#infinite seek and find

[linuxgamenews]

Unleash Your Hidden Object Skills with Infinite Seek and Find

Infinite Seek and Find is a very impressive hidden object challenge game for Linux, Mac, and Windows PC. Check it out, brought to life by the creative geniuses at Error 30. Available on Steam with 100% Positive review. Exciting news from Error300 — they’ve just launched their new title, Infinite Seek and Find. This isn't just any puzzle game on Linux; it's all about finding hidden objects in some very creative and also beautifully drawn scenes. The style is adorable and hand-drawn, making it a fun, relaxing way to chill and test your eyesight. Since you get to hunt for all sorts of hidden items that are cleverly blended into each scene. And the best part? You’re in control! You can tweak it to fit exactly how you want to play. So want more of a challenge? Adjust the object sizes, colors, or even the time limits. Prefer a laid-back experience? You can also set it your way and enjoy finding objects without any rush. Error300 isn't new to this type of release — they’ve done a couple before, and this time, they’ve really outdone themselves. They’ve added loads of customization options to make Infinite Seek and Find not just another hidden object title. You can change almost everything, from the number of objects you need to find to the number of lives you have.

Infinite Seek and Find Trailer

They’ve also included an Easter-themed version that’s just as engaging. It shows they’re really pushing the envelope on making games that are fun to come back to over and over. So if you liked their previous titles, you’re going to love this one. Key points about Infinite Seek and Find? It’s also full of vibrant, colorful art and loads of ways to play your way. There’s even a unique flashlight mode for those who like a bit of a haunting vibe, searching in the dark! This makes it the third release from Error300, since it seems like they’re really carving out a niche for themselves here. So, here’s hoping this new release is a big hit. Infinite Seek and Find is available now on Steam. Check it out and tailor your own puzzle-solving experience in this ultimate hidden object challenge titgle. Let’s see who among us has the best eye for details. Available on Steam. Priced at $3.59 USD / £3.05 / 3,59€ with the 10% discount. Along with support for Linux, Mac, and Windows PC.

[ieidolon]

do haewon is deeply fascinating to me bc i don't know if she's lying about loving or not loving park jeongje. i would read a whole novel with her as the unreliable narrator and im not joking

[sneakystorms]

Maybe I should've seen it coming with the weight placed on the concept of "desire" but i really wasn't expecting dungeon meshi to turn into a full on buddhist lecture

[cryptosexologist]

actively hilarious how bad the internet is at responding to ocd reassurance-seeking

[exhaled-spirals]

« When I think back on the year 1915, it seems to me that I still hear my friends tell me despondently: "I can't think of anything else! I can't read, I can't work, or find useful distractions (...), I only ruminate about our times, incessantly, until I'm nauseated (...). I've just had two hours of liberty—there was a time when I would have offered them to Tolstoy or Pascal. Today I read about [the war], or European colonial methods; issues that are entirely beyond my reach, but how to think of anything else?"

And perhaps we shouldn't strive to think of anything else; the point is not to turn our backs on our times, but to consider them calmly and thoughtfully. (...) It may be that the philosophy which absorbs you leaves no room for indulgence. Perhaps you feel yourself full of bitterness and rancour towards your fellow men, perhaps you have made up your mind to see in their activities nothing but greed and selfishness. (...) Do not be too eager to prove yourself right! Above everything, do not rejoice in being right in so dismal a fashion. (...) My only ambition is to beg the world to look for anything which can lighten the present and future distress of mankind, to find what interests the soul in a life burdened with troubles and disillusionments, to honour more than ever the faithful and imperishable resources of our inner life. (...)

The storm rages on, the events escalate, worsen, never cease. Never have they seemed more complex, more severe, more demanding. More dangerous. Wherever we turn, an opinion holds up its head and vehemently solicits our belief. (...) Our convictions, our certainties, are at each other's throats. (...) Yet mankind, even in these terrible hours, is only seeking happiness. Men have set off to conquer happiness, clutching in their hands the tools which will forever destroy it. (...) The wrong direction the world has taken is so obvious, so cruel, so vast (...)

Regardless, I would suggest not to lose hope—so long as a single wallflower still opens, in April, over the ruins of the world. Like algae, like mosses, like these laborious lichens which attach to the very ruins their infinite need for happiness, we will find joy in our present affliction and we will grow it, like a wind-battered plant in the parched soil of a wilted world. »

— Georges Duhamel, La Possession du monde (translation mine) Written in 1917 as he worked as an army surgeon.

[tonycries]

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers...

Synopsis. You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Pairing. Officer! Gojo Satoru x Reader x Officer! Toji Fushiguro

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, police! au, unprotected, being pulled over, thréesome, eiffel tower, oral (female + male receiving), manhandling, dynamics, cúmplay, marking, they lowkey make it a competition, implied dp, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.0k

A/N. I don’t condone actually speeding y’all.

You were screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.

“Shit shit shit-” you hiss, eyes flitting to the flashing red and blue lights in your rearview mirror, sirens blaring behind you. The engine roared, pavement a blur beneath your tires - a stupid, spur-of-the-moment decision. You knew you were pushing your luck with your late night speeding, fueled by an empty highway and even emptier adrenaline. 

And, well, it seems like your little thrill-seeking caught up with you, quite literally, as you hastily pull over on the side of the road. Heart sinking when the police car parks right behind you - the final nail in your coffin. 

You heave out a steadying breath, trying to get your thoughts in order long enough to come up with an even slightly believable explanation. Why did you think this was a good idea, again?

Tap! Tap! Tap! 

Shit, in the heat of the moment you’d barely heard the heavy footsteps in the distance. Immediately snapping your head up to look at-

Oh.

Whatever flimsy excuse dies in your throat with just one glance at the officer knocking at your glass - the unfairly hot officer. Your face burns as you urgently roll down the window - partly out of necessity, and partly because you really wanted to see him better. Those snowy white locks, and- shit was that a dimple at the corner of the sly little smile curling his lips?

Twinkling gaze locked with yours, he rests an arm against the roof of the car - and you almost have to look away, your looming speeding ticket being the last thing on your mind at the way his arms flex so enticingly. Leaning down to smirk, “Ya have any idea how fast you were going, sweetheart?”

His voice was playful, and deep enough that it takes a second for you to find yours. Swallowing thickly, you bat your lashes innocently up at him, “Sorry, officer. I have no idea.” 

“Fast enough that’s for sure,” he huffs out a laugh, eyeing the way you squirm embarrassedly in your seat, “C’mon, license n’ registration, now.”

Fumbling through your glove compartment, heat rushes down your spine when his fingertips happen just brush against yours as you hand over the documents. While he looks them over, you take the moment to read his badge - Gojo. 

“Officer Gojo-”

“Satoru, m’not one for formalities.”

“Officer Satoru,” you press, words laced with just the right amount of flirtation. “I’m terribly sorry, I promise I didn’t know the speed limit.” And if it were any other moment then you’d be almost embarrassed at how you were fawning over him - but, well, one look at him and how could you resist?

“M’sure.” Not when he dips his head infinitely closer, hot breath fanning your face. Close - too close. And especially not when he mutters lowly, “Out.”

Which is how you found yourself strutting down the highway in a straight line, trying your very best not to tumble under the pressure of a looming Satoru.

“Keep walkin’.” And by God he was enjoying this a bit too much. Leaning against your car, arms crossed, and watching your every move. Stare so intense that a stupid little part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether his eyes lingered on you a bit too long to check for signs of drunkenness or something else. 

“Well,” Satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, whirling around to catch him sweeping you one last time from head to toe. “Seems you’re not under the influence.” And you’ve barely let a smug smile make its way onto your face before he’s plowing on, “But m’still gonna have to write you up for speeding.”

“Oh come on.” you drag out, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. Leaning ever-so-slightly closer to him, making sure that the tight top you wore lets him see a perfect view of your breasts. “I really didn’t know.”

Eyes flickering down. Once. Twice. 

Success. 

But Satoru only raises his brows, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms over his chest. And by the twinkle of amusement in his gaze, you knew the smug bastard was doing this on purpose. “There are consequences for breaking the law, y’know~ Even for pretty lil’ things like you.”

Inching forward, “Can’t I just be let off with a warning, please?”

“And what makes you think you deserve one?”

Something hot, and prickly coils in your stomach at his tone. “Oh I dunno…” you trail off, so close now that there was only a hair’s breadth between your two. You could feel the heat of his body at this proximity, and it was making your head spin. “I’m sure I can convince you I do.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, grinning, “Not me, pretty girl.” And you’ve barely registered the words before the police car door slams again, and he’s nodding his head somewhere behind you. “He’s the one that’ll be writing your ticket.”

Oh? Oh, shit. 

Heart stopping, you whirl around to meet a matching, sly little smirk. “Meet, Toji, sweetheart. My patrol partner, of sorts.”

And in the dim lighting, you could make out how unfairly handsome he was. A bit older, uniform hugging him so sinfully tight - all dark hair and rugged, dangerous authority as he skims over your license. “Your superior.” the rough baritone of the newcomer’s voice sent shocks right down to your core. 

“Semantics.”

“What’ve we got here?” Toji asks, tilting his head, unabashedly drinking in the sight of you just as his colleague did. “Skipping out on your duties again, brat?”

“Of course not. Just that this one,” Satoru starts. And your skin burns at the way he addresses you, words dripping with a mean little tone as if you were nothing but a plaything, “Says she didn’t know the speed limit, and wants to get off easy.”

“‘Get off easy’, huh?” Toji hums thoughtfully. “Don’t know if we can do that, doll.”

“Mhm, the old man’s right for once. Can’t put our jobs at risk, y’know?”

But oh you’d never be fooled by their little act, you catch the way their eyes meet, a silent understanding stirring between the two. You bite your lips coyly, holding back a smirk as you unhurriedly reach out to pull Toji in by his collar. His knee between your legs, your back falling against Satoru’s front, strong arms steadying you by the shoulders. “Are you sure?”

You could feel his heartbeat quickening, as was the latter’s, toned chest rumbling at the way his partner grits out a hoarse, “Positive.” Shit, they make it so easy. 

Sandwiched between both men now, you whisper - low enough that they have to strain their heads closer to hear, “But I promise I’ll be a good girl, officers.”

Toji’s lips are on you before you know it - so hot and just as messy as you thought the man would be. One hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he licks at the seam of your mouth. Such a desperate clash of lips and saliva as he bullies his tongue inside to intertwine with yours.

He tastes almost minty, with the slight taste of something so intoxicating that you don’t even realize you’re pushing down on Satoru, grinding in mindless little motions. At least, not until he’s gripping tightly at your hips, shifting your ass ever-so-slightly to graze against his swollen cock. 

That makes you gasp and pull apart, tiny strings of saliva snapping as you look behind at Satoru. Feeling him, so big, so hot behind you - even through his uniform. 

“Is that-”

“Shh, focus on what you’re doing, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly. Breath ghosting your ear as a hand comes up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to face forward. “Wouldn’t wanna make my dear supervisor here mad, huh?”

And it takes everything in you to take your mind off of how massive Satoru felt underneath you. Damp, and throbbing behind you, a wet little patch right where his angry tip was. 

The only thing that actually snaps you out of your little reverie is Toji’s voice, husky, and dangerously sweet. “I gotta say, m’feeling left out.” he sighs mockingly, fingers tightening around your throat. “And after I’m the one supposed to be writing you up? How rude.” 

You meet his eyes, half-lidded and looking at you hungrily. He liked this - seeing you all breathless and needy, so eager to please.

“M-m’sorry-” you squirm in their iron grasp.

“Now now, ‘sorry’ won’t always cut it.” Toji gives a soft, playful little smack to your ass, before addressing the other man. “Whaddaya say we do about that, brat?” 

You look up at Satoru pleadingly, only to be met with a dark chuckle. Shit, if anything, you thought that he would be the nicer of the two - but that stupid little illusion falls apart with every word that falls from his lips. And oh how he enjoyed watching your slow, dawning realization that no you weren’t going to get mercy from either of them. “Guess we should teach her some manners, huh?”

“I dunno…I don’t think her slutty lil’ pussy will learn, though.”

That felt like a slap to the face - one that had your dripping cunt quivering in- fear? Anticipation? You really couldn’t give a fuck right now, not when they’re talking over you like you’re some object. Not when Toji’s shoving his knee deeper in-between your thighs, rocking your hips lightly. You whine, “P-please. I want to.”

“Want to what? C’mon now, use your words like a big girl.” It’s Satoru now, teasing you as you hesitate in giving into what you really want. 

Your voice cracks pathetically, at the embarrassing admission. Being stuck between these two men way too much for you to handle. “I want…” 

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Wan’ to be fucked by you both. Have you teach me some m-manners.”

And then it happens. 

Your back hits the cushion before you even realize what’s happening, sinking into your car backseat as the two officers shut the door behind you. Satoru sits on one side, while Toji pushes down the front seats on the other. Cramped, heady - and exactly where you wanted to be right now. 

Shit, when did they even open the car door? You don’t have half the mind to wonder, because neither of them waste any time. Immediately groping your tits - your waist - your thighs, everywhere and anywhere they could reach. 

Satoru’s kissing you now - drinking you in like you were his favorite taste. And you just think he might be yours, so sweet, like those cheap lollipops you saw at convenience stores. Drinking in your breathless gasps as Toji begins unbuttoning your top, letting it fall to God-knows-where and-

“Fuuuck.” he lets out a low whistle, “Kid, look at this.”

With an almost-pained grunt, Satoru’s pulling away. Eyes widening as he takes in the sight of you - braless, and exposed so shamefully for the both of them, of course. “No bra?” he mutters raspily. “Always knew you were a lil’ slut, doll.” But you knew by the way his breath hitches that he liked it. 

And Toji did too, if the way his fingers danced along your hardened nipples was anything to go by. “What did I tell you? Bet she’s got such a naughty pussy, too.”

Your head is spinning, both from his words and the way Satoru’s claiming your lips once again. Murmuring into your mouth, “Only one way to find out.”

And that’s all that is said before they’re all but ripping your skirt off your hips. The poor, flimsy fabric nothing against the two men that were now looking at your drenched panties in pure awe. 

In fact, Toji drops to his knees onto the car interior, face to face with your pretty pussy. Greedily drinking in the way your slick beads out so sloppily,  the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. Gaze heated enough that you’re embarrassed. 

“Ah ah-” Satoru tuts, seeing the way your bare thighs were trying to close - not letting yourself have even some semblance of dignity. “You said you’d be a good girl f’us, isn’t that right, old man?”

“Mhm, s’what she said.”

Shit, you can do nothing but have your legs wrestled open, Satoru’s fingers sliding so delicately underneath your panties. “You heard him, pretty.” Index sliding up and down, up and down up and- grazing your swollen folds, all the way from your base, stopping just below your throbbing clit. Tease. “So why don’t we let officer Toji here get a good look at how wet your pretty lil’ cunt is?”

Neither man waits for your answer - of course, they don’t.

Rip! 

Several things happen at once, you barely have the time to react before Satoru’s holding your panties in his fist, tattered and soaked with your slick. Your mouth drops open in disbelief as he dangles it like a badge of honor, holding it up, up, up, only to breathe in your scent obscenely. “Fuck, you even smell like the perfect angel.”

Toji - taking the opportunity - dives face-first into your pussy. Groaning at the taste - you were so sweet, so addictive on his tongue. Licking lazily up your swollen folds, letting your sweet sweet juices get all over his face as he buries himself nose-deep. 

“Oh!” you gasp, fisting his locks in your hands, “Shit shit shit-” Toji was in eating you out, exactly as he was with kissing - sloppy. Unabashed. Letting his tongue move so messily all over your cunt, while his colleague held you still. Letting him devour you as he pleased. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Satoru whispers into your ear, every cute lil’ whine of yours going straight to his painfully hard cock. 

And, well, Satoru can’t just sit here and watch Toji have you all to himself, now. Can he? Which is why he begins playing with your sensitive nipples. Twirling his hot tongue around one, rolling the other between his fingers.

Drunk off your moans and the way you’re so overstimulated by both men. Unable to decide between where your body wants to focus on - grinding down on Toji’s relentless mouth or leaning towards Satoru’s. And it’s driving you mad. 

“Hngh- fuck- Feel’s good.” you whine, bucking your hips wildly.

“Yeah? Ya like this?” Toji speaks first, words muffled around your clit. Sucking and rolling his tongue harshly across it. Over and over. Strangely in time with the quick, maddening little circles that Satoru licks around your nipples. 

Being ruined like this from both ends was way too much - so you can only nod deliriously. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. Letting Toji throw your legs over his shoulders, looking so fucking gorgeous in-between your legs like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Brows furrowing in bliss as he tilts his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Shit.” Lapping even faster at your pussy. “Could get used to this.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a jealous man, because he pulls away from your tits with a lewd pop! Grunting sulkily, “Move over. Wan’ taste her cute pussy, too.”

Either Toji doesn’t hear him over the lewd little squelches coming from down below, or he ignores it - probably the latter. Continuing to make out with your cunt so messily. 

