#wrote this instead of sleeping

[ducky-dawn47]

The past I thought I'd healed from.

The past I thought I'd forgotten.

I don't want to be alone.

Please leave me be.

I want you with me.

I don't deserve you.

I dont trust it.

But I want to.

Be it Imposter.

Or a Monster.

We can't fix it if we never face it.

Hope only hurts, so I wanna forget it.

Let the past be the past-

If its weightless, why does it burn?

One final speech-

I wrote In blood..

Stand, and fight.

Before the flood..

Is that safe haven in my sights?

Or only Murder on the Eyes?

If we fall...?

Then we all fall-

All fall together.

Its only you and me now...

What can you do to me now?

No one's getting out alive.

Its only you and me now.

What can you do to me now?

Take my hand, it's open- Please.

Trap.

Its not, it never has been.

Failure.

You never were.

No one's getting out alive.

You don't know that.

History repeats itself.

Not always-

A cycle.

A spiral.

Dont leave me.

The way you'll do?

I won't.

I cant trust you.

Why?

I cant see you.

I don't know you.

Then why does it feel like this?

Her-

NO.

I don't remember.

Then take my hand, I'll help you.

You'll hurt me.

I don't want to.

Everyone does.

Not us.

Us?

Remember us?

.......

Baba...

Yes! And the others?

Dads-...Appa...

Them too, who else?

Xiaojiao...Sandy...

Sandy...

And you?

Even me.

Promise?

I'll do better.

I'm scared.

I know.

Xiaotian is dead...

That's okay, Just take my hand.

There you go...

I've got you, Light. I'm here.

He's gone. He never was..

He was, just-

Wasn't who you were supposed to be.

...I remember you.

You do?

Huángjiā zǐ...

Heh, that was one of my nicknames, yes. Fitting now, I'd imagine..

Hai'er..?

There you go, Light...

I'm on your side.

I've broke into a million peices, and I can't go back.

Then I'll see the beauty in the broken glass.

These scars..

Are part of you.

You're not alone.

I'm tired.

Sleep, I'll be right here by your side when you wake. So will the others...

I lose time if I sleep.

We all do. It will be ok. Let go, Light.

Truth after all this time..

I'll be here.

Sleep, Mk.

[em1i2a3]

Cherry Waves

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.

[megumismyhusband]

rin itoshi acts stoic, pretending your affection doesn’t faze him, but his body betrays him. His ears turn red when you kiss his cheek, and his lips quirk into a faint smile when you hug him. If you skip a hug or kiss one day, he’ll brood about it, replaying every moment to figure out if he upset you.

rin who secretly adores seeing you in his clothes. he'll sneaks extra jerseys and hoodies into your wardrobe, pretending they "must've ended up there by accident." he can’t help but smile when he sees you wearing them.

rin sucks at cooking but will attempt to learn how to make your favorite dishes so he could cook them for you whenever you'd like.

the keychain you gave rin? It’s clipped securely to his bag or shoved deep in his pocket when he’s on the field. He touches it before every game for luck, and if he ever loses it, he’ll go into full panic mode.

wanna do his makeup? deal. wanna paint his nails? go ahead. feel the need to put your pretty boyfriend in a dress? he'll let you. but only as long as you agree not to show anyone his baby pictures.

pda isn't rin's style, but in private? he’s all in. he’ll pull you close, tuck your head under his chin, and let you trace random patterns on his chest while you talk about your day.

rin might not always say, "i love you," but his actions speak volumes. from memorizing your coffee order to holding your hand in a crowded room, every little thing he does screams devotion.

gen m.list | join taglist here!

[grouchytoast]

Assuming Cal made it that far- I wonder if he ever saw footage of the Ghost Crew doing Ghost Crew stuff and saw Kanan and just went “Is that Caleb from gym class?”. We know Kanan and Cal are sorta close in age so it’s not crazy to think they met at some point as younglings or even briefly as padawans.

Or alternatively I saw someone make a joke that Saw Gerrara just assumes all Jedi know each other- so it would be sorta hilarious if on a mission Kanan and Ezra are working with Saw and he just mentions some ginger Jedi with a poncho like it’s no big deal and Kanan just does a double take. Because wdym his lab partner for space chemistry 101 survived the purge?? AND does his rebel missions in a cool space yacht instead of the equivalent of a barely functioning kitted out mini van??

Anyway I so wish those two met at some point post purge, the chaos they could’ve caused is so great to think about. Actually generally a Mantis and Ghost crew team up would have been sick (too bad the timelines don’t quite match up 💔). I might write more about this later idk, I have a LOT of feelings about that area of Star Wars.

[aidansloth]

Late Nights On Kitchen Floors Sometimes Lead To Confessions

Summary: You come home late one night to find your roommate Jason sobbing on the kitchen floor.

Warnings and A/N: some negative self-thoughts on Jason’s side. In this fic Jason is feeling a lot of feelings :) because we love our men crying and traumatized. Pre-relationship! This is my first time writing for Jason so I hope I did him justice. Written in the second person, gender neutral reader, I tried to make reader as inclusive as possible so if I missed something please let me know! JUSTKNOW that my heart broke while writing this. (final note, I wrote this at 4am so don’t judge me)

Words: 0.9k

I also posted this on ao3 if you want!!

Click

You secure the last of the locks on your door as you start to take your boots off along with your coat. Immediately as you stepped in your mind went into autopilot, following your routine so effortlessly that only after what was definitely too many seconds do you notice a heaving sound coming from your kitchen. 

“Jason?”

The words leave your mouth with a tinge of hope that it was just him and not a break-in you’d have to deal with at this ungodly hour in the morning. You check the time with a flick of your phone. 2:14am. 

You receive no response and reach for the bat Jason insisted you left hidden in the umbrella stand. You can never be too safe were his exact words and you’d honestly have to thank him if you made it out tonight. It’s only when you cross the door that you see him: Jason and all of his 6 feet of muscles are scrunched up into a wavering ball, his hands clutching his clothes and his head planted into his knees. All this time you’ve known him and yet he has never looked as vulnerable as he does now, on your dusty crumble-covered floor with tears in his eyes. 

At first no words come out of your mouth, how could they? You’ve talked to Jason just a couple of hours ago on your phone, he called saying he just wanted to hear your voice. He was fine earlier. He was. He asked how your day was. He listened, hanging off your every word. But now here he was in front of you, a broken shell of a man.

Trying to not startle him you get closer and call out his name again. This time he hears you.

He lifts his head and you can see smudged tear stains all over his face probably from an attempt to erase them. An hiccup escapes him and your heart breaks. 

