#I think he’s slowly understanding that he can be himself

[rafesbabygirlx]

Deep Tissue, Deep Desire

𝙲𝙴𝙾!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary- Rafe has been feeling the weight of Cameron Development on his shoulders. His assistant had booked him a massage assuming that it would be good for him. Much to his dismay, it turned out to be the greatest appointment he had ever had.

Warnings- MDNI, smut (rub and tug, hand job, doggy style)

“The massage is booked tonight at 7, boss. I think it’ll be good for you. Y’know loosen up the muscles, relieve a bit of tension. No offense, but you been a bit of an ass lately.” Damian, Kelce’s younger brother, now Rafe’s assistant said to him.

Rafe threw him a stern look. “I remember what time the damn appointment is. I’ll be there.” Damian nodded and began to walk out of Rafe’s office. “Oh and Damian? Don’t think that just because you’re Kelce’s brother you can talk to me like that. I’ll have you by your neck next time.” ∘

Rafe entered the salon, checking in and grabbing the towels and robe provided to him. He was directed to the locker room and instructed to undress completely leaving him in only the towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

He made his way over to the room. Once he entered he removed his robe and got on the table faced down. He waited for about 10 min before hearing the door open and close again. He naturally moved to get up to greet you but you spoke before her could.

"Hi Mr. Cameron, I'll be taking care of you today. Don't worry about getting up, I'm used to being greeted by the backs of peoples heads."

Rafe slowly moved back to his original position. His brows furrowing at the sound of your voice. It was sweet and soft. Young, nothing like what he pictured would step into the room.

"Full body right?" you asked just to confirm.

"Uh, yeah if that's what my assistant booked." he answered trying to seem nonchalant.

"You're just gonna feel some warmth on your back from the oil, then I'll get started."

You dripped the oil along Rafe's back. The suddenness of it made him twitch, but when he felt your hands on him he melted into the feeling. God, were you skilled. You massaged every part of him, kneading out all the knots he probably had for years. He was lost in the feeling. There was no sound but the generic spa music playing in the background.

After a while, your voice broke that silence. "I'm gonna lift the towel to keep you covered and I want you to roll over onto your back."

Rafe did as he said, rolling over then leaning on his elbows to steady himself. When he looked over and locked eyes on you, his eyes widened slightly and a soft "oh" slipped from his lips. You were stunning. The person that had be practically feeling him up was stunning and now he was shy all the sudden.

You looked back at him smitten. He was a gorgeous man, chiseled jaw, abs carved by the Gods themselves, bright blue eyes. You were taken back by his beauty. There was an understanding in the stare you held on one another but neither of you said anything.

Rafe laid back down as you moved to the foot of the bed. You lifted up his towel slightly as you applied more oil to him and began working on his lower legs slowly moving your way up.

You began to knead the flesh of his thigh. Running your hands up with pressure as your knuckles graze the length of his cock. He lifted his at you and a smirked flashed across his face. After meeting his eyes, you look back down pretending to focus on your work, hiding the flush of red that grew on your cheeks.

“That ok, Mr. Cameron?” You ask teasingly.

“More than ok, sweetheart.”

With his confirmation, you continue to softly touch him. Your fingers on him in a way he couldn’t see coming. He was in big trouble once your hands went to each of his thighs and worked from the bottom up to his pelvic bone. He fought it. He really tried. Tried so hard until he couldn’t control it anymore.

In between his legs, right in your face, his cock got hard underneath the towel. You didn’t mind it, especially with how far it lifted the towel from his body.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Rafe was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what he felt. Ashamed? Embarrassed? What he did know what that you made him so fucking horny. “Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

That made you smile. Your hands slipped back under the towel. This time grabbing the shaft with 2 hands and slowly stroking him. Rafe’s jaw dropped open a moan escaping his throat. He rips the towel off himself, propping up on both elbows so that he can watch you work him.

You continue to touch him and when you start to feel him twitch against the palm of your hands, he grips your wrist forcing you to stop. “I need you.” Rafe mutter’s breathlessly.

He hops off the table and stalks over to you completely bare. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. All of him. When he reaches you on the other side of the table he grabs your waist and flips you around. You instinctively bend over it as he rubs a hand over your ass.

“This ok?”

You nod desperately. Desperate to feel him you can’t wait any longer. You reach back pulling your scrub pants down. “Eager, are we?” He chuckles behind you.

You feel the tip of his head rub against your folds before he swirls it around your clit. Your heads drops to the table as you bite your lips stifling a moan from escaping. Rafe slams his entire length into you not giving you anytime to react before he pulls out and slams into you again.

Rafe pushed up your shirt and took your bottle of oil and dripped it onto your lower back, watching the way it fell between the crack of your ass and how he pushed it into your soaked hole.

He was relentless in his thrusts and you’re pretty sure you drew blood from how hard you were biting down on your lip. You felt yourself tighten in the lower part of your stomach. Tightening around the length of his cock, before relief washes over you and your legs shook hard as you came. Rafe followed right after you.

He collapsed onto your back before regaining his composure and putting his robe back on as you pulled up your pants. “You take standing appointments?”

You smiled up at him. “Every Thursday 7:00 reserved for you, Mr. Cameron.”

Tags- @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy

[riverbends]

someone on twt mentioned samira roping jack into doing skincare with her and now i can't stop thinking abt jack oiling her hair GET ME OUT OF HEREEEE

i might actually pass out. maybe some time after dinner, she's cross-legged on the floor while he sits on the edge of the couch behind her with his knees caging her in, and she's talking him through the whole process. he is listening so closely too. a bit nervous because he's not sure if he can do this as well as her amma. he has a little too much fun trying to detangle and section off her hair, just narrowly missing her swats and pinches of annoyance. likes it when she gets snappy. but now he’s probably worried about using too much pressure on her scalp so she has to guide his hands with hers, letting her elbows rest atop his knees as he leans forward. she tells him not to worry about doing too much because nobody holds as much force in their hands as her beloved amma.

he's not saying a lot at first because he's so caught up in the intimacy of her hands guiding his oil-slicked fingers through her hair. this is gentle. this is warm.

when he finds a good rhythm, samira slowly takes her hands back and lets him do his thing (even though he's still soft on her scalp. but she finds his concern too endearing to correct him anyway). she tells him all about the ayurvedic tradition of hair oiling and scalp massaging and how south asian women have passed it down for thousands of years, making it a bonding ritual between women in their families. and, of course, the scientific jargon and health benefits that come with it. she lists different types of oils before talking about her favourite. he's absorbing every. single. word. locking them away in the SAMIRA MOHAN file cabinet that's situated in a special corner of his conscience.

he's convinced he could do this for her every week. if she lets him (she'll have to emphasise that it is totally okay to use more force on her scalp—amma raised her for this).

i reckon he does eventually get the pressure right. sort of. still afraid of hurting her scalp. but she still doesn't mind because the image of him taking care of her like this means everything to her. he is trying his best every week now, leaning forward with a bad back to arrange her hair before rubbing oil into her roots with different rhythms and pressures for a good ten minutes. listening to her stories with keen ears, maybe leaning further down to kiss her shoulder once or twice. sometimes his mouth lingers on her skin for too long and she laughs, reaching back to squeeze a hand around his ankle while saying you can do that later.

everything shines from root to tip and he's very proud of himself. her hair is a bit too short to braid into a plait, so she teaches him how to tie it all up in a tight bun.

he ends up being the one to remind her every week, waiting around with a bowl of oil until he actually has to drag her down to the living room and lower her to the floor so he can attack her scalp for ten long minutes. but they both love this. so much. it's even sweeter when her amma visits and oils samira's hair instead. he's sitting right beside her mother and watching the whole thing with undivided attention so he can learn from the pro. seeing it like this, he fully understands how this ritual, above all things, is an act of pure love.

[thatnightlamp]

Hiii i just first wanna say that the smut you’re writing is amazing and I absolutely love how you describe and express the character, their want/desire, the guilt and shame that comes with it, and how they feel and think overall is really good!!!

I really wanna req how awkward do you think dorn would be trying to sleep with his spouse for the first time/how would he ask his spouse for sex out of desperation and want (pls make him yearn). 🙏 thank you!

DORN NSFW. I WANT HIM.

You’re reading, again. One leg curled beneath you, head bent, candlelight softening your features. You’ve done this every night since returning to Terra. But something is different now.

Not in you.

In him.

Rogal Dorn stands across the room, fully armored like a fool, hands clenched behind his back as if expecting a report. Not from you. From himself.

You don’t notice him watching, until you do.

“…My lord?” you ask gently.

He flinches, visibly. Saints preserve him, he actually flinches. Then clears his throat with the precision of a cathedral bell.

“You may call me Rogal,” he says. Again. Like you haven’t been his spouse for two months.

You close the book. Your eyes settle on him, war-torn gaze, shoulders like citadels, jaw tight as his honor. You’ve been waiting. You’ve let him wait. But his patience is fraying. There’s a tension in him, subtle, grinding, like tectonic plates resisting collision. He is the Imperial Palace in flesh. And it is time for a siege.

“Rogal,” you murmur. “You’re wearing your armor in our bedroom again.”

A pause. A beat. Then: “Habit.”

“And you’re standing exactly five meters away, because…”

He hesitates. “Because if I stand closer, I may act imprudently.”

You blink. “Imprudent? Are you planning to ravish me suddenly and without permission?”

His face shuts down like a fortress slamming its gates. “No,” he says too quickly. “That is, not without— You would deserve better planning.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. And it hurts him, visibly, because Rogal Dorn doesn’t laugh at himself.

You rise, crossing the room slowly. His eyes track you like a targeting system. Unmoving. Unbreathing. Unbearably stiff.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Lord Dorn?”

“I am attempting,” he says, low and grim, “to… request something of you.”

Now you’re close. Close enough to see the nervous tension vibrating in his throat. Close enough to feel the heat of him, he runs hotter than a human man, unnaturally so. As if burning from the inside.

“Ask me, then,” you say softly.

He looks at you like a man before the gallows. Then, very quietly, as if the act of saying it is shameful:

“I wish to lie with you.”

You blink.

“I wish—” he tries again, jaw flexing, “to perform the act of intimacy. With you. In a… consummated sense. As a married pair.”

You blink again.

“I want to have sex with you,” he blurts finally, and looks like it kills him to say it.

A pause.

Then: “Desperately.”

You stare at him.

“Oh, Rogal.”

“I understand,” he says quickly, retreating in tone if not in step. “This is not romantic. I have not constructed the proper environment. You deserve gentle words and...flowers. Or a script. Something to soften the...demand.”

You place your hand gently on his armored forearm. “You think wanting me is a demand?”

His lips press flat. His gaze drops. “It is a burden I would not place on you lightly.”

Something in your heart twists.

“Rogal,” you whisper, “I married you. I want you too.”

His head lifts slowly, disbelief softening the edges of his eyes.

“You do?”

“God Emperor, yes. I thought you were being chivalrous, not terrified.”

“I am not terrified,” he lies, badly. “I am merely unpracticed.”

You step close enough that your body touches his armor. His breath catches. You reach up, hands to the clasps at his pauldrons.

“I can help you practice,” you murmur.

His eyes darken. “You must know that if we begin, I will not be able to stop. I have been… holding back. For- forever.”

You unfasten the first clasp. “So stop holding back.”

He growls—growls, for the Emperor’s sake, and you swear the air in the room changes.

“Remove the armor,” you say. “Let me see you.”

He strips like a soldier, not a lover.

Armor peeled off with brutal efficiency. Gauntlets, chestplate, greaves, each piece flung aside with mounting urgency. By the time he’s down to the bodysuit, his cock is already straining against the black fabric, thick and unmistakably ready.

You sit up to help, pulling at the seams, baring skin inch by inch. He watches you with wild reverence, letting you touch, letting you see.

He’s massive. Everywhere. Veins thick, muscles sharp, cock flushed and heavy against his abdomen.

And he’s shaking.

“I don’t know if I’ll be gentle,” he grits. “Not the first time.”

“Then don’t be.”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs you, grabs, one hand at the back of your neck, the other hauling you into his lap. You wrap around him like instinct, moaning as his mouth crashes into yours, hot and claiming.

