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johnstacoshield · 27 days ago

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Lover, You Should’ve Come over (2/7)

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Chapter 2 - The time you needed help to calm down (& The time he needed yours)

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Read on AO3

Series Rating: 18+

Chapter summary: The first time you wake up after the mission sends you spiraling and refusing Yelena’s attempts to help you calm down. Bob’s there to make sure you don’t fall too far, just like you were there for him.

Word Count: 8,184 words

A/N: Ok so this one is loooong. Issuing a specific warning for this chapter because there are discussions of abuse in the reader's past. All of these are non graphic, but it implies the abuse is of a mental, physical, and occasionally sexual nature. (Think similar to black widows.) If these topics are triggering to you please please proceed with caution.

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed it please drop a comment or reblog and say hi so I know I’m not posting to the void! (& if I know you from marveltwt hiii!)

The Watchtower - April 17th 2027 - 8:13pm

Darkness has reduced itself to a smothering blanket, weighing heavily on your face, stuffed deep into your mouth and choking you. It forces your limbs into submission under its weight, trapping you beneath it, wrapped up so tightly that there was no escaping on your own.

You beg your body to move, to claw back at it, to fight back against the pressure on your tongue - but there was nothing. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was just life coming to collect the debt for everything you had taken from it.

Is this death? Some empty waiting room for whatever could possibly be left for your soul - isn’t there supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel? Your life flashing before your eyes at least?

No. That’s something you’d rather not see. Most of it is something you couldn’t face, but… maybe just the highlight reel would be okay - your first mission as a team, sitting to eat packet noodles with Yelena and Alexei, movie nights with Alpine purring in your lap, and Bob-

Bob.

The blanket over you shifts, darkness stirring at his name.

A soft voice from the shadows on the outside of your consciousness coaxes you to your senses, out of that emptiness; yet, the suffocation only worsened when you opened your eyes.

The last thing you remember was stars. How they were glittering behind Bucky’s face, but all of this was a blinding supernova in comparison, a tsunami on your senses. Amongst that flood is the rush of waking from a terrible nightmare, a body wanting to run, escape far away from whatever danger it was perceiving.

Right now, that danger comes in the form of various tubes and wires leaving your body.

“She’s awake!” No - this wasn’t the right voice, this isn’t who you had heard.

“Quick- pass that to me- Hold her down!“ Who was talking now? You didn’t know them - this wasn’t right-

Beep. Beep. Beep!

The world around you is a cacophony of angry machine noises and hands pushing you back down onto a stiff bed when you fight your way upwards, determined to break free. Bright lights pierce your eyes and there’s a stabbing pain in the side of your head that refuses to leave, but you fight through it anyway. Your heart was pounding louder, urgent and in time with the machines, and there's the crashing of a door somewhere in the background.

You had been content before, wanting to lay on the warehouse floor and die quietly, but now your fight or flight response was screaming at you to do both. The pain rolled in waves through you, tearing you apart. It wasn’t the most you had been in, but at least back then you had been fully in control, alert, aware. You weren’t helpless, you weren’t weak.

Maybe that darkness was more forgiving than the unfamiliar faces clouding your vision, all talking over each other. One of them touches something covering your face and you’re suddenly aware that there’s a horrid, stale taste in your mouth. It makes you choke, only to find there’s something in your throat, plastic and foreign. It was real, but it wasn’t a blanket - it was a tube.

Get it out.

“Patient is fighting intubation, we need to sedate her again!”

The moment you try to reach up, yet another hand is pinning you back down; denying you control over your own body. You’re a wild animal thrashing now - prey caught in a trap, something feral to be subdued.

Just like you had been before.

All of this was a living nightmare, a poisoned memory that you swore to yourself wouldn’t happen again, the carefully crafted illusion of safety you had built was ripped away. All it takes is one blink and you’re not seeing nurses above you, but faces of past handlers you had long tried to erase.

Smooth latex gloves become thick leather as you panic, paused in a state of adrenaline rush as the voices come back to you. Ghosts were rising from the dead once more - living, breathing, talking memories. Not nightmares, memories.

“Paid a good price for this one, she puts up a hell of a fight, pretty face too, that could be useful.”

The familiar, sickening heaviness of cigar smoke rises above the room's sterile scent, you’re so focused on fighting it that you barely notice the crash of the door slamming open again.

“Is she gonna be okay?” A voice cuts above all the others, desperate and loud somewhere behind the wall of people in uniforms. You thought you had dreamed of him on the other side of that blanket.

Bob. He’s here.

Your fingers twitch against the bed, curling into a weak fist as something soft is tightened around your forearm, the same feeling following for your other one and both ankles.

You knew this feeling, a memory rising sharp and sour like bile from your mind. You were being restrained.

“No- I can feel her- she’s scared!” Your eyes dart around, trying to catch sight of him through the human barricade of strangers placing you into restraints. “Hey, stop, get off her!”

For a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of his distraught expression. Just a week's worth of avoiding him may as well have been a year with how different he looks at this moment. Tired eyes, bloodshot but wild, are framed by dark hair falling into his face, unkempt and messy. You meet them for barely a second, something dark glowing in them before he’s pulled back once more by two sets of arms, one of them glinting and metallic.

Your stomach twists in nausea, but not from choking on the tube, not from panic, but from guilt. Hurt. Every emotion from that night comes stampeding back to you, cursing at you for pushing him away. Maybe if you hadn’t, none of this would have happened, maybe it was your fault.

Come back. You wanted to scream it, but you’re choking.

A thump sounds, something like the noise of flesh hitting flesh.

“Fuck! He just-“

“Bob, calm down- give her some space-“

The words are broken with the way your hearing flows in and out now, the world either completely silent, or a loud roar. The pain in your head was getting worse. It was a man’s voice, Bucky’s or Johns, and Yelena’s filters over it.

“-To calm down- let - deal with it.” Yelena calms him as the crowd around you dwindles, morphing back into nurses again, frantically fixing various things you had pulled on during your fight.

Deal with it.

“How disappointing, you come back to me broken, and without the information you were sent for… I suppose we’ll find a way to deal with your insubordination.”

You keep your eyes wide open, frantically looking around, trying to find Bob. You could handle the pain if it meant anchoring yourself to the present - he knew that the best of anyone. He would understand.

Someone approaches and you try to twist to see who it is, guilt pinching at your chest when you feel disappointment.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Yelena soothes, perching herself on the edge of your bed, making sure she’s not on any part of the various tubes and wires you’ve been hooked up to.

This close, her voice and face were fully in focus. She wasn’t in her suit from the mission, but was still sporting semi-healed cuts and bruises that you had seen her receive in the warehouse when she allowed herself to be taken hostage.

“It’ll be okay, you need to calm down and let them help.”

If she’s already healing, how long have you been out? It has to be more than the few minutes you thought it was.

This realisation only makes you panic more.

Has everyone gotten out safely? Has anyone else gotten hurt because you jumped in too fast? Would you be kicked off the team for going against orders?

“I know, shh, I know, I’m sorry.” Warm hands accented with rings cup your cheeks as Yelena hushes you, telling you to relax so that you stop rejecting the tube. Despite the overwhelming presence of it in your throat, there's an oxygen mask overlapping it. You didn’t understand the need for both.

It feels more like a muzzle, and you’ve had enough experience with those.

Your side aches, there’s something embedded there, pulling every time you take a breath. You cry freely now, you only know this because Yelena is wiping the tears from your face. It’s not from the pain, but something that cuts deeper. The failure. Every choked sob has your chest burning, like you’re inhaling smoke from a fire.

You can’t talk, but you turn your face away, every touch hurts, you couldn’t stand having someone so close, not with the ghosts that hissed in your ears. You were suffocated by the light now, too afraid to go back into the dark, to let them take you back. No amount of her words and reassuring looks could calm you now, not once she’s forced away by a nurse.

The fight is already lost when something cold travels through the veins in your arm. You aren’t even given a chance before those ghosts rise up to drag you down into the deep with them, at the same time that a familiar warm hand covers yours. You can’t even be sure it’s real.

On your rapid descent, you must be imagining sweet, soft Bob threatening half of the medical team if they come near you with another needle. It has to be a dream, otherwise you would have seen blue eyes, instead of a glowing, silvery white fading into gold before your eyes grow unfocused, and eventually close.

Darkness swallows you whole before you can feel the warm press of lips against your forehead.

This time, it’s far worse.

Leather covered hands tighten around your throat, not to choke, but to remind you of your place as your head is tilted side to side, examined like some sort of show dog, because that’s what you were reduced to now. His breath is thick and warm on your face, rolling down your throat and you stop breathing.

You don’t want to inhale it, not him.

“You’re a pretty thing, you know, one of the best I’ve owned, I almost feel bad for sending you on this mission.” A calloused thumb brushes your lower lip, fingers gripping your chin unforgivingly.

You’re frozen, not just watching, reliving. The darkness has twisted, manifesting itself into an old study, expensive paintings with cold eyes that stared down at you. Always watching.

No, no, no. This was years ago, not now. The stench of cigars was still all around you, even if you refused to breathe, you could smell it. The smoke has burrowed under your skin, it poisoned every cell of you.

“Maybe if you make it back, I’ll see to your recovery… personally this time.”

No - You made it out of there, not just the mission, but away from him - this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. You had watched him die. It wasn’t real.

Nonexistent limbs thrash in the darkness as you try to cling onto something solid around you, to run away, but there’s nothing. No hospital bed, no tubes, no blanket. You stumble away from his grip, crashing into a bookshelf and you can feel that, the way the edges dig into your back, the books that tumble down past your head to reveal blank pages. It wasn’t real.

You refuse the instinct to breathe, despite a growing sense of urgency, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that was begging and pleading for you to draw a breath. You wouldn’t validate this, wouldn’t take any of it in.

Your heart was pounding as more books fell, and your handler took angry steps towards you. You wanted it to stop, you wanted it all to stop. No matter how tightly you close your eyes, you still see him, you still feel his hands as he yanks you from your crouched position.

But there’s something else too, rising to the challenge of your nightmare.

Anger. It echoes around your mind, fracturing the vision around you, but the emotion is not your own.

Something cold brushes against your cheek, and it doesn’t feel the same as the man's hands on you. This doesn’t make you recoil in disgust. It’s trailing along your skin before stopping near your ear, and you cling to it like a lifeline, still fighting off whatever drug induced hallucination you’ve fallen into.

Then it whispers in your ear, something solid and real that clawed its way through the emptiness to get to you. A predator so fierce that even the darkness cowers.

“I’ll make it stop, I’ve got you.”

Then, all at once, everything freezes, a house of cards collapsing, and you’re pulled into something fonder, a different kind of memory.

The Watchtower Penthouse - September 4th 2026 - 04:11 am

The room is bathed in a golden tone, expensive (and uncomfortable) couches decorated with perfectly placed cushions, are strategically placed to overlook the skyline beyond the penthouse of the watchtower. There was an artificial scent that still clings to all of it, like you were in some car showroom, a reminder of just how new this all was.

A fireplace is opposite you, artificial flames dancing on repeat. It was fake - just like everything else in the tower. Some pricey, poor attempt to feel like a home. But it was becoming one anyway.