“Oh baby,” you scooch in front of him and take his face in your hands. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

He can’t speak. The words are jabbed in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He opens his mouth but nothing other than a strangled sound comes out. You start petting his hair.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything alright?” 

You settle on the floor and try to maneuver his body onto yours, his head on your shoulder. His body adapts to yours, his arms wrap around you and he feels like everything is going to be alright. One of your hands runs up and down his spine in a soothing manner while the other is nestled in his hair. 

A couple of minutes pass and you’re still holding him. Jason thinks he likes it. Being held, that is. 

After some more time his head lifts from your shoulder and your hands move to his forearms, caressing the skin there. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

“I, ehm…” Jason’s gaze lays low and his hands start to play with yours. “I have to tell you something.” 

You nod and tell him to take his time. He bites his lip, still looking down. 

“I- Fuck, I messed this up. I really did. This was gonna be so much more romantic I swear. I was gonna- I was gonna invite you to that one bookstore we always go to, I was going buy you all the books you set your eyes on and- and I planned a walk through the park- the one- the one you like-” his voice keeps breaking and hiccuping, “-and walk through the flowerbeds and maybe if the day had gone well I would have had the courage to hold your hand.” he wipes a tear off his face with the palm of his hand. 

You try to speak but he speaks first.

“I like you. I really really like you. I wanted to do this well, tomorrow, but- I don’t know. I got too much in my own head and I’m-” Jason bites his lip and tears fill his eyes again, “I’m really sorry this is how I confess, you deserve so much better, so much better and I’m a mess and, and-” you grab his face and force him to look at you. 

“Jason Peter Todd, you listen to me carefully.” his big teary eyes look at your stern ones, “The only reason I’m not kissing you right now is because you deserve a beautifully romantic first kiss because you like beautifully romantic things. You deserve all the wonderful things this world has to offer.”

Jason thinks his heart has never felt so warm. 

“Wha-what?”

His words make you giggle and now he thinks his heart might actually implode. 

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Now your giggle turned into a proper laugh which made Jason smile. 

“Yeah, that was pretty obvious from the earlier declaration of love.” Now he’s giggling too. 

“Does that ehm- does that mean you want to be my girlfriend?” You giggle again at the innocence in his voice and Jason thinks he’d die all over again just for a chance to hear you laugh one more time.

“Yes, yes it does. Only if you take me to that date you were talking about though.”

He smiles. “We could go now.”

Your eyes widen. “Now? At 2am?”

He shrugs. “I’m Red Hood. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

You scoff. “Yeah alright, but I think the bookstore might be closed.”

“Ah. Right. Tomorrow then.”

“Eager?”

His smile only gets bigger. “Duh, I have a girlfriend to take out.”

Thank you for reading!! Constructive criticism/advice is always welcome!

[leeny-leens]

"Please, don't leave"

But it's Theodore Nott horrified at his own anger, the one he's gotten from his father. The anger that has him growing horns and fangs that bury deep into the flesh, claws that rip everything apart.

It's Theodore Nott scared that even the most marginal bit of anger will turn him into a monster like his father was and begging you to please see past it, see him as you always have because if you of all people stop seeing him, was he ever capable of being anything more than a rotten clump of evil and dark?

And so against his better judgment, he sinks to his knees and holds onto you for dear life, begging and babbling through his tears asking you to please not leave him, he doesn't know what to do if the only person who's made him feel remotely human were to leave.

And you can't help but cry at the sight of the boy who thinks his anger makes him a monster, the boy who thinks any sort of reaction or emotion means he's like his father, damned to hurt anyone he loves.

Therefore you just pull him up and take his hand, hugging him tightly as you comfort him, reminding him that while his anger might be scary to him, he isn't scary, he isn't monstrous and he isn't bad. He asks you if you'll leave, and you reply asking him if he wants some space. He can only shake his head in silence, his hands tightening around you like you're his anchor in the raging storm. His voice is hoarse when he asks you to stay the night, stay by his side because he can't bear waking up to see you gone like everyone else.

And that night, you don't leave. Not even when night turns into morning, or when evening comes around. You stay by his side, steady and calm and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he isn't a monster after all.

[all4simone]

𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚 - 𝙨𝙚𝙫.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

council!sevika x council!reader

| summary: getting to know the infamous sevika, now a council member. (post-arcane s2)

| c/w: mentions of smoking, not proofread

| w/c: 1.3k

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

...council!sevika, who refused to become friends with anybody on the council. It was all strictly professional to her.

...council!sevika, who shared a cigarette with you on the balcony of a boring council party that you both were forced to attend.

sevika flicked her head around mid drag to the noise of a glass door opening. she was faced with your bewildered expression at her presence, your leg stopping half way out the door. the cigarette fell between sevika's middle and pointer finger as she exhaled the smoke. her jaw readjusted, eyes still fixated on your paralyzed stature. "my fault. I didn't know anyone was here," you exclaimed, red in the face with embarrassment. your leg quickly slipped back inside the door. sevika lifted up her hand to stop you. "you're fine. you can stay." she used her middle and pointer finger to call you over, the same pair that had a cigarette placed between them. you swallowed your nerves. slowly, you made your way to the edge of the balcony and rested your elbows on the railing. a stressful sign escaped your lips as the cold wind blew on your face. you turned to sevika, she was staring into piltover while puffing away at cigarette. she must've just lit it. "do you have another cigarette?" you asked without thinking before backtracking. "sorry, you don't have to give me one." your head whipped back in place. god, she was fucking scary. sevika took another drag before handing it to you; her eyes didn't move from the city. your hands, shaking, took the cigarette and put it up to your lips. weird. sevika didn't speak to anybody on the council besides for work. It wasn't exactly a bad thing, but it made her seem distant and cold. you can't exactly blame her, though. this is the same legislative team that ruined her home. you always really wanted to talk to her when she joined, but she was horrifying. her height, muscular body, piercing eyes, and all the stories going around collecting sweat among the council freaked everybody out. she didn't seem like the vicious monster that people made her out to be seen here, though. there was a sad and vulnerable look in her eye. "bored?" you handed her the cigarette. "yeah. surprised these motherfuckers don't sniff crack. would've made this so much more interesting." you chuckled. "a past councilor got kicked out for running a meth lab before." you added on. "no fucking way." she smirked, holding the cigarette to her lips. you nodded. "you wouldn't believe all the shit that goes on in these walls."

...council!sevika, who began to catch up with you to take a stroll before a meeting.

...council!sevika, whose eyes you noticed began to become calmer

...council!sevika, who would share glances with you during meetings, trying not to laugh at the others.

