight possessiveness, lazy/intimate sex, aftercare, fluff.

Summary: rafe gets to needy in middle of the night so you two have sleepy sex to get off

----

The room was swallowed in darkness, the only source of light coming from the soft glow of the moon slipping through the sheer curtains. The air was thick with warmth, tangled limbs and steady breaths filling the space in a quiet rhythm. The blankets were heavy, cocooning both of you in a familiar, comfortable heat.

Rafe had been dead asleep—until he wasn’t.

He woke up groggy, caught somewhere between exhaustion and awareness, his body instinctively shifting closer to yours in search of warmth. The second his chest pressed flush against your back, his arm draped over your waist, he let out a slow, deep breath, inhaling the scent of your skin.

It should’ve been enough to lull him back to sleep. The slow rise and fall of your body, the soft sound of your breathing, the way you felt so small and warm against him. But it wasn’t. Because that wasn’t the only thing he felt.

The moment his hips shifted just a little, pressing himself more firmly against you, he realized just how hard he was. He cursed quietly under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, willing the ache away—but it was no use. The thin fabric of his boxers did nothing to stop the heat that rushed through him, especially not when you were wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties that barely covered anything.

Fuck.

His fingers flexed against your stomach as he let out another slow breath, trying to resist the urge to grind against you. He knew he should let you sleep, knew he should just roll over and deal with it in the morning, but he couldn’t help it. You were too warm, too soft, too perfect against him.

He pressed a lazy kiss against your shoulder, his lips barely ghosting over your skin as he mumbled, “Baby… move your leg a little.”

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, letting out a quiet hum, but even in your sleep, you listened. You shifted just enough, a soft, sleepy sigh slipping past your lips as your thigh draped over his.

Rafe took it as an invitation, his hand slipping between your legs, fingertips brushing against the waistband of your panties. His voice was deeper, rougher as he murmured, “Pull ‘em to the side.”

A small, drowsy smile tugged at your lips as you obeyed, your fingers sluggishly moving to drag the fabric away.

That was all he needed.

He groaned softly, his breath hot against your skin as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. He hadn’t even touched you yet, and you were already so wet, the warmth of your body making his head spin.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers digging into your waist as he pushed forward, sinking into you slowly.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you stretched around him, your fingers gripping the pillow beneath your head. You could feel how tense he was, how he was holding back, taking his time even though his body was desperate to rut into you like he always did.

But this wasn’t about fucking. Not right now.

He was exhausted, you could tell. His body was heavy against yours, his arm wrapped tightly around you like he couldn’t stand to be apart. His thrusts were slow and deep, dragging against your walls with a lazy rhythm, like he just needed to feel you.

You sighed, melting into his touch, your head lolling to the side to give him more access to the sensitive skin of your neck. Rafe took advantage of it, his lips brushing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your throat, lazy and warm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Just let me have you like this.”

You whimpered softly in response, your body pliant in his arms, letting him take what he needed. Every movement was slow, every thrust deliberate, like he was savoring the way you clenched around him. His breathing grew heavier, his grip on you tightening as pleasure built steadily in his core.

“Always so fucking good for me,” he rasped, his hand sliding up your stomach to palm your breast, squeezing gently. “You feel so—fuck.”

His voice broke off into a quiet groan as your walls fluttered around him, making his hips stutter. His fingers flexed against your skin, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You were barely awake, caught between the fog of sleep and the slow, creeping pleasure washing over you in waves. Your body was warm and tingly, soft moans slipping from your lips as Rafe continued to move inside you, dragging out every last bit of pleasure he could.

It was almost too much. Almost too intimate.

And yet, neither of you stopped.

“Rafe,” you breathed, your voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He groaned in response, his arm tightening around you as he buried his face against your neck. His lips found your pulse point, kissing you there before murmuring, “I got you, baby.”

His thrusts grew a little slower, a little deeper, his body tensing against yours as he reached his peak. His hips pressed flush against you one last time, a low, breathy moan escaping his lips as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering from the release.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Rafe’s chest rose and fell against your back, his breathing ragged as he held you close, his lips pressing absentminded kisses along your shoulder. He stayed inside you for a second longer, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

But then, finally, he pulled out with a soft groan, already missing the way you felt around him. He reached for the nightstand, grabbing a tissue, his movements slow and groggy as he cleaned you up.

You whined softly in protest, already missing the warmth of his body.

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back.”

