#i use it for writing angst because what the FUCK

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

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“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

[regulusrules]

5 Post-Diamond of the Day fic recs with Happy Endings

Since we’re trending, AGAIN, this fic rec is one of The Basics ™️ to those who finish the series now. Personally I remember desperately navigating ao3 (with tears and snot) when I first finished the show, looking for a happy continuation. So here’s a list you will absolutely need

1. My breaths are run by your compass by @regulusrules. 75K, M.

If I wasn’t the one who wrote it, I desperately would’ve wanted this fic to be the first thing I read after the finale. Because holy fucking hell this fic healed all what dotd did to me. It has a plot that matches the angst of s5, yet the ending we deserved. Sometimes when I’m wallowing in bed, I remember that certain scene of them in the epilogue, and my frantic heart calms. Also when I remember Arthur kneeling there. Holy lord above.

2. The Patter of Tiny Feet on Cold Stone Floors by @theavalonian. 79K, M.

This fic is the definition of perfection. From its perfection, I’ve only read it once (five years ago) and still recall every single detail about it. Which is insane if you know me irl. But it was just simply amazing. A fic bestowed from above. My heart hurt for days while reading it, but at the same time it showed me love I can never forget. I’d sell my kidney for the sequel if dear author is still interested.

3. Winning the battle, losing the war series by @prattery. 27K, T.

“He doesn’t beg again—not out loud, anyway.” This line, and this fic in general, sometimes ring in my ears in a way none do. There is something just so hauntingly beautiful with how Merlin’s journey to recovery here was written. A lifetime of disaster finally resolved, not shrugged. Golden love remaining. Would sell my other kidney if dear author still wishes to bless us.

4. Golden As I Open My Eyes by @queerofthedagger. 2K, E.

Only queerofthedagger could write a 2k fic and stun us all with it. I mean; what was it all worth indeed if we do not get an alcove scene of desperate yearning? We cannot expect canon AUs of dotd to be immediately happy. That goes against the essence of the whole show. But when they work for it— when they consciously choose to leave destiny behind for love’s sake, that’s what makes fics more telling.

5. Something More by @captain-ozone. 5K, G.

If, like me, you finished the show and you were like oh I’d love to read a fic about Arthur’s side of the journey and torment myself even more! then this is the best fic you could possibly read for that. Leave the MCD aside, it is genuinely so good. And the actual proof of that is that I absolutely hate first POV books, but this one was an exception. Bring tissues next to you though.

[For more fic recs]

[elswhore]

hey gorg! congrats on the 2,000!! you deserve it. i was wondering if you could per chance do a angst to fluff with prompt 7? with ju, maybe someone was sending mixed signals and and they get in a lil argument but work things out.

(i’m so sorry this is long i wasn’t sure how to explain it🙃)

prompt 7 "tell me what you want" ── angst to fluff.

thank you so muchh!. sorry i dont get it.. but i tried hope i did wrote it right. (btw i loved writing this)

you paced the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, replaying the last few weeks in your mind, juju’s laugh, her teasing smirks, the way her hand lingered on your arm a little too long moments that felt like promises.

but then there were the days she’d pull back, her texts short and distant, her eyes avoiding yours when you tried to get closer, the mixed signals were driving you up the wall, and you were done, the front door clicked open, and juju stepped inside, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her gym bag slung over one arm.

she looked at you, her brows lifting slightly at the tension radiating off you. “hey,” she said, her voice casual, like she hadn’t noticed the storm brewing in your eyes. “what’s up?” you stopped pacing, turning to face her, your grip on your phone tightening.

“what’s up?” you echoed, your voice sharp with the frustration you’d been bottling for weeks. “juju, I’m so fucking tired of this, one day you’re all over me, flirting, acting like you want something real, and the next you’re cold, like i’m just some friend you barely care about, do you even know how confusing that is?”

juju’s expression faltered, her bag sliding off her shoulder to the floor as she straightened, her eyes locking onto yours. “what are you talking about?” she asked, but there was a defensive edge to her voice, like she was bracing for a fight. “don’t play dumb,” you snapped, stepping closer, your emotions spilling over.

“you know exactly what i mean, you’ll text me at midnight, saying shit that makes my heart race, then ghost me for two days, you’ll hug me like you never want to let go, then act like it’s nothing when i try to talk about us, i can’t keep doing this, juju. i’m not some game you can pick up and drop whenever you feel like it.”

your voice cracked on the last sentence, and you hated how vulnerable it made you sound, but you couldn’t stop now. “i like you, okay? i’ve liked you for so long, and i thought—i thought you felt something too, but if you don’t, just say it, stop stringing me along, because i can’t take it anymore.”

the room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging between you, juju’s face softened, the defensiveness melting away as she took in your trembling hands, the raw hurt in your eyes, she stepped forward, closing the distance, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“don’t,” you said, your voice quieter now, but firm. “eon’t just hug me or say something cute to smooth this over, need to know where you stand.” juju stopped, her hands falling to her sides, for a moment, she looked lost, her usual confidence replaced by something softer, almost uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice low, genuine. “i didn’t mean to mess with your head, i just… i’m not good at this.” you frowned, crossing your arms, still guarded. “good at what? being honest? caring about someone?”

“no,” she said quickly, her eyes searching yours. “figuring out how to let myself want this, want you, without freaking out..i know i've been all over the place, and that’s on me, i get close, and then i pull back because… i don’t know, i’m scared of screwing it up..but i do care, i care so much it fucks me up sometimes.”

her words hit you hard, unraveling some of the anger but leaving the hurt behind, you swallowed, your throat tight. “then why can’t you just show it? why do i have to feel like i'm chasing you all the time?”juju’s shoulders sagged, and she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily.

“because i’m an idiot,” she admitted, a small, self deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “and because i’ve never felt like this before, not this much, i keep thinking if i hold back, i’ll protect myself or whatever, but all i’m doing is hurting you, nd i hate that.” ehe stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t pull away.

her hands hovered near your arms, hesitant, like she was waiting for permission. “tell me what you want,” she said softly, her voice raw, her eyes pleading. “i don’t want to lose you, i just need to know how to fix this.” your heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice, the way she was laying herself bare for the first time.

you took a shaky breath, your anger softening as you looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. “i want you to stop running,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “i want you to be real with me, even if it’ messy, if you’re scared, say it, if you want me, show it, just… be here. with me.”

juju nodded, her eyes glistening slightly as she closed the gap, her hands finally settling gently on your arms. “i’m here,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing soft circles against your skin.

[filthygalli]

When I Met You: Chapter 6 “Sick Day”

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Masterlist

Squid Game Masterlist

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Sexual Innuendo, Somnophilia, Hand job, sick reader, fluff, slight angst, reader is getting embarrassed, Soft!In-Ho, In-Ho’s down bad for the reader, tease In-Ho, reader is starting to fall in love with In-Ho but doesn’t want to do nor say anything about it, Not proofread, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 2815

Author’s note: Hi! I’m sorry if this series is taking a while to finish—i have to think of things if this is good enough for ya’ll or what, i also got burned out from school and i have been stressed lately and I couldn’t get anything out of my head when i write, so i deeply apologize for the wait! Love ya’ll!🫶🏻🖤

© Pictures that are used are from Pinterest

The sun shines through your skin, you slowly scratch your eyes as you feel someone laying beside you, ‘Shit’ you thought as you adjust your eyes, your vision is a bit blurry, you see the broad back of In-Ho. Did something happen between you two? Clearly not, Right? You’re not naked, fully clothed to be honest, You can’t help but travel your gaze on In-Ho’s back, He’s way too fit for his age, way too good too, muscle flexed on his back as he breathe, you can’t help but smile, he looked so vulnerable, though–you can’t help but wonder what happened last night? You tried to remember everything, you remember being light headed after the dinner, while In-Ho offered to do the dishes as you rest down on your sofa…then after that, nothing, you can’t remember anything, you quietly chuckled and groans as your head started to ache, “Fuck…” you groaned as you lay back down, you look at your side seeing In-Ho still sleeping peacefully, you started to feel your eyelids getting heavy blink after blink–you yawned as you drift of to sleep. 

In-Ho groans as he slowly opens his eyes, blinded by the lights that shines through your window, It’s weird because he doesn't usually sleep with his blinds wide open, he’s more of a person who likes to keep his blinds closed at all times, preventing the sunlight to shine through his room, but he’s not in his own room, your room is way to…you, your room screams ‘y/n’ he scratch his eyes softly, trying to adjust his vision through the light that shines inside your bedroom, though he liked that your room has a perfect temperature, it's not too cold, not too warm but it just feels right, He moved slowly afraid that he might awake you as he felt the warm body of your sleeping peacefully beside him, he moved to face you, he smiled as he admire your features, he loved how the light from the outside illuminated your skin, how your brows frowned when you sleep–and he finds it funny, he never seen or heard a person who frowned in their sleep, and he thought of it as a adorable thing for you to do, he looked at your lips for a moment–admiring the soft and pinkish lips that he’s been dying to put his lips on, he wanted to kiss you passionately–like you’re the only woman that mattered to him, the only woman that make his dark and intense demeanor melt like an ice cream during summer with your sweet and innocent smiles that never fails to make In-Ho smile to himself like a teenage boy who had his first love during highschool–And it doesn’t surprise him anymore, he knows how lovely you are, you bring out the soft side of him that no one could, you make him vulnerable in so many ways, you make In-Ho obsessed with you but he rather not show, if he could–he would kiss the damn floor you walk on, he would worship you, kneel infront of you as you tell him what to do–He liked how you hair shines through the light from the sun, it made you even more beautiful–he slowly reached up to your face, tucking a strand of hair to your ear using his index finger as he drag his fingers on your soft and warm skin, tracing all your features to your jaw up until to your cheeks, you softly groaned as he pulled his hand away slightly, he can’t help but smile, he loved how innocent and soft your groans are–he wanted to hear you groan more, but the reason that your groaning is when he’s buried deep inside your tight pussy. 

He groaned as he felt his cock getting hard by the thoughts of him getting buried deep inside you, if he could fuck you right now while you’re sleeping he would do it, he’ll make you beg for his own release, as he circle his thumb on your swollen clit–he will not stop fucking his cum into you till you can’t cum anymore—but the thought of fucking you while you’re sleeping only made his erection grow more. While you, well…you’re peacefully sleeping dreaming of god knows what. You’re way too tired and sleepy to open your eyes and see In-Ho staring at you with a loving gaze that turns into lust in just a beat. In-Ho thought of going into your bathroom to jerk himself but that’s no fun. Isn't it? He smirked as he thought of touching himself on your bed, beside your sleeping figure, but what would he say if you wake up and see him stroking his cock while looking at you figure? That’s the question that has no answer yet but he’ll find out once it happens. He’s a man who lives for the thrill of something, he likes taking risks, regardless of the consequences as long as he does it, it’s dumb of him to think that way, but also kind of sexy. 