...council!sevika, who you asked to partner up with to develop a project in rebuilding zaun.

it was fucking late, but you needed to ask her. you needed to ask her to join the project. sevika's a night owl, you know she'll be up. you held your binder up to your chest, making your way to sevika's in a hasty manner. you just needed an okay from her, and then to pass out in bed. there were three figures in the distance. one you could recognize as sevika, and the closer you got, you could see two girls. the two of them laughed, gripping onto sevika's arms. she was slightly smirking. damn. why did that feel so weird to watch? you stood there, a few feet away from the trio, body filled with shock. It felt like the time you walked onto the balcony when sevika was on, but instead of fear, there was dread. while fumbling with her keys, she spotted you in the corner of her eye. she lifted her head up to meet your eyes, and the two girls stopped bickering. "you seem busy!" you panicked "I can catch you at a different time. sorry!" you gripped your binder tighter against your chest before fleeing the opposite way. you didn't even let sevika get a word in. the next morning, you visited sevika's room again. hopefully, you can pitch your idea to her this time. she opened her door; her hair was wet and slicked back. you smiled, and your eyes wandered around her room to not get too caught up on staring at her. her bed was a mess. you didn't even want to think about what happened in her room the other night. "hey, uhh...sorry about last night. It was probably uncomfortable seeing that." sevika attempted to apologize. she had the same vulnerable eyes as when you first spoke with her. you shook your head. "don't even apologize. It's fine." "they're not my girlfriends. I - uh just..." she stopped her sentence mid way, her hand came up to cover to mouth. her vessel turned to show you her back before clearing her throat. "anyways. what do you need to talk to be about?" you never even had the thought that those girls were her girlfriend.

...council!sevika, who would stare at you, suggesting ideas for the project. she simply just nods, not absorbing a single piece of information you said.

...council!sevika, who would invite you for drinks every night to the point it got you worried.

"fuckk...my backs killing me." she flexes her muscles. "lets go get drinks, yeah?" "sevika, you're actually an alcoholic. please get some help." "so, are we gettin drinks?" "yeah. whatever. I don't understand how this is supposed to help with your back, though."

...council!sevika, who grabs your wrists and pins them to the table whenever you talk over her.

...council!sevika, who slowly begins to speak with the other councilors with your help.

...council!sevika, who tries to swallow her feelings for you that creep on her, reminding herself she needs to keep things professional.

...council!sevika, who had one of the brothel workers show up at her door while you were working on the project.

...council!sevika, who went back to the brothel workers in an attempt to get you out of her mind.

...council!sevika, who was so shocked when she found out you like girls.

...council!sevika, who tries to hide her disappointment when you guys finish up your report.

...council!sevika, who ends up kissing you before you leave without thinking.

"you're seriously leaving already?" she crosses her arms in front of her chest, watching you throw on your jacket. "It's almost midnight, sev." you let out a breathy laugh before grabbing your things. sevika walks over to you, leaning down to zip up your jacket. you lift up your arms to give her space, feeling her warm body near you. you can't help but stare at her puppy-like face before she lifts her head up to meet your gaze. before you bust out laughing, your eyes glance up at the ceiling. you hear her smirk. she's always got that damn smirk on. her body raises back up and stuffs her hands in her pockets. the two of you walk up to her door, but before opening the door, sevika grabs your shoulder to turn you to look at her. "you sure you can't stay?" her hand stays on your shoulders. "you're seriously going to miss me that much?" you joked. sevika didn't respond. she only took you face with her hands and planted a small kiss on your lips. It was short; your lips barely touched, but it was sweet. she lifted her lips, both of your breathes mixing with each other. her hands stayed on your cheeks, both of you staring at each other, dismayed. sevika more than you. "shit! oh my god. I am so sorry." she reeled back her hands to her side. you only took her hands and locked your lips once more. "maybe I can stay a little longer."

...council!sevika, who asks you to be her girlfriend the same night.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

a/n: chat why is this so badddd omgggg I cantttt. I fr just wanted to get something out b/c I haven't posted in like 4 months, so I rushed this. my bad!!

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake’s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[slice-of-cak3]

Wakey wakey.. I made the cocoa cookie!reader request.. time to wake up dear baker.. heh.. [aight enough with that] hear me out what if.. you make pastry cookie!reader x Yan!telamon. Because imagine being dedicated to a another god instead of HIM??

Anyways Angelique out!!

How did you get into my house? 😨

Sorry for the delay, energy just running out completely for some weeks, yk, normal similar to moon cycle stuff. I'm okay now, I should be having energy to write stuff now.

Enjoy your food! We hope to see you around again

Yandere! Telamon x Pastry Cookie!Reader

CW: kidnapping, attempt of indoctrination (?), Religious themes, unhealthy relationships.

If I'm missing something please let me know! — no proof read this time.

Oh how much Telamon wished he had found about you sooner.

When one day he was walking in the mortal world, he got to see you from afar, you were one devoted sisters from the Order, so beautiful in your outfit, his thoughts wandered about how better you would look into the robes of his religion instead, how cute you would be in his side instead.

But no, you were worshipping another god, you had devoted yourself to follow someone else!

As fast as you took his attention as soon as he wanted to just take you. He's a god, he's greedy and doesn't have patience, he wanted you and he will have you.

And so he tried kidnapping you, in the excuse of talking, to make you worship him instead, to become the object of your adoration instead.

Your response? Ignoring him, you were loyal to your god, and you aren't going to change your beliefs simply because another god suddenly got interested in you.

You were firm in your answer, just complete devotion to your religion, to someone that wasn't him. And he was angry at not getting you instsntly, like everything else he was used to.

And so he keep you in his realm, everyday trying to convince you, to indoctrinate you into worshipping him instead, and damn, you fought back so much, you prayed to your gods every morning despite how difficult it was to get up from the bed, a bed so comfortable he gave you, he was being really nice to you! Then why dont you search for him instead?!

He's giving you everything, food, water, entertainment, your own space, a comfortable bed, damn, he even gets clingy with you with the excuse of “interactions being important for humans”; he's giving you everything you may need, attention that no other deity would give you, them why aren't you looking at him?!

Just look at him, let him heard your voice, say his name, hug back when he's trying to spend time with you, speak to him, don't just look at him like that!

Okay lets be honest, he says he's treating you nicely when you're literally like a pet, just a room with basic necessities and doesn't let you go outside of it most of the time.

Petting and hugging you like a small animal, you don't like how insistent he is.

Please, you only want to go back to the church and pray to your god.

He put robes of his religion, so when you had to eventually shower and change clothes you only had those as option.

Basically forcing you to wear clothes that called devotion to him, and he didn't even gave back the robes of your religion, pretty sure he burned them.