But Satoru was nothing if not persistent, snaking down a hand to gather your slick on his fingertips. Immediately shoving them in his mouth and oh- You watch blearily as his eyes roll to the back of his head, sucking his fingers clean like a man possessed. 

“Oh- fuck.” his mouth drops into a soft oh! Leaning forward like he wanted to kiss you senseless, only to halt and shuffle off the carseat. Because he wanted to make out with your cunt more. Dropping to the ground beside Toji, Satoru gives him a minute shove, “Move. M’not letting you be the only one to taste this heavenly pussy.”

“Hah- ya think you can eat her out the way she deserves, brat?” Licking at your inner thigh, “Lemme show you how a real man does it.”

“Watch and learn, old man.” Both men push your legs as far apart as they’d go, spreading you so shamefully for them. You reel from the stretch and the sinful sight below you. 

Because immediately, they’re making out hungrily with your cunt together. Sloppily and needy - tongues bumping into each other, intertwining, burying their faces between your legs as they eat you out like a little competition. Satoru’s licking up and down your slit, pooling your slick on his tongue, while Toji’s wrapping his pretty lips around your ravaged clit. 

“Sh-shit. Satoru- Toji. Ah! M’so close.” you squirm as they moan into your wet cunt, the vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running up your spine. Drinking in your little whimpers like they were addicted. 

“Like this?” Satoru groans. “Feels good being eaten out by the both of us?”

The car fills with your breathy moans, and it’s hard to speak with the way they’re alternating between flicking your clit and squeezing your tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you out, thrusting at a frenzied pace - you don’t even know who is who at this point. Just getting off with a needy, “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes- Feels s’good!”

“Like being our little whore, doll?”

Maybe it was Toji’s words - so filthy even when he was calling out to you sweetly. Or maybe it was the way Satoru was grinding his jaw as he plunges his soft tongue deeper into your plushy walls. Probably it was how they both looked at you - like you were their last meal. 

Because you’re cumming, and cumming so messily all over their mouths. “Shit. S’too much. Ah-”

And neither man stops - almost like it was difficult to part. Letting you drag your sloppy pussy incoherently all over while they continue to flick and dip their tongues. Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Heh, you’re gonna make her cry.” Satoru grins, as he finally parts. Your slick glossing so prettily all over the bottom half of his face - and his partner wasn’t any better. Rising from in-between your thighs looking very decidedly not sorry for eating you out till you cry. 

You watch, speechless, as Toji swipes a thumb over his lips, watching in wonder the way it becomes sticky with your juices. “Could get used to this all over m’face, right?”

“Mhm.” the other man hums, absentmindedly fumbling with his shirt. Revealing smooth, milky skin - he was so deliciously sculpted, all toned muscled and a slutty waist that made your mouth water. Shit, he was a masterpiece. 

But Satoru - that impatient bastard - doesn’t even give you the time to admire the entirety of him before he’s unbuckling his belt. “Though I think she’d look better with something else.”

You gasp as he pulls down his pants, tugging just enough that his swollen cock springs out. Absolutely massive and such an angry red, weeping tip dripping all the way down his length. He was so long - the type of long that had you knowing that won’t be walking properly tomorrow. 

“How crude.” Toji titters, but shit how he loved the way you seemed so cockdrunk from the mere sight of Satoru’s dick. It almost made some tiny part of him jealous. 

“Whatever, dibs on her cunt,” Satoru grunts, one hand moving to toy so messily with your dripping entrance. Pointedly ignoring the heated glare thrown his way by Toji, and the way he begins rolling your clit between two fingers. Almost like a little standoff - with you stuck in the middle. 

Toji breaks first, “M’your superior, I should be the one to fuck her pretty pussy.”

“Aw come on.” the other man whines, and it would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the way his long fingers were massaging your hot core. “Think of it as a ah- learning experience. After all, who knows whether you’d hurt yourself trynna fuck her the way I can.”

“You mouthy little-”

“Now, pretty girl, let’s see if y’can walk the talk.”

And oh you should’ve known better than to think you’d be stuffed inside the backseat of a car with two police officers without them throwing you around like a rag doll. 

Immediately, Toji’s manhandling you, fingers digging into your waist as he pushes you on all fours. Lining his aching bulge right in front of your soppy mouth, saliva seeping into his pants. 

Well, there was no use wearing soiled clothing, right? You watch, cunt clenching in anticipation as he shoves down his pants in record speed. 

Oh, the universe was playing a joke on you - because Toji was just as big. If a bit thicker where Satoru was longer. Prominent veins glistening in the dim light, precum dripping all the way down to the maintained tufts of black at his base.

Shit, your eyes flit between the intimidatingly big cocks. One in front of you, grazing his fat tip across your lips, and the other positioned right over your sloppy entrance. You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

“Having second thoughts?” Toji scoffs, edging his hips closer. Greedily taking in how fucking pretty you looked with his precum glossing your mouth, messy and dripping down to your chin. “Wan’ tap out?”

You barely even have to your head “no” - because Satoru’s answering for you. Spreading your pussy lips with his thumb, taking one, long look before chuckling, “Course not. Y’should see the way her needy cunt is sucking my thumb up.”

“Well then. Guess we’ll get to the real fun.”

With that, Toji’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A low hiss leaving the back of his throat as you take him so well, lips bulging around his thick cock. Tonguing at the sensitive slit in a way that makes him lose his mind. 

Not even giving your a proper warning as he pushes in inch by fucking inch, watching you choke and gag around him. Not stopping till he’s got your nose pressed all the way against his toned pelvis. “Shit, relax yer throat. Fuck, ah- just like that, doll.”

And if you thought he was mean then you weren’t prepared for Satoru at all - not with the way he was immediately squeezing his thick head into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your heavenly walls can’t decide between pushing him out or milking the fucking soul out of him. 

“S’tight, fuckin’ love this pussy.” Satoru gasps, jaw clenched, trying not to just fuck recklessly into your cunt until you’re drunk on his cock. But God is it difficult to keep his sanity when all he gets in response from you is a choked, wet gurgles. Body bowing into both of theirs as you desperately try to relax both your throat and your cunt. 

“Gonna stand around waitin’ or am I gonna have to ruin her pretty pussy for you?” Toji taunts, voice strained as he begins thrusting in quick, harsh strokes into your hot mouth. “Talked big, huh, kid?”

“Fuck off.”

And Satoru’s never one to lag behind. After all, he did graduate at the top of his batch at the academy - he can’t lose face in front of you or his annoying superior either. 

So he tightens his grip on your hips, hard enough that he’s pretty sure it bruises. Pushing down on your spine to arch your back deeper onto his cock.  “I dunno.” he drawls, “What do you think, sweetheart? Want me to fuck into this tight lil’ pussy? Ruin you on my cock?” 

Of course, the only response he gets is a low, wet moan. Luckily, both men understand it as a loud, resounding “yes”. 

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little slut can’t even speak.” It’s the last thing that spills out of Satoru’s mouth before he’s pushing past that tight ring of resistance. No care or concern for your poor pussy because shit his thoughts were too mangled with how heavenly you felt around him. 

“You got this, pretty.” he whispers, fucking into you in small, shallow little thrusts just to fit himself inside you. “Take me all like the good girl you are.”

And oh were you such a good girl for him - Satoru thinks he could almost cum on the spot as he finally bottoms out. Sucking up his cock so fucking sinfully as his heavy balls smacking your ass, already so wet with your slick and his precum. 

“There ya are.” Toji hums, the image of you choking on his cock while you struggle to take Satoru’s making his head absolutely spin. He can’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing hotly down your spine, making you buck and gag deeper around his dick. In the haze of it all, he catches Satoru’s amused gaze. Spitting out, “What?”

“Softie.”

“Oh, shut up. You can’t even handle her pussy.”

And Satoru took that personally, because he’s reeling his hips back, back, back - all the way till his angry, weeping tip just kissed you sloppy holes. “M’gonna show you, softie.” Body moving before his mind, he starts fucking into your pretty cunt recklessly. Hands groping all over your body possessively, hips moving in rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and the urge to ruin you. Over and over-

Toji only smiles at the little show, your garbled whines every time Satoru hits your poor cervix going straight to his cock - quite literally. And if he angled his head just right, he could see the way your cute cunt was stretching obscenely. Barely-lucidly, he wonders whether your throat would bulge around his just as much. 

He taps your cheek, signaling you to blink those pretty eyes so tearily up at him. Balls squeezing painfully, he really can’t help but pump his cock into you faster, matching Satoru’s merciless cadence - ruining you from both sloppy holes. “Sorry, doll. Gotta big ego, so we can’t be outdone, now, can we?”

And then it’s like something snaps because suddenly every movement becomes sloppier, more erratic. Toji’s got a hand around your throat, feeling each thrust as he ruins your gorgeous face. Abs flexing each time he drags your lips on his cock up and down up and down up and- like some toy.

Satoru wasn’t any nicer either - becoming so fucking messy as he fucks you from behind like he was claiming his win. Faster, sloppier. 

Biting his lip at the way your ass jiggles each time his hips snap into yours. Pulling you back by the hair to bounce you like some little slut from both ends. And, maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have said something about the way they were using you like their favorite fucktoy - but right now you were so close. Dangerously close. It was too much. 

And they probably feel it because suddenly Toji’s leaning down, murmuring hotly against your ear, “S- fuck. Ngh- Close?”

“Fuck, I can feel it too.” Satoru voices from behind, so hoarse with desire, “Suckin’ me up so hah- t-tight it’s almost hard to fuck her.” It’s his cue to reach down deftly and start toying with your ravaged clit, still so sensitive and sore from before. Drawing erratic little circles on it, pinching with his fingers. 

You’re letting out throaty, muffled moans of their names, making Toji’s hips stutter. Holding you still as his aching balls smack your ass. “Hngh- shit. Keep doin’ that, brat, this one here loves it.” 

“What did I tell ya? S’like this pussy’s made f’me.”

And if they couldn’t feel it then they certainly could see it. They could see the way you were getting messier, pussy dripping all over the carseat now. Mascara running down your face, saliva and precum trailing down your chin. Honestly, it was fucking hard to look at you without cumming right there, too. Because you looked completely and utterly fucked out. So close that it was almost painful. 

Maybe that’s why both men speed up their pace impossibly, no reason or rhyme. You feel a wolfish bite on your exposed neck - Satoru - fingers frenzied on your clit, thrusts stemming from such a carnal, depraved part of him. Falling out of sync with Toji as they get so sloppy with the goal to get you off - and get you off so hard that you can’t think about anything but them, them, them-

“Cum, doll.”

This orgasm is more obscene than the last. Far more. Because you honestly don’t even realize you’re cumming, not until you’re seeing stars behind your eyes and feeling Satoru and Toji slamming harshly into you. Once. Twice. Before spilling into you in unison. 

And it’s so much that you don’t even know if you can take it. 

Toji’s salty on your tongue, pumping thick, hot ropes of tongue into your mouth. Pulling out purposefully like the smug bastard he is to see his seed all messy and dribbling down your face. While Satoru’s much the opposite, keeping his twitching cock stuffed into your tight pussy while he paints your walls white. Not letting you waste a single drop.

But oh he didn’t mind when you finally pull yourself off of Toji’s dick. Cum smearing so sloppily all over your face, and shit he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier. 

And Satoru really doesn’t mind when you look back and pull him into a kiss - Toji, too. If you can even call it that, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and cum. So much of it. Swirling and sucking on your tongue, bumping into each other. Just pure fucking filth. 

It gets Satoru’s dick so hard and throbbing all over again at how obscene it all was. Some weird little part of him is almost disappointed as Toji breaks the kiss - but not for long. Because his superior shifts, splaying himself out beneath you, while he pulls your limp body on top. 

Ah. Great minds really do think alike, he thinks as Toji drags his tip lazily all over your cunt. Pooling your juices on his fat head, grazing your poor, abused clit to where your sloppy pussy was quivering and still stuffed full of Satoru’s cock. Well, not like you didn’t have room for one more. Right?

It’s all you can do to babble deliriously, “W-wha-”

“Shhh, doll. We’ll take care of it.”

“After all, sweetheart, you did say you’d be our good girl…”

A/N. This got taken down the first time I posted it LMAO. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fakebwitch]

rafe encourages you to keep riding him…

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your mouth open trying to catch your breath, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as your movements slowed, your legs numb, and rafe's cock was buried in your pussy. after riding him for what seemed like an infinite amount of time you stopped by sitting on his cock, its tip hitting your cervix, you let out a soft whimper feeling it throb inside you.

you found yourself in this situation because of you. your pussy aching for him, needing to feel his cock inside, begging him all day long for attention and when he finally gave in you thought he was going to fuck you, but instead he let you do all the work. he sat there, his hand barely on your thigh, waiting for you to ride him without giving you any help.

you tried to speak, but nothing that made the slightest sense came out of your mouth. your head already dizzy as you found yourself getting more and more needy wanting to reach your orgasm. rafe looked at you for a few seconds, his eyes half-closed as he felt your pussy tighten around him, “what is it?”he asked you, a cocky smirk on his face.

“i'm tired...” you managed to get out of your slurred mouth, your voice dim and weak as you moved your hips slowly, trying to find a clutch, his cock hard inside you and you desperately wanted to move but couldn't. rafe shook his head as his eyes moved downward, watching the way your pussy was fully sunk on his cock. all day long you had been so bratty, interrupting him as he was doing his work, filling out and reading important forms, begging him that you needed him, his cock, to feel him inside you, teasing him with mischievous touches, and when he had given you what you had been begging him for all day, you weren’t even grateful.

stopping after just five minutes, hoping that he would pound himself into you. rafe had figured it out early on, when he had told you that you were going to ride him, that you were not happy about it, a pout evident on your face but you tried not to show it, in the end you still got his cock.

“you can do it princess” he incited you starting to lose his patience, the grip of his hand on your thigh tightened slightly, also eager to feel your hot tight pussy sucking him in, but he was determined to let you do all the work, he had to fight against himself not to hammer himself inside you. he knew it was all a plan of your to get him to take charge, but your attitude would not work this time.

rafe wasn't pleased when you didn't respond, the hand he had on your thigh went up slightly, his thumb and forefinger tightened around the soft skin, you let out a grunt of pain as his fingers pinched your skin tightly, “c'mon baby, move” he exhaled, his fingers still clenching your skin. you nodded lightly starting to pick up the pace, riding his cock as you threw your head back.

a tear ran down your cheek, ending on your lower lip, the pain of his pinching mixed with the way his cock was stretching you so well, repeatedly hitting your cervix, were enough to push you to the edge. your eyes closed as your mouth was wide open, continuous moans escaped your lips.

“so good baby, takin' it so well” he praised you as his fingers let go of the skin of your thigh, a red mark visible on the freshly pinched spot, and within a few hours it would become a nice big bruise. “wasn't that difficult, right?” he said mocking you as his hand tightened around your tit, pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“fuuck” a big moan escaped your lips as your hands rested on his chest seeking support, your rhythm fast and deep, feeling every vein of his cock pulsing inside you.

“fuck that's right, keep going baby... such a good girl for me” he praised you as a slap landed on your ass, rafe’s head turned back enjoying the full pleasure of the warm wet walls of your pussy, squeezing and wetting his length.

[writingwisterias]

lmao How do you think Leon's eras would react to a reader who is ovulating and she simply wants to be with him all the time? 😔😔

Oh he loves a challenge of his stamina...

Warnings: Smut,MDNI, Creampies, Soft Dom!Leon, Breeding Kink, Cockwarming, Overstimulation, Ovulation, Drinking, Teasing, Cow-Girl, Slight Subby Leon (implied once...Re2 ofc)

AFAB!Fem!Reader

RE2:

At first he's already tired with the whiplash of your emotions he's gone through throughout the week.

You've been pushing him away, wanting his touch to then back to pushing him away

So when he's sat on the couch and you come in dressed in his shirt and underwear, his attention is immediately taken

After all you've only been wearing bag clothes and sweats so the sudden change...is interesting

You sit on his lap and he's already twitching, he's getting real excited and you haven't even done anything

It goes the same way it always does, a heated make out sessions that then gets dragged to the bedroom where he'll spend at least an hour edging himself into your pussy because he doesn't want it to end

When it finally does and you are full with his cum, he collapses on the bed only to have you swing your leg over and drench him in the mixture of the two of you..

Leon's nervous, a more Subby headspace coming closer as you rock your hips against his sensitive cock begging yourself for another round

Who is he to refuse

RE4R:

You are normally all over him when get gets back from things but today...it was different

Its only when he catches you looking at your app that he realizes what week it is

And he delivers...