He looked at you for a moment contemplating of what will he do, he sighs deeply as he slowly reach inside his pants, freeing his aching cock, pre cum already beaded on the tip,  fuck he wish he could just use you, its much more easier. He spat on his hand as he slowly pump himself up and down, a soft moan leaves his throat, he looked at your soft skin, imagining leaving marks on it, sucking your skin till it turns red–-kissing them after, licking them as he trail his tongue across your skin. He moaned at the thought as he pump his cock much faster than before, wanting to cum before you even wake up, “Fuck–” he moaned softly, his eyes rolled back as he feel himself getting closer, He thought of how your pussy would stretch if he puts his cock in to you, he’ll rip you apart, he’ll make your pussy remember each veins that he have. He would make you beg for your own release as you moan his name like a song that he plays repeatedly in his vinyl player–Every thrust that he do with his hand makes him groan even more, the thought of cumming inside you made him even more hard, he moaned at the thought–”Y/n..” he whispered as he looked at you with a tired gaze, “Hmm–fuck–” he moaned, You softly whimper in your sleep, as In-Ho’s mouth hang open, eyes darted at your soft lips, that he always thought of wrapping your lips on his cock. He grows desperate, desperate to cum, with a few strokes he comes as he closes his mouth groaning silently, his cum shoots to his abdomen and chest–he keeps stroking his cock as he sighs heavily. He looked at you for a moment, he smirked to himself. He sighs as he looked at the mess that he did, he sat up and went to your bathroom–as he quickly cleans himself, he looked around your bathroom–-it looks nice and comfortable, the bottles of products aligned perfectly on your shelves, towels fold neatly under, he washed his face as he stared at himself as he chuckled quietly and left your bathroom, when he came back you’re already awake–sat up as you scratch your eyes softly. “Good morning, Sweetheart.” In-Ho said as he looked at you with a loving gaze, “Good morning…” you said as you yawned softly, stretching your arms. In-Ho chuckled, “How’s your sleep?” he said as he put his hand in his pocket, tilting his head slightly. “It was–” you breath hitched as In-Ho put his hand in his pocket, the action made you whimper, the light from the window illuminates his skin, “It was, what?” He said as he sat on the edge of the bed, his physique displayed beautifully in front of you, You trail your eyes on his chest, his veiny hands, his broad shoulders, his abs, fuck–you want to trail your tongue across his abs all the way up to his chest, leaving him marks there that will make him remind himself that you, his innocent neighbour just marked him as hers. “Sweetheart, if you kept looking at me like that, I might just give you whatever you’re thinking in that silly head of yours.” He said as he leaned in a little, “Wha-” He chuckled deeply  “I’m kidding, So, How’s your sleep?” you pout in response with his teasing, “It was ok, though my head is killing me–” you groaned as In-Ho chuckled. “Alright, you go rest there, I'm gonna go get Yu-Jin and cook us some breakfast.” He said as he stood up, eyes never leaving you, you nodded, “Be a good girl and take a nice rest, I’ll come back here once I'm done.” He smirked down at you, scanning your reaction, your eyes widened as you heard of In-Ho’s little praise, “ok..” is all you said as you looked up at him as you saw him smirking down at you, hands still inside the pocket of his pants, he grabbed his glasses and puts it on before leaving—him still not wearing a top gave you a full view of how sexy his back is, fuck—you’d climb that man like a tree, scratch his back with your nails. 

In-ho went out of your house to go to his house, he opened the door and was greeted by his cat, Yu-Jin. He crouched down as he pets Yu-Jin, purring as he scratches Yu-Jin’s neck, “Sorry to leave you here all alone, Buddy.” In-ho said as Yu-Jin circled  around his legs, he chuckled as Yu-Jin lays down asking for a belly rub, he smiled as he rubs Yu-Jin’s belly—Yu-Jin meowed at him, his emerald like eyes turns up to In-Ho, “C’mon, i need to cook some food for your mom.” He picked Yu-Jin up, still shirtless, his body displayed beautifully outside as the sun shines on his skin that made his skin glow.

He and Yu-Jin reached your house as he sets Yu-Jin down, Yu-jin immediately ran to sat on the sofa as he drifted off to sleep, In-Ho chuckled as he shakes his head lightly, the thought of seeing his cat, Yu-jin being so comfortable around your house makes him feel contented in a way that you’re special not just for him, but for Yu-jin as well. 

 In-Ho went to your kitchen to cook some breakfast for the two of you—He’s thinking what to cook for you, he hasn’t asked what are the things that you like when it comes to food, are you a picky eater or not? Are you perhaps allergic to seafood? Thousands of questions bothered his mind, he sighs as he decided to cook you something simple for now and ask you later on what are the things that you like.

He started to heat up the pan as he gathered the ingredients that he needs from your kitchen, A japanese style omelette is what he decided to cook, Afraid of not making the omelette perfect for you—he remembers the time that he once visited japan where a japanese chef cooks their omelette with such a unique skill, so he took his time to make some food for you that you will like, as Yu-Jin sat on top of the kitchen counter watching his dad, In-Ho go crazy for a woman, and that woman is you. 

You woke up as you stretched your arms as you finally wake up from your nap, however, the smell of food made your stomach growl, the smell is captivating—it's like inviting your feet to move and stand up to see what’s downstairs for you, you stood up and quietly walk downstairs, you hear a soft sound of rustling inside your kitchen, you chuckled as you hear In-Ho talks to Yu-Jin about hoping that you would like the food that he makes, You watch then as you stood quietly at the door; The moment you saw him – bare chested, moving like sin in the kitchen - something twisted violently inside you. Your stomach was a storm of butterflies, frantic and feverish. Those abs, sharp and obscene, looked like they could melt butter just by existing. His biceps flexed with quiet dominance, and that back... that beautiful, brutal back, made your breath catch in ways you couldn't explain. You're flushed, aching, and completely undone. 

In-Ho felt someone watching him, the gaze was intense, more like the person who’s looking behind him wants him badly, he smirked to himself as he turns the stove on and plates the food that he made for the two of you, “You know…if you want something from me sweetheart, just ask and stop looking at me like that with those ‘fuck me’ eyes, hmm?” He said as he turned around to face you, his words made your eyes widened, a quiet whimper came out of your mouth, “I-“ he chuckled darkly at your response, “I’m kidding, come I made us food, i hope you like omelette.” He said as he pulled a chair for you to sit on, eyes darted at your body as he trails his eyes slowly on your hips, chest, and lips—before locking eyes with you. You walk slowly towards him, still captivated with how sexy he is in the early morning , and you sit on the chair  “Thank you.” You muttered as you looked at the food he prepared for the two of you, it looked delicious—the omelette is perfectly done, he sat beside you looking at you, “Thank you, In-Ho, I appreciate this!” You said happily as you grabbed a fork to taste the omelette that In-Ho made, you sliced up some food and brought it up to your mouth, the aroma of the omelette made you happy already, it was just perfect. In-Ho chuckled beside you with how happy you look right now, you looked beside you “what?” You said smilingly, “Nothing, you look beautiful.” He said as he brought up his hand to your face to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, you blushed upon his action, he sighs “As much as i want you to look at me like that, you have to eat.” His tone of voice is commanding yet still soft, you shake your head as you ate the food that in-ho prepared, in-ho joins to eat as well, he can’t help but look at you, how breathtaking you look right now, your hair tied up into a messy bun, your shirt hangs perfectly to your body, how every groan and whimper from you eating the omelette that he prepared turns him on. 

After a few exchanges of conversation and a few teasing words from In-Ho, suddenly you felt a discomfort coming from your head, you slightly groaned as In-Ho asked if you’re ok, “I’m ok…my head, it’s just…it hurts a little, But i’ll be ok.” you gave him a weak smile as he placed a hand on the small of your back, caressing your back gently, which provides comfort for you, “How about you get some rest, hmm?” he said as he tilt his head a little to meet your gaze, “I’m ok i promise, i need to tidy up the house too i–” “Not a chance, Sweetheart, i’ll go tidy up in here like last night, you’ll go rest till you feel better, ok?” he said as he gave you a slight smile, you felt a little pang in your chest, you appreciate the things that In-ho does for you but you also feel embarrassed, it feels like he’s doing a little to much for you, and you don’t want In-Ho to think that you’re taking advantage of his kindness–he’s still your neighbor, you know him, but not that well, you do want to get to know him but given that he has a little attitude in him sometimes, you don’t want to ask. “I appreciate the things you do In-Ho but i can take care of myself..” you said as you look down on your thighs, In-ho frowned as he understood what are you talking about, you’re embarrassed, “Y/n, Sweetheart…I- I understand what are you trying to say,” he cupped your chin with his thumb to look up at him, the corner of your eyes starts to water, “Sweetheart, I’m doing this because i…’’ he paused for a moment to try to find words, “I’m doing this because i want to, you’re a friend that i care about, you don’t need to feel shy nor embarrassed about it.” he said as he gently wiped the tear that fell on the corner of your eyes, “ Be comfortable to me, Y/n, i want you to be yourself whenever i’m around you.’’ you looked at him with admiring eyes, it's like you’re falling for him, but you can’t say it–you don’t know how to say it. 

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Author’s Note: Hello there again! As always, Thank you so much for reading my work and making me feel great and seen for your anonymous messages and inbox! I appreciate each and every one of ya’ll! I deeply and sincerely apologize for the for the delay of the chapters of this series, i’m doing my best to make the series entertaining for ya’ll and i have drafts for the next chapters and ideas on how the story will go, i just don’t know how to create a story around it:((

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[souliebird]

[[dance of the little swans]]

Hi I wrote my silly Dex x Reader fic but from Matt's POV :)

Past!Matt x Reader , Dex x Reader. Angst. So much angst. It's all angst. Lots of talk about killing :) But it's Daredevil & Bullseye so. Panic attacks.

~3k

I'm taking this less seriously than other writing but I tried.

Summary: Weeks after a bad break up, Matt finds out you are Benjamin Poindexter's new North Star

It has been nearly five weeks since Matt last heard your voice.

You had been upset he had missed the opening night of the ballet you had been a dancer in and Matt had been angry you couldn’t understand his work as Daredevil couldn’t be scheduled into a planner.

He doesn’t remember the fight that much - it had been an extremely long and painful night involving the Hand and he had gotten a pretty decent concussion - but he does remember coming back to his apartment to find every trace of you gone and your key on his coffee table. It had been clear you had left him and Matt’s bitterness and anger at Everything had him making the decision that he wasn’t going to chase after you.

Maybe, if hadn’t been so stubborn and bullheaded, he would have let himself patrol by your apartment. He had avoided everywhere you liked to frequent and it was easy to not think of what he was doing. He hasn't had a moment's rest in months between his day life and nightlife. He kept himself too busy to let himself think about you.

Maybe, if he didn’t have the Devil in him he would have tried to call you. Foggy and Karen pestered at him until he snapped and threw his cell phone through a wall. They didn't mention you after that and he assumes they think you were avoiding them.

Maybe, if he wasn't such a fuck up.

Maybe, if he had done anything.

Check in.

Talk to you.

Maybe - just maybe - he would have realized your apartment has been empty for weeks.