No preamble now. No poetry. Just need.

You grind against him, feel the heavy slide of his cock through slick folds and against aching skin. He groans—feral, guttural, and bites your lower lip.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he hisses. “I’ve dreamed of this. For months. Waking up in sweat, fists clenched. Thinking of how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

“Then stop dreaming,” you pant. “Do it.”

He doesn’t need more permission.

You reach between you, lining him up, and he pushes in, slowly at first, as if even now he’s afraid he’ll break you.

But you’re ready. Wet, open, waiting. And tight. Saints, the stretch of him makes you sob.

“Throne,” he chokes. “You feel—you’re perfect.”

You arch, gasping. He drives deeper. And then—

Something in him snaps.

He buries himself in one brutal thrust, presses you down into the mattress, and starts to fuck you.

It’s not lovemaking. It’s a siege. His hips slam into you with punishing force, cock splitting you open, dragging filthy moans from your throat with every thrust.

He groans your name like a prayer. Grinds his teeth. Ruts into you like a man possessed.

And it’s not enough.

“Turn over,” he pants. “Let me take you.”

You obey, dizzy with lust. He grabs your hips, pulls you up, and slams back in. The angle hits deeper. Harder. You claw at the sheets, half-mad with sensation.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You married me. You belong to me.”

“Yes,” you whimper. “I’m yours. Always.”

He fucked you harder. Gripping your hips like a lifeline, his cock thrusting in and out at a wild pace. The wet sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, only drowned out by your cries and his hoarse moans.

He loses the last of his control.

When your climax hits, it’s blinding, sharp, brutal, stars behind your eyes. You scream, body locking up, milking him.

And that’s what does it.

With a roar like a battle cry, he slams in to the hilt and spills, hot, endless, cock pulsing as he floods you. He buries his face in your back, breathless, shaking, nearly sobbing with release.

“Mine,” he whispers again. “Mine.”

[kuroposting]

Now, obviously, I don’t think Sebastian knows that this is a trigger. Or that he grabbed his hand in a familiar way the first time, either.

I think it’s symbolic. Yana is constantly drawing hands as analogous to relationships. Sebastian is insecure in his ability to understand the complexities of human emotions and, by extension, his ability to care for Ciel in this arc. He has an idea, but he defers to Takana’s authority on the subject (initially); I’ll make another post about that later. Meanwhile, the crisis of conscience Ciel is experiencing is over his growing camaraderie and dependence on Sebastian, in r!Ciel’s place.

Using Sebastian to attain revenge is one thing, but to stop holding a grudge against him for presumably eating r!Ciel’s soul and shamelessly accepting his attachment to Sebastian and the autonomy that he provides Ciel with, is a severe betrayal. A betrayal of r!Ciel, and of Ciel’s own morals.

Sebastian is at least somewhat aware of this. I’m not totally sure- I think Sebastian is under the impression that Ciel did intentionally sacrifice r!Ciel in his place, and that he took on his identity out of jealousy. He wanted to be heir, and he wanted to marry Lizzy. Sebastian may believe that Ciel regrets doing it and resents Sebastian for being the living proof of Ciel’s wickedness. He wants to force Ciel to confront this aspect of himself and do something about it, but I think he’s slowly come to realize that Ciel isn’t actually to blame, and feels conflicted over his own attachment to him.

These last two panels, by Sebastian’s expression and the black backgrounds isolating the two of them, read to me as if Sebastian is slighted by Ciel’s scolding and lack of gratitude for saving him; something Sebastian is good at and took pride in. It reminds me of his interactions with Will. Even so, it’s apparent to me that he otherwise admires Ciel for being so resistant to the temptation of accepting his comforts, but then he sincerely wants to comfort him. By rejecting Sebastian and maintaining all the loyalty to his brother that he can, Ciel maintains this very unique (“pure”?) form of integrity that Sebas both resents and yet also wishes to maintain himself. Allowing Sebastian to touch will get his master dirty, so he changes his gloves and offers himself again. Unbeknownst to Sebastian, part of the guilt Ciel feels is over him fulfilling r!Ciel’s role as his devout protector and guide. This will have to be elaborated on in a part 2. (will add a hyperlink here when I have it written)

On the other hand, Ciel already believes himself to have already betrayed his brother for being able to benefit from his death whatsoever. This makes him beyond redemption and beyond saving. We have reason to believe that between r!Ciel’s acceptance of his role as first born and Ciel’s illness keeping him holed up in the manor while r!Ciel had fencing lessons and went traveling with their parents, r!Ciel was less innocent than his younger brother. Our Ciel believes himself wicked and weak for having shamelessly accepted their roles, as his role allowed him to be so naive and complacent that he never felt the same responsibly to protect anyone; most notably, r!Ciel. For that, there were consequences.

His powerlessness cost r!Ciel his life and at the cost of his life Ciel was granted the pursuit of living; the ability to help people and bring justice to evils are things only granted at the price of facing the horrific realities of a world that has failed others. Of feeling the weight on your soul when you take on the responsibility of other people that you can fail, responsibility for the failures that are inevitable in pursuit of your goals. Chess is a game of sacrifice.

When Sullivan gave them a chemical shower and performed it as a “purification ritual”, something thematically relevant was happening. Their personal feelings of inadequacy surfaced and they’ve been forced to confront them- though Ciel’s was much more immediate and visceral. His pursuit of Sebastian was an acceptance of himself, that he is worth living for despite what he expressed to Finny. That he accepts the responsibility for his own survival in the face of all who have been sacrificed for his continued existence so far.

Here Sebastian almost seems to reveal the truth of the matter to Ciel, that the ritual was not required to summon him and that it most likely wasn’t even the true intentions of the adults who had committed such evil against him. Demons can appear on a whim, and he repeats as much to Sullivan. On Twitter, Yana said that Ciel was about to ask “did you come on a whim?” but dropped it because it ultimately didn’t matter. She said it wasn’t relevant to the arc iirc, but I disagree lol, It’s at least relevant to the philosophy this manga holds as truth. Ciel wondered if he was already prepared to forfeit his soul for his wish or if Sebastian chose to come to him regardless.

You could wonder if that means that Ciel actually is responsible for sacrificing r!Ciel’s soul (however unintentionally), because that meant that Sebastian never would have eaten him if only Ciel cherished his own soul more.

You could wonder if Sebastian made the decision to take r!Ciel’s soul just to crossover and meet Ciel’s calls completely on his own. You could wonder if Ciel wasn’t prepared to forfeit his soul at all, until he was manipulated and pressured into it by Sebastian.

Who is the blame supposed to fall on? What were Sebastian’s motivations?

You could wonder about any of that, and it doesn’t matter, because the outcome is the same to Ciel. It does not change where they are now. What is done cannot be undone.

[erostexts]

𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑢𝑝 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒

Summary: in which Satoru loves his wife and he needs her to know it

Tags: MDNI, Oral (m! Receiving), praise, brief overstimulation, riding, unprotected sex, cumming inside.

Satoru loves how easy to rile up you were. Hell, he loved that determination so clear in your perfect factions. How you eyes had that dangerously arousing look in them. And fuck him, you give him the look. Something like bedroom eyes with a little bit of attitude and his cock is stirring up, slowly waking up from its slumber.

Once in your shared home, you corner him against the door. Blindfold still on bit the cocky smirk on his lips tells you all you needed to know; this fucker wanted this.

"You enjoy tempting me too much, Satoru" he's melting when his name, full name, no nickname falls off you lips so carefully and dangerous.

"If you wanted my attention so bad, you shouldn't be acting up" No words were needed as he launches at you, lips clashing and messy tongues fighting for the dominance he didn't want tonight. He moans on the kiss, a sweet sound you haven't heard in a while. His cock is uncomfortable in the confines of his boxers, moving his hips against you to get the slightest of friction. You snake a hands down to his pants, rubbing him through the fabric of his pants, cupping the very noticable bulge.

"Fuck" Its breathy, whispered almost. But it makes your pussy clench around nothing. "Don't tease so much, princess"

You all but hum, guiding him to the bed, throwing him, or at least he lets you think so. With a quick movement, you hook your fingers around the waistband of his pants and boxers, lowering them enough to free his aching cock.

It was already leaking. You don't blame him though, it had been a while with all his missions and your work. But all that mattered now was that you had it finally in front of you. Leaking, pink mushroom tip almost glistening with pre, and that attractive, singular blueish and purplish vein that ran across it but didn't quite reach his tip. You lick your lips in anticipation. Testing him, you blow air to it, seeing him shudder and bucking his hips like he was already inside of you.

With a small laugh, you press kisses along it, and hearing him sigh and grunt in pleasure drives you to do more. Sucking on his tip and pumping the rest of his length, you hum, enjoying his taste after months. His perfect blue eyes roll back when you lick around his vein and tip pushing half of it inside you mouth before taking it out with a wet pop!

Guiding his slim and pale hand to you hair, you nod, letting him guide you. And you don't have to ask twice because in one, mean and careless thrust of his hips, he lays there, using you mouth like a fleshlight. His hips move and his hands pull on your hair like he needs you, like he hates you.

"Please please, oh fuck me. Yes, like that. I love oh! I love you!" He babbles. Breathing heavily and panting like he needs you to understand it, like hes confessing all over again. And you? All you can do is make loud, messy slurping noises and gag around him. And if that doesn't give him the biggest sensation of ectasy he wouldn't have married you.

He's close, and you can tell because he stops moving, like he's trying to hold back, but you won't have that. So with wet slurps and messy movements, you keep sucking him off. He buck up once with stuttering thrusts, twice with a twitching cock and at the third thrust of his hips his ball tightened up and cums in your mouth with no warning and a breathless groan.

He stays there, breathless, tired and sweaty. He hadn't realized it but he truly was pent up.

"We aren't done yet, toru" And you strip off of you shirt, taking out his pants and boxers fully. Leaving his lower half completely bare. You slowly tease him, lowering your own pants for him. It was a casual pant but he found it so attractive he found himself getting turned on again.

"You can give me another one, can't ya? You're so perfect after all" Its not condescending but shit, it made him absolutely feral how much power you held over him. Because you had the power to destroy him and he'd let you with pleasure.

You bare yourself completely, straddling his hips, and boy can he feel how wet you are.

Definitely, with pleasure.

Is what he thinks before grabbing your hips with trembling hands. Understanding the silent requests, you lift your hips up, guiding his cock to your core. Both of you shudder when a loud squelching sound fills the room as he settles inside. Arching your back and lowering your hips onto his, you moan. There's still remnants of cum around his cock, making ot easier to slide in.

"Go ahead. Fuck me, handsome" he loves it. Loves how you say the nicknames like you mean them but you don't show so when you lift your hips up and lower them rapidly, setting a pace that is inhuman for him. Or maybe is the way his brain is fuzzy due to his recent orgasm talking. You'd never know.

"So. Fucking. Good" your words are punctuated by a thrust in each of them. And he lifts himself up, hugging you and licks around your neck, letting you use his cock like a dildo.

"wait! No more I'm gonna..." He stutters. Stutters. And you can't believe how good it feels to have him twitching inside of your own warmth with no condom. But you're way too busy chasing after your own high to be worried about how he might cum again. You keep bouncing on his cock like its a hobby.

"Fuck!" He whines, biting on your shoulder, hard as he shoots rope and ropes of cum into you. Yet, you give him no time to adjust or breathe when you're close yourself.

"Tooru! Sat...oruuuu" You moan his name over and over like its the only thing you know. Hes sensitive enough as it was but the way drool falls off the corner of your beautiful lips and your eyes roll back makes him think maybe he can keep going.

You kiss him. Its messy, no rhythm at all. It shushes both your sounds leaving only the sound of skin clashing against skin to fill the room and echo on your minds.

He can definitely keep going if this how you're acting.

"So good, so fucking good inside me" its a broken moan but je understands perfectly. All his senses heightened as his tip becomes red due to the stimulation on it. Its not long before he hisses, unsure if he likes the feeling or if he wants to pull away.

But by the way your moaning, arching your back and moaning sweet praises to him, he thinks he likes it better.

Its mot until you quiver and clench around him, eyes rolling back and moaning his name that he fully lets go for the third time in a row.

