#he’s shaped like a man but he feels like something else

[aonemanarmy]

As the two men ventured beyond the waterfall into the cavern proper, Sephiroth watched the dance of light across the stone walls which reflected a mako-colored hue. It made him think that perhaps at one time this remote location had been host to a natural mako fountain that had long since dried up due to the lack of any obvious human excavation. Perhaps at one time it had also housed rare materia, but if that were the case it had likely been stolen away long ago as many such treasures were.

It was a shame, but the structure of the cavern itself was still a marvel of natural beauty. Even if the notion of someone dwelling here was strange he thought that he could understand why a person might enjoy residing in such a place.

The sound of Vincent's staggering broke Sephiroth from those thoughts as he watched the man slump against a rocky wall, seemingly having difficulty standing. Sephiroth could also make out the distinct scent of blood in the air, which told the madman that Vincent had clearly pushed himself beyond his limitations to arrive here. It was to be expected considering the ex-Turk still possessed the trappings of a mortal shell despite how durable it might be compared to an ordinary human, but at the end of the day even he was unable to keep up with Sephiroth's inhuman capabilities.

Sephiroth didn't mention any of his observations, instead choosing to keep them to himself for later use if necessary. Without thinking to do so Sephiroth had always sought to observe both ally and enemy, his predatory instincts searching for any sign of weakness that could be exploited. It was never necessary of course, but all natural predators knew on an instinctual level that the best battles were those that could be ended swiftly with the least amount of risk.

Except with the shattering of Sephiroth's sanity that notion was rarely a true consideration. Now his mercurial nature made it impossible to guess what the silver-haired man would do and not even Sephiroth himself was capable of predicting how he'd react. It made him all the more of a threat to anyone and everyone around him, especially considering his disdain for people, which made Vincent's request all the more curious.

Whatever Vincent thought he would achieve by bringing him here Sephiroth didn't know, but he followed the man deeper into the cavern until they reached what he assumed to be the central chamber. Inside every surface was seemingly covered in a plethora of crystals in all shapes and sizes; it was probably the most he'd ever seen in any one location before, but if it were truly an old dried up mako fountain then it was hardly a surprise.

Upon feeling Vincent's eyes upon him Sephiroth met his gaze coolly, unsure of what the gunman hoped to see in them. Whatever it was Sephiroth doubted the man found it, but the scent of blood in the air grew distinctively stronger and now the madman could visibly see small spatters of it on the cavern floor and staining Vincent's armor. Were it an ordinary human then Sephiroth would've thought the man had taken a mortal wound, but knowing Vincent's nature it would likely do little more than render the other man unconscious.

It was a very dangerous position for the ex-Turk to be in.

However, the madman's attention was brought to something else in the cavern, and following Vincent's line of sight his eyes alighted upon what appeared to be a woman slumbering within one of the large crystals near the rear of the room. It was a bizarre sight, although not one that really surprised him and was more of a curiosity than anything, save for that strange tug at his subconscious.

“You say Jenova is your mother. That is only partially true; more so in theory.”

At the mention of her name Jenova stirred once more, sinking her cruel talons into his mind. Sephiroth could practically feel the creature's baleful gaze upon him, as if silently daring him to do something – anything – that she could seize upon and wrest control back from him. The madman had no doubt she would do it too if given the chance, but he wasn't about to make that task easy upon her even if Vincent's words were proving to be a less than favorable distraction.

“But your true mother…”

Again with this nonsense.

Sephiroth was created in a lab, a monster brought to life for the sake of Hojo and Shinra's lust for power and insatiable greed. He was made from Jenova's cells – her blood and the lifeblood of the planet itself flowed in his veins – and he had long since come to accept what he was. Why Vincent so vehemently refused to accept this fact he couldn't understand, but he was done with this exchange if that was all this was about.

'I told you of his manipulation, but you refused to listen. Now he seeks to drag you from your destiny and for what? To show you the shell of one of my puppets that I had discarded long ago.'

Yes, Sephiroth could sense Jenova's cells in the woman frozen in crystal. It was the same sensation that he felt whenever he was in close proximity to one of the failed artificial copies that Hojo had created. So was this what Vincent wanted to show him? Yet another cheap, failed copy?

….Seph…

…Sephiroth….?

The soft words echoed around him, startling Sephiroth as he hadn't expected a response to come from the woman. It was almost as if she could see and understand both Vincent and himself despite her slumbering appearance.

“Who are you?” Sephiroth hissed, his eyes narrowing as he faced the woman with open suspicion. As he did so he could feel the pain spike viciously behind his eyes, the sensation akin to a blade being driven through his skull. It would've been enough to drive any mortal man to his knees, but Sephiroth refused to show any weakness, especially not now as Jenova wreaked havoc on his mind . “What do you want from me?”

Vincent internalized a sigh. There was a small chance Sephiroth was aware of Jenova's ploy, but Jenova was the only mother he had ever known. Sooner or later, the truth would be brought to the light; albeit not without Jenova's interference.

Allowing Sephiroth the time to ponder the question, Vincent turned towards his destination. His eyes shifted towards the side when he heard Sephiroth’s question, but the only response Sephiroth got was silence. As cold and heartless as Sephiroth had become, Vincent hadn’t expected Sephiroth to even consider Vincent’s limitations. He’d give him credit for that much at least. But even if he were unfit to travel, it didn’t matter to Vincent. The torturous travel would still be nothing compared to what Hojo had put him through, let alone what he had been enduring for the past 20 some years. Unsurprisingly, the arduous journey took a toll on Vincent’s body. He had barely time to recover for a few days of nonstop travel as it was. Several times, Vincent staggered, either in the snow, across the mountains, or the desert. But each time, he would pick himself back up and continue on. On occasion, they would even happen across monsters, and he’d be forced to fight them off with the dwindling strength that he had. He knew he was putting himself at a disadvantage should things go wrong at the cave. As much as he despised depending upon his demon, Chaos would have to ensure his quick recovery. Finally, they reached the cave. Seeing the beautiful place gave Vincent a bit of energy to continue, though by now he was ready to collapse at any moment. Everything was screaming at him, mentally and physically. By now, Vincent had to use the wall to support himself. He could sense Sephiroth watching his every move. But he ignored Sephiroth’s gaze, keeping himself focused on his destination. She was waiting. And he wouldn’t fail her.

Vincent took a moment to pause at the mouth of the cave, leaning against the rocky wall to both catch his breath and ease the intense pain in his lower body. He could barely stand, but he refused to yield to the desire to meet the ground. Sephiroth’s question made him lift his head and meet Sephiroth’s eyes through a drapery of black tresses. It was a curious question, but a fair one as Sephiroth had no idea what state 'Vincent's person' was in. “Unless somehow forcibly removed, yes.” Vincent stated simply.