That your phone goes straight to voicemail.

That you had dropped out of your production and hadn’t shown up to your gym since then. None of your friends had seen you.

He had filed a missing person’s report and it had been Mahoney who flatly told him you weren't missing - you had willingly decided to disappear. You weren't breaking any laws - all your bills were up to speed - so there was nothing to be done.

Case closed.

Maybe, if he had listened when Karen had insisted something was wrong he would have pushed more, but you Left and he could not take it.

Maybe, just maybe.

Matt stands frozen at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen with his heart in his throat, listening as your sweet, light laugh mixes with that of Benjamin Poindexter’s.

He knows you know all about Bullseye. Matt has told you all about Bullseye.

He knows you know his name, his face, what he did, what he does, and that the man should be locked away where no sunlight can ever reach him. Matt knows you know every detail about Benjamin Poindexter because he has sat up in bed with you countless nights telling you about his nightmares about the man.

That monster shouldn’t be walking down the street with you, with his arm slung around your shoulder like you have some sort of casual relationship with him. You shouldn't be smiling and leaning into his hold, talking about nonsense while holding boutique shopping bags while he hides various weapons under his clothes.

You shouldn't be so intimate with Benjamin Poindexter.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near him.

Matt wants to run to you and pull you from Poindexter, then beat the man to a pulp for daring to even look at you, but he can’t move. He can’t move because he doesn’t understand why any of this is happening. It feels like his brain is breaking - or like his body has just had a factory reset and he needs to reboot.

“Do you want a coffee?” you ask Poindexter - exactly like you used to ask Matt every time you passed a coffee shop. It is sweet and tempting and incredibly clear that you are the one who wants coffee. You always want coffee.

Poindexter lifts his arm - checking his watch, Matt thinks - before answering in his faux Civilian voice that hides the monster he is, “it’s almost nine.”

“Like that means anything,” you fire back, your voice so light and happy as you bump your shoulder against Poindexter’s chest. “Please?”

The man laughs, almost sounding genuine with it and Matt’s hackles raise. He wants to storm over and rip out Bullseye’s voicebox, but he remains rooted to his spot in his Rage.

“You know I’ll never deny you anything, angel.”

Poindexter pretends to be a gentleman - he opens the door to the coffee shop for you, and when you get to the counter, he asks for a medium drip coffee and your preferred order. He pays with cash while Matt tries to not let out a feral scream.

He shouldn’t know how you take your coffee.

He shouldn’t have his arm around you.

He shouldn’t be calling you ‘angel’.

Matt finally gets his body to listen to him and he crosses the boundary out of the Kitchen, racing across rooftops and trying to figure out how the hell to get you to safety. Poindexter would have no qualms about killing you and everyone in the area and he can't allow that to happen.

He needs to lure the danger away from you.

But you don't seem to get you are in danger because as you wait for your coffee, you press yourself against Poindexter’s side again.

“Do you want to finish watching that movie?” You ask softly and Matt can practically taste the sweetness in your voice. He lets himself growl at it.

“I don't know, are you going to stay awake for it?”

“Dex!”

Matt hates that he can hear you smiling. He hates he can hear Poindexter smiling.

Then so suddenly it all changes.

Matt's best guess is you see something on the TV that is playing in the shop, as you are facing that way. Your heart starts pounding in your chest while the rest of you tenses up.

Your lower lip wobbles as you shakily gasp out the most terrified sound Matt has ever heard in his life.

His heart shatters at the word that slips from your lips.

“Dex.”

Bullseye is already moving.

He grabs you by the arm before you finish saying his name and he's three steps already towards the door. The barista looks on with confusion as the both of you practically run out the door, leaving your coffee behind.

The Devil in Matt roars to life and he pushes body to move faster.

Whatever you saw on the television is driving you into a full blown panic attack. Bullseye is marching you down the street at a brisk pace and you are right at his heels, clutching onto him almost as tightly as he is clutching onto you.

You keep repeating his name quietly, pleading and begging - but not in fear of him. You are asking him to help you.

You want his protection.

And Matt doesn't understand. He doesn't understand how you could ever be in the same space as Benjamin Poindexter. How you could interact so easily with him.

What had he done to you?

Stockholm syndrome wasn't supposed to be real but he knows Poindexter is an excellent manipulator. He tricked the FBI all those years into believing he was a person instead of a monster.

“It's going to be okay,” Bullseye firmly tells you. Gone is the fake ‘aren't I charming?’ voice. This is the hard voice of the man who killed Father Lantom without blinking an eye. The hand that isn't holding you is already holding three throwing knives and his eyes are darting around, looking for any excuse to use them.

He will mow down anyone in his way.

And Matt's still too far away to stop him.

By The Grace of God, no one tries to intervene.

It's not uncommon to see people running down the street, especially in a busier area like this. To anyone who might be bothered by the running, you just appear to be in a hurry.

Matt follows you deeper into Midtown and - to his great surprise - an upscale hotel. With actual security. You have to flash your key card at the entry before they will open the door and he is honestly surprised Bullseye doesn't kill the guard.

He ends his chase in the building across the street. He will need to figure out a way in without causing a scene.

He can't let Poindexter kill more people.

You quickly end up in the elevator, and Matt just stands there as you go higher and higher into the sky. The suite you swipe your door key at is around the corner from the stairwell and Matt doubts that by chance. Bullseye probably has every centimeter of the place mapped and it isn't going to be easy to get in.

Matt becomes lost in his planning, forgetting to focus on the fact you and Poindexter are now alone.

He doesn't expect it when you rip his heart out by swirling around and throwing yourself at Poindexter.

He, of course, catches you because he was already reaching for you. He crushes you to his chest with one arm while the other buries itself in your hair. He presses his forehead to the top of your head, which is hidden against his neck.

He silently squeezes you in the tightest bearhug he can before without hurting you while you weep. You crumble apart the seams and Matt can do nothing.

He is rooted to the roof of some department store as the man who almost ruined his life cradles the lover who walked out on him.

He cries along with the both of you.

He cries because he feels betrayed.

He cries because he doesn't know how this came to be.

He cries because he doesn't know why you are crying, but Benjamin Poindexter does.

Only when your body starts to give out and your sobs slow does Bullseye speak. His voice is raspy - he has been crying as well but Matt doesn't give a fuck about that - as he begs, “Please let me kill him. Please. I'll be quick, I'll be good. No suffering. Please. Let me kill all of them. Please.”

The words jolt Matt from his own thoughts and his breathing stops, waiting for your reply.

“No,” you mumble, sounding so broken and exhausted. You dip your head and nuzzle yourself into his chest while he still holds you in a tight grip.

Matt can tell you've had this conversation before.

He’s starting to go numb inside. He doesn't understand what is going on. He doesn't understand why you are acting like this.

What had that monster done to you to desensitize you to death? Why didn't this bother you?

“Why?” Bullseye demands, his anger starting to become uncontrollable. His voice is getting hard and he still has blades in his hands.

Matt needs to move, needs to stop him.

But he just stands there and listens.

You sigh, then step impossibly closer to Poindexter - you've slotted yourself completely between his thighs and your head is tucked under his chin. It's almost as close as you can be with clothes on and without fucking. The monster responds by filling any missing holes by hugging you that much tighter.

You are going to be covered in bruises.

“It will hurt more,” you barely breathe out. “If he's gone, it will hurt more. If he's just…. If he's just there, I can.” You are nodding as you are talking, like you are trying to convince yourself of your words.

Matt doesn't understand why you are trying to reason with Bullseye why Matt shouldn't be murdered in cold blood.

This isn't who you are.

What did he do to you?

“I can,” you start again, “just ignore it. Hell's Kitchen just doesn't exist. That's what we said, yeah? It's not there.”

Matt’s weeping again.

What has happened to you in these five weeks that you sound so broken?

How could he have allowed this to happen? He was so sure he had been abandoned yet again that he let his Anger overshadow the fact that he was supposed to protect the people he loved.

He had purposefully ignored you and this was his sick punishment.

God had seen his wickedness and had sent the false Devil to punish him.

But it wasn't enough according to Poindexter.

“He deserves to be punished,” the man spits. “He hurt you. Let me kill him. I'll choke the life out of him. All of them.”

What did he do?

What did Matt do?

He missed a ballet performance - which is a little hard to follow without sight - so he could stop some lingering members of the Hand from getting dragon bones. He didn't deserve Death for that, however horrible he felt about it.

“It will hurt more,” you repeat softly and Matt does not understand this argument. You should be very clearly telling Bullseye not to kill Matt.

“If they are gone it will hurt more.” There's a beat of silence, then you ask in an almost sultry whisper. “Do you want me to hurt more, Dex?”

Matt understands what is happening.

You know how to manipulate Poindexter right back. You know you're his North Star and you know exactly what that means to him.

Morality won't work on Bullseye - he has no morals - but he is a practical slave to his obsession.

That's how you keep him from killing Matt.

Matt doesn't know if he should be grateful or if he should throw up.

This isn't you, this isn't how you act. Matt doesn't know what is wrong with you and that angers him and scares him.

You aren't pretending to be his North Star. You aren't saying the right things to keep him on the right path. This isn't an act.

Your words are true.

For whatever reason, you want to avoid Matt and cuddle up to Bullseye instead.

“N-never,” Poindexter stutters out, his entire demeanor shifting into something more submissive than aggressive. “They aren't going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” You are genuine in your words and Poindexter seems to sense that. He relaxes just slightly, and after a moment, pulls his head back so he can place his forehead against yours.

“Let me make you coffee. You go shower. We’ll watch your movie until you fall asleep on me. In the morning, we'll go anywhere you like.”

Matt's stomach turns as you start to pluck at Poindexter’s t-shirt. You've stopped crying, but your voice is still wet when you mumble, “I don't want to go out tomorrow.”

“Then we'll stay in.”

Matt drops to one knee as you pull away from Poindexter and head towards the shower. Your movements are sluggish and he's pretty sure you are starting to turn on auto-pilot.

Something about the idea of spying on you bathing doesn't sit well with him, so he focuses on the monster still in the bedroom.

Poindexter waits until the water starts before he moves. Then, in lighting fast steps, he's across the room and screaming into a pillow.

Matt doesn't care about his grief or rage. He just knows he needs to hurt Bullseye enough that he can be arrested and put back into a very deep hole.

Once the monster pretends to be a man again, Matt just keeps sitting there as Poindexter starts making coffee in the hotel provided pot. The grounds are store bought from a little bakery down the street from your old gym. They are your favorite.

Once the coffee is going, the shopping bags are unpacked - they had been dropped when you had entered the room. Poindexter shakes out everything, then neatly refolds it before setting all the garments in the laundry bag in the closet. His moments are precise.

Calculated.

OCD.

Your shower ends far quicker than expected. Less than five minutes from the door closing to the door opening.

You step out of the bathroom with your hair wet and completely nude. Your soap is scented like honey and oat. It's organic. It clings to your skin.

You haven't used it since you learned about Matt's senses.

The Devil in Matt's chest seeps down to his fist and they begin to shake as you walk towards Poindexter, who is openly oogling you. His eyes go right to your chest and he swallows like a nervous teenager.