You tried to be strong, to continue to believe in your god, that maybe they would help you to not go crazy as Telamon was your only company.

Telamon acted as he was patient, when in reality it was the opposite, but having you in his grasp, so close to him, was enough for now.

Bro is so down for you, feathers in his wings fluffing up every time he sees you, but because he's not used to it, he doesn't understand his own obsession with you is on a more romantic sense more than a simple wanting you to worship him instead.

[genyawritesshizz]

Promotion - Sentinel Prime X Reader

Spending your days endlessly mining energon you yearned to one day be promoted. To finally free yourself from the frame aching work of the mines. Yet when you catch the optics of the Sentinel Prime, that promotion may come at a terrible cost, maybe you should have read the fine print.

Tbh it’s very little plot mostly just smut.

18+ ONLY

IVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR TRANSFORMERS NOR HAVE I READ MUCH FIC OF IT BUT I TRIED TO GET THE TERMS RIGHT BUT YA KNOW, ITS A LOT.

Possible part 2, we’ll see how this does.

WARNING: Dubious consent, emotional manipulation, Power Imbalance, (TBH Sentinel is a walking red flag), Sexual Coercion, Size kink, SMUT, Cybertronian reader,

This is essentially just robot porn I'm sorry to all my anime followers :(

The first time Sentinel Prime had set his optics on you he knew, much to his initial disgust, he wanted you. 

A miner. 

Of all the femme’s at his disposal the one that at last managed to catch his gaze was a cogless, bottom level, miner. 

“That thing?” With a snarled lip and multiple sets of trailing skeptical eyes, Airachnid's own revulsion was evident. Far down below the balcony on which they stood, walking the bustling city streets you at last returned to his hungry gaze. 

“Unfortunately so.”

Primus, what an honor it was to be within the presence of Cybertrons protector, the bot who single handedly protected all Cybertronians from the Quintessons; Sentinel Prime. 

After being approached by Arachnid and ordered to follow her you had initially feared you had broken an unknown protocol, resulting in a demotion. Yet much to your shock within the gold columned building you had been led to he was there.

The look of pure admiration within your optics as you stared up to him in awe coupled with the now quiet whir of your internal fans as your spark raced within his mere presence fed his already raging primal desire.

Such blind naivety.

"Walk with me. I’d like to discuss something important." His tone was warm but carried a weight of authority. One you could not help but blindly follow. 

The two of you stroll through the empty corridors, arachnid standing guard just outside of its entrance.

“Tell me, have you always felt bound to the mines? Or have you ever imagined something greater for yourself?" You shift, pace faltering a smidge, taken aback by his directness. You're proud of your work as a miner but can’t deny that you’ve thought about rising above this level.

"The mines are… Well, they’re home. I have my friends down there. But I’ve always wanted to do more…to make a real difference for Cybertron." 

Sentinel nods, his optics narrowing slightly. Searing blue scanned from the top of your dull paint chipped helm to your transfixed gaze, (noting how you subconsciously averted it away from him when noticing his search), down to your chin.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, signaling his satisfaction in finding whatever he had hunted for. 

Vulnerability suited you well.

"I could see that. You carry yourself with a strength that is rare, even among the most seasoned warriors." 

His confident stride deviates him closer to you and he lowers his voice just a touch. 

"Cybertron needs warriors with your spirit. And not just in the mines. In places where real change can be forged." 

His words spark something in you. Your gaze sharpened, instantly locking with his, the once thick humility gives way to a flicker of pride. 

‘Is he going to promote me?’ You hopefully thought. You had been working your frame down to the wire for the last few rotations in hopes of this.

Sentinel picks up the change in demeanor immediately. Before continuing his sweet talk, he comes to a complete stop and turns towards you.

His frame is significantly larger than yours, as to be expected when comparing a cogless to a Prime.

Though, the way he truly towered over you left you feeling far weaker than usual as he had to bend down significantly to reach optic level with you.

"Too often, talents like yours go overlooked down there. Others might not see it, but I do. Imagine if you were to rise up, to stand among those who shape Cybertron’s future. Those who ensure our planet’s place as the greatest in the galaxy." With each passing word he had leaned closer, faceplate now mere centimeters from yours.

Your spark fluttered. 

His venting flowed deliciously warm against your intake.

Proximity feedback signals fired on high and energon lines pumped furiously fast. 

Yet despite your system's shock at his actions, you could not look nor move away.

“You really think… I could be that?”

A set of servos planted themself around your lower chassis, their span long enough to completely wrap around you. 

Your servers struggled to process exactly what was happening, focusing solely on the swirling lights of blue that threatened to swallow you whole.

“I know you can.”

The digits ensnaring your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his wide frame. 

His helm delved lower, denta lightly nipping at the sensitive wires between the spaces of your minimal plating. 

The second you beeped in surprise then melted into his embrace, helm craning to the side allowing him further access, he knew once again. 

You were not going anywhere. 

But then again, why would you want to?

When your protector was so kind enough to show you, a nobody, such special affection. 

Never had you anticipated that you would ever find yourself within a Primes personal suite yet here you were. Sprawled out atop a luxurious berth, hidden away from the rest of Iacon city, with desires you had never even thought to dream of coming true.

Your gracious leader's frame was reduced to a hunched, yet still ever imposing, form as he kneels between your legs. Your modesty paneling had long since been retracted, revealing your array to his hungry gaze, and allowing you to relish in all the new sensations your Prime was bestowing upon you.

No, in all your cycles you had never found the desire to fragbond with someone. Yet now as Sentinel Prime’s silver glossa ravenously glides through the throbbing mesh of your valve and mouthpiece occasionally latching onto your external node you cannot believe your hesitancy for such pleasures. 

To think you had gone for so long without.

Not to worry, never again shall you ever have to suffer such a fate.

It is extremely out of character for Sentinel to give his partner's pleasure this way or in any way/to care about it. 

Normally he wastes no time in pleasuring others, he was a busy man after all. Instead focusing solely on his own release within others bodies then disposing of them.

But something about having you pinned beneath one of his arms, the other easily reaching over your head to hold your wrists down, the way you cried out for him, your Prime, and to be completely at his mercy…It has his spike twitching beneath his own paneling.

Savagely he feasts upon your now swollen valve, thick glossa entering your spasming opening, nose buried atop your external node.

“M-my, oh Primus! - My Prime I-” You were completely unfamiliar with the feeling boiling inside you, it felt as though a coil was winding. Each intrusion of his glossa only pulled it tighter.

“That’s right, say my name.” A smug smirk tugged itself into the corners of his faceplate before he delved back where you so desperately wanted him. 

You looked and sounded both pathetic and desperate.

He loved it.

“Sentinel!”