Once he was done, he tossed the tissue aside and immediately pulled you back against him, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. His arm draped over your waist, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he let out a content sigh.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, his voice softer now, sleep already pulling at the edges of his mind.

You smiled sleepily, already halfway there, your body sinking into his warmth as your eyes fluttered shut.

Rafe let out a deep breath, his fingers lazily tracing over your stomach as he relaxed, and for the first time that night, he finally felt at peace.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

If requests are open: Shy softy GN!R having a surprisingly good and easy time asking out and dating their crush Jennifer Check.

ᥫ᭡. 𝑱𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒊𝒆

-You'd think someone like Jennifer would prey on someone like you, sink her teeth into your weaker personality and leave you in tatters, but she's actually so casual with you.

-She appreciates your more thoughtful personality unlike all the douchebags in your god-forsaken town and she doesn't want to scare you off, especially since she knows she’s losing her grip on Needy.

-It could almost be seen as self-growth, but Jennifer knows better. She knows that there's just something about you that has her on her best behaviour.

-Whatever preconceived notions you had about her, you soon realize that when Jennifer Check likes you she's easy to get along with, she's charming, playful, outgoing enough for the both of you…

-Before long you have inside jokes with her and find she's been steadily coaxing you out of your shell.

-You're basically already together, she drags you on so many outings that may as well be called dates, and then on sleepovers where you spend the night in her bed.

-It’s just a matter of building up the courage to say the quiet part out loud.

-Little do you know, Jennifer agonizes over that very thing, much to her frustration since she knows that she should be brave enough to confess. She's hot stuff!

-Her jaw actually drops when you beat her to the punch.

-You know the risk you’re taking, that you could crash and burn horribly and then she'd never wanna talk to you again, but you trust Jennifer, she makes you feel safe… Almost invincible.

-And Jennifer, well she knows how shy you are, how sensitive, so seeing you overcome that for her… she's never been so flattered.

-She feels the rush of power and pride she always gets when she knows someone's into her but she also feels heat rise to her cheeks. She smirks coyly, face hot, “You must really like me, huh?”

-You really, really do.

-Jennifer can easily date someone and still be an asshole to them, but when she's falling in love she's almost a simp.

-She's just giddy to be with you, cheesy and romantic like no one’s ever seen her.

-She's a very clingy girlfriend too, lots of PDA, lots of texts, and if she has to go even a day without seeing you she gets so pouty.

-And she's great to have around, Jennifer balances out your weaknesses so well, bringing more excitement into your life, standing up for you, soothing you when you're flustered and so on.

-Amazingly she rarely hurts your feelings, not that she'd do that intentionally but her jokes can often edge into taunts and if you didn't have a good humor about them they could sting. Luckily you appreciate your girlfriend for the comedic legend she is.

-When she does upset you her first instinct is to get defensive but she always comes around with apology gifts and words of affirmation to soothe over the hurtful ones.

-When someone else upsets you… well, they're only gonna make that mistake once. Jennifer can be cruel and vindictive for the pettiest of reasons, for you? She'll go full scorched earth on their asses.

-She loves how sweet you are but she still rolls her eyes when she thinks you're being too nice, and she lives for the rare occasions when you talk shit about someone, she tells you you've never been hotter.

-Which is debatable, you're always smoking hot in her opinion. It kind of makes her glad you're so shy, otherwise she knows you’d attract more of the wrong kind of attention.

-And yeah, that’s partially toxic possessiveness, but it's also protectiveness. She's received plenty of that attention and she knows how debasing and dehumanizing it can be, she wants to keep you safe from that.

-The same way you saved her from it by not treating her like a piece of meat. By making her believe that someone could love Jennifer, not just her body.

-All in all you're both lucky to have each other and can only bring out the best in one another.

[itsnotalemon]

the singular doodle i did on my new drawing tablet i didnt totally hate,,, i hate new things,,,

[geminid]

attempts with my new tablet

[arolesbianism]

Anyways incorporating new saint hcs into my semi au Sliver lore means that now saint gets to continuously experience ascending Sliver forever 👍

[nomaishuttle]

i am just a small dog girlie and they are my best friends. i love them sm

[sweet-as-kiwis]

I’ve come to the conclusion no one should dorm with someone whose name ends in ‘ace’

[umamaki]

cw: lowk red flag caleb lol, virginity loss

Caleb is pissed when you get asked out for the first time. He had deliberately warned everyone in both of your social circles to stay away from you. Not without threats of violence or death, either. So yeah, he’s pissed as fuck when you tell him. Did he have to burn the whole world down merely to keep you all to himself? To protect you from perverts and creeps?