“Can I have your shirt?”

The question is shy and hesitant and honest and Matt wants to break each and every one of Bullseye’s ribs.

Poindexter gives you his shirt like it was an order and he is a Good Soldier. You pull it on, and wearing only it, take the monster’s hand and lead him to bed.

There is no sex, despite what Matt was expecting.

You curl up, your head on his chest, and turn on a movie.

You fall asleep within minutes and Bullseye lays there and watches you sleep for the remainder of the film.

Matt sits and keeps his senses focused on nothing else.

After the credits roll, Poindexter rewinds the movie back to exactly the point where you fell asleep before turning off the TV.

He's surprisingly gentle as he moves you to be sleeping on a pillow instead of his bare chest. He tucks you in under the blanket, then after a moment of hesitation, runs the back of his index finger over your cheek. “Good night, angel. I'll keep you safe.”

Matt's going to make sure to cut off his hand the next time they encounter each other.

Poindexter turns off all the lights in the room then moves to stand in the most defensively strategic point in the room. He falls into the relaxed stance of an ever alert soldier guarding the most precious of treasures - like he expects someone to come and he is ready for them.

Poindexter stays at his post all night and only when the sun start to rise is when Matt's feet finally move.

As he returns to his apartment, Matt begins to question if Benjamin Poindexter is going to be the one to Damn him.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Endless Road

This was written for @impala-dreamer 's Through His Eyes - A Dean Winchester Writing Challenge. Thanks, Beka! The prompt (in bold in the fic) was the quote "Goddamn it, you need to hear me!"

Pairing: Dean x Reader, established relationship

Word Count: 2060

Warnings: Angst, Dean going out of his mind, maybe a little hurt/comfort

Impala dividers by @firefly-graphics

We’re flying low, the trees just look like a green blur outside the windows, and I’m just hoping the cops are busy with something besides speed traps today. All I can think about is getting there faster. I keep thinking there had to be something I could have said that would have stopped her, but fuck, I know better.

She’s just as stubborn as I am.

We just finished up a case in Hawthorne, Nevada – and I was thinking, hey, not too far to Reno. Maybe a mini-vacation before we head home. Then my phone rang.

“Hey, Dean!”

“Hey, sweetheart – on your way home?” She’s been in Greenville, North Carolina, visiting her sister, and it’s been way too fucking long.

“God, I’ve missed you, baby.” Her voice warms me all the way up. “Can’t wait to see you. But – and don’t get mad – I ran into a little snag on the road.”

“What kind of snag? Why would I be mad?”

“Kind of ran into a case.”

Okay, now I was mad. “Damn it, you promised no hunting on your own.”

“I know, I know – but how can I not do something, Dean?” I’m grinding my teeth, trying to be patient and let her finish, but I’m about to snap off a molar or something. “Dean, my sister’s friend – her daughter went missing. And I started checking things out – I’m pretty sure it’s a djinn.”

“Jesus Christ, you know how dangerous it is messing with a djinn without backup! You can’t – look, listen, we just finished up here, we’ll hit the road and go in and take care of that thing together, okay?”

“Dean, you’re clear across the country from me.”

“I don’t care. You need to wait for us. Promise me you’ll wait.”

“She could be dying in there.”

“So you already know where they are?”

“Yeah. I do. I’ve been careful, but Dean…”

“No! Goddamn it! Promise me you’ll wait, babe. Please.” Sometimes ‘please’ works. Not usually.

I could hear her breathing on the other end, probably trying to think of some way to tell me no that wouldn’t make me explode.

“Dean – I know you’re worried, but don’t be. I’ve been hunting for a long time, I can handle it. You’re two days away, baby, and that girl might not have that long.”

“Son of a bitch.” At least I didn’t yell. “I don’t like it. You should have backup, it’s too fucking dangerous. Is there anybody out there? Hunters?”

“Not that I know. Dean, I know you’re pissed and I know you’re worried, but I’ve gotta do this. I’ll be okay. I’ll call you later.”

“Sweetheart, wait… Hey! Damn it!” She’d already hung up, and I knew she wouldn’t answer if I called her back to try and talk her out of it.

So here we are. I’m driving like a fucking idiot because I’m going out of my mind. I need to be there now. Fuck, that’s it, I’m never letting her go anywhere alone again, I should have known she’d find something to hunt, that fucking instinct of hers…

Sam keeps offering to drive, but if I’m not doing that then I’m going insane. The only thing I’ve heard from her since that phone call is a text with the coordinates and a message – ‘I know you’re driving like a maniac trying to get here, please be careful and don’t worry.’ Yeah, like that’s happening.

I can’t stop thinking about the djinn I’ve dealt with, how close I came… Fuck. I can’t. I can’t lose her. I never thought – never – that I’d find somebody like her. Sometimes it’s almost like we’re one person, say the same things at the same time, laugh at the same stupid shit. She knows everything about me. Everything. The only person besides Sammy that really knows me. That I can depend on.

I fucking need her.

Shit, it feels like something’s trying to claw its way out of my chest right now. What if we’re too late? What if…”

“Dean? You okay?” Sam’s voice interrupts my doom spiral.

“I’m fine.”

“Want me to try and call her again?”

I nod my head, biting down hard on my lip to try and get back in control. Can’t afford to lose it right now, gotta focus, stay on the road, get there as fast as we can.

“No answer. Straight to voice mail.”

I nod. I don’t want to say it out loud, but I can’t help it. “Sammy, what if…”

“Don’t even think it, Dean. She’s gonna be fine. We have to believe she’s gonna be fine.”

I nod again. I’m trying like hell to believe. But that monster inside my chest is telling me there’s something wrong, and I’m having a real hard time keeping my shit together.

Endless road. Feels like one of those fucking nightmares where you’re running but you’re not getting anywhere. Every once in a while Sam bugs me about letting him drive so I can get some sleep, but I mostly just ignore him, or tell him I’m fine.

I’m not fine. I turn the radio on for a while, until I can’t stand the music mixed in with the noise in my head, so I turn it off again. Until the quiet gets to me, then I turn it back on again. Endless thoughts about what we might find when we finally get there, to go along with the endless driving down the endless highway.

Sam finally bitches at me enough that I agree to let him drive for a while. I probably won’t be able to sleep anyway, but at least he’ll quit nagging. I slouch down in the passenger seat, closing my eyes even though I know it’s hopeless.

Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a cold sweat, my heart is pounding. “Dean, you okay?” Sam asks, and I nod after a minute.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He clears his throat. Here we go again with the positive thoughts. “You know she’s a good hunter, Dean. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Yep. And I’m done. “You keep saying that, Sam. Over and over. But if she’s fine, why haven’t we heard from her? She’s not answering her phone. If she broke it, or lost it, she’d get another one and let us know. She’s either hurt, or that djinn has her, or…” I can’t say it out loud, but it’s screaming in my head – ‘or she’s dead.’ But it’s not his fault, he’s just trying to help, so I take a breath and try to calm down. “Sorry, Sammy. I just… How much farther?”

“We’re about five hours away, I think.”

“Pull over at that station, I’m gonna get some coffee, and I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

He looks at me for a second, then finally nods. “Okay.”

We finally drive through the small town close to the coordinates she sent, and it feels like everything inside me is vibrating. I’m holding on to the steering wheel so hard I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go when we get there.

Sam gives me directions, turn left here, right there, 2 more miles and finally – finally – we’re pulling up to an old abandoned building, looks like it used to sell farm equipment or something. I’m out of the car almost before it’s completely stopped, heading for the trunk, the lamb’s blood and the knives so we can kill this fucker and find her.

She has to be alive.

Sun’s going down, it’s all shadows and dim light as we go inside, quiet, adrenaline has me so alert I don’t even think I’m blinking. We go down a dark hallway and into the main room, junk sitting everywhere, but we make our way around, scanning every inch for the djinn. I step around a pile of boxes, Sam goes a little farther ahead to come in a different way, and I see a familiar sight, like stepping back into one of my nightmares.

There’s a girl strung up by her wrists not ten feet in front of me, looks like she’s about 16 or so. Just as I get close to her, I hear a commotion and then Sam busts into the room, wrestling with that glowing blue sonofabitch. I tear ass over there, and we all go down in a pile, but he’s not strong enough to fight both of us at once. Sam drives that knife right into its heart, gives it a twist and sends it to Purgatory. Hopefully that was the only one – they’re usually loners, but we need to be careful.

I send Sam over to where I saw the girl, and I pull out my flashlight, start looking. There are a couple of other bodies hanging, but they’re long gone. I’m starting to panic, but then I move behind another pile of boxes and there she is.

I run over there, saying her name over and over again, begging her to wake up. I lift her off off the hook she’s hanging from, cut the ropes and go down to my knees with her in my lap while I carefully pull that fucking needle out of her neck. “Come on, sweetheart, you gotta wake up for me.” She’s breathing, she has a pulse, but she’s still unconscious, and I’m fucking scared.

My hands are shaking so bad, but I try to get her hair out of her face, lift her eyelids and look, but her eyes are rolled back and her mouth is dropped open. She probably put up a fight – of course she did, and that motherfucker probably gave her an extra strong dose to knock her out.

I keep talking to her, patting her face, and I finally lose it. “Goddamn it, you need to hear me! Come on, baby – fucking WAKE UP!” I’m holding her by her shoulders and shaking her, and she finally tries to open her eyes. “Hey, sweetheart – yeah, that’s it, come on, open your eyes for me. Jesus, baby, come on.”

“Dean?” She’s trying like hell to keep her eyes open, still limp in my arms. “Where – where are the kids?”

Fuck. “Hey, sweetheart, come on, open your eyes and come back to me. Look at me, baby.”

She slowly tips her head back and looks up into my face, it takes her a minute, but finally she’s actually looking at me. “Dean? What happened?”

I can’t help it, I just wrap my arms around her and pull her up into my chest and hold her. I don’t ever fucking want to let go, and I’m trying not to cry like a fucking kid. “Goddamnit, baby, you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam walks up just then. “Dean?” I can tell he’s worried, scared I’m just sitting there holding your body.

“She’s okay, Sammy. She’s okay.” I look up at him, and he lets out a sigh of relief, a half-tearful smile on his face.

“We should get her to the car. I have that girl in the back seat, she’s barely awake, I think we should get her to a hospital. We should get them both to a hospital.”

I nod, and manage to stumble my way to my feet with her in my arms. “I can walk, I’m okay,” she mumbles, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Maybe after we get you checked out.”

After checking that young girl in at the hospital with a bullshit story about a kidnapping, escape, and Sam and I rescuing them from a road ditch, we managed to get out of there before the cops came in, and headed down the road. I let Sam drive and sat in the back seat with her still in my arms. “Maybe we should get a room for the night, let you get some sleep?” I asked her, but she shook her head.

“I just wanna go home. Can we just go home?”

Sam smiled at me in the rear view and nodded, and I gave her a squeeze. “Okay, baby. We’ll go home.” We stretched out on the back seat, her laying halfway on top of me, my arms wrapped around her tight.