He basically becomes a doll for you that you can command to do what you need

You need to be fucked from behind? He's already thinking of the pace hes gunna use

You wanna ride him? He's in position

Its like it rubs off onto him because his cock is constantly leaking throughout the day even if you aren't doing anything

His sweats will have wet patches in the front when he thinks about how needy you are

Infinite Darkness:

Considers it a rewards for how moody you are the week before

But fucking loves trying to sedate the need

Spends the entire week trying not to cave into your advances

Watching you struggle and become a little needier everyday

Sometimes he genuinely can't help it since he's not around but he's a smug bastard and loves when your brattier side comes out

When it does he's punishing you but giving you exactly what you asked for and then some

Your pussy is spent by the end of it, a constant stream of cum leaking out of your puffy lips

He loves he extra affection after, loves it even more if you give him the extra affection when he's still plugged inside you

Damnation:

Smug bastard like ID Leon and sees how long you can go before you are practically begging to sedate your needs

Instead he finds you wrapped up in his shirt trying to use the toy you have when hes away

That just won't do

He's immediately on you helping you, plugging you with his cock and his cum

Afterwards if you are still clingy he's holding you in his lap as he drinks or watches the TV

Helping you get as close to his body as you can hopefully giving you the comfort you seek

Loves it if you are little bit shy about it, like you aren't normally this horny when it happens he smug and just treats it

Also teases you because of your embarrassment

RE6:

Vendetta:

Knows somethings up when you start wearing his favorite shirts

He'll come back from work to just you prancing around his shirts cooking his favorite meal

Its when he hugs you from behind and your nipples already start to pebble through the material as his aftershave hits you, that he realizes

Waits for you to finish dinner, waits for you to admit you want it

He can feel himself getting harder as you snuggle in closer on his lap, squirming your ass against his cock to try and rile him up

When you feel it's hard and twitching you become feral for it

He lets you, opening his legs and lifting his hips so you can take it off

Welcomes the warmth and clenches of you pussy as you sink down on him

And absolutely adores the sight of you riding him in his shirt

Your breast poking through as your back arches

Nipples staying perfectly perked up as the fabric moves over them

Willingly gives you creampies, helping you empty his balls of everything's hes got for you

Death Island:

He can see that you are hesitant to invade his space with your needs

Spying you sitting across from him on the couch, wrapped up in a black with your hand drawing lazy circles on your clit

He's drinking again, lost in thought with everything in his mind but your horiness this week is a welcomed distraction

He makes you work for it though, making you use your fingers to give yourself an orgasm before you can have his cock

Reassures you the entire time that you aren't bothering him and it's a welcomed distraction

As he gets lost in through each thrust he makes gets harder and harder

Completely gets lost in you and you get lost in him

His brain filled with the image of his fluids leaking out around him as he pulls out

Takes a break and a few more sips until you are begging for another round

To which he just smirks and drags you to the bedroom

He knew the day was coming

After all you had your most fertile day circled on the calender every month

It was his favorite day of course...a night filled with endless creampies in hopes he can finally get you pregnant

Because of that you are both like bunnies that day, he doesn't even notice you are clingier than normal

Doesn't care that there's scratches down his back where you are blissfully getting cock drunk

He loves that the breaks in-between each round gets shorter

the fact that his age is even keeping up with this amazes him

It makes him feel wanted and important with how clingy you get

Where you just need him in your space and it doesn't matter if its for sex

He always make sure to wear the all black outfits and your favorite aftershave of his just so it really gets you going

[elysiansparadise]

Ceres in the natal chart

⚳ Ceres [1] is a dwarf planet that in astrology has a strong relationship with health, nutrition and sustenance (both physical and emotional). It represents the way we give care and support as well as how we like to receive it. Although it also tells us about our relationship with food, motherhood and the perception we have of our mother, in this post I will focus on care.

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🩶Ceres in Aries: Like the first ray of light at dawn, a warm impulse that pushes you to get up, to face your fears with its borrowed strength. Here we find very protective people, who do not hesitate to jump to defend what they love most if they feel that they are in danger. These people do not seek to be suffocating towards others, so they will not fall into the group of overprotective, on the contrary, they prefer to encourage others to be self-sufficient. Their caring may include encouraging you to take risks, overcome challenges, or advocate for your interests. They will care for your individuality, admire your personality and encourage you to be yourself. They are not usually overly communicative when it comes to showing that they care, their style is more direct and action-oriented. When faced with the discomfort or stress of those they love, they can solve problems quickly and not let things stagnate, the classic person who does not complain and resolves, making them extremely comforting in times of crisis. 

🩶Ceres in Taurus: They care with delicate caresses, offering the aroma of security and the sweet taste of eternal love. They offer constant and comfortable care, without becoming overbearing. They are not people of large dramatic gestures, but rather small significant acts that demonstrate their commitment. Their presence is like a safe haven, because you know they will be there when you need them. They are considerate people who make sure that your needs are met, they look after your comfort and well-being. Many of them often show their affection through gestures such as gifts and acts of service. They are extremely patient and know when to give you space to heal or process your emotions at your own pace. They don't rush you, but instead create an environment where you can feel accepted just as you are. For them, loyalty is important, so they will seek to be there for you no matter how time goes by. Their calm and steady energy can be like a balm, especially if you are going through times of stress.

🩶Ceres in Gemini: It is the care that comes in the form of curious questions and illuminating answers, words that come as a balm for the most wounded sides of your soul. They show care by listening carefully, asking questions, and offering helpful advice. They always have something to say to cheer you up, make you laugh, or help you see a situation from a new perspective. With them you don't feel like you're walking through thin ice, they make you feel understood and give your words the value and importance they have. Their ability to maintain constant contact, even through short messages or quick calls, makes you feel supported. The beautiful thing about these people is that they deeply value connection, so they will make small gestures so that you both spend time together and will seek not to leave you alone in times of crisis. Something that I have noticed about many of them, they will share their hobbies or interests with you, in turn, being open to knowing what your world is.   

🩶Ceres in Cancer: It is the infinite sea that keeps your tears, the refuge on stormy nights and the blanket that wraps you. Care with unconditional tenderness, building a home in every corner of your heart. These people have the ability to care for others on a practical as well as an emotional level. They tend to provide strong emotional support in which they validate your feelings and can help you process them through patience and empathy. They are incredibly loyal and will not abandon you in difficult times. If they care about you, they do it from the heart and in the long term. They stand out for their warm and enveloping energy and always make sure to give you the space to feel your emotions, even those that you do not openly express with others. Many of these natives can come to be considered a protective figure in their groups or with their friends, and people see them as people they can rely on. They can give off vibes of being very maternal or paternal.

🩶Ceres in Leo: Like a radiant sun that illuminates with generosity, it is their warmth, their fire and their passion that elevates you, reminds you that you are unique and loved. They will take care of you by highlighting your qualities and making sure you know how valuable you are. Their support includes words of affirmation, praise, and recognition of both you and the little things you do. They inspire those they love to be the best version of themselves. Their care includes encouraging you to shine and be authentic, as they want to see you succeed and feel proud of yourself, and they can be a great source of motivation. They will encourage and care for your inner child. They are fiercely loyal to those they love and will not hesitate to defend or back you up in public if necessary. Their sense of care includes making sure you don't go unnoticed or feel ignored.

🩶Ceres in Virgo: They care with patient dedication, with small gestures that are like soothing whispers that comfort and bring peace to any turmoil in your mind and heart. They are quite reserved people regarding their desire to care for other people, however they seek to be very supportive of those they consider special to them. They care by making sure your physical and practical needs are met, such as organizing your tasks, reminding you of appointments or important things, and even helping you solve everyday problems. They notice details that other people miss, making you feel valued in the little things. They are able to intuit what small changes they can make in the environment that guarantee your comfort. They make you feel like your life is under control, helping you regain control with their support, presence and advice. They are able to notice your small gestures that reveal your feelings, especially when you are tense or stressed. 

🩶Ceres in Libra: They are the echo of an "I understand you" in the silence, the beauty of shared care, where everything is fair and serene. They value connection and will take care of you, fostering a relationship of reciprocity, where both feel valued. They care that you feel accompanied, supported and appreciated in their company, that you never doubt the affection you deserve. They value your well-being in every way, both emotionally and physically, and seek to ensure a balance prevails or at least, to be there to contribute with whatever is missing. They are great conversationalists and make sure you feel heard and understood. They often give thoughtful advice, helping you see all perspectives before making decisions. They make you feel calm, helping you find stability in times of chaos or stress. They will let you know that they will always be there to listen to you and share with you, as they seek to create an authentic and enriching connection with those who are special to them.

🩶Ceres in Scorpio: They are the deep night where secrets are hidden, the hug that holds you when everything collapses. They care with transformative intensity, stripping the soul to heal it from its roots. They do not avoid difficulties, but rather address them head-on, accompanying you in the most challenging moments and staying by your side no matter how hard the journey is. They care about your deepest feelings, even those you don't express openly. They have a gift for detecting what you need emotionally. It may not be evident at first, but when they really trust you, they give themselves completely and use their time to create an intimate bond that is healing for both of you. They make you feel like they know aspects of you that other people don't, and they accept them unconditionally. They are able to give you a feeling of powerful protection, as if nothing can harm you while they are around. They transform your life from care, appreciation and devotion, causing a strong, yet comforting impact.

🩶Ceres in Sagittarius: They are like laughter shared under starry skies, the freedom that invites you to dream beyond the known and encourages you to think that everything is possible. Life often gives us tense and difficult situations, they seek to give you a break from all that, giving you joy and understanding. Its warmth gives your life hope that there is something more for you, that you can enjoy life too. They deeply respect your independence and support you to follow your own path. They do not seek to limit you, but rather to encourage you to discover your true potential, passion and that which invades you with joy. They like to create meaningful and exciting experiences with you, in which they allow themselves to discover each other. These natives are a source of inspiration when you feel trapped or unmotivated. They make you feel like you have space to be yourself, without judgment or restrictions. They encourage you to think big and dream, validating what makes your heart beat.

🩶Ceres in Capricorn: They care by building a safe future, weaving acts of love that, although silent, remain embroidered, uniting the fragments of your heart. They value your effort and always highlight your achievements, although in a practical way and without exaggeration. They are incredibly consistent in their caring, they may not be very emotional, but they are always there when you need them. And not only that, you can trust that they will deliver what they promise and will have your back during difficult times. Although they will seek to support you, they recognize your independence and capabilities, and do not hesitate to remind you of your strength and ability to overcome challenges. They make you feel that you have a shoulder to lean on and that you can count on them at any time, as they give you a feeling of security and confidence that everything will be fine in the long term.

🩶Ceres in Aquarius: Like a rainbow after a storm, it clears the skies and opens ground for you to explore and fly towards your own destiny. They deeply respect your independence and encourage you to be yourself without conforming to other people's expectations. They don't try to control you, but instead support you to explore your own path and make your own decisions. These natives will always seek to make you feel included and valued and may even invite you to be part of their activities. They take care of you without invading your personal space, maintaining a balance between support and autonomy. They are usually the type of friends that unites the group and makes sure that those who love them have a pleasant time. For them there is no true affection without freedom, they will never invade your personal space or seek to get into your private life, however, if you need to talk or vent, they will listen to you attentively. They can nourish your creativity and originality, and make you feel more inspired.

🩶Ceres in Pisces: They are like the song you never forget, the empathy that heals even what you can't name and warmth that envelops you in tenderness and care. They are incredibly understanding and are there to listen to you and offer comfort during your difficult times. They often help you find inner peace, whether through words of comfort, physical contact, doing small gestures that make you happy or keeping you company after stressful events in your life. They offer a safe haven where you can be vulnerable and express yourself fully. They never demean your emotions but, on the contrary, seek to understand them. There is a quality to them that helps the ones they love tp find meaning or purpose in times of confusion or difficulty. They are people who are very sensitive to the pain of the people that they consider close ones or special, often being able to feel it themselves. They stand out for their empathy and seeking reassurance rather than seeking to be right or point out.

🤍Ceres in the 1st house: Being naturally caring and attentive, these natives focus not only on nurturing the environment or people they love, but taking care of themselves in equal measure. Many of them encourage others to embrace themselves and treat themselves with care and understanding. They take care of themselves by leaving those places or connections where they are not allowed to be themselves, letting go of complacent behaviors, and refusing to give up their individuality and identity. They have a strong protective instinct and there is something about their attitude and personality that makes people feel drawn to them. They can easily motivate and encourage others through example, so they can be the go-to role for many.

🤍Ceres in the 2nd house: These natives enjoy caring through concrete acts and ensuring the comfort of those they love. They tend to nurture others through gifts and material goods, and they enjoy being able to provide for themselves or have those they love provide for them in that way. They can find joy and comfort with the physical contact initiated by the people they love, feeling security and reassurance without saying a word. They nourish themselves by surrounding themselves with beautiful things and can pamper themselves by going shopping. They look for small ways to nurture their self-esteem and that of those they love. It is important for them to feel that their actions are seen and valued. They manage to make others feel grounded and bring calm to chaos.

🤍Ceres in the 3rd house: These natives find comfort through communication, more specifically, having long meaningful conversations with those they love in which they share deep things that they would not tell anyone, where they can know each other better and fully. They like to maintain constant communication with everyone they love, reassuring each other even if they cannot see each other. These people seek to nourish themselves mentally and form connections with people who allow them to continue learning, and contribute meaningful and positive things to their lives. Many of these natives may have a unique ability to give comfort to others through words and speeches.

🤍Ceres in the 4th house: These natives focus on emotionally nurturing and offering shelter to those they love, not only giving physical security, but also emotional security, as well as protection and appreciation of their emotions. They need to feel like they belong in a safe place, so they pay a lot of attention to making their house, room, or whatever their safe place is, a welcoming place. They tend to feel more comfortable being at home, finding comfort there after a tense day. Likewise, they may prefer meetings with their loved ones indoors or in a more intimate place. For them it is crucial, as well as talking about their emotions, to have time for themselves to process and understand them. They are not afraid of emotionally charged conversations with others, so they can be very good at comforting.

🤍Ceres in the 5th house: They offer emotional support by making those around them feel special, unique, and loved for who they are. Often, their care includes moments of enjoyment, laughter, and authentic connection where the concerns of day-to-day life do not interfere. They love to motivate others to discover their talents, motivations, joys, value and to express themselves fully. A huge tendency to praise and cheer up those they appreciate. These people nourish themselves by exploring their creativity, having fun and allowing themselves to pamper themselves, doing activities that they like, taking care of and prioritizing their me-time and appreciating their body. Taking care of themselves means honoring their sense of individuality, embracing passion in their projects, and not stifling their creative spark.

🤍Ceres in the 6th house: They enjoy adding personal care routines in their free time. They do comfort activities like watching the movies they like over and over again, cooking, painting or anything that allows them to relax. They look for ways to nourish their body, from their diet, exercise, techniques or even spiritually. They care for others through small gestures and looking for ways to help them if they feel stressed or don't know how to do things. They are people who genuinely enjoy helping other people, as this brings them satisfaction. For them, it is crucial to work on something that provides them with emotional well-being, that nourishes them and contributes something, but above all, that genuinely makes them happy.

🤍Ceres in the 7th house: These natives can nurture themselves a lot from their relationships, as well as find care and comfort in them. They enjoy lasting relationships in which affection and nourishment is mutual, in which both are the other's safe place and where they can allow themselves to show their emotions freely. They like to create relationships in which the other person feels accepted, appreciated and loved. People find comfort in them very easily, given their fair, caring personality and the fact that they are aware of others' emotions. These people take great care of the connections that they consider important and do not mind having to put effort into them, highlighting not only their commitment, but loyalty.

🤍Ceres in the 8th house: They are not very open people with this protective side, but despite this, they help others go through crises and face their shadows. They are people who encourage others to let go of everything that is no longer useful to them, to leave behind what does not contribute to their lives and work on healing those deep wounds that others do not see. They empower others by helping them accept their vulnerability and reassuring them that it is okay to feel or step back to charge their batteries. They are not bothered or uncomfortable dealing with emotions that for others could be overwhelming and they prefer to face them rather than evade them or sweep them under the rug.  Moments alone bring them peace of mind and help them manage their emotions. It can be difficult for them to be gentle with themselves.

🤍Ceres in the 9th house: These people are a great source of inspiration for others. They always try to be there to support you with advice; they're classics at offering a wise comment from the heart and with sympathy. They tend to support others during existential crises or moments of growth and know how to stay even when others don't understand what's happening to them. They accompany without imposing, helping others discover their own path in a compassionate way and nurturing your authenticity. They don't tell you how to live your life; they just ensure you feel comfortable and happy in the process. Their style isn't the most verbal or loving, but it's highly valuable because they manage to resonate with you. They need to feel free to explore and grow, and they feel most comforted when others respect and understand their need for personal space.

🤍Ceres in the 10th house:There's something comforting about the way they project themselves; they're the kind of people who attract people, because those who orbit around them feel comforted, understood, and very comfortable. They are able to provide structure and stability in a way that meets the emotional needs of others. They may opt for jobs that involve caring for others or nurturing them in some way. It often seems as though these natives are the ones who "hold the world up" for others when everything seems to be falling apart. They are the ones who show others that it's okay to take a break, that they don't have to carry everything on their own, and that they can rely on others. They may have a tendency to take on responsibilities that aren't theirs. They have a knack for helping others find their purpose and path in life, as well as helping them align with it.