Over the two months since the team had formed, there were some signs of the space becoming lived in. It started with a small dip in one of the cushions where Alexei liked to sit for hours to watch the giant TV, a waxy burn mark in the carpet that had been hidden by a potted plant when John knocked over a candle, even Bucky’s motorcycle keys hung on a hook near the elevator. There was now a sticky note taped beneath them, with a bold warning to not touch.

“What are you doing?”

Glancing up at the sudden arrival of Ava, you nod at the orange and white yarn in your hands, you had gotten used to her appearing out of nowhere, not even jumping the whole last week.

“Birthday gift for Yelena - Alexei told me it’s at the end of next month, he’s not sure if it’s her real birthday though, but he wants to celebrate it anyways, so I’m making her a gift!”

The words fall from your mouth as naturally as they did in the moment it originally happened, not even needing a breath to do so. You could ignore that need a little longer, you didn’t want to risk inhaling anything that could take you back.

“Why not just buy it? That’s what I’m doing.” Ava frowns down at you, picking up one of the bundles of yarn, examining it. You had snuck out in a hat and glasses to ponder the aisles of a craft store that morning, checking countless bundles and comparing the shades to the photo of what you were trying to recreate.

You shrug, focusing on your gift again, trying to act nonchalant. “It’s more heartfelt to make one, I thought she would like it.”

She leans over you, inspecting the misshapen ball in your hands. It wasn’t exactly going well, but you were trying.

“Do you even know how to crochet?”

“How hard can it be? I’m following the steps.” You shrug and glance at the instructions on your phone. It seemed easy enough at first, you were good at following instructions, but those had always been given to you. Getting to choose what you wanted to do was still new, unusual, and somewhat difficult because of how unnatural it felt. Being good at it was even harder.

Ava eyes you skeptically and takes a seat to your right, careful not to sit on any of your crafting materials that were spread out around you. For a while it’s just the two of you breathing in unison, the occasional tap of your phone when you flicker through steps, and the fake crackle of the false fire.

This was nice… you could stay here for a while. If this was death, basking in the fake glow of firelight next to one of your (now closest) friends, you didn’t mind this so much. You could ignore that frozen feeling that had settled in your chest.

“This is weird by the way.” Ava breaks the silence next to you after some time, you almost thought she had dozed off beside you. It was late after all, almost at the hour when John or Bucky would get up for training, they were always in some silent competition to beat each other down there and be the first in the gym.

“What? Why?” You don’t look up from your project, but your hands slow noticeably.

“I’ve seen you take out a guy's eye with a teaspoon, and now you’re… crocheting. It’s disturbing.” She treads lightly, but something about her words strike your chest uncomfortably.

A reminder that your hands had been used for things far more brutal than this. That they’d caused hurt.

“I’m capable of more than violence, Ava.” You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be a reminder for her or yourself. Your heart rate spikes uncomfortably from where it had been resting lazily in your chest.

A voice disrupts the conversation.

“Breathe. Calm down.”

It’s not Ava who speaks, but it’s someone on your other side, so close that you can feel the chill of a breath on your ear, but when you turn to look there’s no one there. Just empty darkness behind you, a void at the edge of your dreamlike scenario. Your body responds to it anyway, and you take a slow breath.

A pleased hum echoes from the shadows, the pressure easing, that nagging feeling at the back of your mind lifting. You can’t think about it too much, or investigate, because Ava is already drawing you back into the past.

“What are you going to ask me?” Ava sighs, leaning back beside you, resting her head back on the stiff couch. You suppose with her suit, everything must feel stiff, but you pretend not to notice that she has the yarn pressed to her cheek now, testing its softness.

“How did you know I was going to ask you something?” You try not to sound too defensive and she gives you ‘the look’. The one that says you’re being obvious at something.

“You’ve never exactly been subtle.”

And she was right. Ava was the one who was most likely to tell you the truth, you had known her the longest, you trusted her as much as you could allow yourself to. She was the one you needed to ask.

“It’s just…” You shrug, trying to soften the meaning behind your next words, “Bob, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

The man in question had been elusive from the first time you met him, nervous around you. In your frequent sleepless nights you had found yourself wondering what you had done to make him avoid you, if he had somehow read your file and decided he hated you, or if you had done something to scare him. If you walked into a room, he seemed to find an excuse to walk out of it.

“What makes you think that?” Ava asks, and you simply stare at her in response, shooting her a look of your own. “Okay, yeah, fine.”

“He’s… complicated. Got a lot on his plate.” She leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees as she rests her chin on her hands.

“He seems to be okay with you guys,” You frown in confusion as you loop the yarn, but something looks wrong with it, like part of it was loose. Ava takes the yarn from you with a sigh and phases her hand inside the ball you had been working on and pulls on a piece in the middle, making it look less lumpy.

“Well, we had the lovely honour of fighting through our own little shame rooms and had a bonding moment with him.” Ava shrugs and passes the almost finished gift back to you.

“But then how am I supposed to… I don’t know- make friends with him, he won’t even let me shake his hand.” You huff, tired from both the day you had and the frustration that’s been growing like some poisonous plant inside you.

“I spent years being very good at getting a read on people, Ava, but one minute he’s introverted and shy so he just hides away- and then he’s super nice and extroverted for a whole week to everyone except me- but then he goes all… moody. It’s been two months, and I still can’t understand him!”

You really had got a bad read on him back then.

“Wow, this is really bugging you.”

It was. You had been reluctant to join a team in the first place, you didn’t need to be in the public eye, you preferred to be alone. But if that last part was true… Why does it bother you so much if Bob avoids you? It’s not like you needed to get along with him for the sake of missions, to work well together, but you still wanted to.

“Yes. Please help me.” Oh if you five years ago could see you now she would be so thoroughly disappointed.

“He’s… like a cat.” Ava tries carefully.

“A cat?”

“Yeah, y’know, likes his space, spooks easily.” That much was true, if he wasn’t in his room, he spent most of his days stretched out on the couch near the window, lost in a book, blindly hiding in plain sight. He was good at blending in.

“So… I just let him avoid me? Sounds like a great start to a friendship.” The last word is still unnatural in your mouth, but you were growing to accept that it was something you were allowed to have now.

She narrows her eyes at you, flipping the conversation back onto you. “Why are you so keen on making friends with him?”

“No reason.” You shrug, no reason aside from the fact he was sweet, and made you smile on those rare occasions he did speak to you. He was kind too, mostly with the others, but he always made sure Alexei didn’t finish the coffee before you could get a cup in the morning.

Before Ava can interrogate you, you quickly tie off the final knot.

“Oh I think it’s done!” Your face brightens, hiding any trace of nervousness as you place the finished gift on the cluttered table proudly.

Ava frowns down at the knotted up ball in front of you both, the sad looking mess of orange yarn flops to the side on the table. You turn to her optimistically, holding your hands out as if to say ‘Ta-da!’.

A beat of false-fire-filled silence passes as she tilts her head to the side. “What is it?”

You frown and state the obvious, picking the beady eyed yarn-creature up and holding it close to your face. “It’s Yelena’s Guinea Pig?”

“Oh!” Ava nods, taking it from your hands like a parent who just received a poorly drawn stick figure of themselves “Right, yeah, I see that now.”

She didn’t, and neither did Yelena at first, but it now sits proudly on her nightstand.

The scene freezes, artificial flames no longer dancing or crackling, and without the background noise you recognise something else. Something that had been there the whole time - a steady breath passing your ear, but all you could see was empty space.

What now? Why had it all frozen like some lagging movie?

You could sense it, some quiet contemplation, like the shadows had grown a consciousness, like they were making a decision.

As suddenly as the first vision had changed, Ava fades away like smoke.

The Watchtower Balcony - September 13th 2026 - 6:34pm

You’re standing about twenty feet to the left of where you had been previously, eyes fixed on a familiar hunched up on the empty landing platform. You can only see his back, painted in the soft light of the sunset, but he’s so burned into your brain now that you know who it is in an instant.

If he’s so intent on avoiding an organic moment, maybe you could force one?

You had tried Ava’s advice for the last week, and it had no results. Bob had been on one of his happy swings recently, had helped Yelena bake, had cleaned the penthouse top to bottom despite the fact there were people hired to do that, and he had read countless books that you would have considered getting him a kindle for christmas in a few months if it weren’t for overhearing him tell Yelena that he preferred the feel and smell of real paper. All of that, but he still avoided you.

A cool autumn breeze kisses your cheeks the second you push on the glass door, an easygoing smile painted onto your face, so used to wearing it that you had forgotten it was a mask.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t realise you were out here.” He jumps at the sound of your voice, knees pulling away from his chest as he twists to face you. He had been talking, mid conversation but no phone in sight. You’d caught him doing it a few times before, talking to himself, or to no one at all.

There’s a fond emotion pulling at your chest when he meets your eyes, and just like before, it’s not your own.

Most of the time it was sweet, an odd habit that meant no harm, but this was different. He didn’t seem up in the air like he had been recently, no, this was like he was half sunken into the floor, weighed down and startled like a deer.

“I- Uh- sorry I- I didn’t realise anyone else was back from the mission yet…”

Bob looked… sad. Not just the low dips that you had seen before. His eyes aren’t dazed from the new medication and he doesn’t hold the same light he has for the last few weeks. You take him in, now that you think harder, you’re sure you had seen him wear that same sweatshirt and jeans combo yesterday… and the day before.

He mumbles something of an apology, and makes a move to stand up, unkempt hair falling into his face. He clumsily tries to pick up some items scattered in front of him, a notebook, a pen, and… a tiny paper swan?

“No!” Bob freezes at your soft exclamation, startled eyes wide and frozen on you. No - shit, you didn’t mean to scare him off. “Sorry, I mean don’t feel like you have to leave because of me-“

He still looked like he was halfway to deciding if he wanted to flee, like you had cornered him out here. In a way you had, and you knew that feeling.

You needed an excuse to keep him there, not just because you wanted to talk to him, but because you recognised that look in his eyes. Luckily, you had been given the perfect one.

“Wait right here-“ You spin so fast that the early evening city lights blur together as you make your way back inside the main level. You try not to make your sprint obvious as you dash to your bag on the side of the bar, rummaging around in it.

Once you’ve secured the items under your arm, you make a split second decision to grab the blanket hanging over the armrest of the couch closest to the glass door which leads outside.

Bob’s now sat back down on the floor, still half turned to face you as you approach with a smile on your face. This time it’s genuine.

“Look - it’s us!” You grin as you sit down beside him, dropping the blanket next to you as you hold the two boxes in your hands, passing one of them to him.

He’s slow to take it, like you’re passing him some loaded gun instead of a children's toy.

“Are- Are these…” Bob's voice is hoarse, unsteady as he contemplates the item.

“The marketing lady gave me them on my way up, apparently mine goes on the shelves in a few weeks just before Christmas!” You smile, but he doesn’t return it.

You must have done something wrong again. A small part of you had hoped he’d find it cool, it was why you persuaded the woman to let you keep them, that part of you is crushed by his silence.

It’s fine, he doesn’t have to like them. That’s the lie you tell yourself to ease the sting.