Overloading into the mouth of said mech was absolutely euphoric.

Though despite your high, he was left utterly displeased to hear you leave off the Prime in your cry.

He had earned that title.

It was his name.

You would learn the error of your mistake soon.

He did not ask permission to continue. 

Standing up from his crouched position, the grip that once held you down now flipped you onto your chest plate and dragged you towards the edge of his berth, allowing your legs to dangle off the edge.

Even on the tips your pedes you would still not touch the golden floor beneath.

Positioning your aft up into an arch he at last retracted his paneling, allowing his spike to spring free. 

Central processor still short circuiting under the throws of overloading, you did not even notice the shift in position.

Once your intake had returned to normal your mind followed suit, catching up to the reality of what was happening.

Yet it was too late to protest as something sickeningly thick prodded at your valve's still quivering entrance.

It felt like far too much.

Trying to squirm away from it you're met with a dark chuckle and thick digits atop your shoulder, easily pulling you back down into position.

“Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started sweetspark”

The moment the head of his spike entered, you felt an immediate sense of dread wash over and a cold shiver through your struts. 

“Too big...” Your vocalizer had barely returned, causing the whine to sound utterly pitiful, drowned in static and served only to feed Sentinel's ego.

“Hm? What's that?” Leaning over your form, faceplate centimeters away from your audio receptors, steam rolled with his words; fogging over the heaving metal of your shoulder plates.

“Frag…You-You’re too big.”

“Oh, do you want me to stop?” His tone was high in pitch and laced with manipulation. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Prime now would you?” 

A strangled whimper and a shake of your head ‘no’ gave little confirmation to his taunt in ‘permitting’ him to keep going, not that he cared whichever direction your response led. 

Even if you wanted to stop, you had no power to break away from him.

A deep, dominating, chuckle bubbled within his chest plate. “I thought not. You’re serving me, a great honor really.”

It felt like being pried open, the way his spike speared into your clamping valve was utterly painful. 

Despite your cries you attempted to stay still as the gold winged Prime behind you continued to push further. 

Each half centimeter only served to strengthen the burn.

Halfway in you had closed your optics, denta plates gritted tightly shut. 

“Take it all, I know you can.”

The same four words that once filled you with hope now filled you with burning heat.

You will take what he is so graciously giving you. 

Finally, after what felt like eternity, his entire spike was successfully sheathed inside. 

Though this was just the beginning.

“So tight,” Your body was clamped around the intruder in a vise grip. Desperately begging for it to be removed. “So small.”

His pace was brutally fast. The servos on your shoulder and hip kept you from escaping or sliding too far away from his attack. 

Surprisingly, after a few klicks, the tight inner calipers of your valve slowly loosened. His spike, now slathered in a combination of fluids, began sliding without much resistance. 

At last, a few surges of pleasure coursed through your system. 

Soon both of you were grunting, occasionally moaning. Though your sounds far outnumbered his. 

Your servos clenched into the smooth bedding atop his berth, surely tearing the fabric though in this moment neither of you cared. However it was something he would be sure to punish you for later. 

“You're mine, little miner.” His hips pistoned faster, slamming against your aft, surely to leave you sore. “All Mine.”

In response all you could do was hold on tighter, moaning louder with each intense slam.

“I’ll. never. let. you. go.” Each word sent another wicked surge into your swollen valve.

Blind sighted by the throes of pleasure bordering on overstimulation his words simply did not translate in your faltering audio receptors.

Though he meant every bit of it.

Helm falling back and a loud moan echoing throughout the gold-plated room, his overload blazed hot through his system. Filling your already stuffed valve to the brim with his transfluid.

Fans whirling on high, neither of you moved from your conjoined position for a few klicks.

After he's regained his senses fully, he removes himself from your valve, being sure to marvel at his work of completely ruining your once virgin body with a devilish smirk. Admiring the way his bright blue transfluid seeped from your still clenching valve.

Though this will be far from the last time he sees you like this.

With wobbling arms, you attempted to rise, though as you began to lift yourself up a large servos pushed you back down.

"We're not done."

True to his word, you had earned a promotion.

Fitted with only the finest armor paneling and a fresh coat of paint you had earned yourself the pristine position of his pet.  

A position you held with utmost dignity, after all you were serving your Prime.

[thegaysatanist]

Ok ok we know Ford's got a praise kink

Let me add my own angsty twist on it (starts out fine, turns at the end)

He's doing well in college, puffs out his chest with pride when a teacher congratulates him, maybe stammers a bit when a girl compliments his work

Fidds for help on a project, ofc Ford helps, his smile lingers for the rest of the night after his input helps Fidds

Maybe one late night when they're both studying and tired, without even really putting too much thought into it, Fidds compliments Ford, saying something along the lines of "You're just so good at this-" when he struggles on Ford's favorite subject. Ford just stands there, frozen as he feels that compliment snuggle itself into his chest, taking home right by his heart

When he moves to gravity falls, there's less praise, less compliments, more side ways stares and whispers. He ignores them, they simply don't understand. But the questions they ask him, it's like they're speaking different languages, his answers take 20+ minutes just to explain how the question didn't make sense. He's used to the looks, doesn't mean he likes them.

Then Bill shows up. Someone who understands. After years of winning chess against himself, taking detailed notes on things only he seems to care about, there's someone else who can talk to him. Someone who not only meets his intellect, but exceeds it. Who will answer his questions- or even better, leaves him puzzles to solve. Puzzles that, according to Bill, are simple. There's more complicated things to learn!

And the entire time? Bill compliments Ford, praises him. Tells him that he isn't just weird, he's Smart and his weirdness doesn't change him, it makes him special. Bill tells him that he's doing good when he solves the puzzles. He's a genius above the rest.

How could anyone be so kind and intelligent and interesting? Any being this intriguing must be a higher power- a god!

Bill tells Ford that he's skilled, talented. How could Ford even think to question a god? The center of his world shines warm heavenly praise onto him, and he's soaking it all in.

One night- Bill says words that have Ford freezing in place, warmth washing over him. Such simple words to, who knew Ford liked being called a good boy this much? Bill knew- he knew Ford craved compliments, he was essentially addicted to praise, craving it endlessly. Starving for affection- leaning into touches without realizing it. Turning his head further into Bills hand without noticing he had moved. Rubbing his cheek into Bills carress almost shamlessly, blush tinting his skin with a faint pink. Sighing deeply when Bills arms wrapped round and around his limbs and torso- letting himself be manhandled by his godly muse. If his muse spoke only the truth, then all that praise must be a divine ruling from the very god he worshipped.