🤍Ceres in the 11th house: These natives have a strong protective instinct toward their friends, often taking on the role of counselor or supporter. They stand out for their empathy and are the kind of people who can defend and care for a stranger without hesitation. Emotional support for them comes in the form of inclusion, active listening, and solidarity. They don't try to solve anyone's life, only to adapt to whatever their friends need; an active listener? They will be that. Any advice? Without a doubt. A wake-up call without sugar-coating? Gladly. They feel nourished when they're with someone or in a place where they can be themselves. They have a strong need to nurture their self-expression and authenticity; anything that blocks it will be discarded. They need to surround themselves with people who nurture their desires, dreams, and aspirations if they want to avoid frustration.

🤍Ceres in the 12th house:They are not very demonstrative people, nor do they go for showboating. They seek to care for others through sincerity and meaningful actions. They are a strong source of comfort to those who are or feel forgotten, lost, marginalized, or emotionally broken; they are capable of deeply understanding others and seeing behind them and what they show to the world. They are people who are unaware of how comfortable they make others feel, nor of the subtle, positive effect they have on others' lives. They may not have felt cared for, which led them to become very aware that before they can do it, they need to understand and know how to do it effectively. They are the ones who hold your hand when you feel alone in the emotional storm; the silent companion that fills you with security, the knowledge that nothing can destroy you while they are with you.

💟Ceres-Sun aspects: Not only do we find people naturally attentive and caring towards others, but these natives also have strong empathy. They tend to find fulfillment in caring for others or creating safe environments for themselves and their special people. They may have a strong protective instinct and take pride in their ability to support others. People feel confident in relying on them given their warmth and understanding. In the case of tense aspects, the person could occupy the role of caregiver towards their own parents or others to whom it did not correspond to them, likewise, they may have problems balancing caring for others and caring for themselves. 

💟Ceres-Moon aspects: These people have a strong focus on emotional needs, they are aware of what makes them feel good and they try to know and understand those of other people. They are naturally caring people and like to preserve the emotional well-being of those who are special to them. They have a natural talent for comforting others and making them feel loved and taken into account. They like to feel that in their emotional ties, both give the other reassurance, peace and a lot of care. If the aspect is tense, these natives may have issues with the mother or their parenting style. They may feel that they look out for the needs of others but that no one looked out for theirs when they were younger.

💟Ceres-Mercury aspects: They are people who feel more comfortable supporting others through meaningful conversations or practical solutions, which is one of the reasons why others rely on them when they need advice or feel heard. Your words can bring a lot of comfort to other people and leave significant teachings. These aspects favor the flow of ideas, creativity and the talent to write texts with high emotional weight. With tense aspects, these natives may have problems verbalizing their emotional needs or accepting help from other people, leading them to rationalize excessively, to the point of not allowing themselves to feel. 

💟Ceres-Venus aspects: Natives with these aspects usually show love and affection through acts of service, as they enjoy making small gestures towards their partner to remind them that they are loved and cherished. They love to feel pampered in their relationships, that care is mutual, and to build a safe place for them and their partner to feel protected and adored. They are loving people in their relationships who are not afraid to express their love freely and warmly. Likewise, they enjoy pampering themselves and having self-care methods. In case of tense aspects, they may be people who fall into people-pleasing behavior for fear of hurting other people's emotions.

💟Ceres-Mars aspects: These people show their love and support through decisive actions, active protection and practical solutions. They have a strong tendency to defend those they love and do not tolerate disrespect for those they love. They are not afraid to take the initiative to show affection, initiate physical contact or take that first step into a more serious conversation. They know when to act and when to allow those they love to fend for themselves. In the sexual sphere, they seek to have their and their partner's emotional needs met and prefer relationships with people with whom they have already created a bond. Tense aspects can cause internal struggles between protecting others and a strong need for independence.

💟Ceres-Jupiter aspects: These people tend to be extremely generous, offering emotional, material or physical support in abundance. They can find true satisfaction and joy in helping other people and it can make them feel fulfilled. They care through warmth and move with the ideal of giving what they receive to others. They are the mixture of loving and independent care, knowing what limits not to cross. They love to shower others with positive and memorable experiences, as well as teach others through patience and thoughtfulness. Tense aspects often cause natives to be overprotective/have grown up under overprotection or in environments where their needs have not been met.

💟Ceres-Saturn aspects: Natives with these aspects tend to be very practical and serious in the way they support others, often focusing on providing stability and security and tangibly and constantly showing affection and care to those they love. They are reliable and are usually seen as confidants, stable and loyal supports, making the people around them rely on them. Here we have people with a lot of emotional responsibility and strongly devoted to bonds with people they love. Tense aspects can cause natives to acquire burdens that do not belong to them, but to others who are supposed to be the protectors. Possibility of not feeling appreciated or cared for when young.

💟Ceres-Uranus aspects: These people seek to encourage those they love to follow their own path and can help their friends realize that they don't have to repress who they are just to fit in. They inspire others to be themselves, help them feel accepted and included and, despite their strong independence and rational approach, they seek to let those they love know that they are there for them. Tense aspects may create one of the following extremes, or have grown up in a place with emotionally negligent people or, on the contrary, excessive overprotection from which the natives seek to reveal themselves or distance themselves.

💟Ceres-Neptune aspects: When they aspect these planets, natives tend to be very empathetic, compassionate and often take care of those they love in a selfless way, ensuring their well-being and happiness. They seem to have a good sense of what the people they love need, and they give them the feeling that they understand them better than anyone else. They love unconditionally and keep the promise to be there for others through ease and storms. Tense aspects can show us that natives must take great care of their energy, as they can easily drain themselves, as well as the tendency to take care of others so much that they forget to take care of themselves.

💟Ceres-Pluto aspects: These natives have a quality and that is that they can get people to open up with them in a deeper light, unearthing their emotions, insecurities or innermost thoughts with them. These natives are not afraid of depth, there are few things that scare them on an emotional level, allowing them to help others understand and accept the most intense emotions. There is something about them that gives strength to those around them, motivates them, fills them with courage and impetus and makes them rebuild themselves. With the tense aspects, they may have felt that their emotional needs were in the shadows, not seen or met, likewise there is an issue of not wanting to trust their more intense sides to people, unless there is a strong trust.

💟Ceres-Rising aspects: They take great care of their physical appearance, their emotional and physical well-being and, in the same way, they are people who can be very caring and protective of the people they love. They can be people who take the time to make their surroundings enjoyable for them. These natives have a natural beauty and their figure can be a mix between harmonious and attractive. It is important for them to have "me time" and they can find some comfort and comfort in their own company. If they make a tense appearance, it is possible that these people have a tendency to take a lot of care of others, even forgetting to take care of themselves. They have a natural ability to give comfort to other people.

💟Ceres-Midheaven aspects: There is something about your vibe that people perceive as safe, emotionally grounded and calm. People tend to trust you and are likely to make them open up to you easily. Your work may be closely related to providing support, care and encouragement to other people. You are someone very productive and focused on your work, capable of building stability through it. If the aspects are tense, it is likely that at times you tend to feel that it is difficult to mediate your focus on your career and goals with your self-care. The "reward" method in which after a hard day of work, you give yourself time for yourself and do things that make you feel comfortable is likely to work well for you.

[yoonjae20]

Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine. 

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again. 

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread. 

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them. 

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens. 

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind. 

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly. 

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out. 

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”  

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head. 

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.” 

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door. 

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —  Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.  

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure. 

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex. 

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life. 

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left. 

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile. 

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?” 

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.  

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is. 

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom. 

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say. 

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all. 

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell,  his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green. 

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration. 

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them. 

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens. 

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper. 

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin. 

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in. 

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence. 

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-” 

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.” 

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses. 

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war. 

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes. 

[abyssyby]

How will Silus react to a son who shows dragon instincts (stealing something shiny, collecting and keeping it as a treasure, etc.)?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi hi! thanks for sending this in hehe kinda got away from me, but this was extremely fun to think about and i hope you like it! ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙

i think he'd be deeply amused! i have a personal headcanon that sylus actually isn't rid of his dragon form/abilities in this life, he's just more powerful and strong enough to mask them now 24/7 hehe

what throws him mostly is when the kids express their want to be like him (because of the implications of that and his own perception of himself). but their natural instincts and traits, sylus expected that and now takes it on as a challenge to hone and help with.

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | a fight between the little twins (´•̥ ᵔ •̥`) angst, fluff, family dynamics, exploring the littles' draconic traits!

Lucian is more his father's son in terms of more outward, classic draconic traits— seeking height to fly, collecting trinkets and treasures, easily allured by shiny and pretty things. Did he not have a twin to bond with (and very social older brothers), Lucian would have had trouble sharing/socializing. He can be very territorial and protective with things he thinks he is responsible for (ex. a specific dino plushie from the big twins, a spot on the couch, a blanket, Kyros).

Sylus's role with Lucian is trying to find that balance of what he can do to regulate himself as a little boy and at the same time not repress any of the inherent instincts he cannot help. He reminds him often that it's okay to act accordingly as long as he isn't malicious or mean.

"You have to choose the better choice." Sylus would say, drawing a sobbing Lucian into his embrace after a fight with Kyros. "Do you want to protect your hoard or your brother?" "But is my trinky." Lucian hiccups, pushing through sudden painful inhales. He clutches the clicky little egg toy in his hand (think bakugan), which weighs heavier with the guilt every passing second he stews in his mistake. Sylus sighs, voice low and gentle. "You yelled at Kyros." "I sorry!" "I know you are, angel." Sylus frowns. His heart aching at the confusion in Lucian's face— wondering what he did wrong, why his need to defend was a bad thing, why he was getting scolded when it was Kyros who took the toy without permission. "But you really hurt Kyros." Little fingers stop their fidgeting on the trinket. smaller, quieter, Lucian murmurs. "I not mean it..." "Papa, I feel bad here," Lucian says, taking Sylus's hand and placing it on his chest. Like he wants to puke. Like he wants to scream. Like he wants to cry his insides out. "Don't like it." Sylus holds him tightly— allowing his presence to be whatever Kyros might need at this moment. He thinks it inadequate, but what he doesn't consider is that it is infinitely more than he had before he met you. And for now, it is enough. "Maybe we say sorry to Kyros? What do you think?" "I give yellow trinky?" he is still shaky when he pitches it. clutching his precious crimson trinket to his chest. "Red one is mine. but- he can borrow. but—but this mine." "That's a start," Sylus kisses his brow. It's not a perfect bow-tied solution, but it's his own. and it's clever and kind and still Lucian. and Sylus cannot be prouder. "Let's go find your brother."

Kyros's qualities are more inert, subtle. He is still territorial and protective— just not to the extent of a Lucian-like reaction of yelling or snarling. If his little hoard is breached, he'd probably harbor a deep sense of resentment towards whoever did so. He remembers everything— the kindness, the betrayal. He trusts gradually yet deeply and isn't the easiest to ask for a second chance.

Kyros's traits manifest in him being watchful and vigilant, protecting his space and his circle more than his trinkets and treasures. He prefers being alone with the exception of his family— and yet even then, he still has moments where you'd find him wandering away from Lucian and the big twins to check on his own stuffies in another room or just rearrange some toys in his collections.

He's deeply sensory-seeking! Kyros is very sensitive to specific sounds (you and sylus humming into his temple so he feels it resonate in his skull), vestibular and tactile input (squeezy-squeezes!), scents (papa's brings the most comfort of all because of that time he was sick).

Sylus's own instincts would urge him to protect him, shelter and hide. But he knows that isn't the better choice. So instead, he teaches grounding to Kyros when his instincts tell him to float away. To hide, but always come back home.

Kyros hates loud sounds— when the karaoke mic goes wrong, when the trumpets on papa's CDs start shouting, when something falls off a shelf and makes a loud thud!. He's gotten better at reacting to them, and no longer has that instinct to cry or yell when it happens. His tantrums come from not being able to rearrange the things that get jumbled inside his head when he is startled like that. He shares that with his father— a replica of home in their mind with everything in its perfect place. But unlike him, Kyros has yet to keep his composure when it is rattled. Sylus teaches him to organize, arrange and at the same time be flexible with it. He was taught that he could grit his teeth, put his head between his knees, and count to ten until it passed. Or simply go to papa or mama when it doesn't. But this sound— this sound creates a landslide in his mind, a devastation far too great to reorganize all by himself. "Go away, Kyros!" Lucian's voice is hoarse as he yells the curse at the top of his lungs. Kyros freezes. His limbs stone and fire all at once. His vision is reduced to blurs of color as the tears build and blind him. He doesn't know what to do, and when Sylus emerges from the other room at the sound, his instinct is to run. Hide. Not be seen, perceived. Alone— where he can't be hurt. You find him in his bedroom, frozen on his bed. clenching and unclenching fists, eyes crystalline with unshed tears. "My love." you coo in sympathy, gently curling yourself around him, taking him into your arms, and placing him in the cradle of your crisscrossed legs. He lets the tears fall then, quiet still. Clinging to your warmth, your scent. Fists crumpling the soft fabric of your shirt. You don't talk, but your fingers intertwine with his, and you draw him closer to your chest as you breathe the way you want him to. Your hand squeezes his palm, the hinges and joints of his fingers, wrists, elbows, and shoulders. Then a familiar forgotten lullaby is hummed into his temple as you kiss him tenderly. When he is no longer wound, no longer rigid like scales but soft like the baby you reared, he speaks. voice small, rusted, and fragile. "I make cian mad." You nod. He did. You saw his twin crying to his papa before you raced off to find him. "I no mean it." his lip wobbles just as his words. "I just... want to see." You hum, listen to him. It's what he needs, to be heard. And when he is ready to listen to you too, you offer: "Lucian probably didn't mean it either." Kyros pouts. "He yelling at me." "But he cried too." you say, smoothing his hair, meeting his eyes. "Lucian doesn't like hurting you." His brow furrows. He knows that is true. His mind struggles, but he places each totem, each memory, and each fact back on their shelves. Just as Sylus taught him to do so. Hide, fix, then come back home. Lucian loves him. Lucian loves his clicky red dragon. Lucian lets him borrow things when he asks. "Mama, I grab the—the trinky," he confesses, fingers finding solace in playing with yours. "Is that why you think he yelled?" "A-huh." your heart corrodes in your chest at the sound of his heavy confirmation. "Cian no like grabby hands. I sorry." You smile— admiring the depths of your son's little mind palace. What you would give to be able to roam its halls and behold its many wonders. "Maybe he needs to hear that from you when you're ready, hm?" he nods. "I ready, mama."

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You take him to his brother, who is already on his way to him too. sylus kneels to set Lucian down, and you nudge Kyros gently. "I sorry I take—take your trinky." Kyros says first, hands behind his back both to keep himself composed and to show Lucian that he won't be a threat any longer. "Sorry I yelled loud." Lucian hiccups, still shaken at what he'd done. Haunted by how Kyros looked when he did it. He extends his hand, and upon his outstretched palm sits a yellow version of his clicky dragon-egg-ball-trinket. "This for you." Kyros's face brightens as he accepts it. And in the blink of an eye, they are holding each other in an embrace. An ancient instinct they both share, not exactly draconic, but transcending understanding. Could be cosmic. Could be creature. Could be human. But one thing is for sure, this they've inherited proudly from their parents. A woven gift, bloodied and torn, but good. This, they share. This, they treasure. This, they protect in each other— a loyal heart, a golden soul.

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so, so much for sending the ask & for reading! o(╥﹏╥)

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #26 (probably?): Mom Schedules a Doctor's Appointment

Mom!Talia au with an added twist on the "Danny heals the Pit Rage" trope where Talia actively seeks him out instead of Danny stumbling into it like I usually see.

After Jason's Pit Rage did not subside after a few months, it was a red flag. That's not what was supposed to happen and Talia started investigating why.

It takes her years of tracking down leads, examining ancient texts, cross-referencing the myths about the origins of the Lazarus Pits, and a very reluctant team-up with Tim Drake sometime during/post the BruceQuest to find an answer.

The pit waters are linked to something called the Infinite Realms. In the ancient texts, they found something prophesized a Hero who would overthrow a Tyrant to become a Good King, who would help mortal and realms denizens alike. Investigation(and interrogation) into the magical community suggests this prophecy can to pass just a few years ago.

Thus Talia decided the best course of action is to summon this Ghost King and ask him for help to heal her son in exchange for access or power from the Pits.

She calls her sons and their brother Tim under the guise of desperately needing their presence in Nanda Parbat. They arrive expecting a fight. Instead, they get Talia talking to an inter-dimensional King, trying to set up healthcare and doctor's appointments with his physician for them.

[salem-s]

10 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS language, annnnnnnnnnnnnngst (im so sorry reader???), mentions of blood (brief), descriptions of parental abuse. 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 7.3k. no chill.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to me by the marías

Rafe’s panicking. 

Once the feeling in his legs comes back, he abruptly leaves the dance floor, seeking refuge in the hallway in a feasible attempt to calm himself down. 

A part of him is pissed.

Pissed at how easily you brushed him off, pushed him aside, dumped him as if the past few days meant nothing to you. Rafe finally builds up the courage to tell you how he feels, and you do that?