You look down at the box in your hands. Cheap cardboard, a faint imitation of you on an action figure, caged in a plastic prison, your face on the corner of the box beside the New Avengers logo. Maybe he was right, it was stupid of you.

“I think Val had them make that one of you too… just in case-“

“In case I can be The Sentry again.” You don’t think you’d ever heard him so bitter before as he places the action figure down, perhaps a little too firmly.

Oh. That’s what this was. The side of you that’s relieved it wasn’t something you had done is small in comparison to one that aches at his words, because you knew it in yourself, how it was to hold the knowledge that you weren’t good enough. But at least for him, it wasn’t true like it was with you.

A gust of wind makes you almost crush your own box before you can respond, earning you an odd look.

“Are you okay?” Bob’s focused on you now, confused by your reaction.

“Yeah, just not a fan of heights.” Truth be told, this was your first time on the landing balcony. You were far away from the edge and completely safe, but you were still stuck in your belief that humans weren’t compatible with living in skyscrapers, let alone ones with open balconies and sharp drops off the edges.

Movement out the corner of your eye catches your attention, there’s something small and white, fluttering in the breeze as it’s pushed closer to the edge.

“Oh shit, your swan-” You’re about to stand but his hand quickly finds your shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through your sweater, and this time it was his turn to make you sit down.

“No- Don’t. I’ll, uh, I’ll get it.” Bob assures, already knowing it probably wasn’t in your best interest to have you getting anywhere height could become a danger if the wind was enough to scare you.

That was the first time he had touched you. It seems like such a small, insignificant thing to remember. But you did, because nothing was insignificant when it came to him, even though it took you almost a year to accept that fact.

If you even have accepted it…

He’s unusually quiet when he moves, shoulders hunched as he takes the few steps closer to the edge where the paper swan had scattered to, like it had been trying to take flight. With Bob, despite the power you knew he held, it’s like he sits at the bottom of the food chain, he’s become skilled at camouflaging all of the best parts of himself to avoid predators.

Sitting down like this, you can see just how tall he is, despite his attempts at making himself smaller. You can see the softness in his face when the pink rays of the sunset catch it.

You try to ignore the way it makes your heart flutter when he turns back towards you, and you go back to pretending to look at the action figure, re-reading the choking warning on the side when he sits down beside you, paper swan safe in his hand.

“Are you, uh, scared of heights?” It seemed like a pointless question with how willing he was to go near the edge, like the possibility of falling didn’t bother him at all.

“I was, but- I mean I guess I can fly now? Or at least I would be able to if I- If I could control it.” Bob runs his ink-stained fingers along the wings of the paper bird, delicate, trying not to harm it as he places it down in a safe position between his pen and closed notebook.

Your heart sinks at his words. Wonderful. You’ve brought his mood down even more and the bar for it had already been in the damn lobby of the tower. Why did everything you say have to be wrong?

Bob squints at the box he’d left next to you, picking it up again. He’s looking at it properly now, no longer seeing some false potential of himself, but the actual reality.

“This… looks nothing like me, I look weird.”

Without thinking, you reach out to squeeze his free hand that isn’t holding the box, the one resting on his knee, pulling at the fabric of his jeans.

“I don’t know, I kinda think yours looks like Captain America, don’t tell John I said that though, he already has a whole complex about the whole ‘Cap’ thing.”

The city stills around you when you realise what you’ve done, your quiet laugh dying when his skin warms against yours. Part of your imagination conjures up the idea that somewhere down below a cab has probably screeched to a halt in sheer horror and embarrassment for you.

You remember Ava’s words, Bob wasn’t a touchy person when it came to direct skin contact, he had his reasons - reasons which included the potential for him to zap you into a maze of your worst memories - something you didn’t want happening for obvious reasons.

You freeze, about to pull your hand back and apologise; but then he smiles. It’s boyishly handsome, and his thick throat flexes with a laugh. You’d heard it before, but never had it been in response to something you said. On his face in pink sunlight, smile lines appear out of nowhere and his hair falls away from his face when he tilts it back.

He looks free like this.

You laughed too, you don’t remember it, but apparently you did, because you’re seeing it from his eyes. It’s like his memory has overlapped with yours for the briefest moment. A hazy look at yourself, legs crossed and back to the sun. That same warmth from earlier echoes around you in the darkness beyond this vision. The feeling that wasn’t quite your own.

“Yeah- Yeah, that’s true.” Bob nods, lips pulled into a rare smile this time when he looks down at the box.

This was your chance.

“I brought a blanket, if you want to sit with me- Maybe you could teach me how to do that thing with the swan?”

There’s a flash of your face from his eyes, a quietly hopeful expression as you hesitantly raise the blanket.

Why are you seeing this? What kind of drugs had they put in your IV?

“Yeah… Okay.” Bob nods, a lopsided smile on his face, and the tension between you finally relaxes.

This time the vision doesn’t freeze, it twists at the same time you lay out the blanket and the both of you lay back. You’re no longer sitting at sunset, but staring up at the night sky, silk dress cool on your skin. You remember this dress, you wore it just a month after you failed terribly on every attempt at making a paper swan.

This was the night of Yelena's birthday. Or rather, her fake birthday, the party with all the ‘important’ people, not the one with just the team where her smile had been bigger. Real. You and Bob had made a cake for that one, nothing like the expensive one that was currently inside, ordered from some fancy company by one of Valentina’s assistants in a flavour Yelena didn’t even like.

You had learned a lot about Bob during those few weeks, nothing too deep - his favourite books, that he was surprisingly good at anything that involved puzzles, he preferred chocolate to vanilla except for when it came to milkshakes.

The Watchtower Balcony - October 22nd 2026 - 2:16 am

“Do you like stargazing?” You ask him, half testing if he was still awake.

The penthouse had been full of people with loud music playing when you both snuck out here, but now it was quiet. Those who lived here had returned to their rooms, and those who hadn’t had left to their own expensive skyscrapers. You must have been laying here for hours, but you were content with not moving until you had to.

“I like the quiet- Well, I like you talking too, but… you know what I mean.” He stumbles over the words. You put it down to him being tired.

Bob’s nervous hands finally settle on his shirt, pulling absently at one of the buttons. Tonight was the first time you had seen him in a suit, he had worn it well, looking like he belonged on a magazine cover. The same jacket you admired had found its way around your shoulders when you stepped outside with him, it was nearing winter now.

“I get that.” You interrupt his stuttering with a small smile, eyes fixed on a cloud passing over the stars.

“You do?”

“Mhm,” You blink lazily, trying to keep yourself awake. “I uh… I know you have access to my file so-“

“I haven’t read it.” Bob stops you there, confirming something you hadn’t anticipated. You turn your face to look at him, but he’s still looking up at the sky.

“It felt weird to… on the first day I was here Valentina told me all these things about myself, things I didn’t want anyone to know,” His jaw tenses, lips pinching like he can taste something vile. “It was like someone made a Wikipedia article of all the deeply personal shit I went through, so it felt kind of fucked up to be offered that information about someone else.”

This whole time… you had thought he avoided you at the start because of something in your file, because he had made some early decision to not trust you.

“If it helps, the only parts I read of yours are about that day in the city and that you were in the medical trial, nothing else,” It’s almost unnoticeable, the way he relaxes into the floor, the way his face relaxes. But you notice. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

“The rest doesn’t matter.” He agrees with you, and you hear him repeat it a few times beneath his breath before he speaks again.

“I don’t like the parties… I um, I used to think I liked the loud music, the people- but I- I think I just liked not being sober, and that… that was really the only time I was ‘allowed’ to be sober and not feel- not feel, uh, guilty about it.” Bob’s voice is shaky, and he’s still fixed on the sky, fingers still nervously twisting the button.

“I don’t like all the people, or the loud noises, it makes my head hurt now. Makes it hard to sleep after.” Bob adds, falling quiet after. You knew he didn’t drink, it wasn’t necessarily that he ‘wasn’t allowed’, but he had set himself limits. They went hand in hand with your own, but for different reasons.

He had given you a piece of him… and you were already at an unfair advantage anyway with what you knew from passing comments about his ‘shame rooms’ the team had fought through. It was only fair you gave him something in return.

“Well, my file… it’s not too different to Yelena’s, but my line of work growing up was more private.” It’s your turn to look at the night sky now, to focus on a plane and absently guess where it was going to. “Yelena belonged to the black widows, but I was independent, I had different owners.”

“Owners? Like a dog?” You can’t see Bob’s face as you stare at the stars, but you can sense the sudden anger in his tone, the electric charge that picks up in the air.

It reverberates around the darkness too, even now.

“I wasn’t like the Winter Soldier, I didn’t need code words, or the programming that Yelena had, I was just… made for it. They told me my purpose in life was to serve… be obedient - don’t question the missions because ‘Good pets follow orders’.” Saying their words - his words - makes you sick.

You followed every one of them blindly, devoted and loyal. You thought this would be harder to say, it had practically had to be forced out of you by the therapist you were assigned when you joined the team. Even then, you provided her with the details, as cold and detached as if you were giving a simple mission briefing.

Like none of what you went through mattered.

“My last ones saw me as disposable I think, a means to an end, every job was practically a suicide mission, but I always came back.” Broken and bleeding, you always came back. Those days were some of the darkest, when you were expendable. You’d even convinced yourself of the same thing.

“Until the time I was held captive for a week… a group who wanted information about my handlers, which of course I didn’t give.”

You had ripped your way out. Tooth and claw, and you swore that would be the last time you took an order that you didn’t agree with. You don��t tell him everything about what they would do to you, the-

“Don’t think about that.” The cool voice chides softly against your ear, reminding you it was still there, keeping you on track.

“When I got back I was given a medical kit to patch myself up with and a bottle of Advil, that was all I asked for. The first night I was healed enough to fight, I…”

Silence falls and you clutch his suit jacket tightly, afraid he might take it away at any moment.

“Killed them?” Bob finishes quietly, something dark in his voice, something you hadn’t heard in it before.

“Every last one of them. I didn’t want to take orders any more.”

You didn’t expect him to understand, or sympathise with someone so monstrous, someone that clearly had no regret in their actions in the way the others did. Even though Bob had technically put people in the void, he hadn’t killed them.

You wait for that horror and discomfort from him, but it doesn’t come. You pick a new plane to stare at, following it between gaps in the clouds when he speaks, so softly that it’s barely audible over the city noise.

“When?”

Bob’s question catches you off guard and you lose sight of the plane, you close your eyes and try to recall the memory amongst the taped up boxes in your mind.

“It was about four years ago, so a year before the blip. First year I spent in the states, hiding, and then-“ You make a popping noise with your mouth.

“Blipped?”

“Yeah, made it easy to get out though, to get to Madripoor, but I had help.”

“Valentina.”

You nod, remembering the chaos, the aftermath of it all. It made it easy for you to slip away unnoticed, what was traumatic for the world around you, provided you with perfect cover. It freed you from your cage.

“I think Madripoor was the first real time I remember looking at the stars. I was alone, all the time… freedom felt more like isolation for a while.”

You knew that Bob understood that loneliness, the weight of the world that threatened to fall down and crush you at any given moment.