The power of the crystal that Lucrecia had encased herself in was not merely made of tangible crystalline formations—it was created from Lucrecia’s will. It was built of something very strong, and not something made by hand, but of the mind. Lucrecia’s pain, regrets, and self-debasement. Whether or not she would choose to come out of her own will was something Vincent couldn’t foresee. Pushing himself onward, Vincent pressed onward through the cave, following the glow of the soft mako-colors bouncing off the cave walls. The soft drops of water echoed melodically as both men walked deeper into the cave. A cool gentle breeze passed by them, followed by the faint voice of a woman, whispering words that were incomprehensible. Finally, Lucrecia’s crystal came into view. Vincent steadied himself and felt a mixture of feelings creep over him. He stood between Lucrecia and Sephiroth, growing silent. She was dressed in delicate white silk, her long hazel brown hair flowing down her back, her fragile hands loosely folded across her chest. The voices grew silent the closer both men got. Feeling his body about to give in, Vincent grappled for one of the protruding crystal formations to break his fall, using it to ease himself to the ground. It was then that he realized just how painful his entire lower body had become. He looked back behind him and saw a few drops of blood on the stones below, ending where he now rested. There was a little blood on his armor, and his skin had become more pale than ever. Seeing the blood made Vincent to bitterly scoff at himself. Vincent turned to glance over his shoulder towards Sephiroth, mindful of Sephiroth's movements or if he showed any signs of ill intent. After a brief moment, he once again turned his gaze up towards the placid face behind the crystal. “You say Jenova is your mother. That is only partially true; more so in theory.” Vincent’s voice echoed, mingling with the gentle breeze in the cave. He was conscious of whatever Sephiroth was doing, knowing full well Jenova would interfere in some way. He proceeded with caution, yet with unwavering purpose. “But your true mother…” Silence fell, and he forced himself to stand once again; his chivalrous nature overriding the need to rest, not wanting his pain to get in the way of properly introducing them to one another. But then he heard a voice. Turning part way towards the woman behind the crystal, he could feel her emotions stirring. The cave began to resonate with a strange type of energy as well. The gentle voice of a woman began to echo in the cave-- the voice of a mother long bereft of her son. ….Seph… …Sephiroth….?

[bumpkling]

consider me a house fandom Australian Cultural Liason: here’s some chase family christmas headcanons!

rowan and his mum definitely drag chase and retcon sister along to midnight mass on christmas day. it, as the name suggests, starts at midnight (imagine sitting awake in lousy wooden chairs on CHRISTMAS EVE/DAY as like. an eight year old. catholicism is stupid) and includes receiving communion (the little wafer, and the wine if you’re old enough). there’s a roman catholic communion chant specific to midnight mass for all you latin enjoyers (me): in splendoribus sanctorum, ex utero, ante luciferum, genui te (in the brightness of the saints, from the womb, before the day star, i begot you)

it’s hot and dry this time of year in australia, so spending the whole of christmas day or boxing day at the beach or the pool is common. i imagine chase and his sister competing in made-up competitions — “i bet i can make the water splash taller with a cannonball!” — with their mum as a judge

“classic catches” is a common one: basically, one person throws the cricket ball out across the pool, and the other takes the most spectacular jump/dive they can to try and catch it before landing in the water (there’s a bluey episode about it). we see chase catch pens/case files/miscellaneous objects a few times throughout the show, so i think he’s honed the skill through games like this lol

bundaberg ginger beer is a classic aussie drink for the summer. it’s not alcoholic, and kind of a stronger ginger ale, made in queensland. virtually synonymous with summer. chase feels like an adult holding the heavy glass bottle, sipping it by the pool, trying not to screw up his face at the strong taste

his family have a christmas day lunch with. yes: prawns on the barbecue. but if i catch any of you calling them shrimp i will have harsh words. you’ve been warned

i have no idea whether other places do this, but christmas meals in australia usually feature ‘christmas crackers’ or ‘bonbons’ (there is a bluey episode about these too). they’re paper and kind of shaped like wrapped tootsie rolls, with trinkets, paper crowns, and little joke cards inside the middle. they’re called crackers because you open them by pulling on either side with someone else, tug-of-war style, and when one side breaks, a little fire cracker lights and makes a small explosion with a crack sound. i think chase looooooves the stupid little crowns and wore them all day as a kid.

on boxing day every year, australia hosts a match of test cricket against another international cricket team. cricket is a slow sport (the boxing day test is like five days long), but visit any aussie household with an adult man present, and the boxing day test is absolutely on the tv. it’s one of those things that make most australians patriotic, even if for the rest of the year they couldn’t care less. i don’t think chase was a cricket kid, but he liked watching craig mcdermott’s fast-bowling against india in ‘85. gave him something to talk about with his mates when school started again.

that said, rowan absolutely had tickets to the big game almost every year, either as work gifts or consolation for his wife and kids when he couldn’t (read: didn’t want to) be there during the holiday celebrations. since it’s held at the melbourne cricket ground, chase probably attended a few. they’re gruelling all-day matches, and not exactly entertaining for young kids, but chase probably looks back at the memories fondly: his mum slathering him with zinc and bug spray, constantly yelling at him to keep his hat on, promising to buy him an icecream at half-time

chase seemed pretty aware of his surroundings as a kid, at least in his home. he never failed to catch his mum’s solemn expressions while cleaning up wrapping paper and preparing platters of fruit and cold cuts, while retcon sister played happily with her presents. rowan never labelled his gifts “from Santa”, not even when retcon sister was young enough not to know: their mum always did.

every year, chase was jealous of retcon sister about something. did she get a larger slice of panettone? did she get one more gift from rowan? did she get to be blissfully ignorant on christmas day, swimming and snacking and not having to worry about how many times mum had topped up her white wine, or how heavy her sighs became as the day got hotter? their competition wasn’t always friendly — sometimes he got pissy, and spat cruel insults at her until she ran off to cry in private. neither of them ever told their mother

[matsmi13]

From Shadow to Utility

For six long years, Louis had held an administrative position within an organization dedicated to professional integration. His days unfolded like a litany of repetitive tasks: opening files, filling out forms, answering the phone. Each action was performed with mechanical precision, every minute meticulously planned. Yet, behind this well-oiled routine lay a deep sense of invisibility.

Officially, he was "helping" others. Yet every evening, as he stepped into his silent apartment, he questioned whether his own life had any meaning. He consumed bland meals in front of a television turned on more out of habit than genuine interest, before collapsing onto his bed. There, in the darkness, a question haunted him, one he scarcely dared to articulate: "Is this really what it means to live ?" A life dictated by routine, where days blurred into one another in a despairing inertia, like a stagnant river refusing to find its course.

------

One evening, after an especially grueling day, Louis left his office. A fine rain fell, draping the city in a gray veil. But instead of heading toward his apartment, he let his feet carry him aimlessly, as if his body was instinctively searching for an escape from his suffocating routine.

He walked for hours, passing through familiar neighborhoods and then into others he had never explored. Gradually, modern buildings gave way to dilapidated structures. The walls were covered in graffiti, and broken windows stared down at the street like vacant, silent eyes.

A burst of laughter shattered the heavy calm. Intrigued, Louis turned a corner into a dimly lit alley. Under a flickering streetlamp, a group of young people gathered, carefree despite the rain. Standing apart from them, leaning against a wall, was a man. Unlike the others, he didn’t move. His posture radiated an unusual authority, and his shiny tracksuit, glistening in the rain, seemed to catch all the light.

“You lost or something ?” the man asked in a deep voice.

Louis froze, startled. “Uh… No, I mean… Maybe.”

The man smirked, a mix of disdain and curiosity. “This place isn’t for guys like you. What are you looking for ?”

Louis lowered his eyes, fumbling for words. Everything in him screamed that he didn’t belong here, yet some inexplicable force held him in place. In a desperate moment, he looked up. “I’m looking… for something else. A different life. I don’t want this empty existence anymore. I want… I want to matter, to feel alive, to be indispensable.”

The man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Change ? But what are you willing to give up for it ?” He asked, stepping forward, his tone almost taunting.

A heavy silence hung between them. Louis took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice wavered, but a newfound resolve underpinned it : “Everything”.

The man stepped closer, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Everything ? Easy to say. But you’ve never risked anything in your life, have you ? That’s why you feel so empty.”

Each word struck Louis like a slap.

“If you had the chance to change everything, your life, your body, even the memory of who you are, what would you say ? ”

A chilling shiver ran down Louis’s spine. The thought terrified him, but he knew he couldn’t keep living as he had been. In a barely audible whisper, he replied : “I’d say yes”

The man straightened, clearly pleased. “Alright, then. Let’s see. Follow me.”