You tell him to forget it, call him a liar, and run away? And you have the audacity to lie to his face, saying it’s meant nothing to you? None of the words, touches, moments spent curled up in confidentiality? His temporary humiliation haunts him, creating an ugly feeling that sits in his chest, the feeling of being rejected without so much as a glance.

Another part of him is worried. 

Rafe replays the moment in his head over and over again, not quite able to get the image of your disbelief out of his mind.

You looked offended, almost, as if the whole debacle was one giant trick. You kept trying to convince him that it’s not true, coming up with numerous excuses for him to back out, but he believes you were the one trying to convince yourself of it.

Why were you so adamant that it was a joke? Did it come across that way? Is it that hard to believe? 

He’ll never forget the shimmer of desperation that glossed over your eyes at his confession, as if the mere thought of him wanting you seems like a horror story, a fantasy. The approach he took has him kicking himself. Did he come on too strong? Was he holding you too tight? Did he hurt you again?

Rafe’s nail beds are irritated as his thoughts plague him. You pulled away from him so fast that he had whiplash, as if his skin was on fire and you were getting burned at his very touch. You put as much distance as you could between them multiple times. 

The realization dawns on him. 

You're scared. 

Rafe quickly gets over his pity party and nearly runs back into the ballroom, eyes desperately scanning the crowd to try and find you. 

Because, fuck, he’s scared too.

Not scared- terrified.

Running a hand through his hair, he huffs as his search goes nowhere. He just needs to talk to you, to clarify a few things, and to let you know that he can’t have this confession separate you. Even if you never touch each other again, Rafe decides that that’s better than losing you all together. Even if he has to love you from afar, to only be able to look at you or be around him is infinitely better than a brick wall built high between you. 

The thought of never being around you again makes his chest pull achingly, desperately. He needs to fix this. Now. 

Shit, he’d rather wait eons for you than be with anyone else. 

And that scares the shit out of him. 

But Rafe’s always been someone who knows what they want, when they want it. As a spoiled kid, he’s used to getting what he asks for, and he refuses his fuck-up to come between him and the only person he’s ever been tethered to. The string is fraying, and he’s getting desperate to make sure it doesn’t get snipped. 

With a thumping heartbeat, he retreats back to the table and notices all of your stuff is still there, sitting neatly on your chair, untouched. Without a second thought, he grabs your clutch and scans the room again. The search is unsuccessful, only seeing Lorenza talking to extended family, but no you, no glimpse of that godforsaken pinot noir colored dress that’s been making his head spin all night. 

“Looking for angel?”

Rafe spins around to see Yara, peering up at him eagerly. 

He nods quickly. “Yes. Have you seen her?”

Yara sultry nods her head, spinning on her heel without a word and leading him out towards the hallway with the bathroom and exit. 

Like an idiot, Rafe follows. 

And his head truly begins to spin when they enter the empty space with no you in sight. Rafe’s ducking his head in every corner, brows pinched in confusion as he looks around the corridor desperately, only to be met with desolate hallways and only his reflection seen in the pristine marble walls. 

His frustration only blooms.

“Uh, Yara, she’s not–”

The thumping in his ribcage augments when Yara harshly grabs his arm, pulling him into a see-through storage closet and shoving him up against a shelf that digs painfully into his back, caging him into the small space with a smile that's nothing nice.

“Finally,” she purrs at him. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

The words make Rafe feel drunk. Or drugged. Or both. Because he gapes his mouth open and closed like a fish, brain short circuiting with the combination of whatever the hell is stabbing his back and whatever is happening in front of him. What the fuck?

Blinking stupidly and offering no words, Yara simply giggles low and places a manicured hand on his chest, fingers playing with his tie and splaying across his toned chest through the dress shirt.

“C’mon, Rafe. Don’t act dumb.”

What? The words don’t come out of his mouth, paralyzed. 

“I've seen the way she treats you,” Yara muses low, her talon nails tracing idle shapes through the hills and ridges of his abdomen. “I can take care of you.”

Her touch is burning hot, uncomfortable, unfamiliar, unwanted. 

Rafe’s chest bubbles in panic, senses heightened from his anxiety of not being able to find the one person he needs right now and the uneasiness that this proximity is thrusting on him. 

Anything feels wrong when it’s not you. 

His chest is heaving. God, it feels like he’s about to throw up, and he can’t help the flash of anger that roars in his mind, because why does this girl think she’s on the same playing field as you? His sweet girl? The audacity to even utter your name is downright disrespectful, undeserving. 

Rafe roughly grabs Yara’s wrist, shoving her arm away from him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He spats. 

Yara’s eyes widen innocently with confusion. “Wh-What?” The girl takes an uneven step back as if the revelation is inconceivable. “You don’t want me?”

Want Yara?

“You better be fucking kidding.”

Rafe balls his hand into a fist, nails most definitely embedding crescents into his palm as he barrels out of the closet, frustration and anger simmering up to his ears as he feels he’s on the verge of crashing out, tugging on his hair for the upteenth time. Ignoring the faint desperate pleas behind him, Rafe storms back into the ballroom, letting out a shaky breath as he scans the room again.

This time he doesn’t hesitate to get up in people’s faces.

Rafe approaches people he’s never met before, asking if they’ve seen you, describing the details of your hair and your dress and even mentioning the color of your eyes, once. He must go up to dozens of people, the result all being the same – nothing.

They have no idea where you are. Some people don’t even know who you are, nor can spare an ounce of regard for his dilemma. Most are confused at his desperation, wordlessly shaking their heads in befuddlement and shrugging him off as if he’s crazy. 

Not even Lorenza understands, who looks concerned at Rafe’s worried expression but nonetheless is unable to decipher his ragged breath and fast words. 

The spot that Yara touched on his chest aches, as if he’s been branded. It feels ugly, it feels wrong. He feels like he needs to change and take a shower, to wash off any trances of people that aren’t you.

How could he ever learn to love the touch of another when you're the only presence he can endure?

Rafe feels like he’s been searching forever, even poking his head into the women’s bathroom to see if you've taken refuge in there without a warning or apology to the elderly woman who clutched her pearls at his intrusion.

When that goes nowhere, he feels like he’s suffocating, like you're slipping through his fingers despite feeling like he just had you. As he stands in the hallway with the sounds of echoed laughter and muffled music, he realizes his ears are ringing and his hands are shaking. 

He needs air.

And that’s the smartest thing he’s done all night, because when he seeks solace in the brisk ocean air, he spots something off to the side, practically buried in the sand. 

Heels. 

Rafe’s heart lurches. 

His legs are moving before he can process it, gripping your clutch so tight he feels like he might’ve broken something inside. The thought passes quickly, reassuring in the back of his mind that whatever he broke he’ll just pay for, as he scoops up the discarded heels and scans his surroundings, eyes narrowing at the pathway leading into the dark, to the quiet lull of the ocean, and his gut lurches him forward, heart thumping as he finds himself descending into the inky void of the night coated with nothing but suffocation. 

Each step feels like a lost cause, frustration bubbling as he curses at the wild goose chase he’s thrust himself into.

Here he is: the big, bad Rafe Cameron stumbling through the night, looking high and low for a woman he’s practically sold his soul to, gripping your belongings between calloused fingers and bleeding nail beds.

Rafe curses again, but his footsteps falter when he sees a silhouette in the distance, crouched low to the ground. The sight makes his ears, finally, stop ringing, but he almost wishes they hadn’t because then he wouldn’t hear it.

Quiet sobbing. 

The noise Rafe breaks his fucking heart. 

A moonlit figure sits on the sand, hunched forward with shaking shoulders that match the sound of hushed weeping. God, he prays it isn’t you, hoping that horrific sound isn’t coming from you, selfishly pleading that it’s someone else having a bad night.

But the closer he gets the more his suspicions are confirmed, chest tugging at the sight of your backless dress and wine colored gown cascading over the ridges of the sand. 

His voice wavers when he says your name.

You don't even turn around, waving him off dismissively. “Not now, please.”

Yeah, no. 

There’s no way Rafe’s leaving. He physically can’t. In fact, he hurries over to you, setting your clutch and heels down in the sand a few feet behind you as he comes up to place a hand on your shoulder.

You shake off his touch immediately and he panics. Did he make you feel like this? Did he hurt you, again? 

You turn away from him, sniffling. “Seriously. Leave me alone.”

“No.” Rafe lowers cautiously next to you. He hates that you don't look at him. “Look at me.”

“I want you to go.”

Even if I wanted to, I can’t, he thinks.

“I can’t leave you like this,” he whispers, frustrated you won’t look up, desperate to get you to stop crying. “Please, we can talk about this. I really didn’t mean to freak you out, I–”

Then a bitter laugh escapes your lips, and Rafe frowns at the sound, something that sounds so disingenuous, so unlike you, that it makes his stomach drop. 

“What?”

“This isn’t about you,” you whisper, voice wavering despite all of your best efforts. 

“Then what is it?” Rafe pleads. When you don't answer, exasperation bubbles as he says your name again. “Talk to me, I swear we can–”

“We can’t. Just go.”

 Rafe wants to scream. “No. God, will you look at me?”

You do.

And it gives him fucking whiplash. 

Glossy and tear striken eyes meet his, but it’s not the running mascara or puffy eyes that concern him. No, it’s the bloodied towel you hold up to your lip. 

The air is pulled from Rafe’s lungs, heart dropping instantly. 

All the frustration that has been built up in his temper immediately dissipates, now flooding solely in concern, in worry, in anxiety.

You're hurt. You're bleeding. He can’t even form a single thought except how uneasy he is seeing this, knowing he did nothing to stop it, whatever it was. 

Then he’s seeing red. 

Balling his fists so tight, he’s sure he might draw blood himself, because someone did this to you, deliberately hurt you, laid a hand on his sweet girl.

Rafe’s mind immediately wanders to Patrick, that stupid prick would do something like this and probably laugh it off after. There’s a slight chance it could’ve been Grant, merely based on your history alone, but the fact that he’s barely spoken to, let alone looked at, you the entire trip doesn’t make him believe he’s the culprit.

No, you must’ve gotten in a fight with someone. A random person. Maybe a catfight. Because none of this makes any fucking sense. 

With a trembling hand, Rafe slowly moves the cloth away to inspect the wound. It’s a cut on your lip, swollen and plump but no longer bleeding. 

When his hand comes to cradle your jaw instinctively, you pull your face away from his touch, avoiding his eyes and looking out onto the water. You try your hardest to remain stoic, but a few tears continue to fall as you attempt to stop hiccuping.

“Who did this?”

His voice is as still as he can possibly make it, but there’s a wave of anger, of fury, at the thought of someone doing this to you, someone hurting you. Rafe tries to mask it, but his tone drips in irateness.

But you don't relent. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he nearly screams. “Tell me.”

“Please go back inside, Rafe.”

Frustration floods his chest as he raises his voice. “Don’t you understand?”

You lightly flinch at his volume, and a part of him knows he needs to reel it in but he needs you to feel his desperation.

“I can’t! I can’t just go back inside. I can’t leave you.”

You shake your head, still refusing to look at him as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t need you. Stop.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief, running a hand through his already ruined hair out of irritation.

Resisting the urge to cradle you close, he instead settles on a long deep breath to steady himself, readjusting himself so he’s kneeling right in front of you, forcing you to face him. The uncertainty in your voice allows him to keep going, allowing him to understand that you're saying this to protect yourself. 

You're here right in front of him, looking anywhere but at him, but Rafe couldn’t feel further away. 

“I know you don’t mean that," he says softly, delicate enough to make up for his outburst earlier but firm enough to get you to understand. "Stop pushing me away.” 

The dam breaks. 

A hiccup. “I don’t know how,” you sob before you can stop yourself, covering your eyes with your hands. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Rafe’s heart fucking shatters. 

The feeling kills him. He doesn’t care if he’s crossing a line or overstepping when he’s hugging you, pulling you tighter when you try to evade his grip as you cry and push and writhe.

He doesn’t budge, tears brimming his eyes at your struggle, at your inability to let someone in, at how someone could even fathom hurting you. 

“Let go–” You struggle, weak hands meekly attempting to push him away.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. “Stop– Stop. I’m here. Stop.”

A jagged sob escapes your lips. He holds you tighter. 

His sweet girl. 

The thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

Eventually your efforts gradually stop, fully collapsing into his embrace as you cover your face with your hands, letting his arms cage you in entirely. Rafe does the best that he can, cradling the back of your head and running his other hand up and down your back soothingly, whispering sweet nothings to talk you through your cries. 

And all you can think about is how embarrassed you are.

You're embarrassed of it all: the playing pretend, the overtly snobby family, the emotions that can’t seem to stop and continuously overflow under the faucet of nonstop misfortunes, the thought of him with someone else, the cut on your lip, the helplessness.

It makes you feel weak, curled up in his arms like this in a blubbering mess, probably bleeding onto his nice dress shirt with smudges of mascara. You aren't used to being coddled, it’s suffocating, pathetic. 

It takes a long time for you to find your voice. And when you do, it comes out through choked ragged breaths. 

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe sighs deeply above you. “No, baby. None of that.”

Your lip wavers.

How badly you want to apologize for how ridiculous you feel, how strange these pet-names are making you feel, how stupid this whole night has been. But you can’t find the words, not without sobbing, so you bite your lip, hard, and then wince as a sharp sting jolts you. 

Idiot, you think. 

“No apologies,” he whispers. “I’m here. Whatever you need.”

God, he’s being so fucking sweet that you nearly forget about what you saw earlier.

There’s no doubt you're laying on the same spot Yara touched, brushing over the same fabric that met the smooth, lotioned callouses of her hand. You have half a mind to pull away, to keep protecting your heart, but no matter how hard you want to try, you can’t. Besides, Rafe’s grip is too secure. It’s clear he’s not letting go anytime soon. 

You want to yell and scream and shriek to get him off, to tell him to go fuck off and be with his new girl, his new plaything, because apparently he’s already moved on.

But that flies out the window when you hear Rafe sniffle. 

Your confusion is through the roof. Your heart is pulling in a million different directions, teetering between the anger of betrayal to the sympathies of hurt. The whole anterage you've gone through with Rafe is the last thing you want to think about right now, wanting to push your feelings to the back of your mind for the time being. The thought of talking about what happened earlier sits heavy on your heart, the feeling of dread weighing you down. 

You can’t talk to him. Not right now. As much as you seek comfort in the warmth of his arms, it feels wrong, disingenuous, fake. 

Frankly, you know what you need, and choke on your breath to find the courage to say it. 

“I want… I...”

Your words are so quiet, incomplete and fragmented, barely a whisper as your lip quivers. 

Rafe hears it. He understands.

It takes him a moment to find the courage to release you, reluctant to let you go, you can tell, because his touch lingers a little longer than it should as he sucks in a deep breath, as if he’s been punched in the gut. Rafe hugs you a fraction tighter, a wordless promise, before he slowly pulls away.

You feel your hair brushed out of your face, his fingers delicately ghosting the hot skin of your cheeks. Half of you wants to lean into the touch, the other half wants to pull away, knowing deep down it’s dishonest. 

“Don’t move,” Rafe commands softly, taking one more moment to gloss his eyes over you, over your cut, before he’s gone. 

You hate how cold it feels without him, and you hate how you miss his warmth. The desperation makes you feel sick. Rafe’s made it clear his confession earlier was said out of hysteria, out of confusion. God, everything is so confusing.

The waterworks spring up again when Lorenza is suddenly at your side, cradling your face and wiping your tears away. 

And you let it all out. 

Through blubbering tears, you spill everything to your nonna: the purposeful dress alteration, how your dinners have been cut in half, the condescending comments on the yacht and at the table, the constant comparison to Yara, how Paulette gave the dress to someone who deserves it, the speech, and, finally the slap. 

Lorenza simply listens, occasionally wiping your tears away. 

When your nonna asks about what led up to the slap, you sigh, shutting your eyes momentarily and giving in. You're sick of lying. Of playing pretend. Of putting up a facade. 

You tell Lorenza the truth about Rafe, that you never were together, and the threat to leak that information to the family is what warranted the slap.

You explain the arrangement, how you were only sleeping together and how Paulette caught you two, how Rafe is simply doing you a favor because he didn’t want to go home to see his family, and you figured having the boyfriend card would get everyone off your back for once. You even lament further that you don’t even like each other, not in the way you were supposed to.

The shock is evident on your nonna’s face, appalled and confused. 

Not at being deceived, but at how you're calling it pretend. 

Lorenza doesn’t believe it.

Not when she’s seen you both unguarded together. 

Not when she’s seen you huddled together in the morning, fast asleep in each other’s arms in an uncomfortable twin bed. Not when Rafe woke up early on your birthday to enlist her help to make the day special, basically begging for information despite not understanding a word of her native language. Not when you worriedly checked out the window every ten minutes to see when he was coming back from his run. Not when she’s seen you sneaking unintentional glances when the other wasn’t looking, or lingering touches when you passed by each other. 

As you explain the fake arrangement, your nonna lets her eyes shift over to Rafe, who’s been pacing back and forth about twenty feet away the entire time, close enough to keep an eye on you but far enough to where he’s not intruding, and doesn’t believe for one second that you feel nothing for each other. 