“She must have read my file too, because she never gave me orders, mission packs were there if I wanted them - for the first time in my life I got to choose the violence I wanted.”

Guilt still followed you wherever you went, leaving behind stained footprints like you had walked through mud. Nothing you could do would remove that dirt, all you could do was hope that with each step, it would stain less. There would be less marks left behind, until you eventually left no footprints at all.

“And that’s how you met Ava?”

A tired smile pulls at your lips. “Some of my missions were international, we got paired together for one in Switzerland, spent two weeks freezing in the alps. Stars were pretty there too.”

They were much clearer there, less light pollution… but back there you didn’t have Bob next to you. Back then you couldn’t have imagined the importance Ava would eventually hold in your life.

“But you take orders from John and Bucky?”

That much was true, even more so now.

“Don’t always follow them.” Your lip twitches up in a smile. “And I think this team, especially Bucky, knows what it’s like to follow orders you don’t want to.”

You’re on the edge of sleep when he swallows audibly, his whisper keeping you conscious.

“Thank you, for…” Bob trails off, not quite knowing the right words for the moment, and you open your eyes again. The sky was clear now, the weight of the clouds shifting away.

“Is that why you came outside then… to get away from it all?” He’s pulling at the blanket again, a nervous habit he busies himself with when he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. The consequence of a lifetime of having to be careful with his words.

There were two reasons you had come outside, but the second was the only one you had the confidence to voice right now in your weary state. The first was too new to be sure of, you were still processing the potential of its existence.

“Valentina added a new display case before the official party, I think she likes pushing the nostalgia down the throats of her little business friends…” Your jaw tenses, working over the words in your mouth, tasting the next ones.

“Oh… the battle of New York one?” Bob's voice is soft, and he must be facing you now because you can feel his breath on your cheek, warmer than the breeze.

It feels like the one by your ear, still there, still reminding you to breathe.

“It’s all just… remnants of a time gone by.” You shrug bitterly. “I wonder if that’s what I’ll end up becoming too, after all of this.”

“This?”

“Yeah, the team, the parties, the missions - the ‘great glory’ as Alexei puts it. Will I just… end up painted over? Used as a conversation starter? Everything about me just reduced to a spot in some pretty display case for people to marvel at over their champagne?”

“Never.”

You see yourself from this perspective too, only it doesn’t look like how you remember that night. The girl you’re looking at is far too soft, far more beautiful than you could ever see yourself as. It lasts a while, long enough for her blinks to slow until her eyes close completely, letting her guard down.

Bob falls quiet beside you, just as tired as you are. You’re both surrendering to the night.

“I may not know exactly what it’s like but… I kind of get it, the feeling that none of this matters…”

It sounds like he’s going to say more, but when you turn your face to look at him, his lips are parted with soft snores escaping them. You fall asleep, refusing to acknowledge the smile that had grown on your face. You were here, you were safe.

That wasn't the first of many late night conversations with Bob on the landing deck, but it was the first of many times you fell asleep by his side. The next morning you would wake up, tucked underneath the same blanket you had fallen asleep on top of, still with Bob's suit jacket on but your shoes removed, in the safety of your own room.

You didn’t even recognise the emotions burrowing under your skin until it was too late, you wouldn’t until a rainy night many months later, but for now you could accept the vision, of laying under the blanket of the night sky.

You swear you still feel the warm hand in yours, the icy lips whispering against your ear, even in this dream, pleasant and quiet. It may not be real, but you hold onto it like it’s the only softness you’ve ever felt.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #marvel #new avengers tower #new avengers tower fanfic #boy Reynolds fanfiction #bob reynolds angst #angst

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corviiids · 2 months ago

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sparknotes for my souyo fic 'going on and on and on'

happy year of the souyo in 2025. it's souyo year everyone! (as always don't read the post if you haven't read the fic it won't make sense)

i feel like this is even less of a sparknotes and more of a stream of consciousness than usual but whatever. it's word vomit about interalised homophobia now

first of all the timeline, which fucked with me initially because p4 came out in 2008 and in my head i was like oh, it's set in 2008. it's NOT. it's set in 2011-2. anyway, i did some hurried bad math about it. basically yu and yosuke are a year or so post-college and are roughly 23-24 years old in this fic. nanako is 14-15. the title comes from signs of love because after i outlined the fic i checked out the lyrics to the song and was like hey. i think i just wrote that.

He said, "I'm the one who's got to leave", I said "Nobody's really got to leave 'cause I don't hear enough explanation All I need is admiration" Big frustration, bro, he goes "Life is short, we gave a shot But didn't work, honey, 'cause we had A whole lot going on and on and on"

so this idea of a post-canon souyo has been plaguing me for about a month, then i got sick and at the peak of the sick i rewatched p4a in its entirety so that was that. i think yosuke with internalised homophobia is rightfully a cornerstone of p4 fandom but lately ive been yearning for a quieter and slightly more insidious form, beyond the old standby of 'yosuke overcomes his visible bigotry, one of them confesses, and the relationship starts'. i was like, what if yosuke IS over his bigotry insofar as it applies to other people, and yu's already confessed, and that's still not enough for the relationship to start because yosuke hasn't overcome the mental block it's created for himself without his knowledge? it's harder to overcome that, because yosuke's not aware that he has any qualms left about liking guys, so he doesn't even notice he's in denial. but yu notices, and it hurts him. and go from there.

i really like yosuke a lot. i think he's the most nuanced take on the best friend character out of 3/4/5 even though i obviously have a lot of love for ryuji as well as junpei - it's not necessarily that yosuke is a better or more complex character, but that he plays more with the trope. it's sort of novel because as well as being the fun and fresh bestie (with baggage!) he is also kind of the brains of the outfit and incredibly shrewd, which is rare for the best friend trope. also, all the best friend types are insensitive at times by way of being happy-go-lucky and sort of indelicate, but yosuke also says fucked up insensitive shit in a more blase and less clumsy way, at least as compared to characters who are openly crass - it reads less as rudeness from being unthinking and more as the consequence of an undercurrent of unconscious social biases, which again is more subtle and insidious. pair that with the fact that he's a legitimately reliable, kind, and clever guy, and that makes him a really fun character to write because he never says the obvious thing. pair HIM with yu, arguably the most good-natured and patient of the three protags, and you get a super fun dynamic with the potential for a lot of heartbreak. i know im not saying anything everyone doesnt already know because souyo has been around since the stone age, but listen. souyo is one of those things that's so obviously good and popular it becomes underrated again. it's like shakespeare. yeah souyo is like shakespeare i stand by that. justice and goodness demands that every now and then you sit down and re-realise how good souyo really is.

anyway! that led me to think about, like... if yu confessed before yosuke was ready, yosuke wouldn't shun him but definitely would make it extremely obvious that this was something he wasn't ready to confront. and those socially learned biases would come out in a way that yosuke means totally innocently and even kindly, but which would nevertheless hurt as much or even more as if yosuke had openly shunned yu. the events in my head are that yu confesses to yosuke a couple of years into living together and yosuke promptly compartmentalises that shit and refuses to reflect on it any further and represses anything relevant to thinking more deeply about it. yu, my best friend, is into me. [that's something i can't think about too much.] when i waved him off, he accepted it, so it can't be that serious. [yu is the type of person to shutter his own feelings away instead of bringing them up if he thinks he won't be well-received or might upset someone else, because he's an independent person who cares about others and fears being alone, which means i can't trust him to tell me honestly if he's upset.] i'm safe to assume this is behind us and move on. [i won't think about this again unless it's brought up again. i know yu won't bring it up again.]

"... Back in second year uni—yeah, he told me he was, I dunno, interested, or whatever. I told him I'd never thought about him like that. He said that was okay. And I guess I just—I mean, I never thought about it again.” Rise considers this. “That’s kinda a weird thing to never think about again,” she says. “Your best friend confesses his love to you and you’re just like, OKAY! Really?” When she says it like that, it is kind of weird.

the comment attached to this section in the working doc: "yosuke: am i really a chill guy or is it repression"

in the fic yu mentions he kissed yosuke at least once while drunk. yu being drunk means yosuke has a perfectly good excuse to dismiss that event as a one-off and ignore it too. this is brought up in like one sentence in the fic and neither character addresses it directly or goes back to it to discuss it, and that was very important to me. i think in a lot of pining fic the focus is on the knowledge of whether or not feelings are requited. once it's clear that both parties have feelings for each other, or even that one party has feelings for the other, the major roadblock is cleared and they're able to pursue a relationship, which is why in a lot of 'getting together' fics the climactic event is, understandably, the confession! in reality things can be a lot more complicated than that :( yosuke doesn't know how he feels about yu, but is aware he feels strongly. but yu confessing and even kissing him or doing other things that make his feelings undeniable isn't enough to overcome the difficulty that yosuke is facing internally - it's not enough to make him sit down and go, yu has feelings for me, so should i think about how i feel about him?

on that note, another thing i really wanted to avoid is the idea that yu just moves out because yosuke doesn't reciprocate:

"... And if you really never felt that way about me… if we were only ever going to be friends, I would’ve been fine with that. But if you refuse to face yourself, it’s different. It hurt too much. ..." -- "... You don't want to be ready. You don’t want to confront this about yourself, the idea that you might feel that way about a guy. You want to keep living this way forever, just having fun and hiding away. And I just—I can't do it anymore, okay, Yosuke? I can't keep helping you hide. I can't keep sleeping in the next room, making you breakfast, helping you pretend away the fact that I—” He stops and sighs. “If I'm wrong, and you never felt the same, then I'm wrong. I can live with that. I just need to know you're not running away. I can't keep being your accomplice in that.”

yu's pain doesn't come from his feelings being unrequited, it's that yosuke doesn't respect himself or yu enough to be honest with himself. if yosuke had done his reflection and come to the genuine conclusion that he either doesn't like guys or does but doesn't feel that way about yu, then yu would have accepted that. in another universe i would've written a fic about genuine unrequited love where yosuke just does not feel that way about yu and yu is okay with it because he loves yosuke as his best friend and partner and would be completely fine living with him as his roommate and standing by him as his friend, content to spend time together. the only reason i can't write this fic is just because i personally think yosuke DOES reciprocate... lol. anyway as naoto brings up:

“No… Well, not really,” says Yosuke. “I mean, I guess it does, but it's not him, exactly. I just don't know how to react to this. It's a lot of pressure, you know? Him saying he's serious about me, and that he can't live with me unless I feel the same, or whatever. It's kind of too much. I know Yu likes guys, but I never even thought about that sort of thing, so it's… kind of a blindside.” Naoto seems to pick his next words carefully. “I don't believe it was ever Yu’s intention to present you with an ultimatum,” he says. “I can't imagine he would want to make your friendship contingent on reciprocating his feelings. It's none of my business, but I would encourage you to reevaluate his meaning.”