That's why the betrayal hurt so much- not only because he had been used and intended to be tossed aside, but because all those nights filled with praise were truly filled with lies. How could such sweet nothings that were worth the world's weight in gold, really mean nothing?

Those pretty words dripping with honey washed away to reveal that they were just a thin layer to cover the poison at it's core. The praise and loving words Ford had craved all his life, that were blessed unto him from his wondrous muse, was just barely veiled deceptions that sunk into his heart like a barbed hook.

After that? Praise rang hollow to him. Nothing but colorful flowers with thorns, glistening with poisonous nectar. The enticing colors were a warning, one he saw in every shade from the blandest beiges and greys to the most vibrant violets and golds.

He learned that praise could only drip with venom, and to assume otherwise would be to eat those colorful petals and cut his gums on the thorns.

[yeet-the-chair]

The Ghost Next Door

While leaving your room to do laundry, an unfamiliar presence walks out of your neighbors apartment. While you don't recognize him, he definitely recognizes you.

Word count: 1337

Laundry day. It definitely wasn’t your favorite. Having to walk to the laundry room to hopefully find an open machine was such a pain in the ass. But usually, if the people in your apartment complex see a blind girl coming with her arms full, they’ll turn around and give you the open washing machine. Well, you aren’t actually blind. Due to your mutation, you’re able to see the aura that surrounds people. Their emotions and who they are as a person. Along with that, the rest of the world has a blue, hazy outline to it, allowing you to navigate without difficulty. 

As you exit your apartment, you hear the door next to yours open as a figure walks out. You expect to see your neighbor, Wade Wilson, but the abhorrent strange aura that surrounds him isn’t what greets you. An intimidating aura walks out of the door, one filled with so much sadness, anger, and hatred. But deep down, you saw good. He has a good heart in him, one that wants to do good. 

You noticed, however, that the aura around him had started to change. Instead of the blues and reds you saw before, hues of purples and orange appeared. You could feel him looking at you. He… recognized you? He was so confused, and now you were too. You never forgot someone, even in passing. He probably just thought you were someone else, so you decided to ignore it. Though it continued to nag at you, there was nothing you could do about it, other than go up to him and say ‘hey I know I’m blind but you look like you recognize me.’ 

Nope, no way. You were just gonna leave it as it is, even if you felt strangely drawn towards him. 

…

Logan couldn’t believe his eyes. The minute he walked out of the door and looked at you, it was like seeing a ghost. The last time he saw you was when you laid dead in his arms on the lawn of the mansion. But now, you stand in front of him, or at least a version of you, looking the exact same. There was something different about you, though. You wore red tinted glasses, and looking closer, Logan could see a scar that ran from the outer corner of your left eye, over the bridge of your nose and to your other eye. 

“Y/n?” he mumbled out. 

It was clear you hadn’t heard him, as you continued walking in the opposite direction. He couldn’t let you go again. He followed after you, speeding up as you entered the elevator, but it closes right as he reaches out. Logan’s breathing gets heavier. He finally gets to see you again, he will not let that chance go. ‘Where could she be?’

It clicks for him. You were holding a laundry basket. He books it to the stairs and races to the laundry room

… 

Okay.

There is no way this mysterious man, who just tried to get into your elevator, doesn’t know you. You felt his emotions; recognition, relief, then fear as you disappeared behind the doors. He’s trying to find you, but why? 

You began to panic slightly. Sure, you had a mutation, but you had never used it to fight before, never really even thought of it. You sensed the danger before you could even come close to it and found a different path. But now? There is no other path to take. You’re facing it head on whether you want to or not. 

As you exit the elevator, you hear the pounding footsteps coming down the stairs, while also feeling the desperation coming from them in waves. They’re almost enough to knock you down but you hold your ground. You almost make it to the laundry room when the stairs exit door slams open a few feet away from you and the man from earlier walks over and reaches to grab your shoulder. Before he can, you turn and grab his wrist, glaring at him the best you could.

“Look,” you began. “I don’t know who you are or how you know me, but let me make one thing clear. I may be blind but I am not completely helpless. I will make you hurt in ways you cannot comprehend. Do you understand?”

Sure, you couldn’t fight, but you could manipulate his emotions to be so painful he feels like he can barely move. 

Your threat seems to have fallen on deaf ears as he continues to look at you with so much longing. You can see he is full of love, regret, and despair just by looking at you. You hear him whisper your name, reaching out his other hand to wrap around your waist and hug you. Before he can though you slip out of his hold, releasing his wrist from your grip. 

“Don’t touch me.” Hurt. A new emotion made its way into the man's aura, along with anxiety wrapping all other emotions in a rope of grey and blue. You could feel the creep of anxiety begin to crawl up your back, but you pushed it away and pulled out confidence and defiance to take its place. 

Standing up straighter, you decided that laundry could wait until later and backed out of the room until you made it out of the door. Once you did, you sped over to the elevator and waited for it to open. The man made no move to follow you, seeming almost paralyzed in shock by what you said. You could feel his anxiety continue to wrap around him, tightening around his other emotions in a knot. 

A part of you felt bad. You could feel his emotions as if they were your own, and it hurt. You were mostly numb to feelings others emotions as you dealt with them every day, but every now and them one person's emotions were so strong that you couldn’t completely block them out. It would be so easy to manipulate his emotions, to comfort him and make him less miserable.

But another part of you was afraid. You had no idea who this man was, yet it seemed like he knew you. He knew your name. Was he a stalker? No, he couldn’t be. You would have sensed him, especially with an aura like that. Did you know him when you were younger? Before you were blinded and developed your mutation? It was possible, though he seemed more starstruck than you would expect an old friend to be. 

You continued to contemplate as you began to clean your apartment. You tried to focus on your music, on what the lyrics said and the emotion you could feel from them, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him. There was a strange pull to him you could not explain. ‘He terrified me earlier, but what if I really do know him?’

… 

“Don’t touch me.”

Those words replayed over and over again in Logan’s mind as he sat in Wade’s apartment. He scared you. You were afraid of him. That isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He should be making you laugh, making you smile. He didn’t want to be the cause of your fear. 

But he had to keep reminding himself that this is a different universe. While you looked like the you he knew in his world, the you here was so different. Different backstories, different lives, maybe even a different mutation? You were blind in this world, so did that affect the mutation that you got?

He wanted to learn more about you, but that would have to wait a few days. He needed to figure out how to apologize for his prior behavior and figure out how to explain his actions. Relationships of any kind are built off trust, and while he couldn't tell you the whole truth immediately, he did have to make himself as trustworthy as possible so he could tell you one day.  

first time writing lol but ive had this idea for so long that i needed to get it out

[trexcharlotte]

For the First Time

Pairing: MCU!Loki/Goddess!Reader

Rating: Domestic/Wholesome Fluff

Word Count: 852 (not proofread)

Song: For the First Time - Mac DeMarco

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

Her name had been whispered from every corner of the universe.