But that’s not what you need to hear right now. Definitely later. But not right now, as the sting from your mother’s wedding ring burns fresh against your lip, scarring more than something physical. 

Lorenza reassures you that everything that’s happened is not your fault, that your mother is cruel and vile and wrong for everything she’s put you through. The actions of the mother are not done because of the child, but rather done to mask the insecurities that haunt her. The world will forgive you if you choose to let your mother go, saying there’s no consequence in cutting the parasite off. The weight on your shoulders will lift at the loss. 

It takes a long time for you to calm down, to fully calm down, head pounding at the intensity of your meltdown as sand embeds itself in your fingernails. The cool breeze combined with how frail you feel has you caving into yourself, aching all over your body. 

Once you have the strength to stand, Rafe’s at an arms length away, extending a cautious hand that ghosts over your body to ensure you don't fall. Lorenza can tell he’s torn on his involvement, unsure of whether to support your bodyweight or keep his hands to himself, afraid of overstepping. 

Your nonna generously offers the two of you to come back to the cottage for your last night, knowing that being in the general vicinity of Paulette might stir up more trouble. And, without question, you accept the offer, because the thought of being around your mother for one more second makes you feel sick, and you decide your nonna is right: you will feel much lighter if you never see your mother again, starting tonight. 

The room is packed hastily. You don't bother neatly folding your clothes as usual and instead shove them in your suitcase, solely desperate on leaving the resort, leaving it all behind. Whatever doesn’t fit in the bag from the lack of organization, Rafe is wordlessly putting in his suitcase. You don't even change out of your dress, simply leaving it on with your heels.

When you slip on Rafe’s suit jacket to cover up, he doesn’t complain or poke fun. 

As you and Rafe pack the taxi, Lorenza is approaching the front desk, turning in your keycards and checking you out of the room prematurely. Once she returns, she squeezes in next to you and pats your knee. You look past Rafe’s profile to watch the resort get smaller and smaller, soon its bright lights fading into a low dim. 

You feel his eyes on you, and when you gather the courage to look, you notice he’s looking at the cut – no – staring at the cut, a pained expression glossing over his eyes.

It makes you frown. When Rafe meets your eye, he lets his pretty blues linger for a second before turning to the window, almost ashamed. He wants nothing more than to hold you but knows he shouldn’t. He can’t.

The familiar cottage broaches into sight and you let out a deep breath, feeling as if you can finally relax. The giant fog of uncertainty and anxiety that consumed you seems to dissipate into thin air. The worst is over. 

Ticino and Po greet you three, and Lorenza helps you with the bags and escorts you back into the same little room, neatly made twin beds adorning opposite sides of the wall.

You and Rafe float to your respective sides hesitantly, unsure if approaching one another is safe territory. Lorenza’s voice feels far away, the only noise filling the silence, and you can only absentmindedly nod to your nonna’s words as you sit at the edge of the bed, smoothing over the sheets with a calloused hand.

The only time you shake your head is when Lorenza asks if you want her to clean the cut. 

A gentle kiss is left on your forehead, your nonna whispering a sweet nothing before leaving the room, not before momentarily coming back with a dry wash cloth in case you want to do it yourself. With a soft goodnight and an appreciative nod towards Rafe, who stands awkwardly at the end of his bed, your nonna leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind you and filling the room with silence. 

The tension is thick, suffocating. 

All you can do is sit, staring into space and absentmindedly reaching for the cloth and attempting to stand. 

Suddenly Rafe is kneeling in front of you, a hand covering yours to cease your movements. 

You find his eyes, snapping out of your trance and pinching your brows at him, confused. But the softness in his pretty blues eases the worry line away, especially when he places your hands back into your lap and grabs the cloth. 

“I got it,” Rafe whispers, saying your name gently. “C’mon.”

A warm hand splays on the bare skin of your back, easing you up off the bed and towards the bathroom. Him saying your name feels wrong.

The bright light makes you squint, but nonetheless you move towards the counter at his guide. As you sit on the closed toilet lid, Rafe turns on the water, wiggling a finger under the faucet to make sure the temperature is what you need. Once it’s to his liking, he dabs the washcloth under the stream to get it wet, then pumps out the smallest portion of antibacterial soap that sits on the counter. 

Rafe turns to you, kneeling on the cool bathroom tile to get nice and close. It can’t be comfortable on his knee, and you almost tell him that he doesn't need to do anything, but his expression is so indifferent that you can’t discern if it’s concern or anger. 

You can smell his cologne masked with his scent, your head pounding from all the crying but also spinning at his close proximity, at how he’s continuously coming back to you despite your constant pushing.

One of his hands rests on your lower thigh just above your knee to ground himself, and neither of you flinch from the familiar touch, a second nature. The moment of solace comes and goes, because he gently caresses your jaw with the cloth, you leaning into his touch subconsciously. 

But when he gingerly presses the cloth against your cut, you wince at the contact, and Rafe frowns, pulling away a fraction. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is saccharine. “I need to put it back on, okay?”

You lightly frown, but nod anyway. You grimace again when the warm cloth touches the cut, but don't pull away this time and let him keep his hand there to cradle your jaw. A moment is spent like that, still and unwavering.

Then he pulls back to dab the areas around the cut, wiping away any makeup or dirt that might’ve gotten around it. 

Your words are slightly muffled from the contact.

“Don’t you need hydrogen peroxide?” You ask quietly, surprising him. 

But Rafe’s shock comes and goes. “Not for the lip. Actually, it could make it worse, make it take longer to heal. So just water and soap.” His voice is soft, reserved. 

Just for you. 

“Really?”

Your genuine tone of curiosity makes his heart fucking melt. His sweet girl. Not trusting his words, he settles on a nod and small smile. 

“How’d you know that?”

Rafe continues to clean the cut with a feather light touch, pinching his brows in focus with parted lips, so in tune with his actions that he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Used to get in a lot of fights,” he all but whispers. Noticing your frown, Rafe’s heart skips a beat, instead smirking to try and reverse your expression. “I practically have a medical degree at this point.”

But his joke doesn’t land, and your frown only deepens. 

Rafe’s eyes soften. “Hey. I’m retired. It was a long time ago. Okay?”

You reluctantly nod. “Okay.”

Your fingers gently play with his that are splayed on your thigh. Once you realize what you're doing, you freeze, and move your hands away.

Rafe hates it, speaking before he can shut himself up. “It’s okay. You can keep doing it.”

I want you to keep doing it, he wants to say. I never want you to stop.

Hesitantly, your hands move back to cover his, trying to ignore how your cheeks feel hot under his gaze especially after getting caught. But this time is different, there’s no poking fun or mockery or charming smirk. Just the green light. It’s funny how serious he sounds, the tone feeling foreign to you, especially when he’s being nice and serious. 

You should push him away. You should be mad at him after his little rendezvous, his impractical prank of pushing and pulling you like the tide. You should group him in with all the other men you've been with who jump ship at the first sight of hardships and sail onto the next girl.

But you can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this, taking such good care of you without you having to ask, doting on you without anyone as a witness. 

Despite it all, he deserves to know what happened. 

“It was my mom.”

That makes Rafe still, eyes flickering from the cut up to your gaze and glossing with confusion, bewilderment. 

This time, you don't look away. “I told her the truth about us. How we aren’t…together.” You ignore how he stiffens. “I was upset because…” 

The words die in your throat. You were upset because you saw him cuddled up with the one girl who is everything you can’t be. 

But you can't say that. Instead you suck in a breath. “It doesn’t matter. But I was threatening to tell everyone just to piss her off and she…yeah.”

Rafe’s chest pulls achingly. This is because of him?

“Apparently the thought of a whore of a daugher is worse than one with a busted lip.”

Rafe flinches at the word you call yourself, moving to defend you but you speak before he can.

“I told nonna, too,” you confess, quieter. “Although her reaction was handled much better, I’d say.”

The attempt to joke falls on deaf ears. Slowly, he pulls the cloth away, putting the pieces together in his head with puffy parted lips and a pinched brow. You hate that you have the urge to lean forward and kiss his heartbroken expression away. 

“Don’t… Don’t call yourself that,” is all he can meekly come up with. 

You shrug. “It’s the word I said to Paulette. Just trying to tell the story straight.”

It still makes him sick, squeezing his eyes shut in disbelief. “She hit you because of that?”

You nod. 

His whole body feels uneasy as he albeit whispers your name. “I’m so sorry.”

The use of your name makes a shiver go down your spine. Not trusting your words, all you can do is shrug again, finally averting your gaze and looking down at your hands still brushing along his knuckles. 

His next question makes you still. “Has she done this before?”

Part of you wants to tell him everything. How this isn’t the first time you've had to cradle your cheek and cover it up with makeup. How the burden of trying to please her has been aching your shoulders for years. How you finally want to let go, finally want to stop and pull away for good. But the words don’t come. You don't think they ever will, not for anyone. 

Your silence is the answer. 

Rafe hates how you don't say anything. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not really a bedtime story,” is all you can whisper. 

That makes him frown.

None of this is a bedtime story. This whole thing has seemed like one giant nightmare for you, and he wishes he could say he’s doing his part to help it turn into a dream but can’t say for certain if his intrusion has been good or bad. 

But he’s had his fair share of nightmares, of scary accidents that he’ll never be able to forget. There’s a strong pull that he feels towards this moment right here, because despite all of the tennis-match bickering and pushing away that you've both been doing in self sabotage, you're connected by fragments of similar memories. Like it or not, you understand each other on a level deeper than intimacy. 

“Last summer my dad choked me out for fucking up a business deal,” he finds himself saying, which makes you pick your head up. “Had bruises on my neck for ages. Could barely talk. My sister had to teach me how to use concealer.”

He hates how his voice wavers despite bitterly trying to laugh, and when he notices you go to say something, he quickly interrupts you to clarify the reasoning for the antidote. 

“This isn’t… I’m not telling you to get something in return. I just want you to know that I understand.” Then, softer, “More than you think.”

One of your hands reaches up to brush some of the hair out of his eyes, hair that he’s been helplessly tugging all night from the emotional turmoil. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Rafe nearly sighs at the contact, wanting nothing more than to pull you close. Instead, his thumb ghosts over your cut, blue eyes scanning over the wound. “And this to you.”

You're talking before she can process what you're saying.

“I’m sorry about earlier… I wasn’t very nice to you.” You continue at his confused tilt of his head. “When we were dancing…”

The realization makes him suck in a small breath. 

Your mouth opens and closes, shocked that you brought it up. “I just… I can’t–”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not–”

Rafe interrupts firmly by saying your name, yet with an edge of softness that silences you, “We don’t have to do anything about it. I’ll be alright.”

It’s funny how desperate he was earlier to get answers, as if not knowing was going to make him immediately drop dead the longer it kept getting prolonged. But the sequences of events of tonight force him to put it on the back burner, because it truly can wait. He’ll wait forever if it means the possibility of being with you. 

You want to say more, he can tell, but he doesn’t allow it. “C’mon. Let me get that makeup off.”

So he does. Rafe finds the stash of makeup wipes and takes one between his fingers, gingerly rubbing circles all around your face to get rid of the stains of today, of course avoiding the area of the cut. You eventually close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of removing the reminders of the night. And he does it so gingerly, too, that at some points, you aren't even sure he’s touching you. 

You wordlessly get ready for bed, brushing your teeth and retreating back into the bedroom where you change into pajamas. This time, he doesn’t help you, and part of you is glad to have gained back a semblance of independence, even if it only lasts a fraction of a moment. 

Because you don't get into your twin bed. 

You can’t.

Rafe’s already laying in his, not wanting to push any boundaries more than he already has tonight, opting on not inviting himself to invade your space once more.

He watches you, hovering by the bed frame as if you're contemplating getting in or not, and he sees right through your struggle, wanting desperately to gesture you to his side like he always does. But not this time. He needs to let you come to him, if you even want that. 

And you do. But not in the way he likes. 

“Last night?” You ask sheepishly, almost dejected. 

Rafe nods without hesitation as you pad over to his side, his arms immediately greeting you to help you lay down. You take solace in your rightful spot, slipping underneath the covers and pressing your body taut against his as if it's made to be there.

His fingers fumble with the lamp switch as he leans up to turn the light off, grateful for the darkness to mask his confusion, his panic. 

Last?

That solidifies it, he thinks. After tonight, it’s done. 

Part of him wants to believe you're still dazed from the whirlwind of a night you've been through, distracted and unwilling to give his preposition any thought. There’s no way this can be the last time he holds you close, and his heart lurches at the image of future-him all alone. Pitiful. You'll come to your senses in the morning and your mind will be more clear. 

But that’s the other part that haunts his thoughts.

Your mind is clear. Well, at least clearing by the minute. You're preparing to let him down easy, already apologizing for how abruptly you handled the situation in concocting a plan to soften the blow that, no, you don't want to be more with him. You've had plenty of chances to tell him if you reciprocate, and haven't. 

It kills him. 

It kills him even more that you were upset about something before the slap, that there was more of something that he has no idea about. Whatever it was, it lead you to tell your mother the truth of the arrangement. It kills him further that you couldn’t seem to tell him why, but all fingers seemingly point to him.

Rafe must’ve done something, and if it wasn’t his fault, he’d be pretty surprised. It must’ve been bad enough for you to spill the secret willingly.

He can’t ask you questions right now, even though he desperately needs answers. Rafe is losing his damn mind in this twin bed as your heartbeats press against one another, his arms wrapped securely around you as if you're going to disappear if he lets go.

He figures that’s true, and finds himself pulling you a fraction tighter to relish in your final night together, limbs entangled and skin pressed against skin, not that you notice because by the feel of your steady breaths, you're asleep. 

Now all that surrounds him are his suffocating thoughts. And those don’t let him sleep. 

You're forced to wake up earlier than expected to account for the longer cab ride to the airport. 

Rafe anticipates the alarm, pretending to shut his eyes moments before to assimilate into the role of being awoken so severely.

But the truth is, he didn't sleep a wink.

He’s sure the bags under his eyes will give him away momentarily, and he’s already come up with a number of excuses to brush off the truth to dissipate your worry. That is, if you even worry about him. 

You jolt from your sleep to the sound of the blaring alarm, immediately groaning and curling further into the sheets and, coincidentally, nuzzling further into Rafe’s embrace. It’s warm and it smells like him, the thought of leaving this makes your head pound in an emotional hangover. 

But you said last. As in final. One more. Done-zo.

Had you meant it? Not in the slightest. But you need to mean it to protect yourself. 

It doesn’t help when his hands rub up and down your back soothingly to coax you awake. It also doesn’t help that his morning voice is so deep, so unintentionally sultry, that it sends a shiver down your spine, lulling you to rouse from your slumber. But, truthfully, it only makes you more tired as the effects of last night catch up to you. 

The last thing you want is to replay all of the events, however the harsh sting on your lip is a painful reminder, a long lasting reminder, of what happened in that closest.

So you push it down. 

You lean away from his touch. 

And he leans away from yours.

You say goodbye to your nonna quickly but meaningfully, because if you let yourself linger, you'll never get on the flight. 

The cab ride is silent. Distant. Cold.

Rafe doesn’t say a word to you, and the clench in his jaw prevents you from saying anything either, not wanting to further ruin his damp mood. He eventually puts his headphones in, completely shutting you out. You don't even want to go on your phone, as the hundreds of missed texts and calls from your family are the only things waiting for you.

You notice him anxiously pick at his nail beds as he stares out the window, expression hard and collected, and this time you don't reach over to stop his anxious tick and instead turn a blind eye. 

You've pissed him off enough in the past few days, pushing and pulling him in like the tide. With a heavy heart, you decide to have your final move be the push so you can move on from him once and for all.

That way he can go about life as he wants to: uncommitted, free, not tied down as he has previously talked against. After a few days away from you, Rafe will come to his senses and will realize his confession was simply the spur of the moment. He said it himself, you don’t need to do anything about it. 

Because there’s no way he wants you after he’s seen all of your ugly.

The thought is incorrigible. 

The flight is long and you can barely pay attention to the movies you put on the small screen. You figure Rafe’s getting his beauty sleep in his first class seat, noticing how dark the eye bags under his eyes were this morning but deciding not to comment on it. It’s funny, you would’ve made fun of him for it a week ago. Now you can barely look at him without feeling a dull ache plague your heart. 

And he doesn’t look at you. 

Not when the plane lands.

Not when you catch an Uber back to campus together.

Not when you part in front of your respective dorm room doors. 

Standing silently, almost aware of the space, you glance at him staring down at his keys, jiggling them in his palm to delay the inevitable. Still, he doesn't look at you.

You're just gathering up the courage to say something, to thank him for everything that he's done for you in the past week, to tell him how grateful you are to have had him by your side during the shit show that was the entire week.

But he takes a long deep breath, finding the right key for his room and gripping it tight.

“I’ll see you around,” is all Rafe says before he unlocks his door and disappears inside. 

You stand in the hallway for another minute, paralyzed in place from the animosity in his voice, feeling like you're back to square one: barely friends. 

Even though you know it’s your fault.