I’m not gonna be letting go any time soon.

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma  

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

──── ୨୧ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 ᯓ★

🍪 — hii my babies!! thank you for checking out my writing! i hope you enjoy it and if you did, dont forget to send feedback!

✮ 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞: ( ☕ ) angst , ( 🤎 ) fluff, ( 🧸 ) humor, ( 📜 ) suggestive ˎˊ˗

𝐎𝐓𝟖

SERIES

music to my eyes (collab w/ @sunnysdiary)

cookies just fucking write event in honor of my writers block

HEADCANNONS

small acts of love from skz 「🤎」

skz as red flags 「☕」

FAKE TEXTS

the boys find out you have a cold

pulling the "shes busy" prank

asking the boys "would you love me if I was a worm?"

silly little dad!skz fake texts

jealous!bestfreind!skz telling the reader to not go on her date ◦ hyung line

jealous!bestfreind!skz telling the reader to not go on her date ◦ maknae line

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍・방찬

ONE SHOTS

nothing here....yet

DRABBLES

not the plot ꒰ 400 words ꒱ 「🤎」 ↴

during one of your cuddle sessions with bangchan, you realize that your relationship shares an odd resemblance to twilight—without the entire plot, of course.

you'd never let me fall ꒰ 900 words ꒱ 「🤎」 ↴

bangchan who carries you home while your a little drunk and your feet a lot a bit hurt.

FAKE TEXTS

while you were looking at him, i was looking at you ꒰ mini-series ꒱ 「🤎, ☕」 ↴

❝ secrets i have held in my heart. are harder to hide than i thought. ❞

𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖・리노

ONE SHOTS

so fuckin' stubborn ꒰ 1.5k words ꒱ 「 📜 」 ↴

there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: ap us history and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

DRABBLES

Nothing here...yet.

FAKE TEXTS

minho gets jealous watching the reader hand her customers cash 「🧸」 ↴

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍・창빈

ONE SHOTS

Nothing here...yet.

DRABBLES

Nothing here...yet.

FAKE TEXTS

🤎 asking out his gym crush

𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍・현진

ONE SHOTS

before and after ꒰ 1.4k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕」 ↴

for months you have dealt with constant intrusive thoughts, wondering what life was like before your head was swarmed with anxiety—until one day, you wake up and it isn't your OCD that you remember—it's hyunjin. alternatively: you find hyunjin baking your favorite sweet treat and you fall even deeper in love with him.

DRABBLES

Nothing here...yet.

FAKE TEXTS

Nothing here...yet

𝐇𝐀𝐍・한

ONE SHOTS

doomsday ꒰ 1.4k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕」 ↴

sometimes doomsday wasn't the crumbling of a city; doomsday was an apocalypse of the mind. or alternatively: han yells at you after a hard day and has a panic attack because you distance yourself.

DRABBLES

midnight madness ꒰ 839 words ꒱ 「🤎」 ↴

you help han shave after a long day, leading to kisses and confessions.

FAKE TEXTS

accidental love confession 「🤎,🧸」

teasing a shy han untill he accidentally confesses 「🤎,🧸」

𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗・필릭스

ONE SHOTS

laughter like honey dribbles ꒰ 1.2k words ꒱ 「🤎, 🧸, 📜」 ↴

an inexperienced felix tries to impress you by forcing his voice deeper. what do you do when it cracks mid-through?

hang the moon ꒰ 4.5k words ꒱ 「🤎」 ↴

going through the ages of time with felix, from when you told him you were pregnant to seeing him braid your baby's hair.

don't cry over spilled milk ꒰ 1.6k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕」 ↴

accidents happen is an easy thing to say when your daughter didn't just dump a cup of milk on your husband's new black carpet and all of a sudden— you can't breathe

pretty like poetry ꒰ 2.7k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕」 ↴

felix always tended to hate the freckles that adorned his face, believing they were blemishes that deserved to be hidden under layers of foundation, but what will he do when you convince him that his freckles were pretty—pretty like poetry?

eat your words ꒰ 2.3k words ꒱ 「📜」 ↴

in a spiral of whiskey-induced stupidity, you claim felix couldn't dominate you even if he tried—oh, how he's going to make you eat your words. 

rewrite the ending ꒰ 1.6k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕, 📜」 ↴

just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again. ( reader with mommy issues let's felix poetically fuck the sadness out of her)

rewrite the ending in every lifetime ꒰ 8.1k words ꒱ 「🤎, ☕, 📜」 ↴

going through the ages of time with felix, no matter how many times your mother knocked you down, he was always there to pick you up—in every lifetime.

pink lemonade ꒰ 1.3k words ꒱ 「🤎」 ↴

felix had always dreamed of the day he could finally gather enough courage to kiss you. even in his wildest dreams, he never imagined it would be mid-sip of your pink lemonade.

DRABBLES

where the hell did you get that? ꒰ 898 words ꒱ 「🧸」 ↴

even after your bodyguard saved your life you insist that you don't need his help, maybe you feel a little different after he drops his weapon in the middle of a fight—and forces you to admit you need him.

you're like real?! ꒰ 723 words ꒱ 「🧸」 ↴

you never once thought you would meet lee felix, especially not while watching an edit of his abs

FAKE TEXTS

teasing a shy felix until he accidentally confesses 「🤎, 🧸」 ↴

silly little fake text scenario 「🤎,🧸」 ↴

𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍・승민

ONE SHOTS

Nothing here...yet.

DRABBLES

Nothing here...yet.

FAKE TEXTS

Nothing here...yet.

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 - 정인

ONE SHOTS

Nothing here...yet.

DRABBLES

Nothing here...yet.

FAKE TEXTS

Nothing here...yet.

[kyoshithewriter]

Bambi (Part four)

Warnings: smut, angst, morally… something(18+)

Wc: 3.5k

A/n: And this is the finally part of this series but I definitely want to write more Virgil. No more of this toxic mess though even though I lowkey enjoyed writing this. Remember this is fiction and we don’t condone this behaviour🤭. Anyway, enjoy?

Renée forces a furrow between her brows and a small frown on her mouth, feigning confusion.

“Am I?” She somehow manages to keep her voice from wobbling.

“Ah! The store! Remember you had an accident and my husband helped.”

“Oh!” Renée drops her head, forcing a small chuckle. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Quite a coincidence…” the woman trails off. She eyes her more intently. Renée’s heart leaps.

“How long have you been living here?”

Renée pauses a minute. There’s a prickly feeling that if she says that she moved here recently it’ll raise suspicion. She’s not sure what the woman is thinking but she’s desperately hoping she doesn’t connect the dots.

“Um, almost two years now?”

“Ah okay. You’ve been here a while.”

The elevator finally reaches the fourth floor; the doors slide open and Renée could cry in relief.

“Um, this is me.” She shuffles out while throwing an awkward wave in the woman’s direction.

The woman gives her a small smile.

“Have a good day.”

The doors finally close. Renée sags against the wall, sucking in greedy breaths to tame her erratic heartbeat. She turns to sprint shamelessly to her apartment but freezes in shock when she opens her door. Virgil is still in her apartment, posture ramrod straight on her couch. She hurries to shut the door.

“What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you see my message?!” She whisper-yells- genuinely fearing her voice may travel through the walls.

“I did. But if I tried getting upstairs now I’d get caught.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You could’ve taken the stairs! You would’ve gotten there before her.” Renée wrings her hands together as anxiety buzzes under her skin.

“Yea, looking frazzled and smelling like I rolled around in a lavender field. I’ll just tell her I stepped out a bit.” He eyes her, body locked tight with tension.

“But, your car is in the parking lot.”

“I called an uber. Where were you, Renée?”

She can’t help the way she gapes at him like he suddenly sprouted another limb.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I swear on everything Ren-”

The shrill tone from his phone blaring cuts him off. He glares at her, but stands to head down the hallway to answer her call. The woman who’s currently in the building. Upstairs. And yet he only cares about where she has been. Snippets of their conversation float down the hallway.

“I’m sorry, love.” “No, baby, you did nothing wrong.” “I’m an asshole.” “I’ll be home soon.” “I love you.”

Renée wants to break something. Preferably his fucking nose. She isn’t sure if it’s because she’s jealous or because she’s so angry that she was in that awkward situation earlier while he only seemed to care that nobody else touched her. They were almost caught and she is more panicked than he is. He re-emerges from the hallway and Renée recognizes that look on his face all too well. Confrontational. It’s about to get messy.

“I’m not doing this with you, Virgil. Your wife is probably still in the building. You need to shower and leave.”

The man scoffs at her disbelief.

“You actually went to see him.”

“Yes I did. Now what?”

“I have to shower and get home, but I’m coming back later. You better be here or we’re gonna have a problem.” His voice is stern with the warning. It reminds her of how her father used to caution her against staying out past curfew time. Pity for both men that Renée breaks the rules anyway.

She eyes him almost maliciously when he’s freshly showered and smells like his signature cologne and aftershave again. The man marches toward her door glaring in her direction before he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. And Renée, Renée is feeling very spiteful.

[Ren. 2:05 pm]: Hey Stephen. I have the night off. Are you doing anything later?

***************

Adjusting the strapless, black corset top that emphasizes her ample chest, Renée eyes her distorted reflection in her car mirror. The top shows off a slither of her lower belly just above the long, form fitting black skirt. Her curly hair is in an intricate up-do with a few curls falling loosely to frame her face. Gold earrings dangle from her ears and match her necklace as well as bracelets and rings. She looks good. There’s an underlying feeling of guilt that almost makes her queasy; Stephen is about to eye her like a goddess on earth and call her the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, while Renée knows she dressed like this for one reason and it has nothing to do with him. She wants to post herself so Virgil sees. She’s mostly doing this entire thing to get a rise out of him. She often ponders if she’s anywhere near being a good person and these last few months have not been helping her case. Stephen is already inside the restaurant waiting on her. They agreed to do dinner at one of the fancier restaurants in town. La Belle Époque is an intimate, modern restaurant that clearly caters to couples based on the ambience. The space is lit with candle bulbs hanging from the ceiling and on top of the tables. The furniture is all made from rustic cherry like wood. It’s beautiful. The hostess leads her to Stephen’s table after she whispers his last name to her in a daze. Renée is slowly realizing that Stephen comes from money. From the way he talks, the cars he drives and the places he takes her without allowing her to spend a single cent. The man stands to greet her as soon as she’s in view; he’s wearing a suit jacket over a white button down and a pair of jeans. His hair slicked back. He’s handsome. Oh how she wishes her heart wasn’t stuck on a married man ten years her senior. It would be so easy to love Stephen.

“You’re unreal.” He whispers in awe as she steps out of his embrace.

She smiles shyly at him as he pulls her chair out from the table.

“You clean up nicely yourself.” She sends him a teasing wink that makes his cheeks burn red.

“You have the most beautiful eyes ever.”

If Renée has learned anything else from her time at Onyx it’s how to do her makeup to accentuate her eyes: shorter, wispy lashes with a hint of white eyeliner underneath makes them even more prominent.