But, unfortunate and naive, you were so damn excited for this date. He couldn’t spoil your mood. Not when you asked him which dress to wear—both of them too short for his liking—and certainly not when you asked him to zip up the back for you.

There was just something about how you looked, all dolled up and cute to see someone who wasn’t him. He can already barely control himself around you; even the thought of another man having access to you like this makes him utterly sick. “It’s just not a good idea. All guys want the same thing.”

“You’re a guy aren’t you, Caleb? So what, are you telling me you’re like that too? Hmm?” He wants to wipe the playful smile off your face. You just think everything’s some fucking game.

“He’s gonna want to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Have you ever been fucked? Huh, pipsqueak?”

He thinks he went too far then, notes the way your eyes widen and lips slightly part. You shake your head, but he already knows. He knows everything about you. So when you ask if he can help you, give you some advice, he knows exactly how he will.

“So naive, let me just show you.” He smashes his lips against yours. The force would’ve sent you falling backwards had he not steadied you with his hand on the small of your back.

“This is how to kiss…” he mutters it into your mouth, not caring that your teeth are hitting each other.

“And this…” he lifts your skirt just enough so that he can pull your panties to the side and slide his fingers along your puffy folds. “This is how it feels to be fingered.”

“Ah—Caleb!” You squeal when he fully plunges his finger in deeper than your own fingers ever could. He adds another, and soon the room is filled with your moans and the lewd squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of your soaked pussy.

His lips are back on yours, and this time his tongue is shoved inside your mouth, claiming it. He goes faster when he feels your walls clench around him, and lets you grip his biceps while you come around his fingers and leave behind crescent shaped indents on his arms.

He nearly throws you on the bed, eager to yank off your underwear and free himself from his own boxers, wasting no time in aligning his tip to your still sensitive cunt.

“This is how to take it like a good fucking girl.” You try your best to relax, to be so good for him as he buries himself into you. He lets you get used to his size, going slow. Not moving until you practically beg him to, then there’s no going back. He’s brutally snapping his hips against yours and watching your tits bounce through your dress.

“Already gonna come on my cock? You really are inexperienced. Can’t even control yourself. Go on then. Fucking. Come.” With two last jerks of his hips, your climax washes over you and he tries so fucking hard to delay his own orgasm. He begins to pull out but your legs lock him in place. He cums on the spot—still inside you.

“Don’t care that I ruined your dress? How you gonna go on your date now, baby?”

“Hm. Guess I have to cancel,” you say, faux disappointment coating your words.

He pauses. “There was no date.”

“There was no date.” You confirm, wearing that same stupid grin from before. Luckily your schedule is free, because he has a hell of a punishment waiting for you after that.

[shawtuzi]

thinking about suguru and satoru eating your pussy at the same time heje

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine them both between your thighs, staring hungrily at your dripping pussy before gojo breaks the ice and thumbs at your already sensitive clit

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto soothing your little trembles by gently stroking your thigh, maybe even giving it a few kisses of encouragement <//3

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both of the men using one strong hand to push your plush thighs open, exposing yourself even more to them. if you dared try to shut your thighs even a tad they’d be pushed right back open, along with a quick slap the soft skin curtesy of geto

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine the two friends bickering for a moment before geto finally caves and lets gojo have the first taste

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine gojo wasting no time spitting on your clit before wrapping his lips around it, tongue immediately caressing your sensitive nub. he couldn’t decide between roughly sucking on the poor thing or moving his tongue side to side sooo he settles on both! he hollowed his cheeks, holding your clit in place while his tongue continued moving with vigor

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto sucking on the soft skin of your thighs while his hand finds purchase on your bare breast, squeezing roughly every once in a while to keep you on your toes

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto slowly kissing his way towards your center before nudging gojo’s head with his own, giving the man a cheeky smile

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both men looking up at you before—

“a-ah!!! oh my-” your back suddenly arched off the bed as you felt not one, but two hot tongues on your clit. one slowly moving up and down, like they were trying to savor the taste of your essence—not too hard or too fast….just sensual. the other tongue on the other hand settled on quick, harsh licks sooo basically the exact opposite.