------

They entered a decrepit building. The lobby reeked of damp concrete, the dim light casting long shadows across peeling walls.

The man stopped in the center of the hall, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a device. Its shape vaguely resembled a weapon, but it emitted a strange, electric hum that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“What is that ?” Louis asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

The man gave an enigmatic smile. “A solution to your wish. You wanted to be useful, right ? Then stand still.”

Louis hesitated, but something in the man’s gaze froze him in place. It wasn’t fear. It was a strange, magnetic authority that made retreat impossible. Before he could voice another question, the device was activated.

A beam of cold light swept over Louis, scanning him from head to toe. He felt an unfamiliar sensation ripple through his body : A tingling that grew into an unbearable intensity, his muscles twitching as though dissolving. He tried to move, but he was completely paralyzed.

Louis’s eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his hands. What he saw froze him in terror. His skin, once warm and organic, began to change. It lost its human texture, becoming smooth, uniform, almost synthetic—like fabric stretched taut.

“What’s happening to me ? What are you doing ?” he stammered, panic rising in his voice.

The man remained eerily calm, his tone almost reassuring. “Relax, bro. You’re becoming what you wanted to be: useful.”

Louis’s limbs stiffened, his breathing slowed, and he felt as though his body was draining of everything that made it alive. His flesh unraveled into threads, intertwining and morphing into a flexible, elastic material. His mind screamed in terror, but no sound escaped his lips.

Then the real horror began : his thoughts started to dissolve. Memories, emotions, every fragment of his identity was systematically erased. The doubts, the regrets, even the concept of who he was faded into an unsettling void.

When the transformation ended, there was no trace of Louis left on the cold, tiled floor. In his place lay a crumpled gray tracksuit, lifeless and motionless.

The man crouched down, picked up the garment, and inspected it with a satisfied grin.

“Welcome to your new life bro” he murmured. “You wanted to be useful, didn’t you ? Now you are. You’re perfect. Just a tracksuit. A piece of clothing serves its purpose every day, everywhere. No need to be seen, no need to exist to matter. Just be there, ready for use. Now, you’re with me, wherever I go.”

He rolled up the tracksuit and tucked it into a gym bag. Without a backward glance, the man straightened and walked out of the building, disappearing into the fine drizzle of rain.

------

Outside, the rain continued to fall, its droplets streaking the sidewalks and splashing against his sneakers with every step. He walked at an unhurried pace, his shoulders relaxed, the gym bag swaying gently at his side.

A few streets away, the others were waiting at the usual spot—a bench under a flickering streetlight.

“Took your sweet time ?” called out a guy in a gray hoodie as he saw him approach. “Where were you ?”

“Yeah, we thought you disappeared with that other dude” added another guy in a black cap, slouched on the bench. “Speaking of which, where is he ?”

“Disappeared ? Nah, not at all” the man in the tracksuit replied casually. He dropped the gym bag onto the wet ground with a dull thud, crouched down, and unzipped it. “The other guy? He’s right here”

He reached into the bag and tugged lightly at a sleeve.

A low whistle escaped one of the guys.

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

Then one of them burst out laughing. “No way ! Are you serious ?” he said, standing up from the bench, his eyes wide. “You really did that ?”

“Yeah” the man shrugged, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “He said he wanted a ‘new life,’ didn’t he? Well, he’s got one now.”

The others roared with laughter. Not one of them protested. Not one demanded an explanation.

“Oh, man, the poor guy” chuckled the one in the black cap. “He wanted to ‘change,’ but he didn’t exactly say into what ! And look at it ! brand new ! Smooth, clean...”

“Honestly, it’s better for him this way” the man in the tracksuit added, tucking the sleeve back into the bag and zipping it shut. “At least now he’s useful.”

“Totally” agreed the guy in the black cap. “What was he doing before anyway ? Always whining. ‘My life sucks,’ ‘I’m tired of it,’ blah blah blah. Well, now he’s got a real purpose!”

“Exactly” said the man in the tracksuit, crossing his arms. “Some people spend their whole lives trying to find their place. His? It’s right here, in this bag. And guess what? He’s not going anywhere.”

The laughter erupted again, crude and unfiltered. For them, the logic was simple : You’re either useful, or you become useful.

“So, when are you gonna put him on ?” asked the guy in the hoodie.

The man in the tracksuit shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “Nah, it’s raining and he’s still ‘fresh.’ Gonna keep him warm for now. Don’t worry. He’ll get his turn.”

“Haha, yeah, keep him clean” added the one in the cap. “A piece like that? You gotta take care of it. Trust me, it’ll fit like a glove when you’re ready. A good tracksuit never lets you down.”

The conversation shifted after that, moving on to other trivial topics.

The bag itself sat still near the bench, looking like any other gym bag. But if someone had listened closely, they might have heard a faint rustling, the subtle sound of fabric shifting ever so slightly. A tension, almost imperceptible, that only silence could reveal.

The man in the tracksuit glanced down at the bag, a faint smirk curling his lips.

“See ?” he muttered. “You should’ve kept quiet bro. But hey, you’re better off now. You wanted to change, didn’t you ? Well, you’ve changed.”

He crossed his arms and let his gaze wander down the empty street, his friends’ chatter fading into the background.

“At least now you’ve got a place. No more excuses, no more ‘I don’t know what to do.’ You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Useful. Invisible. Always ready.”

-----

A few days later, the man in the tracksuit pulled the garment from his bag, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Louis no longer existed, not as a man. He had become this flawless piece of clothing, ready to serve its purpose.

The man held it up with a sense of pride, examining the smooth, perfect fabric under the dim light. Slowly, he slipped his arms into the sleeves, adjusting each one with care. The material clung to him, molding to his body like a second skin. Next, he pulled on the pants, ensuring the fit was just right, the fabric draping neatly over his hips and legs.

He stood in front of the mirror, turning side to side, admiring the seamless ensemble. A smirk played on his lips as he pulled out his phone, angling it just so to take a selfie. The shot captured him perfectly: his new tracksuit gleaming under the light, paired with his crisp TN sneakers.

“Perfect” he muttered, his voice low and smug. “Finally useful. Finally in your place ”

Outside, life carried on as usual. The rain had stopped, and the streets were busy with people going about their routines. The man walked through the crowd, blending in effortlessly. To anyone watching, he was just another guy in a tracksuit, nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet every step he took felt deliberate. The fabric moved with him, adapting to his body as if it had always been a part of him. No discomfort, no awkward folds. Just perfection.

Louis was there, quiet and unseen, but undeniably functional. For the first time, he was exactly what he’d always wanted to be : Be useful.

-----

Louis was no longer a man. He was fabric, fibers, and seams. Each thread, each strand had a purpose, a role to play. This was his new reality. No more questions, no more internal struggles. He was no longer human. He was a tracksuit, perfectly crafted to fulfill its function.

Louis stretched, and moved with the man, adapting seamlessly to his every motion. He had become an extension of him, a simple layer of material between the man's skin and the outside world.

The warmth of the human body transferred to the fabric, more and more intensely as the effort increased. Sweat began to bead on the man’s skin, and Louis, now inanimate, absorbed it without hesitation. Each drop, each trace of perspiration soaked into him, the texture of the fabric imperceptibly changing with the contact. There was no discomfort, no resistance. Sweat was no longer an unpleasant sensation; it was part of his purpose. Each droplet slid over him, vanishing into the fibers designed for this exact task.