“You think so?” She blinks up at him just to watch him blush even deeper.

“I know so. I could write sonnets about them.”

“I’d love to hear one, one day.”

She joins his soft laughter with a series of airy giggles. She’s about to reach for her menu when a familiar gaze burns her skin. ‘It can’t be, I must be imagining it.’ Renée grabs the menu and subtly sweeps the restaurant with her eyes while Stephen chatters on about the food. Her breath hitches and her heart palpitates in her chest when she looks at the table directly in front of them. There’s a brunette seated with her back turned to her table, but right in front of her is a very familiar pair of angry brown eyes glaring right at her. She almost wants to laugh at her luck. It is the nicest place in town according to google, but of course he’d be here tonight. With her. She immediately figures it’s an apology dinner of some kind based on the conversation he had with her earlier today. Virgil raises his glass of wine to his lips, eyeing her over the rim as he takes deep, long gulps.

“Have you decided yet? Waitress is on her way over.” Stephen’s voice pulls her attention back to their table. Right, she’s here with Stephen. Fuck.

“Um-” she clears her throat with a little more force than necessary; “could you order for me? I trust your choices.” She forces a smile that feels lopsided on her face.

“I’m gonna blow your mind.”

Renée offers little hums and awkward smiles as the night progresses. Stephen, none the wiser, keeps smiling and complimenting her every chance he gets. But Renée feels heavy; his stare burdens her down so much it feels like physical weight on her heaving chest. Her eyes drift over in his direction again. He nods absentmindedly to whatever the woman in front of him is saying but his eyes never stray. She can see the anger, the hunger—the promise of whatever sinister plans he’s currently conjuring up in his head for her.

“Um, bathroom… I need to- bathroom.” She rushes out while grabbing her purse. In her haste to shove the chair back, she stumbles a little but quickly rights herself before awkwardly galloping past tables near the hallway.

She almost falls face- first onto the bathroom floor in her haste to get inside. Renée passes all the empty stalls to enter the one furthest away from the door.

“What the fuck.” She whines under her breath, realizing that her panties are sticking to her skin. Just a few minutes under his heated gaze and she’s wet. She feels pathetic. The bathroom door is suddenly flung open. Her heart, already racing a mile a minute, almost explodes in her chest from the sound.

“Fuck, relax.” She sucks in a deep breath. ‘It’s just some woman who desperately needs to use the restroom.

Footsteps echo around the empty space and Renée belatedly realizes that they’re coming closer. She pauses, breath stuck in her lungs. ‘Surely he wouldn’t enter the women’s room… right?

Certainly not.

She opts to ignore whoever is outside her stall as she takes a minute to collect herself. Straightening her spine, Renée swings the door to her stall open— a scream gets caught in her throat as she’s shoved back inside the stall and a big body crowds her space.

“Virg, you can’t-”

The click of the lock sliding in place makes her words trail off into a weird wheeze. Renée blinks up at him timidly. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed, eyes cold.

“Who’s that, Renée?” He asks calmly.

“You sh- shouldn’t be in here.”

“Are you going to make me ask again?”

His hands reach to slowly tug her skirt up her legs. Renée stands still; afraid to even breathe too loudly.

“It’s Stephen.” She whispers. In moments like this, she’s a bit intimidated. She knows he won’t hurt her, but she understands when he’s not in the mood to play around. She can’t afford to make a scene in the bathroom of the fancy establishment.

He rolls her skirt up until he’s able to bundle the hem in his hands. Goosebumps rise along her legs as the cool air caresses her skin.

“What did I tell you about him, Renée?”

“Virgil, that’s not fair. You’re here with your wife and you’re pressing me ab-”

He spins her around and presses his hard body against her back. One hand skims the length of her left thigh before slithering between her legs. He sucks in a sharp breath feeling her wet against his fingertips.

“This for me or Stephen, Renée?”

His voice is gruff on the shell of her ear. The sound of the bathroom door swinging open sounds distant through the ringing in her ear.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“You! You were staring and I…” she whispers hastily, afraid their voices will carry.

He gives her no warning before shifting her panties to the side and sliding his middle and ring finger in her easily. His other hand immediately clamps around her mouth to muffle her whimper. The gold band feels cold against her cheek. It adds a whole level to the debauchery. Tears immediately prick her eyes and her legs tremble. The sound of flushing, then water from a tap as an older sounding woman hums innocently while Renée tries not to lose her mind in his hold. He buries his fingers deeper to rub at that particular spot that makes her knees buckle. He waits until the door swings open again, signaling the woman’s exit before he speaks.

“Be home at 9 and not a minute later. Do you hear me?”

Renée can only nod her head in agreement. The man drags his fingers out. Unhurried. For her to feel every inch of his fingers against her walls. Then he reaches for her thong to drag it down her legs. Renée’s brain is too cloudy to question it as she obediently lifts her feet to step out of them. Virgil re-adjusts her skirt and carefully turns her to face him. She blinks her teary eyes up at him. Her eyes widen when he bundles her thong and shoves in the pocket of his slacks. He sucks his glistening fingers between his lips, staring at her as he does.

Renée can only gape at him until he exits the stall.

She returns to the table on shaky legs to see their food has arrived.

“Hey. You’ve been in there a while. Are you okay?” Stephen asks clearly concerned.

“Uh yeah, just… I thought I got my period and panicked. This all looks good.”

Renée tries not to cringe at the wetness between her thighs as she sits.

“Let’s dig in.”

“Yeah. I want to get home before nine… to catch up on some work.”

*****************

The sound of the cuffs rattling sounds amplified and she’s pretty sure it’s because of the blindfold over her eyes. She’s hyperware of every breath— of every sound, like the sound of his footsteps as he lingers somewhere just behind just to watch her squirm. Renée shifts on her knees, but she’s mindful to keep her back arched so that she’s spread open just the way he wants her. She’s sure he can see her thighs tremble and the mess she’s making between her legs.

“Virg, please.” She begs desperately.

“Please what, Renée?”

“Please touch me.”

“But I have been touching you, baby.”

A finger presses lightly on her clit to emphasize his point. Renée jerks forward with a sob.

“Make me come, please. It’s- it hurts, Virg.”

The man has been bringing her to the brink of pleasure and denying her for almost thirty five minutes now— interchanging between his mouth, his fingers and the toy that’s suddenly buzzing again.

“Do you deserve it though?”

“I’m sorry! I said ‘m sorry.”

“So I should let you off because you apologized?”

His palm spans her lower back.

“And I came home in time like you said.” She whimpers softly as his hand massages her cheeks.

“Mhmmm, good point.”

The toy touches the hard bundle of nerves and Renée screams. He doesn’t let up. She barely has time to brace herself before the pressure snaps. Tears wet her blindfold as the orgasm tears through her body like an unrelenting storm.

“Virg- no more.”

She drops flat on her belly to escape the vibrations.

He tutts at her; “You said you wanted to come and now you’re running?”

He hoists her up back to her knees, pressing against her lower back until she finds the perfect arch again.

“B-but, it’s too much.” She cries weakly.

“You can take it.”

He keeps on her until she’s grunting through a fourth orgasm that rushes through her so violently she feels lightheaded.

“B-bambi.”

He removes the toy as soon as the word gets past her trembling lips. The word they agreed upon a few weeks into their arrangement to be used when Virgil pushes her over her limit.

“You did so well, sweetheart.”

He unlocks the handcuffs and immediately places gentle kisses to her wrists. Renée turns and clings to him as he removes the blindfold from her eyes and peppers kisses all over her face.

“My pretty baby.” He coos sweetly.

He cuddles her to his body until her tremors cease.

“How do you feel?”

His chest rumbles against her back soothingly.

“Raw.” She admits. “But…” she reaches down to palm him through his boxers.

“I want you in my mouth, need to taste you.”

Virgil groans in her ear.

Renée shuffles down the bed and straddles his legs. He reclines fully against her bed, a hand resting behind his head. The perfect picture of relaxed. Composed. Sexy.

He brushes a thumb to her cheek as she pulls his boxers down. Her mouth waters. It stands proudly, jutting upward after a few bobs.

Renée teases at the tip with her tongue, just to watch the muscles in his belly clench. He’s a bit salty and tastes of his unique musk that makes something in her belly spasm. Closing her soft lips around him, she looks up at him. Renée hides her satisfied grin at the string of guttural curses mixed with her name that falls helplessly from his lips before she relaxes her throat and goes to work.

***************

A month passes uneventfully. Renée is back in school and things with Virgil are just as they were the first couple of months they met because she has been keeping Stephen at arm’s length. Renée is no fool, she hasn’t completely cut him off; but she finds excuses to not hang out with him often to avoid Virgil’s nagging. She has only been to Onyx four times in the past month in secret; she wants to appease the older man but she is also wise enough to not burn her bridges. She brings Diego a lot of money in on Friday nights to ensure she’s still in his good graces so she’ll always have him to fall back on just in case she needs it. Renée does an awkward jog into the apartment lobby to escape the light drizzle that has become common in the past week. Mumbling a quiet greeting to the security guard, she ambles toward the elevator. However, her feet pause before she reaches her destination. The brunette is all too familiar and Renée is seeing her a lot more than she’d like. The woman smiles at her but it doesn’t reach her icy blue eyes.

She presses the button to call the elevator as she eyes her.

Renée gulps. The doors slide open and the woman gestures inside. The message is clear. Get in. She swallows before walking inside and the woman joins her.

“What was your name again?”

“Um… Ren.”

“Ren. How beautiful are you? Hm?” The woman says almost sadly.

“And your smell— powdered lavender. It’s lovely. I had some trouble placing it. It was subtle on his jacket but still…”

Renée’s shoulders hunch in shame. She knows where this is going.

“Then I remembered. In this very elevator a few weeks ago.” She chuckles but it’s without amusement.

“Did you know?”

Renée knows what she’s asking. “Did you know he has a wife? A family?” Shame sits heavy in her stomach like a boulder. She hugs herself wishing she could disappear in her own skin.

“Yes.” She whispers softly.

The woman inhales a shuddering breath.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

“Okay.”

The doors slide open on the fourth floor and Renée reluctantly walks out, eyeing the woman all the while. Afraid that maybe she would attack her. She can’t say she wouldn’t deserve it.

She turns to watch the woman who remains inside the metal box. The brunette smiles weakly at her.

“Have a good day, Ren.”

The doors slide close before the first teardrop falls.

Renée runs to her apartment and throws up until there’s nothing but bitter, acrid bile burning the back of her throat.

****************

The text comes a week later after not hearing from him since that eventful day. First, it was a notification from her banking app. The figure had so many zeros in it that it actually managed to draw a reaction from her numb body. Then the message:

[Virgil. 12:54 pm]: Renée, I’m so sorry but I can’t see you anymore. She found out, and she told me what happened. She threatened to bring this to the media and to get a divorce if she suspects we’re seeing each other again. You know that’s not something that can happen. I sent you enough money to get through your final year and find a decent apartment in the next two weeks because you can’t stay there anymore. You can even take a trip if you wish to. I’m so sorry, baby and I wish you nothing but the best.