"i love you, toru"

"I love you too, princess."

And you both stay there, basking im eachothers presence, still connected.

[zrvllya]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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sparks, coldplay

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remus lupin x reader ! one shot ⏾

did i drive you away?

ᵎ!ᵎ blood mention, poisoning, self-destructive behavior, near death experience, illness, medical content, lycantrophy, codependency

word count [ 4,400 ]

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the shack groans under the weight of morning. not the cheerful kind of morning—the gray, reluctant kind that spills through splintered boards like watered-down milk. it smells of copper and sweat and something animal that never quite leaves these walls.

you've been awake for hours. your knees protest against the rough wooden floor, but you don't move. not while he's like this.

remus lies curled on his side, all angles and exposed ribs beneath a blanket too thin to offer real comfort. his breathing has finally steadied, no longer the ragged gasping of transformation but the heavy rhythm of exhaustion. dried blood crusts at the corner of his mouth. you resist the urge to wipe it away—he hates being touched immediately after.

instead, you wait. your fingertips trace patterns on the floorboards, ghosting over splinters and old stains. your heart beats sluggishly in your chest, a clock winding down.

"how long have you been there?" his voice cracks, desert-dry.

"since before dawn," you answer, and the truth feels inadequate. you've been here for years, really. in this same position, watching him emerge from the wolf like someone crawling from wreckage.

remus shifts, winces. his eyes remain closed. "you shouldn't."

"we've had this conversation."

"and we'll have it again," he murmurs. "until you listen."

you smile despite everything. "then we'll be having it forever."

he opens his eyes at that. amber in this light—more human than wolf but carrying echoes of both. they fix on your face with the intensity that always makes you feel translucent, like he can see straight through to the lies you've been telling.

"your hands," he says.

you tuck them under your thighs. "just cold."

"it's may."

"poor circulation."

he struggles to sit up, and you don't offer help because you know he'll refuse it. the blanket slides from his shoulders, revealing fresh scratches across his collarbone. not as bad as they used to be. not as bad as they should be.

"give me your hand," he says, and it's not a request.

you hesitate, then extend your right hand. his fingers wrap around your wrist, pressing against your pulse point. his thumb strokes once across your palm, and the touch sends electricity up your arm.

"your heart," he says, "is beating too slowly."

"must be all the running i do," you attempt a joke, but it falls flat between you.

remus says nothing, but his grip tightens. those eyes—professor eyes, you used to tease—cataloging, analyzing. you see the moment understanding breaks across his face like a fever.

"you've been taking it." not a question. horror coats each word. "the wolfsbane."

you don't deny it. can't, really, not with the evidence written in your slowing pulse and the constant chill in your fingers. three years of goodnight kisses after he's taken his potion. three years of letting the poison build in your system, molecule by molecule.

"just traces," you say, as if that makes it better. "just enough to—"

"to what? kill yourself slowly?" his voice rises, then breaks. "merlin's fucking beard, what were you thinking?"

"that i could help." the words sound small in the vastness of what you've done. "that i could share it. ease it."

"by poisoning yourself?" he releases your hand like it burns him. "this isn't—you can't just—"

"it works," you interrupt. "you've been having better transformations. less pain. the wolf is calmer."

"at what cost?" remus pushes himself further away, back hitting the wall. the distance between you feels oceanic. "do you have any idea what you've done? wolfsbane is toxic. even in small doses, over time—"

"i know what it does."

"and you did it anyway." disbelief colors his words. "why would you—how could you—"

"because i love you," you say simply. "and i was tired of watching you suffer alone."

he flinches like you've struck him. "that's not love. that's self-destruction."

"they look the same."

silence stretches between you, taut as a bowstring. outside, birds have begun their morning songs, oblivious to the storm brewing within these walls. remus runs trembling fingers through his hair—more gray than brown now, though he's still young by wizarding standards.

"how long?" he finally asks.

"since that night at the potter‘s house. when you collapsed even days later."

he remembers. you see it in the way his eyes darken. "three years."

you nod.

"three years of—" he can't finish the thought. "and what happens when it builds to toxic levels? when your heart stops? when your nervous system fails? did you think about that?"

"of course i did."

"and?"

you look down at your pale hands. "i decided you were worth it."

"don't you dare," he whispers, voice dangerous and low. "don't you dare make me the reason for your death."

"it's my choice, remus."

"it's not a choice i will allow!" he shouts, then immediately crumples, energy spent. "i already have enough blood on my hands. i won't add yours."

you crawl toward him, ignoring his attempt to retreat further into the wall. "you think i haven't considered everything? that i jumped into this without research? i've been working with an apothecary in knockturn alley. there's a cleansing potion—"

"an illegal potion, i assume."

"yes," you admit. "but it works. i take it every full moon after... after i've helped you."

he stares at you, incredulous. "so your solution to poisoning yourself is to use more illegal potions? brilliant. truly brilliant."

"it's kept me alive so far."

"and what about next month? or the month after? how long until your body builds resistance to the cleansing potion? did your knockturn alley friend mention that part?"

you hadn't considered that. the silence answers for you.

remus closes his eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "you need to stop this. now. before it causes permanent damage."

"i can't."

"you must."

"would you?" you challenge. "if our positions were reversed, would you stop?"

a memory flashes between you—his body shielding yours during the a fight with slytherins, taking a curse meant for you. the weeks of recovery afterward. his insistence that he would do it again without hesitation.

"that's different," he says, but the argument sounds hollow even to him.

"it's exactly the same."

the sunlight has strengthened, cutting across his scarred face in golden bands. he looks both ancient and boyish in this light—the marauder, the man and the wolf.

"i never asked for this sacrifice," he whispers.

"you never had to."

three months earlier

"you're doing it again," sirius observed from the doorway of the library at grimmauld place, watching as you pored over ancient potion texts.

you didn't look up. "doing what?"

"that thing where you try to solve moony‘s furry little problem through sheer force of will." he crossed the room, peering over your shoulder at the yellowed pages. "thaddeus thornberry's advanced poison control? light reading, is it?"

"just curious," you said, closing the book casually—too casually.

sirius barked a laugh. "right. and i'm just curious about motorcycle maintenance. not planning to enchant one and fly it over london."

you sighed. "is there something you needed?"

"yeah, actually." he leaned against the table, arms crossed. "need you to stop whatever insane plan you're concocting before moony finds out and has a complete meltdown."

"i'm not—"

"save it." sirius cut you off with a wave of his hand. "i've known you both too long. he's getting better after full moons, but the wolfsbane isn't improving that drastically on its own. and you—" he gestured at your face, "—look worse every month."

your heart stuttered. "maybe i'm just tired."

"your lips were blue last moon." sirius's voice softened. "blue, love. like you were half-frozen from the inside out."

tears pricked behind your eyes. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"yes, you do." he sat beside you, suddenly serious in that way only sirius black could be—the gravity that lived beneath all his jokes and recklessness. "whatever you're doing to help him is killing you."

"it's not."

"it is. and when he figures it out—and he will—it'll destroy him more thoroughly than any transformation ever could."

you stared at the table, tracing wood grain patterns with your finger. "i found a way to share it. just a little. enough to make a difference."

sirius exhaled slowly. "the wolfsbane."

you nodded.

"bloody hell." he ran a hand through his hair. "that stuff is toxic enough that slughorn has to wear dragon-hide gloves to brew it. and you're what—ingesting it?"

"not directly," you mumbled. "just... residual traces. from when we..."

understanding dawned on his face. "after he takes it. when you kiss him."

you nodded again.

"does it hurt?" he asked, voice gentle.

"sometimes. mostly it just makes me cold. slows everything down." you forced a smile. "small price to pay."

sirius was quiet for so long that you finally looked up. his gray eyes were focused on some middle distance, his face a complex map of emotions.

"you remind me of james," he finally said.

that surprised you. "what? how?"

"that particular brand of self-sacrificing stupidity." a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "he'd do the same for any of us. does do the same, really,"

"it's not stupid if it works," you argued.

"it's stupid if it gets you killed." sirius took your cold hand between his warm ones.

"it won't."

"promise me you'll find another way," sirius insisted. "one that doesn't involve slow-motion suicide."

you'd promised, but some promises were made to be broken.

"how did you know?" you ask now, as remus stares at you across the dusty floor of the shrieking shack.

"i suspected something was wrong for months." his voice is steady now, professorial. "your symptoms match chronic wolfsbane toxicity. slower heart rate. decreased body temperature. the blue tinge to your fingernails during winter." he swallows hard. "i thought perhaps it was something else. an illness you were hiding. i never imagined you were deliberately poisoning yourself."

"not poisoning. sharing," you correct gently.

"semantics." he sighs, shoulders slumping. "when did sirius figure it out?"

you startle. "how did you—"

"he's been watching you like a hawk before every full moon. slipping you potions when he thinks i'm not looking."

of course he'd noticed. remus notices everything.

"about three months ago," you admit. "he caught me researching antidotes."

remus nods slowly. "and he didn't tell me."

"he promised not to. said it was my secret to tell."

"typical." there's no heat in the word—just weary resignation. "loyal to a fault, even when loyalty is the wrong choice."

you inch closer, until your knees nearly touch his. "i'm not going to stop."

"yes, you are."

"no," you reach for his hand, relieved when he doesn't pull away. "i'm not. but i will be more careful. better antidotes. proper monitoring."

"there's no safe way to do this." frustration edges his words.

"there's no safe way to love you either," you say softly. "i chose this life—chose you—knowing what it meant."

he looks at you then, really looks, and something inside him seems to crack open. "i am not worth this."

"you don't get to decide what you're worth to me."

his fingers tighten around yours. "i can't watch you die by inches."

"then help me find a better way. but don't ask me to stop trying."

the transformation has left him raw, defenses stripped away. tears gather in his eyes but don't fall. "why?" he whispers. "why would you do this?"

you could answer with platitudes. with grand declarations. instead, you give him the simple, terrible truth.

"because the night you first transformed in front of me, i saw your bones break and reform. i heard you scream until your voice gave out. i watched you tear at your own skin." your voice doesn't waver. "and i decided then that if i couldn't stop your pain, i would share it. even a fraction. even if it killed me."

remus makes a sound—half sob, half bitter laugh. "merlin help me, but i don't deserve you."

"probably not," you agree with the ghost of a smile. "but you're stuck with me anyway."

he pulls you against him then, arms wrapping around you with desperate strength. his body is warm against your perpetually cold one. you fit your head beneath his chin, listening to his heartbeat—too fast, while yours is too slow. somehow perfect counterpoints.

"we're going to find another way," he murmurs into your hair. "a way that doesn't hurt you."

you don't argue, though you both know there might not be another way. the wolfsbane is the only modern advancement in lycanthropy treatment. everything else is medieval torture or folk remedy.

"i love you," you say instead, because it's the only truth that matters.

his arms tighten around you. "enough to poison yourself."

"enough to do whatever it takes."

remus sighs, his breath warm against your scalp. "that's what terrifies me."

outside, the morning has fully arrived. sunlight streams through the cracks, illuminating dust motes that dance between you like tiny stars. the wolf has retreated for another month, but its shadow remains—in his scars, in your slowing heart, in the space between kisses that tastes of bitterness and aconite.

"come home," you whisper against his chest. "let me take care of you."

"only if you let me take care of you too," he counters.

you nod, knowing neither of you will keep that promise completely. love between broken people is never neat or simple. it's messy and desperate and sometimes dangerous—a constant negotiation between what you're willing to give and what you can bear to take.

remus stands slowly, muscles protesting the movement. you rise with him, supporting his weight without making it obvious that's what you're doing. he's too proud for open help, even now.

"sirius will be waiting," he says.

"with tea and chocolate and a lecture for both of us," you agree.

remus almost smiles. "and several illegal potions, apparently."

"those too."

as you help him toward the hidden passage, he pauses, framed in weak sunlight. "promise me something."

"anything."