Louis moistened himself, and the man’s body heat enveloped it, oppressive but entirely functional. Louis felt every movement, every gesture. The bottom of the tracksuit, taut over the man’s legs, hugged each stride, each step. It remained in constant contact with his skin, absorbing the energy of every motion. It stretched, tightened, and moved with the fluidity of action. Louis felt useful, and in that feeling, he found fulfillment.

The man paused for a moment, and Louis silently registered the pressure of his hands on his thighs, fingers gently gripping the fabric. With every movement, the tracksuit responded without sound, smoothing, stretching, adapting.

When the man started to run, the sensation shifted again. The heat intensified, and sweat poured more freely, soaking into the fabric. As a tracksuit, Louis absorbed it all—the moisture, the warmth, ensuring that nothing irritated the man’s skin. He became a vessel for this perspiration, containing it, holding it within himself, all while remaining entirely at the man’s service. With every breath the man took, every movement that grew sharper and faster, Louis stretched a little further, perfectly conforming to the contours of this body with unwavering loyalty.

The heat, the sweat, the contact. This was all Louis knew now. He didn’t think about what he had become. He had no doubts, no regrets. All he felt was the constant presence of the man against him, a pressure he absorbed, a movement he followed, never ceasing. The sweat became his new texture, an organic extension of his existence. It weighed him down, bringing him closer to his purpose. He was made for this: to absorb, to hold, to endure. It wasn’t a burden; it was his role. A tracksuit that served, that helped, that allowed itself to be worn.

At the end of the day, the man, exhausted, returned home. Louis felt the transition, the return to stillness. The fabric relaxed slightly, settling into the man’s folds.

Louis was simply a garment, and in that simplicity, he found his reason for being. He was useful. He had a purpose. He was perfect in his new form, exactly as he was meant to be. Nothing more.

[bardace]

lysander and genderbent lysander except they’re both crossdressing because I have free will and gender is fake

[wulfdreaded]

"yeah,  yeah.  can't  have  you  stinkin'  up  my  forest  when  i'm  doing  spring  cleaning."  zeke  huffed  out  a  little  laugh,  momentarily  tempted  to  entertain  the  idea  -  truly.  not  the  kicking  the  old  farmer  out  of  the  forest,  but  the  spring  cleaning.  get  rid  of  annoyances.  make  the  perfect  home  for  himself,  but  would  it  ever  be?  new  people  would  just  replace  those  he  got  rid  of  &  they  might  be  even  more  annoying.  the  forest  didn't  even  house  that  many  humans,  so  he  probably  shouldn't  complain.  being  called  normal,  though,  did  raise  a  brow.  "normal?  me?  doubt  it."  he  was  holding  back,  at  least  some,  trying  to  appear  as  human  as  possible  while  ...  not  trying  to  be  human.  he  was  done  trying  to  be  one  of  them.  that  phase  didn't  long  &  he  was  glad  for  it  to  be  over.  nowadays  the  only  time  he'd  try  was  for  his  own  advantage.  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.  but  even  that  hasn't  been  necessary,  because  zeke  was  an  impeccable  hunter.  he  was  also  someone  who  appreciated  a  good  petting  if  the  way  he  was  leaning  into  the  other  didn't  make  it  obvious.  what  could  he  say,  it  was  in  his  dna.  that  pull  though,  surely  counted  as  an  illegal  action  &  should  be  punished  severely  for  he  made  the  wolf  gasp  like  an  idiot.  little  grumble  as  he  followed  inside,  suddenly  feeling  like  he  was  invading  a  home  he  shouldn't  be  in.  lie.  he'd  been  invited  after  all.  he  knew  he  should  be  choosing  the  third  option,  he  did,  but  the  farmer's  offer  was  simply  too  tempting  to  pass  up.  besides,  where  else  in  here  would  he  fit?  he  was  not  going  to  sleep  in  the  barn  or  something.  "sure  you  trust  me  in  your  bed?"  hm.  not  that  zeke  had  any  ulterior  moves,  he  assumed  vilem  didn't  either,  but  it  was  still  an  unexpected  offer  &  here  he  was  ...  taking  off  his  clothes  like  he  didn't  have  a  stranger  in  his  home.  unless  he  didn't  think  zeke  was  a  stranger?  why  was  everything  so  complicated  with  the  old  man?  it  was  bothersome.  zeke  followed  suit  &  took  off  his  shirt,  though  when  he  pulled  his  undershirt  over  his  head  &  his  curls  slowly  settled  again,  vilem  would  find  the  wolf's  ears  had  taken  their  natural  shape.  if  they  were  being  truthful  ..."sleeping  in  a  bed  with  rory's  a  bad  idea,  not  really  a  fan  of  the  floor,  so...  uhhhh,  if  you're  sure  you're  not  a  chicken..."

ironic  enough,  one  of  his  newest  friends  is  a  monster  that  goes  by  the  name  of  jeb.  at  least  that's  their  nickname.  they  told  vilem  stories  of  wonderland  and  left  the  man  in  awe,  partially.  he'd  never  want  to  live  there,  for  several  reasons.  the  red  king  sounds  like  a  tyrant  for  starters.  then  there's  the  potions  and  food  that  changes  your  size.  he  doesn't  want  to  be  any  smaller,  or  larger,  thank  you  very  much.  that  gets  him  to  thinking  of  a  solution  to  all  of  this  mess.  everyone  just  needs  therapy.  if  they're  happy  with  who  they  are,  then  they  won't  really  seek  out  becoming  something  else.  tuh.  “i  better  get  to  stepping  then,  huh?  wouldn't  want  to  be  here  when  i  should  piss  off.”  he's  joking  and  for  once  it  shows  in  how  light  his  tone  is.  he  knows  what  zeke  means.  a  part  of  it  is  even  commendable.  “too  normal  for  those  that  are  also  in  between.”  he's  not  himself,  but  he's  getting  the  sense  of  what  it's  like.  with  the  big  bad  wolf  and  with  rory  around  him.  it's  becoming  much  too  normal  for  him.  maybe  he  just  needs  to  get  bitten  into  a  vampire  and  become  every  were-creatures  natural  enemy.  that'd  be  hilarious.  he  continues  to  brush  the  wolf's  hair  a  little  bit  longer  until  making  his  way  to  the  top  of  his  head.  that's  where  he  gives  the  hair  a  small  tug.  simply  because,  if  he  remembers  correctly,  the  man  might  find  that  to  be  rather  enjoyable.  vilem  takes  his  hand  back  so  that  he  can  open  the  door  back  to  the  farm.  that's  where  he  leaves  it  open  with  his  foot,  turning  around  to  motion  for  zeke  to  just  follow  him.  “rory  takes  up  a  lot  of  his  bed  now.  if  you  don't  mind  sharing,  there's  always  my  bed.  if  you  do  mind  sharing,  i'm  sure  we  can  find  another  space  for  you  to  make  comfortable.”  the  farmer  closes  the  door  after  they're  both  inside  and  takes  his  jacket  off.  then  he  peels  his  shirt  off  to  start  getting  ready  to  slip  into  his  pajamas.  it's  not  like  zeke  hasn't  seen  any  of  this  before.  if  anything,  he's  probably  a  little  more  toned  now.  thanks  to  all  of  the  farm  work  that  he's  had  to  keep  up  since  they  hooked  up. 

[hecksupremechips]

Time for me to be completely changed as a person! *just watched falsettos*

[autumnrory]

woooo my niece took 5 of my 13 lego sets, one of which was one of the three larger ones, so that's one huge box out of the way and i'm just glad she wanted them because like they ARE twenty years old and they look fine ofc but sometimes kids aren't gonna want stuff that isn't new and shiny ya know, but she did seem to want everything which would've been fine with me but i knew there was no way they would take all that with them, and at least i still have stuff of my own to sell, plus should get at least a cut of my brother's stuff for doing the inventory and putting together that stuff that wasn't already done

[neverendingford]

.