this maybe feels like a fine distinction, but it's really important for me to make!! yu's never going to hold his friendship hostage because yosuke doesn't reciprocate. this fic has almost nothing to do with how yosuke feels about yu and everything to do with how honest yosuke is with himself, and how THAT affects yu. yu is aware that every moment he spends with yosuke in this state is more time that he's enabling yosuke not to be honest with his own feelings, which forces yu not only to live in a hurtful lie but to be actively complicit in doing so. this is p4 after all! the entire theme is facing yourself and the strength of heart required to face oneself being made manifest. yu endures it for like five years and then eventually realises he can't do it anymore, either from a values perspective or from a self-care perspective. this distinction matters so much to me because of course it's a ship fic and romance tends to be at the heart of ship fic, but yosuke's romantic feelings for yu really aren't at the heart of this conflict at all. i don't want the message to be that yosuke has fixed himself via being gay for his partner. rather, his love for yu in whatever form, and the idea that yu represents the truth for him, forced yosuke to accept the truth about himself and finally enables him and yu to live in an honest way.

ok let's like briefly talk about the other ships and characters. sorry to yukiko who got almost no screentime it just happened that way.

this fic kinda has... every ship?? in it?? which was sort of intentional. i was really trying to push hard with that 'small town' thing of everyone knowing everyone, because this was what yosuke ended up using as his shield against what he was actually avoiding. he thinks it's just that inaba's world is too small and that he doesn't want to be like his friends just dating within their circles, but as yu points out, it's really not a problem to date within your friend group if that's what's working for you. i wanted yosuke to have this easy excuse to start with before eventually realising his problem isn't inaba and the solution isn't tokyo - the problem is inaba when yu isn't there, because it lost its appeal once yu left, and the solution is only tokyo when yu is with him, because tokyo loses its shine when yu leaves there too. the point is that yosuke is looking in completely the wrong direction for what's actually making him happy. his problem wasn't inaba at all, and there's nothing wrong with dating your best friend. ok i said i was gonna talk about other characters but it's yosuke again. let's talk about other characters. my point was that it's kind of a 'and they all lived happily ever after' stereotype to pair all the main characters off, but that was a Literary Decision. ok it was a Choice. i Meant to do that. probably

chie and yukiko to me are just an obvious pair. i actually initially thought about dating yukiko when i did my first p4 run but after doing her dungeon i abandoned that idea entirely because her and chie go through an entire romance arc in about four seconds flat. i dont need to sell anyone on those two. ive always had a real soft spot for kanji and naoto, but i also really like naoto and rise together, so i thought, this would be a fun way to complicate things even further for yosuke by instead of just pairing them off having them all be involved with each other in this web of casual relationships. i didn't tag any of the other ships because to be frank it's just not really about them since yosuke's mostly just focused on himself, so there's not a lot of detail in the fic about what's going on there, so here's like... a chart... btw seven months pass from the beginning of the fic until the end. at the three month mark chie and kanji go to visit yosuke. ok we go

at the start of the fic kanji and naoto are in an on-again-off-again situationship. when kanji visits yosuke at the three-month mark they're still in this state. sometime between this and the point where yosuke visits inaba, kanji and naoto settle and solidify, so by the end of the fic they are in a serious committed relationship.

naoto is bigender because all detective princes are bigender. yosuke didn't ask her pronouns but they're he/she interchangeably. she can be referred to as kanji (and rise)'s boyfriend or girlfriend but usually prefers partner. the others sometimes fumble around with this so sometimes (most often with chie and yosuke) he will just be referred to as kanji and rise's... (confusion) naoto???

rise and naoto get involved while kanji and naoto are still figuring their shit out and aren't exclusive. they are strictly casual and are not looking to be in a long-term relationship.

kanji and naoto are technically open but neither of them is seeing anyone else except for naoto seeing rise. kanji is okay with this but as naoto says in the fic he is still getting used to it. naoto and rise are prepared to end their involvement if at any point kanji decides he's not okay with it anymore. kanji is a little insecure because he isn't sure how much naoto really likes him, but once he realises how serious naoto actually is about him, he will settle down and i think he'll be fine.

rise is not interested in a long-term committed relationship right now at all. she is exceptionally chill about the interconnected relationships and is jealous of nobody. after yu and yosuke get together she and yu will shake hands and go back to being normal friends.

she gets involved with yu after yu moves back to inaba. they refer to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend but it's not that serious. yu is earnestly trying to move on from yosuke (hasn't yet) but is not attempting to do so with rise, they are just having fun. (rise calls herself yu's rebound but this is a joke)

chie and yukiko are each other's girlfriends but might come out of their holiday as fiancees. unclear

teddie is single

so that's the soap opera part of all this

i was personally really fond of the naoto and rise scenes in this, i just liked writing them a lot. naoto really suffers from being the last character added to the party and so just doesn't get the same amount of time to develop her relationship with the group or with any individual party members, which is such a shame, because she is SUCH a fun character. she and yosuke are really interesting because i would argue that (maybe outside of yu) they're the smartest characters in the party and until naoto joins the group it's yosuke filling the niche of the detective, so it's sort of a shame that they never really get to bond. this section also has one of my favourite lines in the fic which i keep expecting someone to call me out on

Whoa. Naoto’s getting more than him? Pint-sized, gender-ambiguous, awkward turtle Naoto Shirogane?

remember when everyone was saying awkward turtle? i just wanted to be true to this being a game from 2008.

anyway, there are two bits of advice to come out of the naoto and rise sections that i thought were most important to yosuke's development in this fic:

Naoto leans forward. “Yosuke,” he says gently. “I know we don't know each other particularly well, but for my part, I’ve always considered you a good friend. Would you accept a bit of well-intentioned advice?” He waits for Yosuke to jerk his head. “It's not a failure of self to admit that you want something. Just remember that, okay?”

and

Yosuke furrows his brow. “You realise it sucks, right?” he asks her. “It sucks people keep talking to me like they know me better than I know me.” Rise shrugs. “Isn’t that what friends are?” she says. “S’not like not knowing yourself makes you a dummy. That’s life. We haven’t got the TV anymore, so you gotta have friends you can count on to… to switch on the Yosuke show and spot your Shadow self when you can’t see it. Persona!”

the latter to me is about the mortifying ordeal of being known or whatever. it's about being vulnerable to others in a way you yourself aren't aware of and accepting that that isn't a bad thing all the time. i kinda want to offer yosuke some grace here as well - as irritatingly oblivious as he is, it IS kind of disconcerting and upsetting to be constantly told things about yourself like everyone thinks they know better, and it can be really uncomfortable to have a relationship with a friend reframed by finding out they feel a way about you that you weren't aware of. the stuff he has to overcome in this fic is more complex than just 'accept he likes guys' - there's a lot of introspection and acceptance required in looking inward and finding out you don't know yourself as well as you thought you did, especially if there's external pressure.

"hey rook, why didn't anybody kiss in this fic?" i personally really enjoy making you read twelve thousand words of pre-relationship and not rewarding you at all. that's the reason.

when i was first outlining the fic, i got to the confrontation that yu and yosuke have at samegawa and thought, okay, this is the part of yosuke's social link where yosuke (atlus?) fumbles his shit hard, because that entire rank reads as leading towards a love confession until yosuke is like "YOU HAVE TO PUNCH ME IN THE FACE."

so in my head i was like, this fic COULD be a fix-it for that. it could be. a different man would end the fic there and have yosuke realise his shit after yu chews him out, and it resolves by yosuke going "this time im going to ask him to kiss me instead of punch me" and then it resolves with a kiss and they live happily ever after. obviously i couldn't do that. it had to be a lot messier than that because of who i am as a person. so i dragged the outline on for another 1.5k or something after that point and the fic itself runs for another 6k.

LIKE THIS POST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I THOUGHT I WOULDN'T HAVE THAT MUCH TO SAY AND THEN IT JUST GOES ON AND ON AND ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#THIS POST IS 3.4K #rookfic #long post #my god dont read this i just had to exorcise this. im in the p4 mines

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souliebird · 2 years ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 10]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Words: 4.2k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

When Minnie was six months old, you used to sleep on the couch so you wouldn't wake her up trying to get ready for bed. It would hurt your back - your couch was not very comfortable to sleep on - but you would sacrifice your comfort so she could sleep. No one in their right mind would wake a sleeping baby - even one that was always happy to go down for a nap.

As your mind begins to stir, you become aware of the familiar ache in your lower back and the unfamiliar one pulsing around your eyes. Your hand slowly snakes up from where you had curled it against your chest and press your fingers along the bridge of your nose and up to the curve of your eyebrow, testing to see if the throbbing was sinus related. Nothing is triggered but your memories of the night before creep into your consciousness.

Minnie with her tantrum and Matt with his amazing senses.

You groan into the cushion as it all falls into place. Your eyes hurt from crying, not your sinuses, and you must have fallen asleep on the couch after your breakdown.

Shame and embarrassment course through you. You hate crying and you hate that someone witnessed it. You can't imagine what he must think of you now - losing it like that. You should have been able to handle the news far better than you had and you're going to promptly apologize the next time you talk to him. You had acted so selfishly when it was clear he had control over the situation.

But you don't have time to sit and wallow in your wretchedness - your daughter needs you to get up and be a capable adult, so you will your aching body to sit up.

Your phone is sitting on the table in front of you, so you grab it to check the time. It's half past seven and your daughter has probably been awake for at least an hour. More shame courses through you - you always try to wake up before her so you can take care of her. You can only guess what state she is in.

Your head spins as you stand, but you try to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bedroom. You prepare yourself to find a soiled bed - you didn't bother to change her into her night clothes and a pull-up and she is still mastering waking up when she needs to pee at night.

The door is partially open and as you near it, you hear her tiny voice talking nonsense as she plays with something. You take a deep breath and push into the room, ready to face the start of your day.

Your mind short-circuits at what you encounter.

Both beds are clean and made, far tidier than you usually make them, and Minnie is sat on the floor with Scooby and some of her other stuffed animals, having what looks to be a tea party. To your absolute confusion, she is already dressed, and her hair has been put into pigtails with mismatched bows. You know for a fact she can't reach where you keep her hair supplies - you put them on a high shelf after she got into them to play salon before and managed to get her hair tangled so badly you had to cut things out.

It doesn't even take her half a second to notice you and her little face breaks into the biggest smile, “Mommy!”

Still very much confused, you step forward to join the tea party circle and kneel down to be level with her. “Hi, sweetie,” you greet, trying your best to not alarm her. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”

“Not-uh! Mister Matt helped! We watched lots of videos about hair and he made me pretty!”

You frown at that, “Mister Matt helped?” Had he stayed the night after you fell asleep? If so, where is he now? Your apartment isn't that big, and the bathroom door is open. Had he left before you woke up? You don’t like the idea of him leaving Minnie unsupervised.

Your daughter nods as she turns back to her toys, pretending to pour you a cup of tea and handing it over. You automatically pretend to take a sip.

“He helped make me pretty,” she confirms after putting her tea pot down, “now he's getting foods. Bagels!”

You turn the statement over in your mind - there is a bagel shop around the corner Minnie loves and if Matt is right about her also having enhanced abilities, maybe, just maybe, he didn't leave her unwatched.

You bite your lip, then dare to push.

“Mouse, do you think you can tell me where Mister Matt is right now? Can you hear him?”

She doesn't acknowledge you right away, fussing with another piece of her tea set. You wait, allowing her to process what is being asked of her and watch as she slowly starts to move her head in minute movements, like she's tracking something. It's terrifying and fascinating to see a look of concentration come over her face and after about thirty seconds, she breaks into another big smile.