"no more secrets." his eyes search yours. "not between us. not anymore."

you hesitate, then nod. "no more secrets."

it's a promise you intend to keep this time, though you both know there will always be things left unsaid—the way he sometimes wakes growling in the night, the way your fingers sometimes turn blue when you're tired, the fear that lives in both your hearts that one day the wolf will win or the poison will.

but for now, in the fragile morning light, it's enough to walk together through the tunnel, toward whatever comes next. the wolf sleeps. the poison ebbs. and love—fierce, foolish love—carries you forward through another dawn.

the journey back to hogwarts is always the worst part. the tunnel seems longer after full moons, stretching endlessly beneath the whomping willow, damp earth pressing in from all sides. remus leans heavily against you, his breathing labored. you support him without comment, knowing his pride is as fragile as his post-transformation body.

"we should rest," you suggest when his steps falter.

"no," he says, determined. "almost there."

you don't argue. the sooner you reach the castle, the sooner you can both collapse somewhere warm and safe. but with each step, the cold spreads through your limbs, a familiar numbness creeping from fingertips up your arms. you've learned to hide it well—the tremors, the dizziness that follows every full moon now—but today feels different. worse.

by the time you emerge from beneath the willow, pale morning light making both of you squint, you're not sure who's supporting whom anymore. the castle looms ahead, a stone sentinel against the dawn sky. gryffindor tower has never seemed so far away.

"we should go to pomfrey," remus murmurs, noticing your pallor.

"and tell her what?" you manage a weak smile. "that i've been voluntarily ingesting traces of a controlled substance? i'm sure that will go over well."

he frowns but doesn't press the issue. not yet.

the castle corridors are mercifully empty this early on a saturday. your footsteps echo against stone floors, a stumbling rhythm that carries you up staircases and through passageways until you reach the fat lady's portrait.

"phoenix tears," remus whispers.

the portrait swings open, revealing the warm glow of the gryffindor common room. sirius is there, as expected, pacing before the fireplace. he looks up at your entrance, relief washing over his features before quickly transforming into alarm.

"bloody hell," he breathes, rushing forward to help. "what happened?"

"i know," remus says simply.

understanding floods sirius's face. "shit." he takes remus's other side, guiding you both to the sofa nearest the fire. "sit. both of you."

you sink into the cushions gratefully, the room swaying slightly around you. the fire's warmth doesn't penetrate the chill that's settled into your bones. your fingers are distinctly blue at the tips now, no matter how close to the flames you hold them.

"where is it?" sirius demands, rifling through his pockets.

"where's what?" remus asks, confused.

sirius ignores him, producing a small vial of pearlescent liquid. "here. drink this. now."

you take the vial with trembling hands, uncorking it with difficulty. the liquid burns going down, but it's a welcome heat—something to fight the ice forming in your veins.

"what the hell is that?" remus demands, watching as color slowly returns to your face.

"cleansing potion," sirius answers tersely. "more potent than the one our friend here has been using."

remus's eyes narrow. "and you've been providing it?"

"someone had to." sirius runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "since neither of you would listen to reason."

"you knew." remus's voice is dangerously quiet. "all this time."

"not all this time," you interject weakly. "only a few months."

"and you didn't think to tell me?" hurt bleeds into remus's anger.

sirius meets his gaze unflinchingly. "it wasn't my secret to tell."

"so you enabled this instead?"

"i kept them alive," sirius snaps. "which is more than they were managing on their own. merlin's beard, moony, what would you have done? let them collapse in some corridor alone because you didn't know what was happening?"

remus falls silent, the truth of sirius's words hanging heavy between them.

your vision blurs suddenly, darkness creeping at the edges. you try to focus on the flames, on the familiar tapestries adorning the walls, but everything swims in and out of focus. your heart stutters in your chest—too slow, then racing, then slow again.

"something's wrong," you whisper, voice sounding distant to your own ears.

both men turn to you sharply. remus's hand finds your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse point.

"her heart's racing," he says, alarm edging his words. "sirius—"

"shit," sirius mutters, digging in his pockets again. "this hasn't happened before."

the room tilts suddenly. your limbs feel leaden, disconnected from your body. distantly, you're aware of falling forward, of remus catching you before you hit the floor, of his voice calling your name with increasing desperation.

"what's happening?" remus demands, voice cracking. "what's wrong with her?"

sirius kneels beside you, face grim. "the cleansing potion. she's building a tolerance."

just as you'd feared but refused to acknowledge. just as remus had warned mere hours ago.

"do something," remus pleads, cradling you against his chest.

"i'm trying!" sirius's voice rises. "i don't—i don't have anything stronger here."

your fingers clutch weakly at remus's shirt. his face swims above you, features blurred but beautiful—always so beautiful, even ravaged by transformation and fear.

"i'm sorry," you manage to whisper.

"don't," he says fiercely. "don't you dare apologize."

"should have told you."

"yes, you bloody well should have," he agrees, but there's no anger in it now, only terror. "stay with me. please."

sirius reappears in your narrowing field of vision, another vial in hand. "this is all i have left. it might help. might not."

"might make it worse?" remus asks.

sirius hesitates, then nods. "possibly."

"her choice," remus says, though it clearly costs him. "always her choice."

through the fog wrapping around your mind, you appreciate this small concession—that even now, terrified as he is, he respects your agency. your right to choose the manner of your loving him, even when that love might destroy you both.

you nod weakly, and sirius tips the contents of the vial between your lips. it tastes of ash and metal and something ancient. your body convulses once, violently, and then everything goes perfectly, blessedly still.

for a moment, you float in darkness. not unpleasant—just nothing. no pain. no cold. no weight of choices made or unmade.

then sound filters back. remus's voice, raw with emotion.

"—can't leave me. not like this. not because of me."

your eyes flutter open. the ceiling of the common room comes into focus gradually—rich red fabric draped between wooden beams. remus's face hovers above you, tear-streaked and desperate.

"there you are," he whispers when your eyes meet his. "there you are."

you try to speak but can only manage a weak cough. sirius appears with water, helping you sit up enough to sip from the glass.

"how do you feel?" he asks cautiously.

the honest answer is: shattered. like something inside you has broken irreparably. but the blue has receded from your fingertips, and your heart beats with something approaching a normal rhythm.

"better," you lie, because the relief on their faces is worth the deception.

remus helps you sit up fully, arranging cushions behind your back. his hands linger, as if afraid you'll disappear if he stops touching you. sirius collapses into a nearby armchair, suddenly looking every one of his years and more.

"that was too close," he says quietly.

no one disagrees.

morning sunlight streams through the tower windows now, painting golden rectangles across the worn carpet. somewhere in the castle, students will be waking, preparing for weekend activities with ordinary concerns. the simplicity of that existence feels alien to you now.

"it's over," remus says after a long silence. "this experiment. these potions. all of it."

you want to argue, to insist you can find another way, but your body's betrayal is too fresh to deny. your mouth tastes of copper and aconite and fear.

"i can't lose you," he continues, voice breaking. "not for this. not so i can have marginally less pain once a month."

"it was more than marginal," you protest weakly.

"nothing is worth this," he insists. "nothing is worth your life."

sirius clears his throat. "there might be... alternatives."

you both look at him.

"not wolfsbane," he clarifies quickly. "something else entirely. something i've been researching."

"your mysterious correspondence," remus says with sudden understanding. "the letters from abroad."

sirius nods. "there's someone in eastern europe. working on a different approach to lycanthropy. less about controlling the wolf, more about... integration."

"that sounds like dark magic," remus says warily.

"not dark. just... old. predating the divisions we've created between acceptable and unacceptable magic." sirius leans forward. "it might not work. but it also won't kill either of you."

hope flickers, fragile but persistent. you reach for remus's hand, finding it already reaching for yours.

"we can talk about it," you concede. "after."

"after what?" remus asks.

"after i sleep for about forty-eight hours." your attempt at humor falls flat, but remus's lips twitch nonetheless.

"i'll carry you upstairs," he offers.

"to the boys' dormitory? scandal," you murmur.

"everyone's at hogsmeade," sirius points out, and remus continues, "and frankly, i don't give a damn about school rules right now."

remus lifts you carefully, as if you might shatter in his arms. perhaps you might. your body feels different now—fundamentally altered by months of poison and today's near collapse. whether the damage is permanent remains to be seen.

as he carries you toward the spiral staircase, you rest your head against his shoulder. despite everything—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty—there's a strange peace in surrender. in knowing you've reached a limit, that something must change.

"this doesn't mean i love you any less," you murmur against his neck.

his arms tighten around you. "i know."

"just that i love you differently now."

he pauses on the stairs, looking down at you with those amber eyes that have seen too much suffering. "how?"

you consider this as he resumes climbing. "before, i thought love meant sharing your burden. taking some of your pain as my own."

"and now?"

you reach the dormitory. he pushes the door open with his shoulder and carries you to his bed, laying you gently on sheets that smell of parchment and tea and him.

"now i think..." you search for words as he pulls a blanket over you. "now i think maybe love is learning how to carry our separate burdens side by side. not trying to take what isn't mine to bear."

remus sits beside you on the bed, brushing hair from your forehead. "wisdom through near-death experience?"

"something like that." you catch his hand, press a kiss to his palm. "still not leaving you, though."

"i wouldn't let you if you tried," he admits, the possessiveness of the wolf bleeding into his voice.

you smile, eyelids growing heavy. "good."

he stretches out beside you, careful not to jostle the bed. even exhausted and hurting from his own transformation, his first concern is for your comfort. you shift to rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"sleep," he murmurs, fingers combing gently through your hair. "i'll be here when you wake up."

you believe him. it's one promise neither of you will break.

as consciousness fades, you feel his lips press against your forehead. "thank you," he whispers, "for loving me enough to stay. even when staying means letting go."

you don't have the strength to answer, but he understands anyway. he always does. the wolf in him senses what words cannot express—that your love hasn't diminished, only transformed. like him, it contains multitudes. like him, it survives.

the last thing you register before sleep claims you is remus's heartbeat against your ear and sirius's voice from the doorway, uncharacteristically gentle:

"they'll be alright, moony. as long as you are."

[forsaken-fates]

A SHORT(?) VISIT

"I'm so going to regret this..."

>[Elliot muttered to himself as he stepped through the portal presented in front of him, feeling the shift in temperature as he entered the new limbo. The grass crunched softly underneath his feet as he slowly walked towards the only prominent house, looking as familiar as ever. He hesitantly raised up his hand, curled up to a fist.]

>[...Knock knock knock.]

>[...]

>[The former employee let out a sigh of relief, quickly turning around and walking back towards the portal.]

"Well, looks like no one's home!-"

"Hello?"

>[Elliot froze in his spot as he heard the door opening, feeling the blood drain from his face as his smile dropped.]

"Oh, Hi Mr. Elliot!"

"Fuckkk..."

>[He turned around to see a short, red child standing in the doorway, his smile too wide for comfort.]

"Dad! Dad, Look! Mr. Elliot came by to visit!"

"Wh- huh?"

>[c00lkidd quickly ran back inside the house, before coming back and dragging 007n7 out of the kitchen, pointing at Elliot, who stood a bit confused in the doorway.]

"Mr. Elliot visited! Hi Mr. Elliot!!!"

>[The child waves at the pizza man who ignored him, staring at the ex-exploiter with a clear hesitance on his face. The other one seemed... Happy. Happy to see him. Elliot couldn't help but feel suspicious.]

"Uh... H-hi, Elliot! I didn't think you'd come by...!"

"Yeah well, I did. Didn't want to, but someone wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't come by."

>[Awkward silence filled the two before a clawed hand held onto Elliot's, dragging him inside the house.]

"Ow-! Hey!"

"Come in! Come in!"

"Careful, kidd. I still haven't filed your claws down."

>[c00lkidd lets his grip on Elliot go before running inside, heading to the kitchen.]

"I'm... sorry about him. We haven't had anyone visit, so he gets pretty excited whenever someone comes along..."

"...It's fine. I understand."

>[A long pause came between the two men, leaving them in an awkward silence, avoiding each other's gaze.]

"Anyway.... I made lunch. Would you like to um... come in? Maybe eat with us?

>[Elliot paused, looking up at 007n7 for a moment. He could see a faint glimmer of hope in the other's eyes, the sheepish smile on his face pairing with it.]

"Sure."

>[007n7's eyes lit up at Elliot's words, a spark of hope igniting within him.]

"R-really? U-uh, okay! Good, that's good. You can, uh, leave your shoes at the door."