Renée knew they wouldn’t have a happy ending but it doesn’t lessen the blow. She stares at the message as tears slowly blur her vision— until she’s wailing in the empty apartment that she soon has to abandon with all the memories they made in it.

*************

Bambi is back like she never left. It took a month after moving to finally leave her apartment to go somewhere else apart from school and the grocery store. But after she returned full time to Onyx, she pushed her heartbreak to the deepest crevice of her brain. The attention from men, the busy schedule, it all works as her personal drug. It distracts, it numbs. She’s fine. She feels better. It’s her fourth month since her return to the club that she feels it. She thinks she’s hallucinating, but as the night progresses, Diego comes over to whisper in her ear.

“No main stage tonight, Bambi. He’s here. Room number four.”

The tall figure moves like a ninja in the shadows in the dimly lit space from the vip to the stairs to head down the hallway.

And Renée? Renée smirks. All too happy to fall back into the toxic cycle because he’s just as irresistible to her as she is to him.

[hisbucky]

kinda resigned with a specific part of the fandom because if the questionable buddie scenes we got this season are making yall scream buddie cannon then I hope yall get what you are asking for

like listen, I am a proud advocate for angst in ships, but when the “angst” is a rehash of eddie basically calling buck self-centred, selfish, etc. — not just once, but twice in a single season…

lawsuit era was kinda okay because it was the first time; could be written off as lack of understanding and or miscommunication

but to use that same “argument” against the same person you have spent years of practically being each other’s person?

the fact that eddie’s go-to move for both times he gets into a “fight” with buck this season is an ad hominem attack is such an uncomfortable writing choice, and that’s not even the worst part

the worst part is that buck just rolls over and takes it, as if he’s the guilty party, having him be the one to apologise in both instances

(when the only thing buck should have done is stand the fuck up and leave)

it’s almost like the show is saying that eddie was in the right and only buck was in the wrong, and for what? For being selfish? Self-centred? For grieving in a way that eddie can’t handle?

that may not have been the intention, but it sure does come off that way

if this is any indication of what the dynamics are going to be if buddie becomes cannon, then I’ll stick to the fanfics

[papabearbobbynash]

Welp, curiosity took the best of me and i decided to check on the episode...

It's funny how empty i felt tunning in to watch the show today, considering it used to be the highlights of my thursdays... Anyway, back to the issue.

The vibes are all wrong to me, and it's obvious why, because as much as the writers wanna pull a "look all those different dynamics showing up" like they couldn't have make athena interact with karen or chim when Bobby was alive... is just pissing me off, but worse is people who will probably fall for it and see the way Tim wants it. No me though, i still see this episode by what it is.

The team all separated and all grieving in their own ways, because Bobby was the joint, as the the only time this felt like 911 in this ep was the flashback in the beginning. The rest? Just feels like angst, drama and damage control in response to unnecessary writing decision.

And i feel confused by this episode, because the characters are floating between not giving a fuck bobby is dead to completely falling apart. People could go and excuse this with "they're trying to keep it together but spiraling over their grief" but, when you have your viewer questioning if the character is acting in a way because it's in character or due the writing forcing a narrative so they act that way for the writer even if it doesn't really make sense for the character... you know something is wrong.

Hen refusing the promotion, is predictable of Tim and honestly another low point to me... However if they set up Chim for Captaincy it would be the most reasonable these folks have been in years, but eh i don't bet on that.

I guess the writers finally reminded that Eddie is a main (probably damage control after being bullied for 3 weeks of their own stupidity),

Athenachim beefing is understandable at best given the circunstance and I figured Athena and Chim would end up stuck together by the middle of the episode given the ongoing beef.

It's going as predictable as it could. There is literally not a single new aspect that justify killing Bobby and it honestly pisses me off considering Tim was so nonchalant about new possibilites when he could totally have pulled off with Bobby very much alive.

How much you wanna bet Chim is going to save Athena, there will be some buddie hint, and then the last scene of the season will be family dinner, cooked by Buck, to keep Bobby's spirit alive?

[stellaspectral]

could you write nsfw 2007 raph x femreader, where reader had encountered nightwatcher on patrol one night and now they have a fwb situation. she wants something more but he's scared she'll hate him if he shows his actual face because they've only had sex with his armor on. thanks if you decide to do it!

A/N: Oooh, excellent timing! I’ve been itching to write some 2007 turts. This one is both angsty and smutty 🤤

Enjoy! 💖

Beneath the Armor (angst/smut)

❤️ 2007 Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Explicit sex, friends with benefits situation, turtle anatomy, angst, Raph has a potty mouth. All characters are aged-up.

The feel of the armor’s undersuit against your bare thighs is a familiar friction now, a texture mapped onto your memory like braille.

He has you pinned to the mattress, his weight solid and unyielding. You trace the segmented plates, cold metal biting at your fingertips despite the heat between you. It’s always like this: a storm of movement, guttural noises behind the helmet, and then a quiet standoff where the armor feels less like protection and more like a fucking wall.

You crane your neck, trying to see past the smoked visor, searching for eyes you’ve never truly seen. “Hey,” you whisper, voice husky, an ache settling low in your belly.

A grunt answers you, low and noncommittal. His gloved hand rests heavily on your hip. He never takes it off.

“Look at me,” you try again, pressing a palm flat against the side of the helmet, feeling the faint vibration of his breathing. “Just for a second?”

His head turns slightly, the visor catching the dim glow of the moon through the window. “Whatcha need?” Always the deflection. Always the distance.

You sigh, frustration bubbling up. This FWB deal felt exciting at first. The mystery, the danger, the thrill of being with him—the Nightwatcher, crime-fighting vigilante, tangled in your sheets. But the anonymity is starting to grate, scraping against the part of you that wants more than just a hard body clad in metal ramming into you in the dark.

You want him, whoever lurks beneath the layers of kevlar and steel.

“I want to see you,” you state plainly. “Not this … this suit.” You tap the helmet again, harder this time. “Take it off.”

He stiffens instantly. The hand on your hip tightens, fingers digging in just enough to be uncomfortable. “Don’t,” he growls, his voice sharper with warning now. “We had a deal. This is what it is.”

“What is it, Raph?” You use the name he let slip once, months ago, in the heat of the moment, a ragged whisper torn from him that he immediately tried to retract. He flinched then, just like he’s flinching now.

“Don’t call me that.” The words are clipped. He pulls away, disentangling himself.

“Why not?” you push, sitting up. “Why hide? What are you so afraid of?”

He doesn’t answer. You watch the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his head stays fixed, facing away from you towards the window and the city beyond. He bends, retrieving parts of his gear he discarded hastily earlier, and puts them back on.

Each click and latch sounds like another brick being laid in the wall between you.

“Is it me?” you ask, voice smaller now. “Am I not enough? Is this just about getting your rocks off?”

He whips around then, the movement sudden, making you jump. The dark visor seems to bore into you. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it like?” you plead, desperation making your voice tremble. “Because from where I’m at, it feels like I’m just a warm body you use to forget whatever hell you crawl through out there. Like I’m convenient. Replaceable.” You swallow hard, the confession raw in your throat. “I want to know you.”

He stands frozen for a long moment, the silence stretching taut. You can almost hear the conflict raging inside that helmet, the war between whatever urges drive him to seek you out and the thing that keeps him locked away.

“Can’t,” is the only thing he says, flat and final.

“Why?” The word is barely a breath, heavy with unshed tears.

He hesitates, trying to figure out what to say. “Because you wouldn’t want what’s underneath,” he replies, his voice rougher, frayed at the edges. He moves towards the fire escape, his boots thudding on the floorboards, before he pauses at the sill. “You’d hate it.”

But as he shifts his weight to leap, your voice cuts through the charged air. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He freezes. Slowly, deliberately, he turns back from the window. The visor fixes on you, unreadable, impenetrable. You hold its gaze, refusing to look away, letting your defiance simmer in the silence.

“You think I haven’t figured out you’re not … normal?” you press, voice gaining strength. “The way you move, the strength, the secrecy? You think I’m that stupid? Or that shallow?”

He remains utterly still for what feels like an eternity. Then, with painstaking slowness, his hands lift towards his helmet. Not the swift, practiced removal of a soldier shedding gear, but the hesitant, almost fearful motion of someone unwrapping a wound. He pulls the helmet off—and you see finally him.

Your breath catches. He looks reptilian, undeniably turtle, with a broad, beak-like mouth set in a grim line. Smooth, scaled green skin covers his head and neck, broken only by the edges of a red bandana tied around his head. His eyes are a fiercely bright amber, startling and beautiful.

“See?” he rasps, his accent clearer. “Told ya. Fuckin’ monster.” He turns his head away, unable to meet your gaze, shame radiating off him in palpable waves.

You don’t flinch. You don’t scream. The shock is there but overlaid with a surge of something else—empathy, understanding, and underneath it all, the stubborn, undeniable thrum of desire that hasn’t vanished. Even when he removes the rest of his armor.

This is him. The real him.

Slowly, you slide off the bed. You stand naked before him, utterly exposed, closing the distance between you. He tenses as you approach, muscles bunching, bracing for rejection, for disgust. You stop inches away, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

You lift a hand, fingers trembling slightly as you gently touch his cheek. “Not a monster.” He flinches at the contact, a strangled noise escaping his throat, but he doesn’t pull away. You trace the line of his jaw. “Just Raph.”

Using his name—his real name—while touching his actual face breaks something in him. A shudder shoots down his spine, his three-fingered hands clenching and unclenching at his sides—before he reaches for you with a desperate need, cupping your face with rough tenderness.

His gaze bores into you. Then he crushes his mouth down onto yours, stealing your breath. He thrusts his tongue inside with a groan. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath the unique texture of his skin. He breaks the kiss, panting, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t understand,” he gravels out, voice thick with emotion. “Why ain’t ya runnin’?”

“Where would I go?” you breathe, tangling your fingers in the tails of his red bandana. “Besides … I like this.” You press your naked body against his, feeling his plastron against your breasts and belly. “I like you.”

That seems to be all the permission he needs.

He scoops you up and carries you back to the bed, tumbling down onto the mattress with you. His hands are everywhere, learning the contours of your body without a barrier. His mouth finds your neck, biting down gently, licking, tasting. You cry out, arching into him, fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders, tracing the raised ridges of his carapace.

Suddenly, something hard brushes against your leg.

“Fuck,” he groans against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. “Need … need inside you. Now.”

He positions himself between your legs, his cock thick and heavy against your wet heat. It looks different, spade-shaped at the head; you’ve never gotten much of a look at it before, but you could always feel it. He pushes into you with a single, powerful snap of his hips, filling you completely.

You gasp, head thrown back, eyes locking onto his. Seeing his face, his real face, contorted with pleasure and need as he moves inside you, is shattering. And terrifyingly intimate.