She was a myth. A Legend. A Goddess.

“It is a blessing to be in your presence, for I am but a humble servant compared to you.” He bowed deep, both knees to the ground.

She hummed as she took the sight of him in, a faint smirk played on her lips.

“The pleasure is all mine to behold, fore I never expected to have the God of Mischief himself at him doorstep. Nonetheless kneeling before me.” She chuckled, amused by how such an infamous god such as himself behaved.

“Stand now, before my ego dares to blossom,”

He rose slowly, steadily. The grin he held was ear to ear; his eyes were full of something playful.

“My apologies but being in the presence of the mother of All Beings is nothing short of a gift.”

“You flatter me well.” A warm smiled graced her features as she offered him a seat in her living room.

The cottage was small, quaint, but homely. Found on the outskirts of a small Italian village in Tuscany, it has the perfect peaceful atmosphere for a god like herself.

She was an observer. Her godly abilities granted her no aid in battles or physic. However, she was blessed to know all and care for those who couldn’t care for themselves. She gifted the greatest responsibility, perhaps the greatest curse. But they were always within her view.

Everyone was always within her sights. She saw all, past and future. Her visions were vague as it was more so accurate to say that she sensed the aura and lifeforce of all under her gaze. Anyone she wanted to find, she could feel.

All except one. The God of Mischief. Loki.

He was the only one she did not know. She knew he was hiding from her, she knew his name and his reputation, but she had never seen him. Felt him.

“For a man who hides himself from me, I’m surprised you have brought yourself to me.”

He gave a calculated, practised smile.

“How could I be deceptive and untrustworthy if there is someone who knows my every move?” It was rhetorical. Possibly sarcastic.

“You intrigue me.”

He hummed, his façade slipping as a fleeting moment of confusion crossed his face before he covered it with his signature grin.

“Why would I, a mere lowlife, hold the interest of a goddess like you?”

She swallowed. She might’ve been looking straight at him, but her mind wandered briefly.

The warm spring air blew through the window, the tickle of her hair blowing against her neck brought her back to the present.

“How could I not be?”

She paused. Hesitated.

“You are a God whose title entails adventuring, acting as one wishes. You are expected to be found with trouble, because you are the trickster and the no good thieve. The one who works only for himself, whose loyalties lie only on his own skill.”

“I am simply, captivated by you. Believe it or not, you have charmed me without us having met before. I envy you freedom.”

He was taken aback. Shocked by this sudden confession. “If I may…” He spoke,

“You are, as the Earthlings call you, mother nature herself. That in and of itself is admirable. It’s an honourable title. To be seen as the mother of all things living, that is an endowment that I simply wouldn’t be able to handle,”

“My dear, you are in a position may gods wish they could be in. Worshipped and appreciated by all, you are a known pacifist that no god dares to challenge. Not even myself.”

She raised an eyebrow at his statement.

“Not even yourself?”

“I may not be trustworthy or reliable. But I would never wish harm upon you, my lady. You may not be the goddess of beauty, but Freyja herself must have blessed you.”

She gave a shy smile as a momentary wave of silence fell over the two of them.

“What are you doing hidden away here?” Loki questioned; his tone like that you’d use when trying to coax a small cat to come closer.

“I like this planet. Earth is… diverse. So many people here have a choice. They each live their own unique little lives, each as special as the next. I enjoy how you can find both busy, bustling streets that are full of life, as well as quiet, peaceful places such as this one all on the same planet.”

“That’s… an interesting perspective.”

“I’m sure you think so, Mr. I planned to take over this planet not long ago.”

They both grinned.

On both of their contrasting paths, they still managed to find one another.

She hoped it was this way in every reality.

He knew of nothing but this reality. This moment, where all he knew was she was the Goddess who drew him in like a magnet no matter how hard he tried to keep himself away. He ended up exactly where she had hoped he’d be.

 In her living room on a warm spring afternoon.

[zephzephyrus]

Alice by Heart and Next to Normal and their depictions of grief

less of an essay and more just a ramble about them, but tdlr; they have their similarities and differences in their portrayals of grief and how the characters deal with it.

it is very long, so you have been warned, and if you read it I hope you enjoy!

I was just in AbH and have a little hyperfix on N2N, so here we go.

The way these two shows depict grief is so wildly different with the way the characters handle their feelings, yet there are similarities (ofc); Alice seeing Alfred and Co. as Wonderland characters and Diana seeing Gabe, neither being who/what they are.

Alice has to deal with the fact that she's losing her best friend, and there's nothing anyone can do to save him. She thinks that reading to him will make it better, that being with her will make it better. Books make things a little less painful, and Alice is all he has, so of course, being near her will make him feel better, thus making him healthy again. Alice is fifteen years old, stuck underground during the London Blitz with no one she knows except Alfred, and the only things she can do to minimise the pain and grief threatening to take over are to deny and escape. She ignores the warning from the Nurse, "Catch that cough, he'll be your death," and goes behind the curtain anyway to drag Alfred into one last adventure through Wonderland.

Alfred, for all he tries to do, begs Alice to let him go, and she can't. He's all she has. So he goes along with it, he follows her into the story and down the rabbit hole. The thing about this is that it's all in their heads. The other people in the underground are cast as characters in Wonderland and play along for the most part. But as Alfred slips further away and begs Alice to just get to the end, one last time, Alice holds on tighter and eventually loses him altogether. Then the Alfred we see is one from her mind, a ghost, a hallucination, because she still can't let go. Not yet.

Diana Goodman has spent years ignoring her grief. Her mental health is a huge part of that and it declines rapidly throughout the show as she continues to push away said grief. Holding on to what should've been, causing the very memory of Gabe to twist into what we see, the spirit of grief clinging to her and antagonising everyone else, just begging to be recognised. Not only that, but she sees him as a normal teen doing normal teen things when he's not tormenting everyone else. He goes to school, stays out late, plays football, argues with her like he would've done—could've done if he were alive. He's not pictured as the perfect kid, he's just a kid.

In the prelude, Gabe tells Diana, "You gotta let go, mom. I'm almost eighteen." He warns her from the beginning that she needs to let go, she needs to grieve, or it'll never get better. And Diana can't. She can't grieve because grieving means forgetting. It means leaving Gabe behind and moving on with her life and acting like he was never there. So, the solution to her is to never grieve cause, "if you won't grieve me, you won't leave me behind." And the continuous refusal to allow those feelings to come to light causes her to spiral and make things so much worse, not just for her, but for her family, too. A cool thing about all that, which I appreciate very much, is that Gabe is constantly in light. Looking at it or going towards it, even saying, “catch me I’m falling,” as if he’s falling away from it, cause Diana is holding him back. She physically holds him back during some of these moments, and he latches on to her during others when it seems like she might let him. 