>[007n7 sheepishly laughed, trying to ease his own racing heart. It's been a while since he's seen the other, after all.]

>[Elliot nodded at the ex-exploiter's words, slipping off his shoes and neatly setting them beside the ones that were already next to the door. Even as he took notice of the other's extremely awkward and hesitant stance, he still couldn't help but feel a bit wary and cautious.]

>[As 007n7 lead Elliot into the kitchen, a faint smell of spices and cooking floated in the air. It could easily be identifiable as curry for the former employee.]

"So... what made you decide to visit now, out of all times?"

>[The father asked, going to the cupboard and taking out a few plates. Elliot shrugged, sitting down at the dining table.]

"Some Anons kept bugging me about it. They wouldn't leave me alone until you'd... y'know. Open up your mailbox."

"Ah... I'm sorry about that. I'll have it open as soon as possible, I promise! I just... needed some time for a while."

"Uh huh."

>[Elliot watched as 007n7 scrambled around the kitchen, hastily grabbing things as adrenaline seemed to course through him. ]

"You, uh... need some help over there?"

>[He asked, standing up and slowly walking towards where 007n7 stood, looking as tense as ever.]

"Are you sure? I-I don't want to trouble you or anything-"

"It's fine, you're not troubling me. What troubles me more is you scrambling around and pretending you're fine."

>[Elliot seemed genuine. Like he actually did want to help out. Except, everyone knows he's just doing this to not get in 007n7's bad side.]

"...Alright. You can, uh... help by setting these plates on the table. c00lkidd's is the smallest one, and... you can pick whichever plate you want."

>[The former employee nodded as a small stack of plates was handed to him, taking the plates to the table, where c00lkidd sat.]

>[As the plates and utensils were finally gathered on the table, Elliot made his way back into the living room, leaving behind a small basket filled with the snacks the other Noob had given him. He went back into the dining room and took a seat, keeping his hands to himself.]

"Finish your food, okay kidd?"

"Okay!"

>[Elliot was lost in his head for a moment before he noticed his plate being taken away and given back to him filled with white rice and curry. There were vegetables, yes. Maybe a few carrots and potatoes, but the majority of it was meat.]

>[...Shit, it looked good, too.]

>[...He's gonna have to be here for a while, is he?]

[sturniololuvz]

please do a fic of chris being a boy dad, and like showing the phases of the kid growing up, like newborn, toddler, kid till like puberty where he notices some chsnges and talks with his son abt it

“The Phases of Him”

Newborn (Age 0):

Chris held him like he was made of glass — a tiny, red-faced bundle swaddled so tightly he looked like a loaf of bread. The first time his son gripped his pinky finger, Chris cried. Like, full-on, nose-running, ugly tears.

“He’s just holding your finger,” Matt teased from the hospital couch.

“He’s holding my whole heart,” Chris shot back, eyes still watery.

He barely slept that week. Every breath, every sneeze, every whimper — Chris was there. Hands ready. Heart on the edge of his sleeve.

⸻

Toddler (Age 3):

Chris’s son had two modes: absolute chaos and deep, philosophical tantrums.

“No, you don’t understand, Daddy,” he cried once, after being told no more cookies. “I need them. For my soul.”

Chris tried not to laugh. “You need a nap.”

“I need respect!”

It was exhausting, sure, but God, Chris loved it. Sticky fingers tugging on his hoodie, bedtime stories read with sleepy eyes, plastic dinosaurs left in his shoes.

He even kept the pink glitter tiara his son made him wear during tea parties. (He’d die before admitting how natural it felt.)

⸻

Kid (Age 8):

Chris’s boy started asking questions.

“Why are you and Uncle Nick scared of clowns?”

“What’s taxes?”

Chris tried to answer every one with honesty — or at least a YouTube video.

Their nights were full of Lego builds and Mario Kart tournaments. His son called him “Dude” more often than “Dad” now, which weirdly made Chris proud.

They shared inside jokes. Made handshake rituals. Talked about everything from farts to aliens.

Chris started to feel like, yeah, I’m doing this right.

⸻

Puberty (Age 12):

And then, it started.

The voice cracks.

The deodorant purchases.

The slamming of doors for no apparent reason.

Chris didn’t panic — not really. But he did pause when his son came out of the bathroom one night, cheeks flushed, and couldn’t look him in the eye.

Chris gave him a nod. Then walked into his room.

“Hey,” he said gently, closing the door behind him.

His son was half-buried under the covers, earbuds in. Chris tapped the bed.

“You okay?”

A shrug.

“Hey.” Chris waited until his son looked at him. “You feelin’ weird?”

Another shrug. But softer this time.

Chris nodded slowly. “It’s okay. Your body’s gonna do all kinds of new stuff. It’s confusing. And kinda gross. And it doesn’t always feel good.”

“I think I’m broken,” his son whispered.

Chris’s heart cracked open.

“You’re not,” he said gently. “You’re just growing up. And that’s hard sometimes. But you can always talk to me about it, okay?”

“Even the… gross stuff?”

Chris grinned. “Especially the gross stuff. I’ve been there.”

After a long pause, his son looked up at him. “Did you cry when you got your first pimple?”

“I screamed.” Chris said, dead serious.

And his son laughed — really laughed — and Chris felt the shift. That invisible, sacred moment where his kid realized: *Dad gets it. Dad gets me.

⸻

Chris sat in the kitchen that night, staring at an old photo of his son as a baby — cheeks full, arms flailing, joy pouring out of him.

It felt like it had been two weeks ago.

Now he was raising a young man. Not just a boy with scraped knees and snack requests — but someone with thoughts and questions and dreams.

And still… his little boy, always.

Chris smiled to himself.

“God help me when he turns fifteen.”

⸻

[factual-fantasy]

21 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🏁

I've thought about redeeming Starscream and his brothers here and there somehow. But I think the problem I have with TFP Screamer is he is SOOOOO power hungry.

I think even in season 3 when he got whipped into shape and started being a proper lieutenant, I have no doubt he would snuff out Megatrons spark if he got the chance. I cant see him being loyal to anyone but himself. Or even really believing in anyone else or any other cause.. it feels like he just wants all the power for himself and to do what he wants.

Now if I'm wrong here please correct me- if it actually seems really in character for Screamer (AND his two brothers) to get a redemption arc/proper second chance in TFP then I'm willing to give it a go! :000 I thought it would be fun for them to be a thorn in Megatrons side as stupid lieutenants but an Autobot redemption arc is something I'm always willing to explore! :)))

I think you're right actually, in my opinion I think Ratchet would have a better understanding of internet memes than any other bot.

Some people might think Bee would understand better. But the truth is him and Ratchet are both cybertronians. Just because Bee is younger doesn't mean he automatically has a more based sense of humor. Their level of understanding of internet humor boils down to how much of the internet they have been exposed to. Which I think Ratchet has had the most exposure.

Not that's not to say he really understands it or finds it all funny. But its more like-

Arcee: "What... what even is this image. What am I looking at..??"

Ratchet: "Ah, that is another one of those "meme" things. It is meant to be a humorous image that humans send to each other to make them laugh."

Arcee: "...So.. how is funny..? What does it mean?"

Ratchet: "I have absolutely no idea."

@flutehammer

I have :0 I think I'll only want to watch it if its based around the Octopod and its crew. If it branches out to all the Octoagents I don't think I'll be interested <:/

Monster trucks are not in demolition derby's- <:0 Monster trucks are in Monster Jams and demolition derby's consist of normal sized cars.

As for the separate events, They wouldn't want to be in a demolition derby, cuz that would be painful 💀 but I'm sure a lot of them would have fun watching it :00

And none of them would be able to participate in a Monster Jam even if they wanted to. The bots that would be interested don't have a big enough frame to transform int a monster truck :( but they could at least watch them! Just like Bulkhead and Miko! :)

I imagine that would be very irresponsible of them XD so much for laying low. But I can see Vega, Miata and Zippy daydreaming about it. 😅

@florafandoms

Aww! :D Thank you so much! :))) And I watch a TFP playlist here on YouTube. So far the playlist is still up! :}

@milk-powrit

Actually now that you mention this, all 4 of the factual fam couldn't walk at first after becoming a drawing.

I always meant to draw comics over time of them slowly getting better and better at walking. But never got around to it.

In present day I guess I can say all that development was behind the scenes and they can all walk just fine now <XD

I don't think they'd pull any pranks on me of any kind. They wouldn't want to upset or confuse me in anyway. But boy would they probably mess with each other XDD Jangles and Cici especially.

I couldn't really put the gifs in this ask post <XD but I've always imagined trying to animate my fam and I wanted them to be very smooth and soft looking. Like Disney animation or something James Baxter would animate.

Bibi and Cici especially, smooth and flowy :0 Maybe someday I'll try to animate that....

I feel like Jangles would really dig that :00

@lilylink

AAAAA THANKYOU! :DDD 💞💞💞

I hate to day it, but his voice drives me up the wall 😅💔I cant watch anymore playthroughs of the demo because his voice annoys me so much. <:/

As for the fam. I feel like Gerald might have what it takes. But the other three would be a bit camera shy <XD Bibi especially.

I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the Stephen King or Harry Potter cars.. but I'm sure they'd have an interest in Doc Hudson! :D

I do that once in a while if I get an ask that inspires me. :0 But I don't think I'd want to do that regularly <XD That feels kind'a like I'd be roleplaying which would be kind'a weird for me-

@glitchhayden418

don't call me that 🫵👁️👁️🗡️

Also Walter sounds like a great name XDD But if not that then maybe Timone?

Bibi XDD

@randomfandomarts

There's more than one?? :0 I had no idea! If I could get my hands on them somehow maybe I'd be motivated to read them :000

@beryl-shade

I'd say its Bibi :0 And not just because he's actually the eldest sibling XDD Its also because he is usually the voice of reason and keeps the other 3 out of trouble. 🤭

@digi-vie

AAAWWWWW FLUFFY BABYEEEEEE😭😭💞💞💞

(First link in ask) (Second link in ask)

Aww, she seems so sweet in those two videos! 🥰🥰

Oh boy- I hope they don't make a cruddy movie just for the money 💔

[anxiousalienwriter]

I woke up mad and had to write this down right away. It's not like super edited, and still kind of rough but if the show won't give me what I want, I'll do it myself.

---

Bobby blinked his eyes open, wincing at the harsh glare. He immediately shut them again. Where was he? He tries to take stock of himself, remember where he last was.

The lab. Blood. Buck's broken screams rattling in his mind. Athena's quiet presence, her fierce eyes demanding he stay.

The way her face shifts as she realizes he can't.

He blinks his eyes open again, the bright light around him less harsh now. He's in a... hospital bed? He can hear beeping around him, hushed voices. He tries to look around, but everything is blurry. He blinks a few more times, trying to clear his vision.

"He's waking up."

Bobby is wide awake at that voice. Because that can't be. That sounds like -

He turns his head to the side to see Brooke smiling her toothy grin at him. "You're awake!"

Tears immediately spring to Bobby's eyes as he stares at his daughter. It's been so long since he's seen her face. He reaches out slowly, letting his fingers drift over her forehead, cheeks. He's worried she's gonna disappear under his touch. But as soon as he makes contact - feels the warm skin beneath his hand - he can't help but let out a sob as he cups her cheek.

"Nice going, Brooke! You made him cry!"

Bobby turns his head to the other side, smiling at the pout Robert Junior is giving his sister. He's sure Brooke is sticking her tongue out at her brother. Chuckling, he wipes his tears with his free hand- useless as more just begin to fall - before reaching out to cup his cheek as well. He has his kids, back with him, alive under his hands. He always hoped he would see them again, but to actually have it now?

He's unsure how long they sit there for. His gaze bounces back and forth between them, constantly worried that they'll disappear as soon as he's not looking. At some point, his hands had drifted down to hold theirs, Brooke playing with his fingers as she smiles at him. Junior squeezing his hand fiercely, protectively.

"Mom told us you'd be like this," Brooke says, voice teasing. Bobby almost tears up again.

"Yeah, we gotta go meet her. It's time to get up, Dad."