Unrestrained, he thrusts into you, thick thighs rubbing against yours. His plastron presses against you as he moves. His sounds are unfiltered now—deep, ragged breaths, low growls that rumble in his chest. “Ah, fuck … feels so good … you feel …”

You meet his rhythm, wrapping your legs high around his shelled waist, pulling him deeper. You rake your nails down the curve of his carapace, earning a harder thrust. “Raph,” you moan, chanting his name. You reach up, forcing him to look at you. “Look at me,” you pant. “See? It’s okay. It’s good.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before being overwhelmed by pure sensation. He opens them again, locking onto yours, making your heart clench. Then he thrusts faster, deeper, chasing release, his body shaking with the effort. “Yours,” he gasps, “fuck … all yours!”

His climax hits him, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he floods you. He roars, a long, guttural sound torn from his throat, burying his face in the curve of your neck, biting down gently on your shoulder as the waves crash over him. You cry out with your own release, triggered by his, your body convulsing around him, holding him tight as the world explodes.

The only sounds in the room are that of your ragged breathing as the two of you come down. Tremors still occasionally rack his powerful frame, aftershocks of an orgasm that seemed to tear through him with the force of a fault line. His thick cock remains lodged deep inside you, softening slowly but still a potent presence, slick with his seed and your wetness.

He doesn’t pull away. He can’t seem to move, face still buried against your neck, his mouth slightly open against your skin, tasting the salt. One hand is tangled possessively in your hair, the other splayed flat across the curve of your hip, holding you pinned beneath him. You feel the solid weight of his shell against your thighs where your legs are still locked around his waist.

Slowly, tentatively, you lift a hand, stroking down the column of his neck. He shudders at the touch, a low groan vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Raph,” you whisper.

He groans again, pressing his face harder against you. “Fuck,” he mutters, the word muffled. “Shouldn’t … this ain’t right …”

“Shh,” you soothe, continuing your caress, letting your fingers explore the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. You slide your hand lower, down to his plastron. You trace the defined segments, the lines like grooves carved in living ivory.

He flinches with every new touch, every exploration into territory he clearly thought untouchable, repellent. “Stop,” he rasps, trying to lift his head, but you hold him gently, firmly.

“No,” you murmur. “Let me.”

You shift slightly beneath him, a movement that makes his cock twitch inside you, still sensitive. His breath hitches. You bring your other hand up, cupping his cheek, feeling the strong bone structure beneath the skin. You guide his face until his eyes meet yours. They’re wide, pupils blown, swimming with confusion, shame.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, thumb stroking his cheek. “It’s more than okay.”

His throat works, swallowing hard. He stares at you, searching your face for any sign of disgust, any hint of the rejection he seems so certain is coming. But he finds none. Only acceptance—and lingering arousal.

He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a broken sound, something between a sob and a growl. “Never … No one’s ever looked at me … touched me. Not like this.”

Your heart aches for him, for the loneliness etched into his features. You lean up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another beside his eye. “I’m looking,” you whisper against his skin. “I’m touching.”

You slide your hands down his sides, over the smooth transition from skin to the edge of his shell, feeling the sheer power held in his frame. You run your palms flat over his plastron again, feeling the steady, heavy beat of his heart beneath. His breath catches, and you feel his cock stir, thickening again inside you.

His eyes snap open, his hand leaving your hair to slide down your body. Over your belly, fingers dipping between your legs, where you’re already soaked again. He groans as his thick fingers find your clit, swollen and exquisitely sensitive. “Still wet for me? Even after …?”

“Yes,” you pant, arching into his touch, the friction of his fingers sending sparks through your system. “God, yes.” You rock your hips, taking his slowly hardening cock deeper, wanting that friction again, that filling pressure. “Don’t stop.”

His other hand comes up, gripping your jaw gently but firmly, tilting your head back. “Look at me,” he commands, his voice a deep growl. He lowers his head, his mouth finding yours again.

This kiss is different. Still demanding, but slower, wetter. A possessive claiming. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring, tasting, while his fingers continue their relentless magic between your legs. You moan into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his breathing harsh. “Want you again,” he rasps, his gaze burning into yours. “I want to feel you come apart on me, knowin’ it’s me. This.” He gestures vaguely at his own face, his body. “Not the fuckin’ suit.” He moves his hips, a slow, deliberate grind, pushing his thickening erection deeper, stretching you, filling you all over again.

“Please, Raph,” you gasp, clutching at his shoulders. “Fuck me. Fuck me like this.”

A guttural sound rips from his throat. He pulls back slightly, just enough to watch himself slide back into you, thick and wet, stretching you before sinking deep, hitting that perfect spot that makes you cry out. Then he moves—long, powerful strokes that feel fundamentally different from all the other times. This is worshipful, yet utterly dominant.

He watches your face, watches your eyes roll back, watches your mouth fall open on breathless moans. “Yeah, that’s it … take me … take all of me …”

The wet slap of skin punctuates each thrust. He leans down, licking a stripe up your neck, biting gently at your earlobe. “Mine,” he growls, thrusting deeper, harder, driving you towards the edge again with agonizing slowness, drawing out every sensation until you’re writhing beneath him, begging for release.

His deliberate pace is a torment, a sweet pain designed to engrave every sensation onto your nerves. Each slow withdrawal drags agonizingly against your inner walls, pulling a hitched gasp from your lips, only for the return stroke to ram him deep, pressing that perfect ridge against your G-spot until stars burst behind your eyelids.

His amber eyes bore into you, twin flames reflecting your own unraveling, tracking every micro-expression that flits across your face. He seems to feed on your reactions, the flush rising on your chest, the way your fingers clench convulsively on his shell, the bitten-off cries escaping your throat.

“Like that?” he gravels out, his voice thick with exertion and something akin to awe. He shifts his angle slightly, grinding down, the head of his cock rubbing circles against your cervix. You buck involuntarily, a sharp, high-pitched moan tearing past your lips. “Yeah,” he answers himself, a low, satisfied rumble. “Fuckin’ like that.”

His plastron rubs against your sensitive breasts, the surface an abrasive contrast to your soft skin, sending jolts straight to your core. You reach down blindly, wanting more contact. Your hand slides between your bodies, finding the base of his cock where it disappears inside you. You squeeze gently, rewarded by a harsh groan ripped from his chest.

His eyes slam shut for a second, his features contorted in an ecstasy so profound it looks like pain. “Don’t,” he grits out, but his hips surge forward, driving himself deeper into you. “Fuck! Can’t hold—!”

The control he fought for shatters.

The slow, deliberate pace breaks, replaced by a frantic, pounding rhythm. He’s fucking you like he’s trying to imprint himself onto your soul. Each thrust deeper, harder, faster than the last. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body straining, muscles cording under green skin. He throws his head back, a roar building in his chest.

You meet his frenzy, wrapping your legs impossibly tighter around his shelled waist, tilting your hips up to take every inch. “Raph! Oh god, Raph, yes!” you sob, the pleasure cresting unbearably. The friction, the sheer size of him filling you, his raw sounds, the sight of his face twisted in primal need—

—it all converges into a blinding wave.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips. “Comin’!” he roars, the sound ripped from his very core, unfiltered and animalistic. “Comin’ in you! Take it! Take all’a me!”

His final thrusts are punishingly deep, driving the breath from your lungs as your own climax tears through you. You scream his name, arching off the bed, your vision whiting out as pure sensation detonates within you, triggered by the relentless pounding and the hot flood of his release pulsing deep inside. His cock twitches within you, emptying himself completely. Then he collapses onto you, his body shuddering violently, guttural moans muffled against your sweat-slick shoulder as the last waves of his orgasm seize him.

His harsh breathing slowly evens out, hot puffs of air against your neck. You can feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heart against your ribs, gradually slowing but still pounding with the force of his exertion. Slickness coats your inner thighs, pooling slightly beneath you. He still has his cock buried inside you, softened but undeniably present.

Your own body hums, every nerve ending alight, muscles trembling with fatigue and pleasure overload. You lift a shaky hand, tracing his carapace. It’s surprisingly smooth in some patches, rougher in others, marked with faint scars—telling silent stories of battles fought long before he ever crashed into your life.

“Raph?” you murmur. He lifts his head just enough to look at you, his gaze hazy, blissed out. He looks utterly wrecked, stripped bare in a way that goes far beyond mere nakedness. “You okay?”

He stares at you for a long moment, as if trying to reconcile the face he sees with the sensations still echoing through his body. Then he nods slowly, a jerky, uncertain movement. “’m alive,” he rasps, his voice thick and rough. “Uh, sorry. I should move.”

He withdraws, moving to lie beside you. “Fuck,” he breathes out, the word a sigh of pure exhaustion and disbelief. “Didn’t … didn’t think …” He trails off and shuts his eyes, unable to articulate the mix of emotions swirling behind those closed lids.

Your own eyelids feel heavy, coated with lead. The adrenaline crash leaves you boneless, adrift in a sea of sensory overload. Neither of you says anything. Soon after, he falls asleep, the dim pre-dawn light filtering through your window.

He makes a low sound, a soft rumble deep in his chest, and nuzzles his face instinctively closer into the curve of your neck, seeking warmth, seeking contact. His body fully relaxes against yours, a trusting surrender that speaks volumes more than any words. Eventually, his breathing finally evens into the deep, slow rhythm of undisturbed sleep.

Feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you acts like a powerful sedative. You close your eyes, the darkness behind your lids a welcome relief. The last conscious thought drifting through your mind is the feeling of his hand still resting possessively on your hip, a silent claim staked even in sleep, before you succumb to your exhaustion—

—inextricably tangled with the man who was once just the Nightwatcher.

Raph.

Your Raph.

[maroonmused]

i need everyone to know that The Frost by Mitski is,, without a shadow of a doubt, a parksborn song

[mcybree]

man I wanna get in fh related fandom discourse but in like a quiet way where we all go around and directly share notes with one another. maybe a power point presentation is involved

[mutt3y3]

Ough. I've fallen down another rabbit hole. Someone please help me. Well- actual I've fallen down this one before so I know I'll eventually get back out. Just, you know, have maybe a new trinket stuck into my ass to remind me I never truly crawled out of the rabbit hole unscathed.

Art is gonna be taking a hot minute because I'm trying to figure out how the hell does one draw papyrus. I gotta go on a reference, mood board, Pinterest digging spree later on.

[highlifeboat]

Heh, remember, when you just made this blog into RE Village one you would receive so many asks, you would skip half of them, just because there were so many🤣

Bruh this blog was hot shit back in 2021 during lockdown era because nobody had better things to do and almost everyone loved RE Village at the time.

My timing was just great pfff.

Well "Hot Shit" meaning I usually got more than one ask at once and I there was the odd multi-ask that I always enjoyed. A lot of Bela and Mia angst. Back when I used to actually write fanfiction instead of just throwing ideas into the void.

Fun Fact I made this blog after I got high one night and deleted my Steven Universe RP blog (fun times that was. I remember having a really nice Yellow Diamond RP partner that I did a lot of shippy stuff with. Very fun. I hope they're thriving.)

[synonymroll2121]

well I feel like shit now I just had a dream I finally got to meet this girl I used to be friends with who moved away like four years ago, and then she fucking got possessed and died