Both characters believe that if they hold on, then things will turn out fine, that the pain will eventually stop and things will just be normal (no pun intended). We, as the audience, know that it can't happen unless they let go. And while Alice works through her grief during the show, eventually accepting that Alfred is gone, Diana doesn't. She doesn't work through her grief because she doesn't grieve. They give her meds, she goes to therapy, she gets ECT, but she still doesn't grieve. Not until the end, when she realises that it's not something that can be 'cured', that it's a hurt that will stay with her and is part of her, does she allow herself to begin to grieve and let go.

Another thing, the characters in both. In Alice by Heart, the characters help Alice to come to terms with what and how she's feeling, allowing this child to process the hurt as needed. In Next to Normal, the characters—mostly Dan and Dr. Madden—attempt to help Diana in ways they think will work best, but Diana doesn't really want help, nor do they do the one thing that Diana actually needs: naming Gabe. He says so himself with, “Until you name me, you can’t tame me,” representing not just Diana’s grief, but the family's grief and how encompassing it is. Dr. Madden tries, but because Dan also isn't ready to face his own grief, which is a whole other thing, he hinders Diana's progress rather than helping her.

Alfred and Gabe. Alfred wants to let go. He tells Alice that he's running out of time and warns her over and over again that he can't stay. Throughout the musical, he follows her and reminds her of his circumstances, which she refuses to acknowledge, and he eventually becomes a spirit existing in her mind in her vision and allows her to have the closure she needs. Gabe wants to be acknowledged for what he is, who he is, and that is the part of Diana that has been locked away and left to fester into the possessive, desperate, destructive force we see throughout the show. Both are plagued by the grief surrounding them, and they have no control over it, like cogs in a machine.

At the end of Alice by Heart, Alice and Alfred have one last moment together during “Afternoon” to say goodbye. The characters, at the end of the song, are physically holding on to one another as Alice clings to him for a final time. Alfred drops out of singing, lets go of Alice—and she lets him—and walks off stage while Alice continues, signifying that she grieved. She grieved for her friend and was able to continue with her life, not forgetting him. At the beginning of “Winter Blooms”, Clarissa, a snobby girl, says, “At least the story’s done,” to which Alice replies, “No, never done.” She recognises that he’s gone, but she will not forget him. She carries his memory and keeps his story alive.

At the end of Next to Normal, we see Diana realise that holding on is hurting her and everyone around her, so she leaves. Dan finally acknowledges Gabe, even if it’s just for a second, and Natalie helps her dad while also grieving her mom and someone she never knew. During “Light”, they all get/have what they need. Natalie has someone who knows her for her and won’t give up on her, Dan finds someone to talk to, and Diana works through her grief. All while this is happening, Gabe lingers behind them. Not as some malevolent spirit tearing down each attempt to help Diana, but as a watcher; a reminder that he was there, that he is there. A reminder that grief doesn’t go away; it lingers. And that doesn’t have to mean forgetting who you’ve lost. 

Grief is not a linear process. It can be, but it rarely is. It's gut-wrenching and exhausting and long and unforgiving and hard, and these musicals are so very good at depicting it and the journey it takes to just get somewhere with it; Alice taking no more than a day and Diana taking over eighteen years. These musicals show that it's okay to grieve, no matter how long it takes, and that it's not easy, but it is necessary.

This was less of an essay and more of a ramble of thoughts about them. didn't even touch on the religious connotation behind Gabe's name or what it signifies, but that’s for another time (also the tumblr people talk about it, so def go look at those). I adore both of these musicals with all my heart, and they mean so, so much to me. If you haven't seen/listened to either, you absolutely should, and if you've only seen/heard one, you should go check out the other. Okay, ramble done.

[bnnywngs]

cloud recesses class au where every time teenji looks at teenxian a telenovela like romantic song starts to play but he's the only one who can hear it (actually, teenxian can hear it, he's just better at pretending not to and it's highly amusing for him)

[ceo-of-merleon]

Merlin is a heavily complex character, whose character we see develop throughout the whole show, from turning from an empathic person into someone who has lost everything.

We see Merlin die constantly throughout the show but they don’t don’t bring much attention to it, never implying that Merlin even knows that he’s dying, only us, the viewer, understand he is immortal.

Even his prophesied name, Emrys, means immortal.

But Emrys is not Merlin.

Merlin was born of Hunith and Balinor. Emrys was born of pure magic.

Merlin is human. But Emrys is the embodiment of magic, it is not human.

And everytime Merlin dies a part of him chips away, leaving Emrys to fill in the cracks.

Something In the show that isn’t outright stated but is clearly seen through Merlin’s actions is that he not only gets better at magic but also a lot colder. He starts to get the mindset of “whatever it takes” to fulfill his destiny.

Even in the intro of the show kilgrarrah inknowledges that Merlin is changing, from calling him a young boy to calling him a young man, which could symbolize him slowly turning more in Emrys.

When he poisons Morgana in the Fires of Idirsholas, he cries and holds her, regretting what he’s done. But in The Diamond of The Day when he actually kills her he just stares down at her, no emotion in his face, then he just leaves her there and doesn’t look back.

We see him slowly start to hate Morgana more and more over the seasons, at first he doesn’t believe she could ever be evil and tries to help her, then during season three he starts to hate her until season five were he no longer feels any care for her.

During the whole of season five the only thing Merlin thinks about is his destiny with Arthur, he only cares about keeping Arthur alive. Which is only intensified with Mordred being in Camelot.

It’s very clear just how much Merlin hates Mordred, So much that he forgets that Mordred was and still is a child. He’s so blinded by destiny he can’t see that he’s making Mordred prophecy come true.

Not only that but he doesn’t interact with many of his other friends in season five, like he’s so focused on Arthur he ignores everyone else around him.

And even when he finally finds some happiness it’s taken away from him almost immediately, leading him to only become colder, becoming more like Emrys.

And It’s all because Merlin has been dying all throughout the season, slowly revealing Emrys underneath.

when he goes into crystal cave in The Diamond of The Day to restore his magic, Balinor tells him that the heart of the cave will reveal his true self, which is Emrys.

And when he does the last part of Merlin is broken away, leaving only Emrys left. Which not only lets him to have complete control of magic, but also causes him to lose his humanity.

But part of Merlin is still there, deep down inside Emrys, waiting for Arthur to return.