[the-cooler-king]

Oh yeah..... midnight gospel be hitting.... sitting in my bed fuckin. Crying. Get a grip girl

[squorttle-pox]

so glad you included those "y̴̨͚̙͎͓̞͍̯͒̚͜ọ̵̢͈̲͓̤̝̠̄̔ǘ̴̦͇̲̜̩̮̫͈̯͓͖͍̋̿̋̾͂̅̾̋͆̒͐́̚͝͝'̷̨̝͚̞̤̲̟̜̳̩̭͓̺͛r̸̠̯̲̊̽̅͋ȩ̷̘̟̦̟̠͖̬̰̗̈̽̇́̓͜ ̴̨̛͇̥͔̼̗̹͇̺͈̥̩͙̥̦͓͖͇͇͒̀̓̄͋̈́̎͆̀̔̈́̆̕s̶͗̿̐̄͌͛͛̈͋͛̿͘l̸̨̠̻̲͓̭͈̰͈͎͈͔͇̳͗̔͜ó̸̼̣̠̒̇p̸̙̰͇̯͕̒̂̽̓̆̎͗͒̓̅̄̄̚p̴̧̘̲̪͔̻͒ͅy̸̡̛̦̺̹͔͎͓̺̰̫̓͐̈́̓͋͋͘̚͠ͅͅͅ" frames. when that part happened i thought i went into a coma and it was the Radiant Light beckoning me to cross the Threshhold. if a picture is worth a thousand words, that moment is worth a thousand sacrifices. even through the screen i could feel the true meaning of Smooth. i am asexual but is this what lust feels like

and his eyes. oh, his e y e s. they ought to be classified as their own entity. those pupils alone, with all their different shapes and sizes, are enough to melt all my bones into goopy sludge

He is so gorgeous, such a looker. Every frame he looks so good, he can look so fucking demonic, he still looks so good, every frame of him can literally be a wallpaper, people talk shit about his hair, and I will admit the back is atrocious, like come on grow it out, or some. But I still low-key fuck with it, low-key low-key! The front I mean, it looks so bouncy, soft, and thick, and I just LOVE MEN with long-ish hair, it's the death of me. Please Viv don't kill him off, PLEASE!!! He is the best. Can't wait to see more of this dapper fellow in season 2, it's gonna be GREAT! I bet he has his mother's eyes, they're so pretty. That'd be so cute, I want him to see his mom, even if for one time, and one time only...I'd actually start crying.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash.��Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

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@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[maskedbyghost]

jealous!Simon is on my mind 24/7

even better if the two of you are secretly fucking bc he is scared of feelings, commitment, relationships, and blah blah blah…

and simon wasn’t used to feeling jealous. he had trained his emotions out of him long ago, or so he thought. but as he stood in the doorway, watching you stroll across the shared kitchen on the base, your back turned to him, the name "mactavish" boldly displayed on the long-sleeved shirt you wore, something twisted in his chest.

the sight of you wearing his shirt, so casually, stung in a way simon hadn’t expected. he cleared his throat, trying to sound indifferent, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. "that’s johnny’s shirt."

"i know." was the only thing you said, smirking since he couldn't see your face. you knew exactly what you were doing, but in that moment, you didn’t care.

"why is johnny's shirt on you?" simon asked, his voice low but tight with tension. he tried to keep his tone neutral, but the undercurrent of jealousy and frustration was hard to hide. seeing you in johnny’s shirt stirred something uncomfortable deep inside him, a mix of possessiveness and insecurity that he wasn't used to feeling. he hated how something so simple made his chest tighten, how the sight of you in someone else’s name made him feel like he was losing control of the one thing he was afraid to admit he cared about.

"oh, he gave it to me because i was cold," you said, pouting slightly as you turned around to face the only man you ever wanted "he is such a nice guy."

simon managed a slight nod, his mind blanking from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. everything felt too much, too fast. meanwhile, you casually turned your back to him again, giving him another clear view of soap's name stretched across your shoulders as you began making your tea. the tiny grumble that escaped simon’s lips didn’t go unnoticed—it sent a wave of satisfaction through you, a small victory that made your day. you loved torturing him. and, after all, he did deserved it.

frustrated, he walked over to the sink, grabbing a glass of water, hoping it would cool the fire raging inside. but as he turned, his grip slipped, and the water splashed across your front. simon froze, watching the water drip down your shirt, half-shocked and half-relieved for the excuse to make the shirt disappear.

simon froze, his eyes glued to the water dripping down your shirt. after a beat of silence, he muttered, "well, guess you’ll need to take that off now. what a shame."

shocked, you watched as he put the glass down and left the room, still feeling the cold water seeping through the fabric. did he seriously just accidentally splash you and then walk out like nothing happened? that bitch.

*

later, as you slept in your bed, wearing your shirt this time, you stirred slightly at the feeling of someone’s arms wrapping around you. you didn’t even need to open your eyes or turn around—you already knew who it was. that familiar warmth could only belong to simon.

"simon?" you muttered groggily, barely able to make out the shape of him in the dim light. "what are you doing here?"

"shh, just sleep, pretty girl," he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. "i just wanted to apologize for how i acted earlier."

"i'm listening," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

simon’s arms tightened around you as he spoke. “i’m sorry for earlier. i know i’ve been pushin' you away and acting like an idiot. seein' you in johnny’s shirt... it just brought out this jealousy i didn’t want to admit i had. i hate feelin' like i’m not enough, or that someone else might have a piece of you. the truth is, i want you to be only mine. i can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else. i just wanted you to know that, even if i messed everythin' up.”

“well, isn’t this a surprise? i didn’t realize it took me wearing johnny's shirt for you to admit your feelings.” you said with a hint of a smile, turning around to kiss him softly. simon sighed into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of relief and affection.

simon pulled back slightly, his eyes intense as he rested his forehead on yours “i mean it, you know. you’re mine—only mine. no one else gets to touch what’s mine.” his voice was firm, yet tender, which made his words more meaningful.

"did you have a similar conversation with soap?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

simon grinned, leaning in even closer. “yep, told him to keep his wardrobe to himself unless he wanted a 'property of simon' label slapped on everything he owns.” he sealed his words with a gentle, lingering kiss, his lips tenderly brushing against yours as if to mark his claim in the most intimate way.

*

soap: so, i guess it worked?

y/n: your shirt got wet, but i got what i wanted. thanks, bestie.  

soap: i think i got worse treatment from simon than the shirt did, but anything for my two lovebirds.

[sant-riley]

[Touchy feely] [tf141 headcanons]

(Romantic impied Task force 141 boys x gender neutral!reader headcanons :))

Summary: Being the sweetheart of the task force means the boys are not shy about the fact that they're all simps and always want some sort of contact with you at all times.

Consists of romantic/suggestive headcanons for each of the guys and little things they do with you <3

Words: about 1.5k (this was supposed to be short, whoops)

Warnings/Info: Can be read separately but it is intended that they all harbor feelings for you at the same time, possibly out of character for everyone, some swearing, the guys manhandle you, as always, let me know if I miss something!

Thinking about how each of the boys is so touchy with you, it doesn't matter where you are or who you're with, they're shameless.

Other units and teams who will sometimes share the base with 141 know better than to ask questions or directly say anything to one of the guys or you for that matter. Not that they could anyway, seeing as you always have at least one of them attached to your hip.

Price:

Anyone who walks into Price's office late at night to turn something in is used to seeing you next to the Captain on the little dingy loveseat he has in there.

John is usually smoking a cigar, taking care to not blow smoke your way while your head is resting on his shoulder. Your eyes closed as you hum at his words. It's terribly domestic for a military base.