“He's talking to a frog!”

“A frog..?” You ask, wondering if Matt was wrong about Minnie having heightened senses and she's playing pretend again.

“Yeah, he says…he says.. He's telling froggy he can't go to work. He's gonna stay with us!”

It clicks instantly. Matt isn't talking to a frog. He's talking to his business partner, Foggy Nelson, and as far as you know, Matt hasn't mentioned him or Karen yet by name to Minnie.

“Can you tell where he is?” You ask again, being sure to be gentle with your question.

“Outside,” is her response, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Froggies can't come inside. Do you want sugar?” She holds up her toy spoon and you offer her your tea cup.

“Yes, please.”

She pretends to scoop sugar and you watch her in amazement. You are of course going to have to confirm that Matt was talking to Foggy, but it is so hard to believe your little one can hear that. You can't hear what is going on in your own living room, let alone outside your apartment. You cannot imagine how loud everything must be, how much input Mouse must be getting - but she doesn't seem bothered by it at all right now.

She seems to be completely over her tantrum from yesterday and you want to ask her about it, but you aren't sure how or if she has the ability to express it. You know there are days you get overwhelmed and upset and you can't think of another way to explain it other than “too much”. You can't expect a three year old to articulate it better than you can.

She's got a sweet little smile and part of you fears if you bring up her previous upset, it will spiral right back into a meltdown. So, you watch instead - watch as she goes back to playing make pretend with her toys, seemingly unbothered. You sip at your tea, making up a list of questions for Matt when he returns from his errand.

Minnie plays for about five minutes before she perks up, beaming up at you, “Mister Matt asks if you can open the door, please thank you."

Her statement throws you for a moment and you aren't sure how much you like the idea of her being able to tell you all these things. It scares you - her knowing things you don't and not knowing what she does know.

Maybe it is one of the things you and Matt can talk about - then talk about it with your sweet Mouse. You are going to have to get used to it, either way.

You push yourself into standing and motion for Minnie to come along. She scrambles up and runs out of the room, delighted laughter following her.

You are still in your clothes from the night before and you wish you had taken a moment to check your hair or even brush your teeth. You try to tell yourself it is fine, but your anxiety just argues back, and you feel like a complete slob by the time you get to the front door.

Your stomach and heart both do a funny clench at the sight of Matt, who is still sporting his borrowed shirt. You don't know if you want to fall into his arms or throw up or go hide under your covers so you can pretend all of this is a dream. Instead, you step aside so he can come inside and silently beg your mind to stop collapsing in on itself.

“Breakfast delivery,” Matt says as a greeting, his entire face lighting up with a smile. He's holding a bag from the shop around the corner in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks along with a small one in his other.

You can feel your face starting to heat up and force your eyes down to the ground, mumbling, “you didn't need to do that.”

He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, “I wanted to, and someone,” his voice turns teasing as he directs his next comments to Minnie, “wouldn't stop talking about bagels.”

Your daughter erupts into giggles, then turns and runs back towards the kitchen. Matt gives a pleased laugh, and your stomach flips again. He follows Minnie, and after you relock the door, you join them.

They are sitting at the dining table, Mouse watching with a big smile as bagels are laid out on the table. Matt narrates for both of you, “Three egg bagels with plain cream cheese, two large coffees, and one kid’s hot chocolate. Now, is that the right order or was someone taking advantage?”

Minnie giggles more and that relaxes your shoulders. “No, that's right. Thank you, you really didn't -” You cut yourself off as you realize the table is clear of any mess from the night before. There are no plates on the table or in the sink, there's no lasagna stains on the floor, there's no leftovers sitting out. Your eyes drift to Matt.

He must have cleaned after you had fallen asleep. Guilt courses through you - he shouldn't have to be dealing with your messes, especially in your own living space. You are going to need to not only apologize but return the favor somehow. You aren't sure how you'll do that - no one has ever done this much for you before, and Matt has done so so much in such a short time.

You're dragged from your thoughts as a coffee is placed in front of you.

“It's just black, I didn't know how you took it,” the kind, handsome lawyer says, and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears. It beats harder when you remember that not only can he hear your body and mind freaking out, but so can your daughter.

Your instinct tells you to panic at the idea of someone knowing that much about you. You always try to stay calm on the outside while having a meltdown, but that doesn't matter with him. He'll know you're a mess. You can't hide it.

You hear Matt ask Minnie something about her tea party and watch as she skips away from the table, but it's like your mind doesn't process it. You feel completely frozen because you don't know how to act - you don't know how to hide yourself from the man in front of you. You don't know how to hide yourself away from your daughter.

How can you protect her from yourself? Your own body?

Suddenly, Matt is in front of you, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands and whispering your name. He's practically right on top of you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin, “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

“What?” You ask, so confused about what is going on. You don't understand why he's saying it's okay.

“A deep breath, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath?”

Your mind will not wrap the reason for the instruction, but you do as you are told. You inhale through your nose and that earns you a soft smile. He continues to pet you, gently instructing you to exhale after a moment and you obey.

“Again?” He prompts and you nod. You feel shaky as you try to focus on breathing. You've always hated these exercises - they've never worked for you and have only served to frustrate you, and now you are just trying to make sure you are doing it right. How embarrassing would it be to fuck up breathing in front of Matt?

“That's it,” he says so calmly, “Just breathe. I know it's a lot. I know. One step at a time. Let's have some breakfast, okay? Let's sit and have coffee and we can all talk. How's that sound?”

It sounds good, it sounds like the right thing to do, but your throat is clenching and not wanting to produce words, so you nod instead.

You close your eyes to try to center yourself and somehow calm down. Matt lingers, keeping a hold of you until you hear Minnie coming back to the kitchen. It seems like he waits until the last possible moment before pulling away.

Seeing your daughter looking so happy helps to reset your mind. She's fetched Scooby and Pig and runs up to the table to put them in their chair. You smile at the sight.

She really does seem like she's perfectly fine and maybe Matt is right and everything is okay. For now, at least.

You force yourself into action, moving to set one of the bagels in front of Mouse, setting it on a napkin. You're going to need to transfer the hot chocolate into a mug or Mouse will spill on herself.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

She practically dives into her bagel, picking it up and taking a big bite and getting cream cheese on her cheeks. She is completely engrossed with her food.

“Thank Mister Matt, he got us breakfast,” you advise before going to get a napkin. While you are in the kitchen, you grab your creamer from the fridge.

“Thank you, Mister Matt!” she chimes before barreling on. “Mommy, did you know Mister Matt can braid hairs!”

Guilt courses through you and you remind yourself you need to thank Matt for everything he has done for you. But you tell yourself to not think of it right now - you are terrified of Minnie sensing your panic and that somehow shuts your mind down and you go into parent mode.

“No, I didn't. Did you ask him to braid your hair?” You ask as you move in to wipe her face. She obediently tilts her face towards you and closes her eyes as you clean away the cream cheese. In the corner of your eye you see Matt sip from his coffee, a smile forming in his lips.

“She wanted puffs,” he advises, “I learned a lot of new hair terminology today. Minnie is a very good teacher.”

Your daughter preens at the praise before taking another bite of her bagel. More cream cheese gets on her face. You decide to wait until she's done eating before tidying her up again. It will be pointless otherwise.

Instead, you start to fix your coffee, removing the lid to add creamer. You eye your daughter as you do, letting yourself finally take in her appearance.

“You're a good stylist,” you tell Matt, and it is true. Her pigtails look even and as smooth as can be expected for a toddler. You don't see any tangles and if Minnie is happy, you have no grievances with the outcome - only guilt that Matt was the one who dealt with it.

“I have some experience,” he hums, before taking another sip of his coffee. Then he directs his smile to his daughter, “my best friend used to have long hair. He has little nieces and they used to do his hair at Christmas, and I got roped into helping. I'm told I do a pretty good French braid.”

Mouse giggles before gasping and pointing at you, “do Mommy's hair!”

Embarrassment floods you - you don't think anyone has done your hair since you were Minnie’s age, and your current hair is a gross greasy mess and you don't want anyone touching it.

Matt hums as he tilts his head towards you, “I think Mommy is better at doing her hair than I would be. But maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time,” you agree, hoping that will be enough to deter your daughter from this path.

Luckily, she quickly parrots, “Next time!”

You offer her a smile and take a much needed drink of your coffee. It not only warms you but helps to ground you back into reality.

You remind yourself nothing has actually changed - you are just more aware of the world. To Minnie, this is the same as any other day and you need to get yourself back on track.

Which means you need to confirm some things with Matt.

You set your coffee down, then pick up Minnie’s hot chocolate and bring it to the kitchen to transfer into one of her kid-friendly tumblers. You clear your throat, then dare to try, “Minnie said you'd be spending the day with us?”

“You told the froggy!” Mouse happily adds.

Matt looks confused for a few seconds before it must click, “Foggy, sweetheart, not Froggy. Foggy is my best friend - the one who had long hair.”

“Froggy!” Is the defiant response and you know better than to argue. Once something is named, the name sticks. But of course, Matt doesn't know this and you decide to let him learn.

“Foggy,” he tries. “Like a cloud. Not a frog.”

“Froggy!”

“Fog. Foggy. No ‘r’.”

“Frog. Froggy! Froggy! Froggy!” Minnie bounces in her seat, starting to giggle. You return to the table, securing the lid to the sippy tumbler before placing it down.

“Ribbit ribbit,” you add and that gets you a delighted burst of laughter.

“Ribbit ribbit!”

Matt practically pouts but seems to realize he isn't going to win this. “But yes, I… told Foggy I wanted to spend the day with you. When I was in the phone, outside.” His dramatic sad face turns into something soft as he tilts his head towards Minnie, “Did you tell your Mommy you heard me?”

“I, uh, asked if she could,” you say, feeling silly for admitting it. But you know this is the path you need to take to start understanding what enhanced senses mean.

“I can hear everything,” your little one proudly says, and you've heard her say it before - but now you know she isn't just playing pretend.

“Yes, you can,” is Matt's soft reply. Unlike your underlying panic, his voice seems to carry a fondness about the whole situation. He is the one with the experience and you want to trust him with the lead on this, but it's still absolutely terrifying.

But you know you need to set the ball up, so you gently push, “Did you know Mister Matt can also hear…everything?” You know it's not everything, at least by what Matt said, but you aren't going to get technical with a toddler. “Mommy can't, though. Mommy’s hearing isn't as good as yours and Mister Matt's.”

Mouse looks between the two of you, pursing her lips up as she thinks, then she reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly, “I'll tell you what I hears, Mommy.”

Your heart soars with so much love and you turn your hand so you can take hers and give it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, baby.”

“I can hears a bark-bark dog and a woofy dog,” she starts, “and there's a puppy going ‘yip-yip-yip!’”

Matt laughs a little and your focus is ripped away from Minnie and over to him. He absolutely beams at you, looking proud as can be. You wonder what this like for him - having someone else who can hear what he can.

“There's a doggy day care about two blocks north,” he informs, and it is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact your daughter can hear that far. “Clients are starting to arrive, and they are lively.”