“s’good right ?” gojo slurred into your pussy, now sloppily kissing his way down to your dripping hole. geto took this as an opportunity to cup your entire clit in his mouth, while his tongue drew soft circles around the nub. geto hummed around your clit, spit dribbling from his lips from the sloppy kisses he was giving your weeping pussy.

all it took was gojo shoving his tongue in your pussy for your back to arch slightly off the bed as you came with a loud, pathetic whine. gojo moaned just as loud when he felt your cum began to coat his tongue in little waves.

geto pulled away from your clit with an obnoxious pop! dark eyes admiring at the mess your pussy has already become. “lemme get a taste,” he mumbled, leaning his head down to lick a slow strip up your pussy. but one lick was not enough! and it wasn’t long before gojo got a little jealous and smacked geto on the back of his head, a small grunt leaving him.

“‘fuck was that for?” geto hissed, but gojo didn’t even bother glancing at him, his attention focused solely on your soaked center. his long fingers ran slowly up and down your petal soft slit, occasionally applying light pressure to your clit. without warning he plunged two fingers in with a lewd squelching sound following, “we’re supposed to be sharing don’t be so greedy, now let’s make her cum again.”

“j-just be gentle m’still a little— hah! sensitiveeee,” your request fell on deaf ears as both mens tongues were on your clit once again. they went from synchronized licks, to each giving your clit an open mouth kiss, to taking turns slapping your pussy.

you tried to keep your eyes on them but you could only handle so much before you head fell back against your bed, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “m’gonna put my fingers in sweet thing,” geto mumbled into your thigh, giving it a sweet kiss before plunging two fingers inside you. getos fingers began doing a scissoring motion, and to help you avoid the stinging stretch gojo sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth.

“i’m gonna cu-cum againnn, you’re gonna make me—” your body tensed as another orgasm washed over you, a much pleasing sight for the two men before you. “fuck she’s squeezing me real fucking tight, ease up yeah? gonna make it real hard for gojo to put his in too,” geto growled, curling his fingers in the most delicious way possible.

you whined something along the lines of ‘i’m tryinggg’ and gojo could’ve just ate you up the way you were being so cute. “hehe she’s so cute the way she’s trying to keep it together, just let go baby we’re right here to catch you,” gojo giggled menacingly, his two fingers slowly prodding at your entrance.

“don’t forget to go slow, don’t wanna hurt the poor thing now,” geto patted your thigh before giving it a sharp swat.

it took a little time to get you used to the stretch of four fingers inside your tight little pussy, but you managed like the good girl you were for them. “oh my fuckin’…” your mouth dropped as both men began to move their fingers at a semi-fast synchronized pace, digits bumping against that special that had your toes curling.

geto eyed your lonely breast and brought his free hand up to tweak at your nipple, gojo following suit. there was so much going on and your poor little brain could only handle so much before you were spluttering out nonsense making the two men chuckle.

“look at how wet she is….dripping all over the fucking bed,” geto groaned, pushing his aching erection against the edge of your bed. anything to find a little relief he’s only human. “she’s squeezing so tight i think she’s gonna cum again!” gojo moved his hand from your nipple to your clit, rubbing tight little circles that had your thighs trembling.

you weren’t able to give them a verbal warning of intense orgasm, the only signal being being the clear stream of cum shooting from your pussy each time they pulled their fingers out. “catch some, but don’t swallow,” geto grunted, shoving gojos head down to catch some of your squirt in his already watering mouth.

once you were done they both slowly pulled their fingers out, a small whine leaving your lips from the emptiness. geto turned to gojo, his breathing uneven. “you know what to do,” he nodded his head towards you and gojo quickly understood, slowly crawling up the bed to where you laid, glazed eyes staring up the the ceiling with a fucked out smile on your face.

“open your mouth for him,” geto grunted squeezing the plushness of your thigh. you obliged and slowly opened your mouth, quickly met with the tart, tangy taste of your cum mixed in with a little of gojos spit. geto hummed happily giving your tummy a soft kiss, “that was fun, messy but fun nonetheless.”

the next twenty minutes were spent catering to your every need ofc. gojo having you between his legs, long arms wrapped around your waist while geto gently cleaned the mess up between your thighs. “did so good for us angel, thank you for letting us indulge in you,” gojo smiled, giving your hip a loving squeeze.

they both had raging boners but in this moment it was all about you but hey!! maybe once your rested up you’ll let them put both their dicks in you!! but don’t tell gojo that rn he might bust in his pants the poor thing :((