John likes to gently play with your hair while he speaks about missions he's been on, always somehow trying to braid despite not knowing how to for jack shit, whether it because it's you or just the mindless motion, he's not willing to say.

John will usually walk you back to your room after dinner or time in his office unless he's swamped with work.

A small hand on the small of your back while he leads you. It's always a respectable touch, though he tucks you into his side, nodding at everyone you may pass.

If you're comfortable with it, he likes to press a kiss to your head, smiling that goofy ass smile, and tells you to get a good night's rest.

He lets you help him trim up his beard, he won't let you do all of it but he likes the closeness of it, him sitting down while you gently shape it up, tilting his head up and he tries his best to not stare directly at your chest.

The fact that he's letting you this close to his neck with a razor is a sign of trust, maybe small for others but for a man that doesn't drop his guard and doesn't truly trust others, it speaks volumes.

The first time he let you, you were barely putting any pressure and he grabbed your hand in his and showed you. "You're not gonna hurt me, put more force into it, yeah?"

Don't get me started on going out on walks in London with Price, he wraps you up in his beanie and some big leather jacket he has that dwarves you, helping you move through crowds by once again holding the small of your back, or taking your smaller hand in his. (He doesn't correct anyone if they mistake you as married)

He likes to kiss the back of your hand and laughs when it makes you blush and sputter out that his beard is scratchy.

Ghost:

Ghost is a subtle one, he won't actively reach for you or your hand but he does have some part of him against you most times.

Whether it be his leg, arm, or thigh, anything works. A normal place yall will be seen together is in the dining hall, you've both learned to ignore the stares from everyone else.

Simon never eats there, just sits with you until you're finished and then you both move on to either his quarters or somewhere else so he can peel his mask up to eat a bit.

However, while you're eating and telling him about anything under the sun, he'll lean over and wipe some crumbs off of your mouth with his thumb softly, which again, you're used to so okay whatever but Recruits always are taken aback in their seats.

Ghost's reflexes kick into overdrive with you. His hand going to cover a corner of a table 9/10 times before you completely wreck your shit, but when he does miss (sometimes on purpose).

He'll bring a hand up to rub at your head for you, chuckling under his breath before cooing down at you "That hurt pretty? Sure look like it did."

Whenever you two specifically are paired onto a mission, doesn't matter if any of the guys complain, he will share a cot/tent with you. He claims he runs the hottest (he doesn't, it's Johnny but he will not lose on this) and can keep your body the warmest.

He pretty much lugs you on top of him and wraps his arms around your waist, he'll press a hand against your head if you keep fidgeting, rasping at you to go to sleep. He takes great pride in the fact that you're usually out like a light very shortly.

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Ghost likes to hook a finger into your body straps and pull it really hard and let it smack you to get your attention if you're not actively paying attention to him, he'll soothe the area but he's smirking behind that fucking mask.

On that note, he definitely does the "You got something right here." And points at your chest and immediately pull up to flick your nose hard as fuck, he KNOWS his own strength but sometimes your eyes water and he immediately feels bad.

Ghost rests his head on your chest a lot, he finds your heartbeat to be soothing and reassuring, also grunts if you don't wrap your arms around him in return, bro literally shoves his head into you and groans

This is a grown man but it's cute so you let it slide bc he'll never ask for it outright, he just assumes you'll cradle his head.

Soap:

Johnny is the most shameless motherfucker here, I'm talking about draping himself over you, grabbing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair, kissing you dangerously close to your lips (it drives the others mad), he's the most unapologetic about it and will gloat to the others.

Manhandler #1, isn't above grabbing you by your hips and picking you up to move you somewhere, he's literally gone and grabbed you from some rookies side to come stand next to him with a smile and you're just so used to it that you just shrug and go along with it. (He gets slightly jealous, why would you stand next to some random ass dude and not him??)

Throws you over his shoulder, or likes you to cling to his front or his back and just carries you, he says it's a comfortable weight. If you ever dare say you're too heavy, he's gonna go to the gym and work out even more to PROVE to you that he simply doesn't care, he will carry you.

Extremely bad habit of sneaking into your room to fall asleep with you, Price has come into your room many times to see Soap sprawled on top of you, he's drooling and snoring and you're knocked the fuck out (he's like a glorified weighted blanket).

I've touched on this before but he only wants you to cut his hair for him, yeah he can go to the barber on base but he much prefers you and loves it when you scratch at his scalp. He also likes to just have his head in between your thighs but that's something else for another time-

Soap specifically slings you over his shoulder a lot, especially off base where he truly doesn't have any fucks to give.

You're not going to bed because you have other work?? Too bad, shoulder time you go. You're not willing to get up and make yourself food? Good thing he's here, either pick what you want from the kitchen or throw some clothes on bc he IS dragging you out of the house.

Johnny likes to draw on you a lot, it ranges from scribbles, to sometimes his name if he's feeling cheeky (he's drawn it on your thigh before and you didn't notice until Gaz shot you a look), to intricate drawings of whatever he can think whether it be a landscape or an animal.

He always holds you steady and it isn't uncommon for your limbs to fall asleep but it's worth it, if only to see him smile.

Gaz:

Gaz is probably the most secretly clingy person out of the four, he CAN function without your touch but does he PREFER to? No.

His first instinct in any situation is to grab you and shield you, he's the fastest of the four so his body moves without thinking and it's saved you more times than any of you would like to count.

The one mission where you both fell out of a moving truck, he tucked your body into his despite it costing him his shoulder popping out of the socket, you couldn't help but freak out while Ghost moved to pop it back into place.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Look at your arm!" "It's nothing." "Garrick what the fuck-"

When you're out anywhere off base, he's holding your hand, good luck trying to pull away bc he is not letting go. Too bad so sad, resign to your fate.

I think Gaz is definitely good at dancing, at least with you and when the right music is on, you cannot tell me this man wouldn't twirl you around and shit-fight me on it. He'll even lift you off your feet, laughing when you scramble to grab at his shoulders.

He goes stark still if you rest your head on his shoulder, not because he's nervous but because he's worried about waking you up when he knows you deserve a rest.

He'll usually wrap his arm around your shoulder to hold you in place so the heli ride doesn't jostle you so much, gentleness rubbing his knuckles along your arm to soothe you.

Gaz is the one who holds you when you have nightmares, on rare occasions when Soap isn't in your room and you just need to be held with no talking, you always without thinking find yourself in Kyle's room, his arms wrapped around your waist as he tucks your head under his chin, no questions asked.

He'll maybe hum a tune to help you relax but other than that, he lets you lead the way.

[ofbatsandballads]

a love like religion

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smut MDNI, unprotected sex, gentle dom!jason, size difference, creampie, biting and scratching hard enough to draw blood, all the pet names from Jason (baby, sweetheart, ma, mama, darlin’, honey), lots of aftercare, hints of codependency from jay and reader.

a/n: was daydreaming about jason (as per usual) and got to thinking about how if he were real I would be so down bad for this man it would be borderline unhealthy. something something about your lover becoming your god or whatnot. ngl wrote this with a bit of a “bones and all” vibe in mind of just needing jay in every conceivable way and it uhhhh…spiraled. so here, have some fucking with copious amounts of aftercare and maybe codependency if you squint?

divider credit: cafekitsune

There aren’t many things in life you can be certain of. The ever changing tides of fate have washed you ashore and swept you back into drowning more times than you can count. You’d grown used to it, the ephemeral nature of being alive. You relied on the two things you knew to be unwaveringly true: you are currently living and breathing; and one day you will die, and the living and breathing will be over. You did not anticipate adding any other unchangeable qualities to this list. You now have one that supersedes every other: you love Jason Todd.