You push, and push, and push, incapable of pulling, incapable of accepting things you don't think you deserve. All these horrible thoughts in your head prevent you from truly enjoying things, from pushing past the hurt and deep insecurities rooted in your mind. It's hard to allow yourself to be happy, to think you deserve it, in fear of getting it ripped away from you.

Despite the pit in your stomach, you pull yourself together, knowing it’s for the best in the long run, as you unlock your own room and greet the solemn walls like an old friend. 

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes legit myyyyy bad yall

[magickizu]

So I was reading something in a fanfic about Conner kryptonian name and had to google it, to see if it's true and it is...

And now I can't stop imagining Superman shitting bricks of pure fear whenever he sees Danny, after said person finds out. Why? Let me set the scene and paint the picture:

Of course when Ellie told Damian and Jon about their actually half-dead status and her being a clone, Jon lets the fact slip that his big brother Connor is actually also a clone and Ellie is ecstatic and wants to meet him. Danny tags along, because he's curious too. And hey! Conner is really cool! A completely normal, good big brother until the topic of his name comes up.

Jon and Connor are piece by piece learning bits and pieces of Kryptonian culture from Clark, at the start only Jon, but now that Conner and Clark's relationship got better overtime he started teaching him too... Except he fell silent with a look of shame, now whenever Connor asked about the name Clark gave him. Danny asked about it, having learned kryptonian from Walker and his face fell when Conner said "Kon-El*" with this happy tone in his voice, that meant he truly head no idea. Before Connor knew it, Danny put his arms around him, held him tight and just whispered "...you have every right to be here, to live and breathe and exist. To be who you what to be. Please don't ever, ever let no one, anyone tell you otherwise, kid." Conner is confused but still so touched that Danny held such kind words for him, even if he doesn't know why.

Then Danny seeks out Clark, currently in the watchtower in full Superman gear. Danny's first words when he saw the hunk of a man was: "Kon-El*!?? Are you fucking kidding me or something!?!? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" There he stood: 5'7" black hair, blue eyes either a new protege of the bat since it's adoption material but the fact that he can speak Kryptonian makes Supes shiver slightly. At least he looks nothing like him, that's a plus- no wait, that's Jon's new friend's brother right? ...what is he doing in the watchtower!?

"H-how did you..?" He looked confused, Danny was sweet and kind, if mischievous young man. Then it dawned on Clark, he knew Kryptonian and his confusion turned to guilt. There's a reason he didn't like calling Connor by the name given by him anymore. "...so you-"

"Yes, I know and don't you dare, use that kicked puppy look on me when you know you fucked up, dogrhys*." Clark watched in growing disbelief at Danny crossing his arms. His stands unwavering. Slowly Clarks opinion changes and so does his temper, looking at at Danny in a mix of incredibility and slight offence.

"Okay. You little sister and my son are friends, yes but how did you get here and what gives you the right to insult me like this? Are you even Kryptonian?" Okay, yeah, maybe he was a bit to harsh, but Clark is working on himself! He's been thinking of giving Conner a new name or rework the meaning of his current one. Suddenly a light flashes Infront of him and Danny is glowering at him, clearly floating and and in a knew colour palette too; purple skin, pointy ears, white floaty hair, neon, kryptonite green glowing eyes that are a tad bit to wild for a human and a mouth that's forming a scowl with decidedly too many sharp teeth. A crown of fire floating over his head. Staring eye to eye on the same level now.

"Call me King Phantom of the infinite realms and I dare you... I said nothing, because it's your responsibility to right your wrongs, but be careful or I will make sure you regret your childish decisions Kal-El*." Clark froze up, the temperature in the room fell noticeably even for him as He growled dangerously. Uncomfortably slow, a shudder of terror made it's way down Clarks spine, as he griped the extend. It's phantom, as in :dokhahsh*. Then with a king of the infinite realms, which Constantine explained as the home dimension of ghosts, as in vrrosh :dokhahsh*. It seemed apparent what Danny- what that demon wanted, because he grined way too wide and toothy and sharp "...I see, then take care. Now." And with that he vanished, phased right through him and into a portal he opened just outside the tower in the middle of the vacuum of space.

That was the moment Clark's knees gave in and he fell to the floor... He should tell the others, that a literal demon king is housing in Gotham, but doing so would have to make him admit his cruel and childish mistake to the whole league and he can't, he just can't... Well... At least, Clark knows that for some reason he is kind and protective of the innocent. So it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Well, imagine his face when Batman calls in an important meeting to introduce someone who wants to ask the JL for help and to his absolute horror it turns out to be the devil in person.

_Glossary:_

Kon-El - Conner's Kryptonian name; in the old 52 Clark explained it was "the name of one his cousins", in the new 52 it was mentioned that it meant something like "Abomination of house El". Yes, exactly. That's why Danny snapped.

Dogrhys - as far as I understood, can be used as slur, kinda like "faulty asshole" or "fucked up in the head" I could be wrong though

Kal-El - Clark's Kryptonian name, meaning something like "Star Child", you probably know it already but just to be orderly.

:dokhahsh - Literally "Phantom". Also used to describe bad ghosts, demons, basically every evil spirit and overall just very negative connotation.

vrrosh :dokhahsh - "Phantom Zone, the dimension of ghosts". I am not kidding, you can look it up.

Basically, Danny introduced himself as "demon king of the bad afterlife" to Clark, who now has it out for him XD

Just thought it funny and wanted to share!

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

As Above, So Below I Chapter 2- Phantom

Synopsis: Two attendings, one new psychologist working both the day and night shifts on a rotation. You could have sworn you heard both of them call “dibs,” and you’re more than willing to entertain the both of them.  Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.7k Warnings: Talk of mental illness and other psychological things, violence, dark humor, and some smut :) 18+, MDNI A/N: I couldn’t decide between Robby and Abbot, so I present you with BOTH. Chapter 1 I Chapter 3

Tag list is open! @loud-mouph @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @thebumbqueen @emilia-the-artist @boldlyherdream @felicisimor @eugene-emt-roe @i-mushi @andabuttonnose @moonlightmvrvel @miss-me-jack @dantemorenatalie @qardasngan @agreeewrites @aloudplace @painment @artsymaddie @d1n3e @damnitsthings

Chapter 2 – Phantom

"All of me is dark blue Picture you just dancing Dancing in your old room Damn it's such a bad view Cause it's hard to attract you Got me so dark blue"

Your back story is not one for the ages.  But there were times, while you were still naïve to the world, when it certainly felt that way.

Times where it felt infinite, like the first time you read “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” and rode through the Fort Pitt Tunnel in the back of a pickup truck feeling hopeful and yet so, suffocatingly sad that the world was so big and beautiful, and you had barely even touched a small part of it.

Times that it felt messy, and cold, and plagued with the sentimental pain and wonder of the human existence, knowing that death comes for us all, but that it wasn’t something to be feared, only welcomed when the time was right. 

Times when it felt like life wasn’t just passing you by like a train you hoped to be on, like you were wanted, and needed by people who made you believe that they loved you; that they held their breath for you and your success. 

Most of the time, it just felt raw and somehow shameful, like you were constantly asking for forgiveness instead of permission, and like you were destined for all of it, as some sort of punishment. And yet, you loved it all the same.

Your history taught you how to be honest with yourself, that this is the only universe you will ever get to exist in and to look for the light even in the darkest hour. Taught you perseverance to seek and demand the truth even when it’s difficult and hidden. Taught you how to miss people more than you will ever love them and to find comfort in solace--that objects and people are not memories and that you don’t need one to have the other. 

When you left home for graduate school, you left with the optimism that you could make it right, and honest, and good. And it was, until you discovered that monsters are real, and they look just like people.

The assault barely lasted minutes. The pain—white, hot, lightning striking behind your ribs. The voice at the base of your spine, quiet and relentless, telling you not to fight back, that it would only make things worse. His face—familiar and contorted in determination, eyes absent of compassion. His body—on top of yours, pinning you down, trying to send you through the floor. The blood--warm and wet, pooling under you, staining everything it touched. The sound left your throat was one you didn’t recognize—guttural and desperate—a sound resulting in vocal fold hemorrhages and the taste of blood. When you tried to recall the events later, you could have sworn it was the body alarm that alerted staff. But when you watched back the footage, it was your piercing screams. 

It's that sound that drives you out of a nightmare and back to reality—chest heaving, throat tight, heart racing. Light peers into your bedroom through the leaves of the trees outside, extending itself over your restless body. You roll over onto your stomach, grimacing at your phone, 5:00 glowing bright green, the same color as the Nyquil you gladly swallowed last night to submerge yourself into liquid unconscious – best sleep you ever had, without a cold.  The nightmares and the chronic pain have been largely manageable, but on some nights, they leave you nauseous and begging for dreamless sleep. 

You get up early enough to walk to work, and every day is the same lesson in futility. You’re supposed to keep moving, keep exercising, keep regaining strength. But your hips ache and the muscles in your mid back on the same side as your injury lock up, and you take the same 15-minute break on the same park bench along the way—pretending to take a call so you can focus on something other than the tears burning your eyes and the room spinning. Work was the perfect distraction, and regardless of the physical pain you gladly welcomed the long shifts.

For the first week or two, it felt like most of the ED staff were avoiding you- out of habit. If you work in a place long enough where you’re expected to take on the role of several departments, you forget it’s not the norm. And when help finally arrives, it’s hard to relinquish control. It wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t that there wasn’t a need for mental health services, but it still felt quite foreign to you—you were used to being busy and needed.  No one knew how to approach you, or what cases required psychology over psychiatry. Nurses and medical students avoided coming to you before consulting with an attending, and residents continued to page for consults over the phone to psychiatry, forgetting that you existed. You didn't blame them, as the look on their faces when you showed up to a patient room were usually looks of relief that they no longer had to talk to them about their feelings. 

But when the rushes died down, or there was a minute or two to breathe, staff were at your door, asking you to join them for lunch, a cigarette break, the after-shift dive bar escapade, and you welcomed the feeling of being invited. There’s something exciting about a room of people who hasn’t heard your screams on the news. 

Robby and Abbot were different— spent a lot of time alone, or with each other on the roof; the consequence of experiencing years of secondary trauma without ever talking about it. It had to haunt them, the lives lost in this building, the burden of the guilt and shame not theirs to carry. And for some reason, the ebb and flow with these two had you in a fucking chokehold.  You craved their attention with every glance and every quick-witted remark.  You wanted them to like you, to need you, to want you. And in return, you wanted to know everything about them—if they smoked cigarettes after a long day, what books they read, what their homes smelled like, the music they liked, what they sounded like in private-- if they thought about you for a single solitary second. 

“Those two have a soft spot for you, Robby and Abbot,” Dana had pointed out to you, while the two of you were alone at the nurses’ desk, “It’s been a minute since they weren't the most interesting thing about this place. And it doesn't hurt that you’re cute.”

“Yeah, they tell you that?” You raise an eyebrow at her. She doesn’t answer, just shrugs her shoulders while picking up another chart to pretend to look at, “Dana, do they ask about me?”

“You’re a mystery--a dark horse, and you’re playing hard to get.” She smiles, “Of course they ask about you. Why? You interested?”

“That obvious?" There's no point in lying to a woman who practically raised you. You spent more nights at her house with your best friend than your own growing up. But the last thing you need is for her to play matchmaker or give them any hints that you’re vying for their attention. 

"Not at all." She shook her head, "Just be careful. They have quite the habit of getting whatever they want." 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the gravitational pull from the two men who gave you the time of day, made you feel seen, and referred endearingly to the three of you as “the adults,”—a nod to not needing supervised, and not needing to speak about medical bullshit around them. Abbot had said it in jest, “the adults are talking” when a medical student had tried to interrupt a completely off-topic conversation between the three of you, and it stuck. They took every opportunity to match your sense of humor and push the boundaries during shift change-- the only time the three of you fully crossed paths – like two supportive, incredibly attractive work husbands, who you also wanted to see naked. 

"Did it ever occur to the two of you" Abbot makes a comment as he and Robby approach the nurse’s desk, finally finished rounding with each other, both leaning on the desk on their forearms in front of you, "That we're more fucked up than the patients?”

“It’s the years of compounded trauma that I’m guessing the two of you refuse to process or talk about” you nod, smiling sweetly at them “Or did you expect me to believe that you both love working in the ER because it makes you feel hip and young”

"Ageism isn't tolerated here, baby" Abbot shakes his head, "and I’ll go straight to Gloria.”

Baby. Say it again, and this time like you mean it. 

“Last time I checked, we’re not that much older than you," Robby adds, turning to Abbot for a confirmatory nod, before turning his attention back to you, "and before you let that go to your head, we asked Dana."

"You two, asking about little old me? I'm both amused and flattered to take up occupancy in your heads." A hand to your chest, sarcastically clutching your proverbial pearls, watching the two of them roll their eyes, “What else did you ask her about?”

“Seems like you like occupying that space,” Robby barely misses a beat, wearing an expression of vague amusement, "Only the important stuff. Age, blood type, deep dark secrets,"

“Are you flirting with me Dr. Robinavitch?” his eyes meet yours when you ask, winking at you, “You asked about the tattoos too, didn’t you?

"Yeah, I’ve got 20 dollars on you having a tramp stamp, and Robby’s got 20 dollars on a back piece” Abbot retorts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “and a tongue piercing in college.”

“Boys, you have no imagination whatsoever” you walk behind the two of them, placing your hand on each of their shoulders, and lower your voice just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “it was my nipples in college.”

You squeeze their shoulders, hearing the air leave their lungs like a punch to the gut, Abbot stifling a giggle.

“You really are trouble” Abbot retorts, both grinning like schoolboys, “how’d we get so lucky?”

"I could ask myself the same thing" you turn on your heels, headed to the elevator, their eyes following you the entire way, “I’ve got a meeting, but I’ll be back by noon for any consults. Try to keep your minds off the piercings.”  

“Come get a beer with us after work,” Abbot calls out to you, “It’s my day off, and you can’t leave us hanging like that, it’s just rude.”

“If you're buying. But I'll need more than one beer if you want to see them,” you smile sweetly at the two of them as the door to the elevator closes. You lean your head against the elevator wall –please, please, let me get what I want. 

By the time you make it back to down to your office, it’s after noon and the only thing standing in your way of a long-awaited lunch break, is a smug looking Robby waiting outside your door, those warm, brown puppy-dog eyes lighting up when notices you walking towards him, coffee in hand.

“I come bearing gifts” Robby holds up the coffee, extending it to you, waiting for a proverbial pat on the back and a thank you, “I promise the order is right. I also asked Dana about that.”

“You really did ask about the important stuff,” you take it from his hand, eyes narrowing towards him, “sounds like a bribe though. A much needed and greatly appreciated bribe. What do you want? A consult? A back massage? Come in, have a seat, close the door.”

You open the door to your office, and he slides his arm between you and the door to hold it open for you, towering over you as he follows you into your office, door closing behind him. For the first time all morning, you're met with silence. Must be a first for him too, as he leans against the door, eyes closed, appreciating the lack of noise, "I fucking love that sound. And a massage, huh? you offer that to all your patients?"

When you turn back to him, he's got this look on his face of pure amusement, like this is new for him, and like he's proud of himself for the quick comeback, and subsequently your reaction. He didn't have to bring you coffee and he sure as shit didn't have to ask Dana for your order

"My brother in Christ, this really is the nicest thing anyone has done for me all day,” the first taste of coffee hits, "And no, I only offer it to tall, dark and handsome trauma-ridden attendings who know my coffee order. Turn around.” 

You motion for him to spin around, and you watch him hesitate. 

"You don't...I didn't. Fuck you’re hard to read.” He tries to backtrack, eyes searching your face to see where your head is at. The last thing he needs is to take this too far, or the wrong way. It’s endearing.

"Jesus Michael, relax.” His face softens when you say his name, like he likes the way it sounds coming out of your mouth, “I’m not offering to blow you in my office, or explore your prison wallet, just turn around, and take off your hoodie,” 

You put your hands on his shoulders, ushering him to turn around to face the door, “Permission to touch you in a non-sexual way.”

“Granted,” he confirms, apprehensive. He takes off his hoodie, still unsure of your next move, and tosses it on the couch. You return one hand to his shoulder, thumb of your opposite moving just below his shoulder blade. His body is warm, muscles tight and rigid and you take a moment of silence to appreciate the man in front of you—the goosebumps on the back of his neck, the tattoo ink on his bicep, hidden by his shirt sleeve. You'll remember to ask him about that later. You trace your thumb along his shoulder blade and press firmly into the muscle just underneath. And like everyone else, in the history of the world who has experienced this exact pressure for the first time, you feel his entire body relax against your hands.

"Fuckkkk,” It’s low and drawn out, shoulders slumped, his head falling to rest against the door, and your breath catches in your throat at the sound of him. So that’s what he sounds like when he’s into it. Noted. 

“See? Just carrying around years of trauma,” you chuckle, bringing your mouth close to his ear, pressing even harder, “And Michael, if you can teach me how to run the psych department as smoothly as you run this ED, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

The moment it leaves your mouth, you briefly panic, your hands leaving his shoulder, and you instinctively take a step back, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I made it weird.”  