As soon as Junior says that, Bobby has a flash of... something. Bright lights and harsh voices. As quickly as they come, they disappear.

He shakes his head as his kids stand up from their chairs at his bedside, pulling insistently at his hands. He lets himself be pulled, sitting up in bed before standing on shaky legs. He glances down at himself, notices he's in his uniform. Brooke and Junior lead him out of the room.

One second, he's in a hospital room. The next - it looks to be Hen's kitchen.

Brooke and Junior look up at him, patient by his side in a way he doesn't remember his kids being. "Why are we here?"

"You tell us." Junior shrugs at him. "You're the one leading this."

What?

How is he leading this? What even is this? He wants to ask, but he can't as he hears a door open and close softly. He watches as Hen comes in, shoulders dragged down by an invisible, heavy weight. Karen is close behind her.

They're silent as they move about the kitchen. Karen pulling out food from the fridge. Hen pulling out Tupperware containers.

"Where is the wake?"

Karen's quiet question feels piercing and loud in the somber stillness of the kitchen. Hen stops what she's doing - a flinch in her movements. She stares down at the Tupperware in her hands.

"The house."

Neither of them have to say what that means. Bobby understands. He wonders why Athena would have it there and then thinks it makes perfect sense she'd have it there.

This would be a goodbye to Bobby and everything she built with him.

He feels his eyes well up, letting go of his children's hands so he can wipe at them. He knew he had to go. But this? Knowing he's left them with this?

His eyes follow Karen as she moves over to Hen. She puts one hand on Hen's shoulder. The other tugs Hen's hands away from the Tupperware she now has a death grip on. Once the plastic is free, Karen sets it on the counter before wrapping her arms around Hen, tight. Hen's shoulders shake in silent sobs as she clings to her wife. Even now, it's obvious she's trying to hold it together.

Until Karen whispers, "It's okay, baby. I got you."

Bobby feels like he's intruding now as he sees Hen give herself into breaking down. Her shoulders shake more violently, body trembling as her voice begins to crack with her cries. "He should be here! We were supposed to have more time. He was supposed to have more time!"

Karen tries her best to calm her wife, quiet reassurances too soft for Bobby to hear over Hen's wrecked sobs. Bobby isn't sure he should be seeing this. But maybe this is his punishment. He's the one that left this grief behind. It's only fair he should have to witness it.

He glances down at his children, but they aren't looking at him. They're watching Hen, frowns on their faces. Brooke seems to sense her father's stare as she peeks up at him, mouth twisting slightly up in the corners. An attempt at a smile.

"They're gonna offer her the captaincy."

Bobby's not surprised about that. He can't imagine the onslaught of emotion and responsibility Hen is feeling. The feelings he caused in her by leaving.

Hen's sobs finally quiet down. After a while, she pulls back from Karen, wiping at her face. She gives Karen an unsteady smile that looks more like a grimace as her wife gives her a tissue. Hen wipes her face, taking a few deep breaths, following Karen's exaggerated breaths to get her calm again. Once her breathing is mostly back with the occasional hitch, she returns to fiddling with the Tupperware on the counter. "He should be here," she repeats again quietly before beginning to pack the food into containers.

Karen watches her for a second before jumping into help her. Bobby notices she purposefully tries to knock into and touch Hen as much as she can as they move around each other. The kitchen is back to silent with only the occasional sniffle from Hen.

Bobby looks down as he feels a hand tug at his. Junior flashes him a slight smile, gone as quickly as it appears. "It's time to wake up, Dad."

And right as he says that, Bobby swings his eyes back up to Hen's, only for them to lock. They both stare wide eyed at each other, stunned still. Hen drops the food dish she's holding.

"Hen! What -"

Karen's question is cut off by her muffled curse as she hurries to grab napkins. Hen is left frozen, staring at Bobby, mouth agape.

"Bobby."

Bobby opens his mouth to respond, but then Brooke grabs his other hand, and in a blink, he's gone.

The next area is not entirely what he's expecting. It's the roof of the 118.

"Still wanting to make some stops, Dad?" Junior asks.

"Mom will understand. She said this would happen too," Brooke says in that matter of fact way all 9 year olds like to do.

Bobby can't really focus on them, though, as he spots Chimney, leaning heavily against the wall edging the roof. His hands are dangling over the side, vodka bottle hanging loosely from his hands.

Bobby immediately gets the urge to walk over and smack the bottle out of his hand. This is the last thing he wanted for Chimney. But he should have known. He should have known the man would be drowning in his guilt. In his anger.

He understands it better than most.

He looks behind him as the fire escape door bangs open. Chimney is obviously startled by it, jumping as he turns around. Once he sees Maddie emerge, breathing heavily with a hand on her stomach as she leans against the wall, he moves into action.

He sets down the vodka bottle on the ledge. Rushing over to his wife, he gently takes her hand, peeling her away from the wall and leading her over to a chair. Once she's settled, he flutters his hands over her, obviously unsure what to do next.

"Maddie! What are you doing, there's no elevator up here! That's too much! Are you okay? Do you need anything, water? I should get you some water -"

"Howie," Maddie almost whispers his name with how soft it comes out. "I'm okay." She grabs his arm, squeezing it once.

That seems to settle Chimney as he carefully sits next to her, scooting his chair closer so he can easily hold her hand. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. Buck told me you might be up here. Very rude to hide away somewhere so inconvenient for your wife to find you." She squeezes his arm again. "We hide away together, remember?"

"I'm sorry, I just." He gives his head a jerky shake as if trying to dispel his thoughts. "I needed a minute."

Maddie eyes the vodka bottle sitting on the edge. "Howie -"

Chimney stands abruptly, running his hands through his hair. "It's not right, Maddie. He should - he should be here! Fuck, he should be here." He shoves his fingers into his eyes, rubbing harshly. "He left us here to deal with his choices. He left me here! I have to deal with knowing I get to live because he fucking saved me. And I can't even be mad at him because he's dead. Because he sacrificed himself! I can't yell at him! I can't punch him! I can't shake him and tell him what an idiotic choice he made! I can't -" He pauses, a slight tremor working through him as he catches his breath. "How dare he save me." His voice breaks.

"Hey." Maddie's tone is harsher than Bobby's ever heard it. "Don't say that. I am so grateful to him that he saved you. Do you know how guilty that makes me feel? That I have this happiness that he's the one dead and you're alive. That you're still here with me." Her voice shakes as she covers her mouth. Chimney looks at his wife, heartbreak written all over his features. He pulls her into a careful hug as she continues, "It's so hard to look Athena in the eye. To know that there's a part of me, happy her husband died so that I can keep mine. I mean, how fucking selfish of me, right?"

Chimney hushes her gently, rocking her slowing back and forth. "No. It's not selfish. It's human. I'm so sorry, I've been so wrapped up in my own shit." He takes a deep breath, pausing his rocking as he presses his lips to the side of Maddie's head. "I didn't even think about how you've been feeling. If anyone's selfish here, it's me."

"Howie. I wasn't saying that to make you feel bad." She leans back, wiping her eyes as she meets Chimney's. "I just want you to know you aren't alone. That you don't have to deal with this alone. It's understandable how you're feeling. You're pissed. You wish there was another way, a way he could have been saved. I wish there was too. But I also know Bobby wouldn't want you to keep torturing yourself like this. To wonder if there was some miracle you could have found. If you could have done more. There was nothing you could do." She grabs his hand, holding it so tight her knuckles turn white. "The worst thing you can do, is let this consume you. To run away from it and try to ignore it. To ignore the people still here. That's unfair to Bobby and to you."

A tear falls from Chimney's eye as he sniffles. He doesn't say anything as he leans his head on Maddie's shoulder. She hums softly, running her fingers through his hair. Bobby almost doesn't hear her next words. “You're not alone. I'm right here.”

"It's time to wake up, Dad."

Bobby's eyes jump away from the scene in front of him down to Brooke. He can barely make out her features through his blurry eyes. He quickly wipes at them, unsure when he started crying himself.

That's when he feels someone is staring at him.

He snaps his gaze to lock with Chimney's across the roof. He wishes Chimney took this time to yell at him. Bobby can only hope Chimney can see the remorse on his face. He doesn't regret what he did, not for a second, not if it meant Chimney got to live. He's just sorry that he's left him with this in the process.

Maddie notices Chimney's stare, turning around but obviously not seeing Bobby. She looks back to Chimney with concern. "Howie? What is it?"

“Bobby.”

At that moment, Bobby feels both of his hands be grabbed again and the roof blinks out of view.

He's in a house again. It's Buck's. No - wait, Eddie's.

He's standing in the living room. The house is still.

"Not many more stops now," Junior comments. Brooke shushes him. Junior shushes back.

Bobby pays them no mind as the front door opens, Eddie leading a despondent Buck into the house.

Eddie's eyes are drawn, distant as he toes his shoes off. Buck doesn't even bother, walking over to the couch and sitting down. His stare is vacant, eyes rimmed with red. He hasn't cried - Bobby can tell. But he's close to breaking.

Quietly, Eddie disappears into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later with a glass of water. He hands it to Buck as he takes a seat beside him on the couch. Neither of them say a word, and Buck doesn't drink from his water. They both stare absently ahead.

Eddie is the one to break the silence. "I'm going back to Texas."

Buck flinches so hard, water sloshes over the side of the cup. He turns accusing eyes on Eddie, betrayal obvious on his face. "You're leaving again?" His voice is rough, scratchy from unshed emotion.

Eddie nods, avoiding Buck's gaze. He fidgets with the sleeve of his suit jacket. "I can't stay here. Everywhere I look, I see him. I see how I failed him. How I failed everyone and I can't stay here. Not with that on my shoulders."

Buck slams the water glass down on the coffee table as he stands up. He paces away from Eddie as he rubs his hands over his face. "You think I can? Everywhere I look, I see him, Eddie. He is all over LA. But I can't leave! I can't leave him!" He turns back to Eddie, his mouth a harsh line. "You can't either. You know you can't handle this alone. You don't have to handle this alone! Lean on me, I'm right here!"

Eddie shakes his head, meeting Buck's eyes for the first time. His eyes are round, pleading. "Buck. It's not that simple for me."

"Bullshit!" Buck practically yells as he runs a rough hand through his curls, tugging at the ends. "You weren't there, right? That's why you're feeling guilty. And I'm sorry but that's bullshit! You can't erase the fact that you weren't here." Guilt crosses Buck's face at Eddie's wince. It makes him falter but he continues on, determined. "But you can make up for it now. By being here now. The 118 needs you. Chimney, Hen, Athena, they need you. Hell, I need you!"

Eddie is silent for a moment before standing up and walking over to Buck. They stare at each other, Buck's erratic breathing the only sound in the room. There is so much in their faces that Bobby can't even begin to untangle it all. Buck's breathing calms slightly when Eddie places a hand on his shoulder. The hand slips around his neck, pulling him in until their foreheads rest together. Buck closes his eyes, breathing slowing, missing the way Eddie's eyes soften.

"It's okay. You can let go. It's just us."

Buck's shoulders slump at Eddie's words. He leans more fully into Eddie, letting him support his weight. Eddie moves his arms to wrap around Buck's waist to hold him more securely, looking more like he's holding him up at this point. Bobby wouldn't be surprised if he was.

Eddie leads them back to the couch, the two falling onto it. Buck immediately buries his face in Eddie's neck but Bobby still sees the first tear fall.

"He said to be strong. He said they needed me. He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. I need him. He should be here!"

Eddie just runs his hand up and down Buck's back in a slow, soothing motion. "That's why you haven't broken down. You feel like you can't."

Bobby feels winded with the rush of guilt he feels. He never meant for Buck to shut himself down completely. Though, maybe he should have guessed he would. He just needed Buck to be strong. To see that he could carry on without him.

Buck lets out a wounded sound, clinging to Eddie as he finally allows himself to break down. "He should be here. He should fucking be here! But he's not. He left me. He left me behind." He pulls away from Eddie to glare at him through his tears. "Don't you dare run away. You can't run away, Eddie. You need us like we need you and I can't - I can't."

Eddie tucks Buck back into his side as he nods. "I won't, Buck. I'll stay. I'm here."

"It's time to wake up, Dad."