You love him more than anything in this universe or the next. You love him like you love air to breathe. He’s your entire world. The sun holds itself in the smiles he reserves only for you, the stars in the gleaming of his seafoam eyes when the moonlight hits them just right, gravity residing in the weight of his hands on your waist.

You love Jason so much you wish you could crawl into his chest, nestle yourself between his ribs and feel the beat of his heart from within. You can’t, of course. But right now, with his broad frame between your thighs and his hips rocking relentlessly into yours? It’s as close as you can get.

It’s intoxicating, the combination of physicality and emotion. Jason feels so good. His cock pushes against every sweet spot you have, delicious toe-curling drags that have you whimpering his name. And he’s so big. It feels like he’s splitting you in half even though he’d spent a good half hour prepping you on his fingers and his tongue. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Feeling your body give way to him, conforming to the shape and weight of him—it’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced. Nothing compares to Jason.

That’s part of it too. Sure, the feeling of him driving his thick cock into you would be amazing no matter what. But doing this with him while knowing how much he loves you, how much you love him? It’s divine. No heaven could come close to this. You’d take an eternity with him over anything else.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, ma. Feel so fuckin’ good around me,” Jason moans as he trails kisses down your neck.

“Jay–Jason, please,” you whine.

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He’s giving you everything you need. His hips rock back and forth at the perfect pace, deep thrusts that you swear you can feel all the way in your throat. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles crossing over his lower back in an effort to keep him close. He’s buried to the hilt inside you and yet you still want more.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what ya need,” he pants. “I’ll give you anythin’, sweetheart. Anythin’ you want.”

“You.”

The word tumbles from your mouth over and over and over again. He’s reduced you to a crying, needy mess, incapable of thinking about anything other than him. But he knows you all too well and indulges you in your request. He leans in closer, using all his weight to pin you between his warm body and your disheveled blankets.

All you know is Jason. His large frame above you, so big that he blocks the candlelit bedroom from your sight. His voice cooing praises in your ear—you’re so beautiful, takin’ me so well darlin’, I’m all yours sweetheart. His lips kissing and biting adoring bruises into your neck, your collarbone. How heavenly the wet strokes of his cock feel inside your over sensitive cunt. He moves his hand down to rub your clit at the same time that he licks his way into your mouth and you’re done for.

Burning, bright—a white hot supernova that explodes across every nerve ending from your head to your toes. Your legs lock around him as your whole body shudders. Your nails rake across his back and biceps, pretty red lines blooming over his scars. Your teeth sink into his shoulder and you recognize the coppery taste of his blood. The pleasure-pain of your bite draws forth Jason’s orgasm and the warmth that floods you makes you dig your claws in deeper. You mark him as he marks you. A permanent claim, tangible evidence of the love that hums between you. You have one semi-coherent thought before your mind becomes static: you’re as full of him as you can be; mouth, nails, pussy—you’ve got him in every part of you now.

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until you feel his gentle hands wipe the tears from your face.

“You with me, mama?” he whispers, forehead resting against yours.

You hiccup. It takes all your energy to nod weakly in confirmation. You cling to him, not letting him move an inch away from you. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close to him as physically possible. The movement causes his half hard cock to grind deliciously inside you and you’re gasping into the crook of his neck.

“Stay. Please,” you beg through tears.

Jason just holds you tighter to his chest, and you find safety in the strength of his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m stayin’ right here with you,” he assures you.

After a few moments, your head clears ever so slightly. You become conscious of touch. Your hands twitch back to life and you discover that Jason has placed them around his neck. Your fingers rest against his pulse, the steady badum badum badum lulling you back to lucidity. You blink open your teary eyes and see concern swirling in the deep sea green of your lover’s.

“Was it too much? I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, baby. I’m sorry,” he whispers, gentle as the winter rain that’s beginning to fall outside.

“Not overwhelmed,” you mumble into his neck. “I just love you.”

Your voice cracks on those four words. You break under the bruising weight of your love for him. You think it could kill you, could bury you six feet under, and you would happily die for it. You would happily die for him. You don’t think you’d want to go out any other way. His hand in yours; it’s the only way you can exist now.

Jason feels it too. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. He knows how complete your devotion is to him, how he could ask for anything and you would offer it up without hesitation. He knows his is the same. You could demand his heart on a silver platter and he’d go grab his daggers that are displayed neatly on the wall and the fine china back at Wayne Manor. And maybe it’s a lot, maybe you’re both a little too attached. But how could either of you possibly care when loving each other felt this good?

So he handles you delicately. He soothes you when your sobbing returns as he goes to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes your tears as he cleans your combined spend off your thighs. He gently pulls a pair of his boxers over your hips, one of his hoodies over your head. He cradles you in his arms as he carries you to the living room to eat some snacks and continue binging The Great British Baking Show. You’ve come back to reality now. A soft peace settles across your overworked body and mind as you lie intertwined with Jason on the sofa.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little there,” you mumble into his chest, cheeks flushed and more than a tad embarrassed.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, honey. How many times have I done the same?”

It’s true. Most times it’s Jason that’s the sobbing, fucked out mess in the afterglow. It’s part of why the come down hit you so hard this time. You feel almost guilty, like you should’ve been able to hold yourself together better for him. You swear he can read your mind when he gently grabs your chin and turns your head to face him.

“Hey, none of that feelin’ bad bullshit. We take care of each other. It’s what we do. You’re the one always sayin’ that, right?” he asks, softly nudging his hooked nose against yours.

“Yeah, we take care of each other,” you whisper. “Forever and always?”

Jason absolutely beams at you, and suddenly nothing matters but him and the love you share in this little bit of time and space that’s all yours.

“Forever and always.”

[pseudowho]

Men With Big Noses

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

You accidentally let on to Hiromi Higuruma that you find his big nose sexy-- so he shows you exactly what he can do with it.

Warnings: 18+ as always, Higuruma is nearly face-sat to death and would absolutely die a happy man.

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"Why have you poured me another glass of wine?"

"Why not? You've had a long week. I've had a long week. And I don't want to finish the bottle alone, so..." Hiromi pressed the glass into your hand, planting a deliberately sloppy kiss on your cheek as you laughed, slapping him away, "Drink up."

Feigning disgruntlement, you mumbled into your wine as you shot Hiromi a side-eye.

He loped, slim and wiry, to the windows, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully, one hand in his pocket as he stared out over the Tokyo skyline. Your relationship was new, only just into the early stages of physical intimacy, but you caught yourself looking him up and down over the rim of your wineglass.

It was his brain that had attracted you at first. Fiercely intelligent, Hiromi appeared to see straight through you, and adore you anyway. His passion certainly wasn't limited only to his career. He was dry and sharp, but conversely so mellow at points. He kept you guessing, but never about how he felt about you. You had never found a partner so unusually thrilling as him.

But you couldn't deny...there was a certain something about how he looked that made the gears deep in your belly whir, puzzled and magnetic in your attraction towards him. But you couldn't work out what that something was.

You approached him slowly, breathing in the heady fumes of your wine as you appraised him; his eyes, and the way they turned into pools of pitch black when he looked at you? No. His fine-boned hands, so articulate and clever, that you wondered what else they could be clever with? No, not that either. His body, lithe and slim but deceptively strong? You sighed, unable to puzzle it out. You were halfway through your third glass of wine now, feeling loose, warm, intimate--

"I can't work out what it is that you find attractive about me."

You jumped, your remaining wine sloshing as he turned to you, his sloped eyes sparkling with curiosity, inquisitive and dark. You gaped for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you swore he had read your thoughts, and said the first thing that came to your head--

"Your nose." Hiromi snorted into his wineglass, hand over his eyes now as he shook with mirth. His hand lowered, fingering his big, hooked nose, and he laughed again.