He turns towards you and leans his back against the door, arms folded across his chest, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He likes watching you panic, “That felt fucking amazing. And no, not at all. You had me practically begging for it.”

He doesn’t notice the flush of your cheeks, or if he does, he doesn’t take the bait to embarrass you any further.

“I did, however, come to see if you had time to sign off on an involuntary hospitalization” He adds, back to the professional bullshit like it never even happened. Then again, he didn't need to bring you coffee for you to do your job. “Meet me outside of two in five minutes?”

“Absolutely,” you nod, downing the rest of your drink, “I’ll be right there.” 

"And Wheeler,” He opens the door, turning back to you momentarily, lowering his voice, “Whatever I want? My kind of girl.”

He doesn’t let you respond, nor does he stick around for your reaction. The blood rushes to your face as the door shuts and you're left standing in the middle of your office, skin burning, cheeks red, the air sucked out of your lungs. Who’s fucking hard to read now?

The end of the shift comes quickly, after back-to-back consults, an inpatient hospitalization, and several therapy contacts. You get the chance to be needed, albeit during a crisis. And you're really fucking good at it.

The thing about crisis work is that it makes you soft—allows you to meet someone where they’re at on the worst day of their life and show them empathy. When you tell them it’s okay to feel this way, it’s almost like you’re reminding yourself.  Pain, Like John Green wrote so eloquently, demands to be felt. And you'd argue that it also deserves to be shared—the weight of it distributed. 

By the time you’re done documenting, Robby isn’t anywhere to be found, and you feel a familiar sense of defeat in the pit of your stomach. Maybe the extended invitation for a beer wasn’t an actual invitation, just a knee jerk reaction to your earlier comments. You make your way out to the ambulance bay, searching your bag for your air pods.  Nothing some elder emo bullshit won’t fix. 

“There you are,” Robby’s voice calls out to you, relieved, like he’d been waiting the whole time, and you turn to find him leaning against the wall, sunglasses on, bag slung across his shoulder, “thought maybe you bolted.”

“And miss the opportunity for a free drink? Never.” You play it off as if you weren’t about to go home and drink yourself into a coma for being so naïve. He motions you to follow him off hospital grounds, and the two of you walk mostly in silence, taking in the last bit of daylight that you rarely get to see.  The day is all noise—beeping machines, staff asking questions, patients yelling. This silence is welcomed. He looks over at you a few times during the walk, and by the looks of it, he’s working up your limp in his head—a real doctor thing to do. You’ll tell him about it eventually, in all its glory. 

Abbot’s waiting outside of the bar, in jeans and a leather jacket. He looks good, a smug look on his face when he sees the two of you approaching, “The adults are here”

“And ready to drink, brother” Robby slaps his hand against Abbot’s back as you follow the two of them inside.

It’s a shitty dive bar—one you’ve been too, and puked in, plenty of times in college. It’s loud, full of undergrad kids practically buzzing with energy and undamaged livers. Abbot leads the way to the bar and orders the three of you Yuengling- a Pennsylvania staple. It feels foreign being back here, but familiar—the air humid, someone playing Hot Line Bling on TouchTunes, the faint smell of vomit. Someone touches the small of your back to pass you, and the room tilts briefly, a cold sweat washing over you.  You grip the beer bottle tightly between your fingers, and down the liquid inside, an old habit mixed with a trauma response. When you set the empty bottle on the bar, your hands shaking, you’re met with looks of shock and awe from Abbot and Robby.

“Can we get the fuck out of here?” You mean to ask like it’s not a big deal, like you're not on the verge of panic attack from a stranger brushing up against your scars, but it comes out as more of a plea to the two of them.

"Absolutely," Abbot picks up on the tone of your voice and the fact that your hands are clenched into fists at your sides, and nods to Robby, "Beer and pizza at your place?"

"Read my mind," He replies, "Although, let the record reflect I'm still young and hip enough for this place."

It's a two-block walk to his fancy upper-level condo, with a fire escape perfect for late night cigarettes and contemplating the universe. The interior is beautiful. Dark exposed brick but full of natural light and just far enough away from the city to be quiet.  He definitely hired someone to design this place, judging by the leather furniture, hanging art, and antique lighting. It smells like sandalwood and tobacco, like an expensive candle you burn only on your worst days. You put the beers in his fridge, like you've been doing it your entire life, and take stock of the take out containers lining the shelves, a mental note to bring him some of your own leftovers. Men love a woman who can heat up frozen food. Abbot turns on the TV and puts on hockey; something non-threatening to ease the awkwardness of a first encounter. 

“We really fucking suck” He chuckles, as he and Robby take a seat on the couch. But you can't stop looking around. His refrigerator is crushed with magnets of places that he's presumably been, probably with an ex who probably bought these magnets. He's got all-clad pans he's probably never used, and a gallery wall full of hand drawn Pittsburgh landmarks. He's so put together, a real adult right in front of you.  You realize you've been invading the privacy of his home for probably more minutes than you were cognizant of, and grab three beers from the fridge, walking towards them. 

You hand them both a beer and take a seat on the arm of the couch, hesitant to encroach on their best fucking friendship. They talk about sports, patients, residents, the weather, the scrubs they wear, the bars they go to, the shit they’ve seen. 

“Come on, you” Robby pats the cushion between the two of them, and you oblige, taking a seat between the two of them, their knees touching yours. 

It feels comfortable, being with them, like you’ve done it a thousand times before. Something about the absence of expectations reminds you of home—a feeling you’ve searched for since you left. 

“Okay I have to know” Abbot starts, setting his beer down, “Are you always as full of shit as you are at work? It’s fucking criminal how funny you are.”

“You know how you guys are all silent and broody because of trauma? I’m funny because of trauma.” You admit, “less dangerous than diving off the roof.” 

“And the questionable boundaries?” He continues, raising an eyebrow at you

“Prison” you exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “It’s a different world in prison. You see more dicks by 8am than most people see in a week, and the fucking insults. Someone told me I had a quarterback’s ass one time and I’m still trying to decide if it’s a compliment. You just get used to the inappropriate jokes and comments. I’m sorry if I made it weird.”

“I fucking love it” Robby laughs, he leans back against the couch, “and believe me, as long as you don’t call me fruitcake or cocksucker while handcuffed to a wheelchair, we’re good.”

The three of you drink beer and eat pizza and watch hockey. They’re impressed at your knowledge and affinity for yelling at the refs, and you can’t stop giggling at the two of them bickering back and forth like best friends about their favorite teams.  You stand up to head to the bathroom but the alcohol rushes to your head, and the room sways.

“Careful” Robby’s hands reach out to steady you, his hands unintentionally sliding under your shirt, hands warm against your skin, “a bit of a lightweight?”

The feeling reminds you of why you’re here. The unspoken chemistry, the push and pull of two men who look at you like you’re interesting and worth something. 

“Guilty” the room rights itself and you thank him for the assistance, “haven’t had a drink in 12 weeks.” 

When you come back, the game is still on, but their eyes are on you. Abbot’s still on the couch but Robby’s leaning against the kitchen counter. You make your way past Robby to his record collection. They don’t say a word, just watch you trace your fingers along his record collection, finding the record with the saddest energy; you’re a beacon for darkness and they don’t even know it.  You pull out Bon Iver’s self-titled record, and turn on the record player, the sound of “Perth” filling the room.

“So” you turn around, both still looking at you, trying to gauge your next move. They’re used to being in control and you’re used to causing chaos wherever you go, “Is this thing platonic?”

The confidence is 10% you, 90% alcohol, and it surprises you how smoothly the words come out of your mouth. Neither of them speak, but they look at each other, exchanging some silent words in looks that you hope to one day come to recognize.

“Or have I been reading the room wrong?” You speak up, trying to squash the silence, “because it feels weird for me to be here, a little bit drunk, putting on your sad boy records, if we’re not going to address it”

“Definitely not platonic” Abbot speaks first, a smile on his face, “We’re absolutely smitten with you.”

“And what about you?” your eyes move to Robby, waiting patiently at the kitchen counter. He bites the side of his thumb and narrows his eyes at you. 

“Already told you that you’re my kind of girl” he references the conversation from earlier, rubbing a hand behind his neck, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “but we know nothing about you.”

He’s not wrong. You haven’t given them anything to work with other than inappropriate jokes and some implied sexual advances. You’re good at keeping others at arms’ length, only pulling back the curtain far enough to know you superficially—to avoid scaring them away. But this feels different, safer, honest.

“What do you want to know?” You reclaim your seat on the couch, patting the spot next to you for Robby to sit, “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“How old are you?” Abbot starts

“Thirty-five.”

“What’s your story? How’d you get here?” Robby asks

“I grew up here, in Shadyside actually. Got into psychology after I couldn’t pass organic chemistry. Thought I’d never leave this place, actually” you share, “I love it with my whole heart, and I’ve always missed it, but the relationship I have with my family is difficult, and it began to feel suffocating, so I moved away for a job in a maximum-security prison. Grew to love a different place, with different people.”

“That job must have been really hard,” Abbot counters, “I can’t imagine the shit you’ve seen.”

“I’ve always felt empathy and understanding and compassion and thought that maybe it would be a good challenge,” You sighed, “but I learned very quickly that the only thing separating us from inmates were the bars on the door. And it’s fucking hard to be part of that system that sets people up for failure”

“I’ll fucking drink to that” Robby adds, “You never settled down there?”

“Unfortunately, I’m still painfully single. Never married. No kids, one cat,” you concede, “The tattoos and piercings probably didn’t help.”

These fucking tattoos,” Abbot groans, frustrated that you still haven’t put your money where your mouth is, “You ever going to show us or should we just talk about it some more?”

“Remind me, which one of you has back piece?” You stand up between the two of them, pulling your t-shirt up over your head, exposing an entire black and white floral back piece connecting to the floral sleeve running down your arm, “got it in grad school. I believe one of you owes the other 20 dollars.” 

Before you can pull the shirt back down, your surprised by the feeling of both of their hands on your back, fingers tracing the scars on your skin. You haven’t had the confidence to look at it, but the way you hear the breath catch in their throats, as doctors, solidifies the fact that it probably looks as bad as it feels. “Barely missed your spinal cord,” Robby’s fingers trace down your spine, and you shiver against his hands.  They take stock of what’s in front of them, the way your skin twists and scars and warps the design of the ink, “Jesus, Y/N what the fuck happened?”

“One of my patients stabbed me with a sharpened toothbrush, at nine in the morning, on an uneventful Tuesday.” You pull your shirt down, their hands breaking contact with your skin, and turn to face them, “But that’s a story for a different day, boys. And I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“The mood, she says,” Robby shakes his head in disbelief, picking up his beer to take another sip.

“Listen, I’m happy to share my deep dark secrets with the two of you” You take the beer out of his hand before he can set it back down, finishing what’s left, “but if this is not platonic, and both of your dicks get hard when you think about me, and you want to fuck, then let’s talk logistics.”

This will be the turning point in your relationship. 

“Logistics, huh?” Abbot raises an eyebrow, both trying to wrap their heads around the words coming out of your mouth, “I’ve never been one to say no to having fun.” 

You take a step so that you’re in front of him, legs on either side of his knees. You lean forward, your hands finding the muscles between his neck and shoulder, squeezing. He welcomes the action, a smile on his face like he’s settling in for what’s about to happen, his expression changing as your put your knee on either side of his hips, straddling him on the couch, hands moving to his chest, 

“Oh, okay,” He breathes.

You’re careful to rest your weight on your knees, only touching him with your hands. “Yeah, Jack, Logistics,” your mouth to his ear. His hands grip the sides of the cushion underneath him, and you hear him exhale slowly, “How do you feel about fucking the same girl as your best friend?”

“I mean I prefer to fuck alone, with him not in the same room” he chuckles, an effort at distraction, “But I don’t mind sharing.” You briefly look to Robby, who’s watching your movements, hands clenched into fists beside him as he tries to ground himself. His eyes meet yours, dark, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. This is definitely turning him on.

You lean back to look at Jack, your weight shifting, fully sitting on his lap “Any other ground rules?”

Your fingers trace his jaw, down his neck, to his arm, wrapping your fingers around his biceps, and you can feel his skin shiver underneath your fingertips. 

“I don’t want to know what the two of you are doing, and the same goes for him.” He looks you in the eye, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips, “and we make a schedule. You’re mine on nights, his on days.” 

Mine. His. 

“Fair enough, Jack.” his eyes move to your lips, watching the way his name comes out of your mouth. You feel him tilt his hips underneath you, your breath catching in your throat, and his fingers grip your hips tightly, holding you against him. You press your lips to the pulse point beneath his jaw, his heart racing beneath his skin, and as you stand up, he lets out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact. 

You turn to Robby, climbing over him so that you’re standing in between his legs. He looks up at you, waiting to see if he’s about to get the Jack Abbot treatment.

“Michael,” you say sweetly, kneeling down between his legs, reaching out to slide your hands under his shirt. His skin is warm, as your hands slide over his stomach and up to his chest, “What about you?” He squeezes his eyes shut, mouth open, sharply inhaling, “Look at me, Michael”

He opens his eyes and sees you kneeling in front of him, cheeks flushed. 

“I want this to be fun,” he says as you slide your hands up his thighs, swallowing hard, “And I want to know everything about you. What you like, what you don’t. And we don’t tell anyone at work. ”

“Deal,” You tilt your head, fingers tracing the waist of his jeans, “and we definitely don’t tell anyone at work.”

“Good girl” his voice is low, and it makes your entire body vibrate. He leans forward and reaches out, his hand wrapping itself around your throat gently, before running his thumb along your bottom lip. You open your mouth wide enough for his thumb to slip between your lips, your tongue swirling around the tip of his thumb, eliciting a groan from his mouth, hips instinctively lifting off the couch, “Jesus Christ.”

You stand up and take a seat between the two of them, both still breathing heavily, and you pat both of their knees with your hands.  

“This is strictly for fun, we don’t share stories, and we don’t tell anyone at work. If this stops being fun, or if either of you don’t want to do this, we stop. No questions asked, no hard feelings.”  You confirm, “got it?”

They both nod, swallowing hard. 

“Good. And we start now. I’m on days for three more shifts,” You look over at Abbot, “and Robby’s got the day off tomorrow. So, unfortunately, Jack, you gotta go.” 

“You’re a lucky man, brother” He takes a moment to compose himself before standing up, “I’m just going to go home and take a cold shower. Looking forward to the night shift, Wheeler.”

“Goodnight, Jack.” You blow a kiss towards him as he exits the apartment, turning your attention back to Robby as the door closes. 

“I’m all yours.” 

[stars-obsession-pit]

The ghost of a past regret

The tome hidden under Damian’s mattress continued to burn in the back of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t have kept it. Magic is dangerous, that of the Infinite Realms especially so. And there was no guarantee the book was even accurate; he’d never given the cultists a chance to make use of its contents.

But a single section from it refused to leave his mind. He couldn’t just throw out the opportunity it offered.

‘Danyal…’

–––

Damian had hated to admit it, but his twin brother could be cannier than him at times. Danyal had caught on to the harm of the League long before he ever had.

And he had tried to get out. To get them both out.

Damn him. Why couldn’t Danyal have been selfish for once in his life…

But Damian had still been caught up in it all. He was the perfect heir. He was loyal. He would not betray his family in the League.

And yet he’d been so quick to betray his brother…

Danyal’s shocked gasp as Damian’s knife slipped between his ribs still echoed in his ears when he awoke from nightmares. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he would swear he could still feel the blood dripping down his hands, and amount of scrubbing ever made the sensation go away.

He was sure Alfred at least had noticed the redness of his hands, but he never pushed for answers. Damian was thankful for that, even as he felt undeserving of the comfort. It had all been his fault.

At the time of the betrayal, Damian had felt little of the emotional weight. He was disappointed in his brother, but he was just doing his duty to the League. It would only be later that it set in, and the regrets continued to eat at him long after his family forbid all discussion of the traitor his twin.

What if he hadn’t fought? Would they have succeeded at escaping? Would they have met their father sooner? Would he still be able to see Danyal’s smile?

It was pointless to wonder. Danyal was gone.

–––

But perhaps not completely.

The siren song of the spellbook continued to call to him. The first thing to ever offer even the faintest glimmer of hope for finding closure.

For it contained a ritual to summon the ghosts of the betrayed.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Regardless of the book’s accuracy, he’d never done anything like it before and wouldn’t be using the spell for its intended purpose. It was described for use in combat, tearing apart enemies with the specters of the vengeful dead, not for seeking atonement. Was changing the context even possible without entirely restructuring the ritual? He didn’t know.

And it wasn’t like he could ask the magicians of the Justice League Dark for help—even the most unscrupulous among them would still try to dissuade him and likely inform his father.

But how could he not try?

It might be wishful thinking to hope he would ever forgive him. But even if Danyal rejects the apology, it would still be worth it just to see his brother just one more time…

He grit his teeth and clamped his eyes shut as emotions warred against logic inside him. It was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t.

‘Damn it.’

The tome felt impossibly heavy as he pulled it from under the mattress with unsteady hands.

He had a ritual to set up.