There's a flash of brown and Minnie is waving Scooby at Matt, “Bark bark bark!”

“Is Scooby a barky dog?” He asks, leaning forward towards her and putting his elbows on the table. “Not a woofy dog?”

“Bark bark!” Is the response before Mouse makes him growl. You finally allow yourself to sit and watch the sweet interaction. Everything still feels like it's too much and swirling inside you, but seeing Matt and Minnie bond is soothing - even if it's over something you can't understand yet.

“What about Pig? Does he go bark-bark or woofy?”

His question gets Minnie to gasp as if she's scandalized. “Pig isn't a doggy!”

“Oh, he isn't?” Matt teases, “I can't see him. What is he?”

“He's a piggy!” She snatches up Pig and clutches him to her chest beside Scooby. You hope she doesn't have cream cheese on her fingers because cleaning her toys is always an adventure. She hates when they have to get washed and now, you guess, you understand why. They probably smell different after being washed or the texture is off. It's something you'll have to explore later.

“What type of noises do piggies make?”

“Oink-oink-oink!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he hums, then hunches forward more and lowers his voice, like he's talking in secret, “And what sounds do little girls named Minnie make?”

You finally get to take a bite of your bagel as you watch her contemplate the question. Her face screws up in thought before lighting up when she decides her answer.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo!”

Matt throws his head back with laughter, which makes Minnie dissolve into happy giggles. The sheer joy between the two of them pulls a smile out of you and the heaviness in your chest starts to lighten more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo?” You question and your daughter giggles more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo! Like Scooby!”

You don't understand what that means but you just let the positivity continue.

“What about Mommy? What sounds do I make?” You ask, curious what her response will be.

“Bumbum-bumbum.” They aren't words, but you instantly get it is supposed to be your heartbeat. You feel yourself start to flush. Matt had told you that Minnie listens to your heart to ground herself, so of course that is what she associates you with. But hearing it from her mouth and getting that confirmation still rocks you.

“It's a good sound, isn't it?” Matt asks Minnie and you can imagine how red you are turning. You try to hide behind your coffee.

“The bestest,” Minnie agrees before adding, “After Scooby Song. Scooby Dooby Do! Where are you!”

“We've got some work to do now,” you half mumble, half sing with her.

“I've never heard the Scooby song,” the man beside you says and that triggers Mouse into action. She slides off her chair, and still clutching her toys, hurries across the room to the television. She knows how to bring up what she wants, so it only takes a few seconds before there is an episode starting to play on screen.

She drops her toys and the remote before running back to Matt and tugging on his - technically yours - shirt. “You gotta listen!”

He barely gets to stand up before being pulled into the living room. He does not resist in the slightest to being directed to sit on the ground and you watch as Minnie begins to explain the intricate lore of her favorite show. To your wonder she describes each character by their voice first and you can tell Matt is completely enthralled by what he is being told. Scooby gets moved from laying on the floor to being shoved into Matt's lap so he can hold onto him.

You realize without fanfare that you can barely hear the television. It is still on low volume from last time you had it on, and it dawns on you that you never really have it turned up too loud. Minnie can probably hear it just fine and doesn't need it blasting throughout the apartment. You never got to really watch television as a kid, and you wonder what the normal volume for watching things is supposed to be.

You sip at your coffee, watching as Minnie plops herself next to Matt on the floor, going on excitedly about mysteries and different sounds. Both of them are smiling and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

This is what you want your life to be like, you decide.

You want your family to be full of love and joy and you have fought so hard to get to this point. You've climbed your way out of a cold and distant household to make your own little corner in the world and right now you need to enjoy it instead of letting your mind be taken over by darkness and despair.

So, you set your coffee down and move to join your daughter and her father in front of the television, asking in a teasing voice, “So who is the blonde man again?”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock

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sai-int · 8 months ago

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Hi! This is the first time I make request and sorry if my english isn't good but I've been reading a lot of smut of daryl lately and now i am craving some angst. Could you write one where the reader is younger than daryl (maybe she's around 23) and she has a huge crush on him but daryl doesn't want too acknowledge her feelings because she's younger than him. But then daryl realised that he's crazy about her too when reader is trying to move on from him.

Thank you! Mwah!

I turned this into smut, and kinda strayed away from what you asked I'm so sorry, also i just found this in my drafts from like a year ago, i am SO sorry pookie

-> not proofread, straight stream of consciousness vibes

farm!daryl, kinda smut, mdni, ignore the lack of capitalization, I did this on my phone

from the second he saw you smoking way up in that tree, he knew he'd be better off hightailing it back to atlanta.

the eldest greene sister. and boy did herschel have a lot to say. When daryl and his group arrived at herschel's farm, daryl's initial thought was that it must've been a weed farm, mainly because he could smell the damn plant from at least a mile away.

okay, not really. herschel picked up on the scent as he greeted the group outside and followed daryl's gaze to you, propped up in a tree, puffing away at your diy bible-rolled joint as you doodled in a notebook

"would you stop with the damn plants for a second? We have visitors." herschel called out to you. you hopped on out of the tree and made your way over to the group, snuffing out the joint and stuffing it in your pocket for later.

what? it's not like there's anywhere you could buy some more.

"thought we weren't taking anybody in?" you said to your dad, sizing up the group before your eyes landed in daryl.

herschel had responded, but either the weed kicked in or the world must've suddenly gone mute, because the only thing you could hear was your heart beating.

he had made eye contact with you, but quickly adverted his eyes and fixated on the grass, which became the most intriguing thing in the world to him.

herschel continued talking and negotiating with the group's leader as you stood there, your eyes flickering between daryl and the rest of the group.

herschel had allowed them to stay until a kid you discovered to be carl–who got shot by otis) heals up. much to your dismay, you could see the brooding archer setting up camp right underneath your designated smoke spot. not that you minded having a man that absolutely devour-able underneath you as you indulged, but it was still your tree. you had headed inside to make some dinner for carl when you spotted him through the kitchen window.

you quickly stomped your way out of the main house to your tree- his tent. he had just snuffed out his fire and zipped up his tent for the night.

"you're camping out under my tree." you said matter-of-factly, standing outside of his tent and perfectly aware that he can hear you through the thin fabric.

"it ain't yer tree, sunshine." he grumbled from inside the tent.

"it's not your land."

"ya can't make a tree yer property... ain't how that works."

"oh but that is how it works.."

you could hear a mumbled response, but you were already rounding the tent and making your way up the tree before you could make sense of it.

it wasn't long before the smell permeated his tent. he didn't mind the smell of weed, if anything, it enticed him to join you. but god was he exhausted.

perhaps, he wasn't exhausted enough. he relented and opened his tent and turned around, trying to find you through the darkness. like you had night vision, you could see him looking up, almost directly at you.

"plan on joining me? or you just gonna stare at me little while longer?" You called down to him.

"ya gon' share?" he said loud enough for you to hear him, but not enough to wake the others.

"come and find out.." you teased. not only did weed make you generous, but it turned you on too. flirting with the clearly older man was not on your playbook, but then again, neither was the end of the world.

christ almighty this was a new low. definitely sativa.

he made his way up the tree with ease, the smell of weed growing stronger as he made his way closer to you. he sat down across from you. the thick branches of the willow tree would support you both. The fiery glow from the bud briefly illuminated your face as you inhaled

to daryl, you were much prettier than you were earlier. he could see the way your rosy lips had briefly trapped the filtered end of the joint before inhaling, and the warmth in your cheeks under the moonlight. yeah, he was definitely feeling the second-hand high.

wordlessly, you held out the joint to the older man, smiling softly as he took it from your grasp and placed his lips around it.

he took his fair share of hits as you shamelessly admired him. his looks weren't lost on you, and yours most defintely were not lost on him. maybe it was the weed, or the way you tits sat in you shirt, or the way your hair seemed to perfectly frame your face, or even the look in your eye, but he slowly felt himself shuffling over to you, suddenly longing to feel your skin on his.

as he sat closer, the smell of weed seemed to fade away as your aroma his him like a brick. the vanilla in your remaining body wash had been swept up by the wind, imbuing his senses, sending a wave of sparks straight to his cock.

the tension was palpable. he looked into your longing eyes. he knew what you wanted. he wanted it too.

"we can't- yer old man he'd-" he mumbled, ignoring the way your eyes burned his skin, and most defitnely trying to ignore the way his pants strained around him.

"we can," you cut him off in the same quiet fashion, your hand finding his thigh as if it had a mind of its own.

the second you touched him, he could feel himself bending to your will, his mind slowly twisting into mush. he saw the redness in your eyes and knew you were just as gone as he was.

within seconds you planted your lips onto his, molding together instantly. his rough hands found their way to your hips as he maneuvered you on top of him.

you could feel his cock straining in his pants as you instinctively pressed yourself into him. he could feel the heat from your cunt radiating onto him as you mewled from the friction. your teeth caught your lip as you remembered that you couldn't be too loud. he looked up at you, his heart pounding and reverberating through his bones. you began to grind on him as he held you firmly against him, his head tipping back and against the larger trunk of the tree as he kneaded the fat of your hips.

he pressed you harder against him, moving your hips to grind against him as he instinctively bucked his hips into you. his clothed cock rubbed repeated and merciless strokes against your clit. his hands snaked their way up your back and neck, eventually grabbing a fist full of hair from the nape of your neck. he pulled backward, latching his lips to your neck, feeling your heart beat erratically underneath your skin.

"f- fuck..." you mewled into his ear. daryl wanted that sound on repeat 24/7. you felt yourself begin to drip past your panties and soaking your cotton shorts. your hands rested on his hard chest, feeling his body shutter with every stroke of your hips.

daryl could embarrassingly feel his climax approaching as he pressed himself into your heat. the coil that tightened inside brought him some semblance of clarity from his high. He stilled your hips with his hands and pulled you off him.