"Be serious," he chastised. Your inhibition had abandoned you, emboldened by the alcohol.

"No, I...I mean it. There's something sort of...sexy about it. Men with big noses."

"Oh?" He approached you slowly, hand still in his pocket, a slow, sloping walk, "All men with big noses? Is that a kink?" Oh, those eyes. Dark and glowing, like little coals in the dark, and looking at you like that, you felt heat rush through you, so scrutinised--

"Or-- or maybe-- just yours I think. A you-specific kink. I wonder what you could do with that nose, other than-- other than--" You flushed, downing the rest of your wine. He was close now, and your skin felt electric. Not breaking eye-contact as he stared into you, he slowly reached out to take your empty glass, draining his own now and placing them both on the table.

Pulling you in with one hand on the small of your back, and the other creeping up the side of your face, he leaned over you. Still teasing you, his big eyes hooded, he ghosted the tip of his nose over the side of your neck, tracing shapes against your pulse point.

You pressed one hand against his chest, the other into his hair as you shivered.

"--other than?" he prompted. He laughed again, rich and bold, "My nose," he scoffed, "Where would you like my nose?" You blushed, mortified, and tried to shove him away for teasing you, but he held on tight, rubbing his nose gently against yours now. He kissed you, leaning you backwards, deep and convicted in his hold on you.

Your head wasn't swooping just with the wine now. Plaiting your fingers behind his neck, you suddenly didn't feel embarrassed to tell him what you wanted. You pulled away from his kiss, and he leaned his forehead against yours, nose to nose, as he stared into your eyes, your gaze shy and averted.

"Between...between my legs, maybe." You regretted it the moment you said it, hands up to slap over your eyes, cupping your red-hot cheeks, and Hiromi still didn't let go of you, his nose and lips pressing soft, tipsy kisses to your decolletage. He whispered to you, only deepening your regret.

"You could sit on my nose, if you like. Undressed, obviously." You felt his hips pressed against you, and felt his cock against you, now half-hard and growing--

You nearly imploded, stammering, "Oh please, no man actually likes that. Face-sitting is just one of those stupid things you joke about. Men don't actually like giving women oral," you scoffed, cynical and embarrassed. Hiromi raised his eyebrows, releasing you now, looking mildly offended.

"Oh dear. Another sceptic. Were your other boyfriends that bad?" You swatted him with a cloth.

"Pretend I never said anything!" You shouted in from the kitchen, "Forget about it! I'm going for a shower. There's more wine on the side if you want it."

You honestly considered drowning yourself in the shower. You'd barely even got past heavy make-out sessions, and you'd just told him you wanted his nose between your legs, you could just die of shame--

Stepping out from the shower and into your bedroom, you squeaked to find Hiromi lying on his back on your bed, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and as he saw you, he smiled loosely and rubbed one of your pillows over his face.

"What are...what are you doing?"

"Polishing your seat, of course."

You melted against the wall, mortified, gripping your towel in one hand and covering your eyes with the other. You heard slow footsteps creep up behind you, long-fingered hands pulling you against a hard torso, feeling Hiromi's nose rub behind your ear. Despite yourself, your eyes fluttered closed, wanting him.

"I think you'd like it," Hiromi insisted, voice low and convincing, "and I like it when you tell me what you want. It's...bold. Honest. Sexy." You moaned softly as he pressed into you from behind, his cock hard and insistent against your body, and he loosened the front of your towel to snake his clever fingers to your breast, fingers brushing it softly at first before cupping and giving an appreciative squeeze.

"So please sit on my nose. And the rest of my face." You bit your lip...and slowly nodded. You felt warm air huff out of Hiromi's nose behind your ear, "Good girl."

Spinning you round, Hiromi pulled you in for a deep kiss, the wine heavy on both of your tongues as he slipped his against yours, probing, curious. You accepted warmly, your hands tracing down to untuck his shirt from his trousers, your hand slipping flat against his abdomen and trail of dark, wiry hair, and Hiromi shivered, tongue trembling against yours.

He fell back onto the bed, pulling your legs up to straddle his lap, panting and kissing the sides of your throat as you unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers gliding over the taut muscles of his shoulders in appreciation. He nuzzled you, hooked nose rubbing over the shell of your ear, unintentionally bucking his cock up against your unclothed  sex as your fingers grazed his nipples in their exploration of his torso.

"I can't wait...I want to taste you," he insisted, breathless, his eyes dipped and flinty as he fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him, but holding you upright by the hips. Suddenly shy, so aware of your body with those smouldering eyes looking up at you, Hiromi sensed your hesitation and grabbed your knees, scooting you up his body so you were straddling his upper chest.

With your legs parted, you felt his breath roll over your folds, now so wet with your arousal, and Hiromi stared up at you, seeming grave in his devoted assessment of your face as he traced his hands up your thighs, two fingers slipping idly between your legs to rub a long stroke from entrance to clit and back again. He sighed, thrilled to feel you plant a hand on his abdomen, grounding yourself as he started to rub smooth circles over your clit.

"You're perfect, and those other guys didn't  deserve you," he insisted, slipping his fingers teasingly close to your entrance as you let out a breathy moan, and Hiromi stared at his fingers, scientific in his appreciation of how your arousal was glazed over them.

Raising his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, Hiromi stopped, considering. He placed his wet fingers over your towel instead, gripping your hips.

"No," he puzzled, "I want to taste you straight from the source." You squeaked as he dragged your knees and hips upwards again, your pussy now hovering directly over his face. Hiromi lifted his face, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, "Sit."

You hesitated, and Hiromi pressed his nose up, nuzzling it between your folds and pressing it firmly against your clit, holding your hips tightly as you jolted and gasped, never realising that nose could feel so good on your aching core. Thighs trembling, you lowered your weight until you sat directly on Hiromi's nose, mouth and chin.

Hiromi got to work like a starving man, groaning with desire as he nuzzled his nose and mouth between your puffy folds, his nose rubbing firmly over your clit as his tongue sank as far as it could into your hole, and you cried out, gripping his hair tightly with one fist, and grasping his hand on your hip with another.

As the firm tip of his nose rubbed insistently on your clit, making you burn with pleasure, you involuntarily ground your pussy down onto his face, and mewled when his shaky moan vibrated through you. Hiromi began to move your hips above him, encouraging you to hump his mouth and nose while his tongue alternated between dipping into you, and flicking against your clit as Hiromi sucked it into his mouth.

Your pleasure building, your cries and the hand grasping his hair becoming more and more urgent, Hiromi squeezed his rigid cock through his trousers, determined not to embarrass himself by cumming untouched while you humped his face. But as precum leaked through his trousers, wet on his thigh, Hiromi was drunk with the taste of you, sweet and natural, and he felt his cock throbbing as he neared his release.

Hiromi rocked your hips urgently against his face, his nose creating a constant alternating pressure on your clit, and you felt your belly tighten, pressing yourself down on his nose in a desperate need to cum, babbling his name in sweet praise.

With one last determined nuzzle against your clit, you shook, waves of pressure breaking through your whole lower body and Hiromi moaned, hips bucking against the air as he tasted and smelled you, overwhelmed by the authentic intimacy of the moment, feeling streams of cum soaking his boxers as he came completely untouched.

You moaned, short little mewls as you came down from your high. Gathering yourself, you shifted yourself down onto Hiromi's chest, looking down at him, blushing and concerned. You had never seen a man look so delighted with so much cum on his face. You were baffled, and of a mind to marry this man.

"Any man that actually likes women, sweetheart," Hiromi panted, dazed, "Would happily die like that."

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Love you Hiromi Higuruma, MWAH! 😌☕