Brooke pulls at his hand to get his attention. It seems she's been doing that for a while, given the slightly impatient look on her face. He hears a gasp and a shout, bringing his gaze back to Eddie and Buck on the couch.

They're both sitting up straight, staring directly at him with disbelieving eyes. Eddie is frozen in shock. Buck doesn't seem to have that problem as he scrambles up, desperate to get to Bobby.

"Bobby!"

Right before he's in reach, Junior grabs Bobby's other hand, and the room disappears from view.

The next room is one he never thought he'd see again. Their unfinished kitchen/dining room. He's hit suddenly with the memory of that fateful morning. A cup of coffee in his hands as he discussed with Athena what needed to be tackled next. Painting was high on the list, his wife had opinions. He was happy to sip his coffee and listen, hiding his smile at Athena's strong reactions to her swatches.

He feels an ache somewhere deep inside of him. He never wanted to leave. He wasn't ready to go.

Athena was sitting there now, at a round dinner table she must have just set up recently. There's a glass of wine at her elbow, phone off and silent next to it. Her head is in her hands.

His wife always had such a big personality, taking up all the attention in the room as soon as she walked in. It was wrong to see her so small and defeated.

"Oh Bobby." Her quiet voice shattered the stillness. "Why aren't you here, baby?"

Bobby couldn't control the way his feet moved him over to her. He was sure he couldn't touch her. But maybe she would still feel him nearby.

She seems to sense something as he sat down next to her. She lifts her head up, dropping her hands to the table. Bobby hovers a hand over hers before letting it fall, delicately. Carefully. He curls his fingers around her hand, tight. He's not sure if she can feel it at all.

He can't feel her.

"I'm so sorry, Thena. I wasn't ready to go. I didn't want to leave you alone." He hears his voice turn rough as a tear falls from his eye, landing near their joined hands.

Athena shakes her head and blinks. "Bobby..."

"It's time to wake up, Dad."

No. No, he's not ready to leave. He doesn't want to leave. He feels terrible even thinking it, knowing his children are here. Knowing Marcy is waiting for him. But he can't leave.

Gentle, small fingers pry his hand off of Athena's, squeezing once it's in their hold. He glances up to see Junior smiling at him sadly. "It's time."

Bobby looks back at Athena who is now looking around the room wildly, searching for something.

He knows she's searching for him.

"I'm so sorry, Athena. I'm so sorry, love." He gets up, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead as he does. "I love you so much," he mumbles against her head, hoping somehow, someway, she can feel it. Brooke grabs his other hand once he's standing, tugging insistently.

And just like that, his dreams are gone.

He's standing in the middle of a park. One that was by their old apartment. Brooke learned how to ride a bike here. Junior played baseball with his friends here. He would take countless strolls with Marcy down the trails, on beautiful perfect days, just like today.

Brooke and Junior are still standing beside him, holding tightly onto his hands. They let go as a woman appears in front of him, emerging out of the tree line.

"Mom!" The children shout, running to her side.

"Calm down, calm down! You act like you haven't seen me in years."

Bobby breaks down at hearing Marcy's gently teasing voice. He falls to his knees, finally taken out by all the emotion he's witnessed and felt for however long he's been on this journey. He feels beyond exhausted, wrung out of every last bit of emotion. Seeing Marcy, his children, so radiant, happy and alive is the final straw.

"Dad had so many stops to make, Mom. It took a while," Junior explains.

Marcy just hums, all three of them making their way to where Bobby is still collapsed on his knees. He looks up, blinded by a bright light. He hears ringing and harsh voices.

"He's waking up, sir!"

He blinks and it fades, replaced by Marcy's gentle smile. "Bobby." She reaches a hand out to run through his hair, just like she used to. It works like it always did to settle him. He closes his eyes as he feels her fingers scratch lightly with each pass through. "You're really fighting this."

"I'm sorry, I don't -"

"I know. You aren't ready." Marcy's smile turns understanding. "It's not your time."

"I don't want to leave you! It's just -"

"Your family needs you," Marcy finishes, pulling lightly at his hair.

He shakes his head, turning a pleading look up to her. "You're my family," he stresses.

Marcy just smiles that same understanding smile. Bobby is sure he doesn't deserve it. "I know. But they are too. And right now, they need you a lot more than we do."

Bobby closes his eyes, seeing a murky image form of that kitchen/dining room. He sees Athena, slumped back in her chair, stare vacant. He sees her snap out of it as Hen walks in with Karen, both laden down with food. Chimney and Maddie arrive next, exchanging hugs and soft smiles. Buck and Eddie are the last to arrive, both looking shaken up. He can't make out what they're saying, everything too blurry and distant. But he knows.

He knows Buck is the first to bring it up. He knows they all talk about their own experiences. He knows how that morphs into sharing memories, laughing and crying together. Coming together in shared grief. He can't see it but he knows it with startling clarity.

He blinks open his eyes again. He's standing now, Marcy's hands on his shoulders. "It's time to wake up."

He nods, finally understanding. He presses a soft kiss to Marcy's forehead. He bends down to squeeze Brooke in his arms, pressing a kiss to her head. He ruffles Junior's hair before pulling him into a hug, ignoring his giggling protests as Bobby presses a kiss onto his cheek. He misses them fiercely.

He steps back, taking a look at his family. Soaking in their smiling faces. "I'm coming back. This isn't goodbye."

"Of course it isn't. It's a see you later!" Brooke says with a sad smile.

"We'll see you later, Dad. When you're ready, this time," Junior adds with a bittersweet grin of his own.

"Take your time, Bobby. We'll be here." Marcy blows him a kiss before taking hold of their children's hands. "Now get out of here, already."

Bobby blinks back his tears, unwilling to let his family leave his view until he has to. He commits their faces to memory, the way they look now. Happy.

Another blink. Bright lights. Harsh voices.

"He's waking up, sir!"

He's in a hospital, surrounded not by family. But by men in uniforms, poking and prodding at him. He sits up slowly, wincing.

"Robert Nash. Welcome back to the land of the living."

[theartofwoompwoomps]

I never knew we could coexist together 

Shadow x reader

Summary : shadow is surprised to learns that humans understand grief. And he learns it from the human that’s the most tolerable and happiest in his life. 

———————————————————————

“Do you really think you could ever understand.” 

His voice ragged and tight from the anger. There’s no way anyone could understand what he lost. Especially not you…

You have everything. A happy family, friends, a place in this world. 

 he had nothing…

Sure others may have accepted him, yet it has never been the same and it hasn’t ever taken the pain.

Someone as happy as you wouldn’t and shouldn’t ever understand his pain. 

His grip getting tighter in his hand, he can feel himself shaking a bit as he lowers his eyes to the ground.

He feels bad for snapping at you. He wasn’t expecting to have all his pent up anger explode on you. Finally the shame starts crawling it’s way and he was getting ready to leave. He didn’t want to see your face.

Not right now, when he feels so angry with you even though you’re the only one thats stuck around. 

All his emotions are spinning all over his head just waiting for another opportunity to explode, and he does not want you to be at the end of it.

Without saying anything else, he keeps his head down as he turns to leave. 

But just as he’s a few steps away his are is pulled back quite forcefully towards you again.

“What do you think you’re doing—“

You hugged him.

Holding tight making sure you won’t let go of him. He tenses a bit not fully processing what you’re doing. 

Why are still trying? Why do you still care even if he hurt you? He doesn’t deserve you.

Before he realizes it, he’s holding you close as well. 

Nothing is said between either of you, he’s simply shaking a bit in your arms as you rub his back a bit.

Memories come back to him. Those of maria, his actions, and of you.

Small tears roll down his cheeks but he could care less at the moment. “It hurts.” His voice broken and tired from all the pain that never goes away.

You hugged him a bit tighter as you whisper a bit into his ears, “I know shads, i know.” Not daring to let go or abandon him in this moment, you wait it out. Feeling your own tears slowly dropping as well as his cries intensify.

He feels like he just got ran over, but at least you’re still there, holding him. Both of you more calmed down from the whole ordeal. 

He finally decides to let go from your embrace and you let him. 

He sits on the ground and you follow along and sit next to him. Just waiting to see who’ll be the first to speak.

Surprisingly after a few minutes shadow softly starts speaking, “i don’t want to talk about it.” His brows furrow a bit, “i appreciate your kindness, but I don’t like speaking about my pain.” 

He feels you caress his hand. “That’s okay,” holding it firmly when turns it offering you to continue your action of affection, “i understand that pain can be hard to share.”

He turns to see you, eyes glazing over you face wondering what ever could have caused you pain to make that expression.

“You might be surprised but humans suffer from many things. Some of us are just a little better at pretending nothing’s wrong.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt to do that?”

You look over, seeing his worry through his eyes. “Of course it does. Suffering is always painful.” Your eyes and hands never leaving one another. Sharing more emotions this way than any words could describe.

You lean a bit onto him, “but you know,” he reciprocates as you continue, “i think that’s a reason why there’s so many of us in the first place. Maybe so we could  help each other through the pain… it’s too bad many seem forget the value of this”

He shifts a bit as he feels you move again. This time you’re kneeling a bit in front of him. 

“That’s why I’m so glad that I at least have you in my life.”

His heart twinges a bit, feeling guilty for trying to ever push you away. And you notice it before he even says anything.

“Please don’t shut me out,” you’re hugging him again.

And he hugs you back, holding you softly as he feels your breath on his shoulder. Your actions and words melting all the doubt and numbing the pain. He’s comforted knowing that you’re not going nowhere, staying right there with him.

“Im glad that it’s you, and not anyone else at my side.”

———————————————————————

masterlist

[ikneesias]

The thing about Tommy is that, as a once closeted gay man, he understand how overwhelming it can be to someone who just awakened or just come out. Tommy seems like someone who knows how painful something can be and doesnt want to inflect it to someone else if he can.

Thats why he never wanna pressure Buck into something more because he knows how hard it is. He said he lets Buck set the pace and just trying to keep up, and its shown in his way of treating Buck.

During their first kiss, Tommy definitely wants more, but its too much. If it was someone else, when Buck was showing his starstruck eyes after the kiss, yeah it can definitely ended up more than that.

During their first date, when Buck was overwhelmed and ended up lying and stuff, Tommy cut it short because he doesnt wanna pressure Buck. (Like im telling you, if its someone else not this understanding, Buck's number will be blocked, immediately).

When Buck went on and pounced on Tommy in hospital kiss, that was something wild. That was Buck suddenly running and Tommy was so shocked that he was a bit speechless. How can someone be so shy and starstruck at first, then became such a wild man in their third promised date.

I think this is definitely playing more on Tommy's feeling than he'd like to admit. I don't know what Tommy's motive at first, probably just thought Buck looks good, and he wants me so let's see where this is going as I guide him into this new world.

(Kinda like, I don't have someone to guide me back then, so I think I can guide him on this, but Buck went on to show him that he does not need that much guidance and everything kinda lost control for Tommy).

All of these should be the catalyst for his feelings. But in his mind this should not be too fast too soon. In his mind, he is the only one developing things. In his mind this game should be played slowly because feelings should be gradual isnt it? But Buck is not the one to play like that. Thats why he is scared. He does not know Buck that deeply. He does not know if Buck is like him, developing feelings like him or not. He does not know if Buck can even love him like that...

He is insecure.

Now that I think about it, this lacks of communication always stems from Tommy's issues. If its Buck's issues, Tommy can guide him into this good communicable stuff they can discuss. As long as its not himself, Tommy can have a perfectly normal conversations. But if its himself, he cant open up and Buck also cant guide him as nicely as he is to Buck. And its not Buck's fault.

.

.

Anyway, I lost track of what I wanna write after writing for about 10 minutes. Me and my overexplaining self 😭

After rereading, I love how it went from explaining how considerate Tommy is to their current issue.

I need to sleep.

[sunlitlemonade]

@cologona here's the au gist i promised you! 💗

-> so i like to think it starts off with a case that mirrors the garzonas incident. since we're working with the current canon batfam & not the vision i usually work with [in which jason is never really a part of the batfam post-resurrection because utrh gave him more answers than he needed lol but if we went with that we wouldnt need this au] jason is working with the bats on this case.

-> it is a csa case & jason ofc feels this very personally. this is not to imply that he has crimes tier-listed on the intensity of fucks he gives obviously, just that he's only human & this has been a sore subject for him for a long time now

-> i won't get into the details of it since i haven't fleshed it out completely but their target dies before they can get to him. everyone is naturally pissed off since they believed they could get some intel from him about the larger trafficking ring he was connected to

-> they are not just pissed at the situation but more specifically at jason because they obviously think he did it, without investigating who could be responsible. just as the news hits the comms they just swivel to him, forgoing their 'world-class detective training' that decrees they never jump to conclusions

-> after a few fraught weeks they manage to find whoever was responsible & in turn untangle a web of rival gangs that wanted to take over their target's operations. they enter the aftermath phase since the resulting power vacuum led to a lot of infighting but whatever this is getting off track-- basically they wrap up the case the best they can for now.

-> but by then damage has been done. jason sees crystal clear how bruce hadn't believed him abt garzonas & still didn't believe him, despite everything, despite the past two years he's spent being a leashed dog essentially [sort what of what i had planned for the prompt @bestangelofall had sent A While Back 'bruce blaming jason for a murder he might or might not have committed' sorry i never got around to it bestie]

-> it's the last straw for him. he let his throat get slit, his sharpness get muffled, he endured countless tests of trust & faced betrayal and this is what he gets. he's always the last resort, the outlier and it took no time at all for them to turn their backs on him. there was of course no apology at all either.

-> he slowly starts giving up on them & his dream that they ever may be a family again. its tough for him as a person who so desperately craves connection & love but this event forces him to cultivate enough self-worth to start pulling himself out of their circle slowly but surely.

-> the process starts with cataloguing all the ways they place no trust in him but expect him to get past his hold-ups & trust them anyway, how his perspective & methods are constantly dismissed but he is expected to play by their rules & strategies, how none of his opinions really matter to them & this general lack of effort of their end to meet him halfway to try & mend things + a lot of indifference.

-> he carries on normally because he knows that a sudden retraction might send up some sort of red signal- he knows that they refuse to let him go his own way [takes a while for him to understand that as much as they like to downplay his skills they know what he's capable of what & how dangerously efficient he can be] but simultaneously never really let him be a part of their group entirely either. some sort of absurd "you can't leave but you can't stay here either" situation. to them he's another sentry when the need arises.

-> a lot it hinges on the fact that they all refuse to give up on bruce & seem to think that if things between him & bruce mend, bruce will be happier............. completely forgetting that they only want jason to bend when it's bruce doing most of the damage & none of the compromise.

-> after this realization period where that first spark of hurt resentment simmers into something like an ache due to the feeling of being unwanted, he starts reacquainting himself with his past passions & hobbies & the gumption at the core of him that had corroded along the way.

-> i like to think he finds a theater group to involve himself in or a book club at the local library or starts doing book readings for orphans every other weekend or volunteers at soup kitchens or as a mysterious food tour guide [he's a hit with the scared tourists in my head sjebhdjse, i have this elaborate vision of how he would conduct a tour lol]. just different things to keep himself occupied. he has accepted that he will see the rest of them around gotham & will help if the situation is dire but he stops craving acceptance.

-> being busy helps him to not linger & makes his life fuller

a thing to note abt jason: he's a lonely character. he's been isolated throughout various stages of his life- living alone on the streets after the demise of his parents [as opposed to bruce who had alfred & dick who had bruce. not to imply that this made it easier for them, being orphaned cannot be easy in any circumstance, this is only a difference to be noted, the lack of a support system vs the presence of one], as robin [no team unlike dick or the other robins that followed, he only had eddie as a vigilante friend as far as i remember & a few civilian friends like rena & dana & none of them had any long-running appearances that built a dynamic with jason] and after his death

so involving himself in all these activities and meeting new ppl allows him to build a life beyond what his past was like. maybe he starts writing letters to eddie again, starts meeting up with talia more, connects with rose thru eddie, dials up roy's number & talks for hours

-> maybe this even takes him out of gotham for while BUT ONLY FOR A WHILE. DO NOT FORGET GOTHAM IS HIS HOME THERES NO OTHER PLACE FOR HIM, NO OTHER PLACE HE WANTS!!!!!!!! LEAVING IS TEMPORARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-> he's fucking up shit with eddie & rose, maybe talia plucks him away for a little vacation to some island, he could visit roy & lian, even do a solo trip! go a country he selects at random & spends his time working in vineyards and doing touristy things, buying books in their native language to practice it

-> this leisure period, while refreshing, can only last so long before he gets restless. he gets back to gotham but he's... lighter. he's not at edge anymore, anticipating when he might make a misstep & get thrown aside. the undercurrent of anxiousness is gone, he knows he's good enough for the ppl who actually give a fuck abt him + he's helping the city & actually being a part of it in his civilian life & not just his vigilante life now. it's as close to contentment as he can get at the moment. not to be mistaken as everything is fixed & dandy but he's healing. it's a start.

-> & while jason is grieving his relationship to the family, keeping up a civil front in the process of cutting ties mentally, they take the recent lack of arguments between him & bruce [& to a lower degree, the rest of them] as him not 'acting out' anymore...... whereas it just not him giving a fuck abt what they want or think anymore & not wasting his energy on them lmao

now one could argue that jason is an expressive guy & he isn't shy abt airing his grievances, which is part of why there is so much conflict & you would be right! however consider: he doesn't want any more conflict, he doesn't want interaction with them period & he's a strategic guy. he knows retreating in a way that is barely detectable is the best bet for him. any hint that he might be growing tired & coming to a very final decision abt cutting out bruce from his life might trigger an all-out bat infestation in his space lol. at least its what i think! there's ofc several way to go abt it & if anyone thinks different, feel free to discuss!

-> this 'lack' of 'arguments' is what makes the bats want to reintegrate jason into their 'family' again...... unforchies for them :] jason said bye bye 👋 sjdfhsfh no but its close. they start seeking him out because they like this 'mellow' version of him, whereas in reality jason is just thinking 'can you fucking stop bothering me. bruh' all the while maintaining a distance

-> a lot of his dormant/hidden skills that are depicted in the lost days & utrh but not used around the bats come to light as he starts working in his own ways. this resourceful skillfulness is intriguing to the bats who knew him only through bruce's perspective. they start to see how warm-hearted, intense & competent he is. they catch glimpses of robin in him, in the moments he's a bit playful. it leads to them kind of gravitating towards him, especially since he isn't around much anymore

-> jason views this as a potential threat to the life he's building outside their influence/interference & keeps interactions as short as possible. it's too late to get to know him & they don't even realise it. they can see he's doing a lot better but don't really know why. this plants a seed of hope.............. which makes the rejection later on SO much worse because jason sticks to his word. he's wasted too much time on ppl who didn't deserve it.

this is the bare bones of it! if you're curious abt anything else or have specific questions regarding this au do feel free to ask away! <3 hopefully you like the vision lol

I don't like fics where Jason just abandons Gotham, because that makes no sense what so ever, like where he is supposed to go now??? But fics where Jason leavs the Batfam are soooo it. And I wish there were more fics that has Jason leave the batfam (or just cut Bruce off, I'm totally fine with just Bruce) but stays in gotham. Because dammit he was born and reborn here, he going to stay here.

anon im gripping your shoulders because. YES. YESSSS!!!!!!!!

putting it under the cut because it got long

a/ as you said hes been born & reborn there AND to quote myself he will look at all 10 vigilantes running around that city & go 'none of them get her like i do' & get down to business. he takes everything about that city very personally. making him leave just so the conflict subsides feels like a disservice to his character & the easy way out.

b/ i know we all joke abt jason needing self-respect in order to actually leave the bats, especially given how often he gets degraded at their expense but still sticks around given the direction dc is taking for bat-affiliated characters to make them a family unit. but i really do think he has the gumption & the self-respect [not to be confused with self-worth. he has zero self-worth applied to his life. zilch] to demand the respect & autonomy he deserves. the entirety of utrh was about that. he knew what he deserved from bruce & he demanded it every way he could. he also is flexible enough to work with others but stubborn enough to stick to his own ways [see: teaming up with bruce in the middle of their extended cat & mouse chase, doing flippy maneuvers with him but shooting a nazi right in the head at the end of their team-up] we'll have to stick to that version of him for this scenario to make sense

c/ now it is very important to me that there is no one being bashed for the sake of it. with concepts like these ppl often veer into very extreme depictions of characters. i don't think is always a bad thing, especially if it provides you comfort or catharsis, hell i've enjoyed some fics like that myself but i personally would like to depict this in a manner that shows just how difficult it is for ppl on both ends to understand the other with a special focus on jason ofc since hes the one leaving them/shutting them out. i think the only person who absolutely will catch some strays is bruce but thats expected i suppose. lol

d/ im. extremely pedantic [its a compulsion] & hence feel the need to point out that 'leaving the batfam' is a phrase i use very loosely because 1- i do not enjoy the term batfam anymore & usually stick to 'the bats' or 'bat-affiliated characters' or sometimes 'batclan' 2- jason isnt completely treated as a part of their group & doesnt know half of them very well so 'leaving' here implies putting an end to the prolonged scapegoating, isolation, abuse & cautionary-tale-ification he has faced from bruce & alfred & maintaining his distance with the rest of them.

e/ ESSENTIAL to me that jason stops wearing the red bat suit & goes back to his utrh fit. he'll figure out another way to have tasers in his suit. he's already got a bomb as a part of it. dw abt it y'all. i need him to sever every part of him that's connected to them.

should..... i write up a post abt how i would write an au like this............ let me know if any of you guys want me to yap abt it <3

[misslovasstuff]

In wano, episode 925, we are introduced to Sanji’s raid suit, aka stealth black, aka soba mask…

There was a short moment that really got my attention; when Sanji was talking about his dream of having the fruit that could turn him invisible.

Hopefully you know which moment I’m talking about. Now, if you guys remeber all the way to thriller bark, there we get to know that invisibility was Sanji’s dream. A lot, and when I tell you A LOT of people started despising Sanji after what he claims in that arc.

The thing is, although what he might be saying can be true to some extent, he’s (consciously or not) laying over the real reason why he wanted the invisibility fruit in the first place.

Coming back to wano, Sanji realises that (ironically) his dream of turning invisible can become a reality through the raid suit. Then is when we get a flashback to when he was a kid. To his childhood…

Sanji had that dream since he was A CHILD. So, it comes naturally to assume that of course a kid would not dream of having the invisibility fruit to look at women. There is another reason, a bit more dark that perhaps Sanji hides under this grand and overly exaggerated regard and admiration for women (this is not the first nor the last case he does that fyi).

I don’t know if he wanna appear more tough by pretending and putting this facade of a desperate imitation of masculinity but nevertheless, this is a call to stop taking Sanji’s gag seriously because as I see it, although it does not question the genuine love he has for women, he does use it as a tool that sometimes gets out of his control because of the principles he has nailed down in his life. A tool for the obvious reason of being a gag, and also to throw a bit of dust over his own insecurities and unresolved issues.

This instance that I mentioned, among many, are proof that (using Shkrek’s analogy) he is like an onion with many layers, and the superficial layers are just a basis to convince himself of being somewhat worthy of whatever validation he’s seeking. Like bro would never state that he dreamed of having the invisibility fruit as a kid because he wanted to ACTUALLY become invisible to those around him, to his abusers who inflicted trauma that years later is still fresh on his skin. Like the other time where he would never admit to others that ‘oh no you guys are in danger I need to save you’ Sanji would rather say ‘oh no Nami and Robin are in danger’ and then literally worry for every single one of them.

my man, being caring and loving and showing vulnerability will not get you in trouble anymore.

[uncreative-cryptid]

brain itchy wants to leave skull it has so many thoughts on ocs and story stuff i am dying here i have no mouth and i must scream kinda ass feeling right now

[abyssalpriest]

Damnit lev lmfao. I was thinking about Shiva wearing corpse ash being resonant for other reasons, something about his relationship with the Bright Skinned Ones and death and whatever. No, no. More fucking importantly: Oh I wonder why Shiva is known for. you know. wearing bodies. his appearance is a mass of bodies joined together. yeah