"what the fu-"

"I ain't gonna cum inside m'pants like some damn teenager... 'f 's gon' be anywhere, its gon' be inside ya." he said quietly, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, still holding you close.

masterlist

#daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead smut #twd fanfiction #twd smut #twd #smut #imagine #༒︎ sai-int

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compress1repress · 1 month ago

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procrastinating so here are some ramblings about sci-fi/horror tropes I would link the challengers trio with

art - I actually think art being a werewolf would be very thematically interesting to me, because he's all about repression and passivity I think it would be fun if every full moon he literally can't control himself so all his passivity is thrown out the window and he becomes a wretched aggressive beast and he would feel so much shame about it <3 also he would love to be self pitying over it too. he already walks around like ughhh im so doomed due to my curse #mycurse ... and so this would just exaggerate that (some of this stuff could work with a vampire thing and i know a lot of people talk about vampire art but I just think werewolf art would be more interesting even just visually, like his obsession with shaving takes on a whole new meaning. and also he's more about 'loyalty' than isolation I think. he's always latching on to someone).

patrick - ok this one is kind of obvious but patrick is SO haunted I can't help but make it literal. patrick + ghosts = yayyy <3 i just think he holds onto the past and has never in his life moved on, so that manifesting as him seeing an actual ghost (or ghosts) would be fun!! especially bc on the surface he's egotistical, selfish, self-centred etc but underneath he holds onto everything so tightly, and the guilt clings onto him, and he can't just shake it off, and the feelings won't go away and he is deeply (almost gothically) romantic in this sense. also thematically it's an interesting look at his flaws, his impulsiveness and sense that he can do whatever he wants bc nothing matters, whilst surrounded by these lingering reminders of pain that prove things do matter, and then he realises that in some ways the ghosts reflect himself!! just stuck in this miserable limbo with unfinished business, and without the tools to fix anything and move on. except he does have the tools but he still won't actually make any meaningful change (him seeing Tashi through the window in Atlanta and she's engaged now and Art is doing better than ever at tennis and Patrick is just stood there in the same outfit that Tashi last saw him in... he genuinely could've been a ghost at that point!!). i enjoy the ghosts as representing him BEING haunted yet also him DOING the haunting bc he has become a ghost himself essentially. he has to hurry up and DO something while he's still got life in him. change something (make the throuple happen yay)

tashi - ok she is why I made this post in the first place so it may be long but omggg Tashi and the clone/double/doppelganger trope would be sooooo interesting. I think identity is such an important theme with tashi, and also something she is very aware of. she knows she has to present in a certain way, and probably self-polices a lot, to the point where in some ways it does feel like there are two of her, the version she knows, and the version presented in society (shout out w.e.b du bois double consciousness), so to physically and literally manifest that in the form of a clone would be fascinating. also through a disability lens there is a certain sense that becoming disabled feels like having a new body, and (at least from my perspective) there can sometimes be an out of body type experience with that as you adjust to a different body physically, and a different self too (just to add, i am not saying this is necessarily negative either). so again tashi's link with versions of the self make the idea of a double sound so interesting. clone narratives often brings up the question of who is the 'real' version and who is the copy, or a fear of being replaced by a copy, which are all questions about the self and identity, what makes us ourselves, and which parts are the most important. I imagine tashi ruminates on this sort of thing quite often, especially post injury with the readjusting of her identity after that. how she has to create another version of herself essentially bc the sport she formed her identity around will no longer accommodate her. tennis won't change to fit her new shape (:/) so she must find a way to change her shape so that she can still participate somehow (creating another self = clone moment)... anyway I think a clone would be a point of anxiety and fear yet also could be very cathartic for her. the end.

#idk... is this something?#mostly this is just an exercise in thinking about their characters for me... bc I've analysed so much horror at uni 😭#so im just picturing ok what if patrick was in a ghost story. what would I think it means.. what essay am i writing #i was thinking about tashi which is why i created this post but also yeah that atlanta scene with patrick is so... he's literally a ghost!!#there was more to say about clone tashi but im partially including it in a fic so i won't spoil it now #there isn't going to be an actual clone or anything. just some thoughts in tashi's head that are devastating kind of. i won't share for now #we jump to patrick as a werewolf bc he's hairy i guess but narratively I don't find it interesting bc I think he wouldn't be that bothered #patrick would be like “so the full moon comes out and i become a feral hairy beast... sounds like a typical friday night to me ;)”#but art would get INSANE.#and art's character is so much more about toxic masculinity and control and restraint so #making him a werewolf would give him so many mental issues yay #going to write an essay on clones soon so may come back with more thoughts after that

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tugoslovenka · 2 years ago

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Safehaven

Summary: You have felt a little insecure in your situationship with Halsin as of late. Fortunately, the druid seems to have taken notice—and takes some steps in consoling your fears and self-consciousness.

A/N: I just want to say this was something of a self-comfort fic. I don’t often see plus size/fat bodies in these fics (I’m responsible for doing the same in all of my work too) and I felt like making active efforts in remedying that. Especially when it comes to Halsin. With that said, obviously don’t take this as anything other than an exercise in writing something different. All bodies are beautiful, I just want fat ones to be more represented in fiction sometimes.

This is also my first time writing in second person and I must say, it’s very unnatural for me to do so. But I hope it at least tickled someone’s pickle.

Also available on AO3!

The tent was haphazardly made. Having lived in Baldur’s Gate for most of your life, nature was not where you felt most comfortable. Although, this entire adventure has been an exercise in understanding yourself ever since the Nautiloid crash a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes you felt utterly useless, having to trek through some of the rougher parts of this strange land. Other times, you felt strong—a leader, even, among your companions. It was an odd feeling, stepping in to mediate a confrontation, consoling others or simply having others come to you for advice.

The anonymity brought upon by the abduction slowly turned into a journey of self-discovery. Baldur’s Gate was too big a city to truly achieve the passions you wanted to. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers who are equally as confused as you, it’s different.

You’re different.

The shadow looming over you brings you back to the sound of crackling fires and whetstone against metal. In tattered leathers, Halsin stands, a hand outstretched towards you.

“Yes?” you ask, following the bulging veins on his arm until you note some of the scarring on his shoulder from today’s goblin encounter. Your eyes quickly divert to meet his—warm brown, with a speckle of ember that almost glows at night.

“Where have your thoughts leapt?” He cocks his head to one side, observing you with care. The druid had an uncanny ability to sense your discomfort from a mile away. You sometimes wondered if he had an infinite supply of Potions of Mind Reading, topping up each hour just to ensure he was inside your head at all times.

“Oh?” you quip, hugging your own body in response. “It’s been a long day, I suppose.”

He kneels down, blocking most of the light from the campfire. With elbows resting on his thighs, he continues to stare. Instinctively, you raise your knees until most of your body is covered. You wrap your arms around them, placing your chin in between. His eyes simply follow your movements.

“Is that all?” He turns his hand until his palm faces you, offering it in case you felt the need to hold it. You always did, but embarrassment or pride often had the last word in the conundrum of comfort.

Halsin never pushed you to share more than you were willing to, and so very quickly, he retracts his hand. The air is particularly chilly tonight, and even though you handle the cold better than most, the goosebumps spreading on your skin prompt you to involuntarily shake when a gust of wind passes by.

“I do not mean this to offend you, but your tent is…” he trails off, looking at the deflated fabric that could serve as a second blanket if need be. “... Not very—”

“—It’s shit, I’m aware,” you chuckle, letting out a yawn when you feel the shakes come again.

Halsin smiles. Almost immediately, you grin back at him. There is something so captivating about the wrinkles on the sides of his face showing each time he is chuffed with your comments. He would call them ‘direct’ even though you knew he probably meant rude. Not that he would allow himself to say so.

“I was going to say not very safe,” he corrects. “I can feel a storm brewing below my feet. If it encourages the bunnies to burrow, then I imagine it will not be pleasant.”

“After all this, dying from drowning by rainfall sounds rather embarrassing.” Your hands begin to rub your shoulders in an effort to raise your body temperature.

“I know we have both been rather busy as of late, but I do miss you, little one.”

Little one. Your teeth grit at the sound of it. It takes the willpower of a thousand suns to not bite off a chunk inside your cheek when he says it. The first time he did, it was following a particularly generous indulging of your cunt—when he refused to be serviced in return—and wrapped you in his arms instead. A thank you, he called it, for aiding him in the fight against his captors. The second time was after your face was painted in his seed, scorching hot like the anger he had for Kagha’s activities in the Grove. A kiss on the forehead followed. The third time was during a cuddle atop one of the particularly beautiful outlooks near the settlement—where he Wildshaped into a bear to keep you cushioned against the uncomfortable floor.

It was frustrating. Never have you felt so secure yet vulnerable with a person. At times, he made you feel like the most unique flower in a gardenia of preciousness, and yet he almost seemed frightened to touch you. You couldn’t remember the last time his touch was wanting, and it had been a month since your last indulgement.

“You certainly don’t act like it,” you murmur, scooting away until you felt your back hit the tent—or whatever was left of it.

Halsin’s eyes narrow. You have studied his expressions well enough to know this was his way of practicing his thoughts before he felt comfortable enough to speak out loud. He opens his mouth to utter a protest, but the loud cheers from Karlach interrupt him. You both turn to see the tiefling using a stick to gently pet over Scratch’s head, squealing in excitement when he drops a ball with a bark.

You take the time to disengage.

“Nevermind.” Standing, you pat away some of the dirt on your thighs and pull down your top, careful to pull at the bottom until it covers the bits you want it to. The druid is quick to follow, and you find yourself blocked by his giant frame as he looks down at you with concern.

“Come,” he instructs, limply pointing towards a direction away from the camp. “Follow me.”

“Halsin, it’s late and if this storm is—”

“Please.”

You relent. With a groan, you lean down to pick up the giant blanket one of the tieflings knitted as a farewell present and wrap it around your front. Halsin is the first to move, occasionally looking back to check if you’re nearby. Once you’re far enough that the noise from camp turns distant is when his hand intertwines with yours, squeezing a few times to offer reassurance.

Rolling your eyes would have been the appropriate response, were it not for the exhaustion you feel in fighting the inside voices and the man responsible for them.

The journey is spent in complete silence, though the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It takes some time until you reach a nearby creek. Halsin lets go of your hand once you reach a spot he finds appropriate, but not before giving it a gentle kiss. He tells you he will take precaution in scoping the area for any threats. You take the time to sit on a nearby rock, curling the blanket until it covers every inch of your body save for your head.

It doesn't take long. The approaching footsteps catch your attention and you see the large druid return with a couple of branches. He kneels next to you, using some of the nearby rocks to create a campfire.

“I know you are upset with me,” he murmurs, striking two sharp stones against one another until sparks fly in the air. “But I wish to understand why.”

You sigh. “Halsin, is this the time?”

“I miss you,” he retorts, continuing to smash the pebbles more aggressively this time. “And I cannot bear this tension.”

“Tension?” you scoff. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you are not.”

Another spark.

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

More sparks.

“Do you?”

“It would help if you allowed me to discern what troubles you.”

A flame. A small one, followed by smoke that quickly blows in the wind. Halsin finally turns to you, one knee on the ground as he rests his body weight on one hand.

“Do I trouble you?” you challenge, gently rocking your knee in frustration.

His expression softens. “What?”

“It does seem practiced for you to whisk me away somewhere where no one else can see us any time you want to show me affection,” you snap. “I wonder if I’m the trouble here.”

Halsin shakes his head. The fire next to him begins growing until you feel a wave of heat in your direction.

“You are… anything but. What would make you say that?”

You shrug, pressing your lips together. Either he was rather oblivious at his actions, or just well-rehearsed in the responses he typically gave. You see him searching your eyes, darting left and right as though they would give him the sense he sought for.

“When was the last time you touched me in front of everyone?” you ask, voice lowering barely above a whisper. “When was the last time you touched me with purpose?”

“My heart, you misunderstand,” he responds, inching closer until you can smell the salt and earth his body carries. “My lack of affections have nothing to do with you, but with—with… well, me.”

Another excuse. One that you’ve heard many times before.

“Of course,” you scoff, turning your gaze to the creak nearby.

He reaches through the blanket until you can feel his hand tightening around yours. “Look at me.”

You do so, reluctantly.

“I have lived for many years. I have taken many lovers. You are not some conquest I keep on a tab of many. I have—the shadow curse, it has been preoccupying my daydreams and nightmares. It has nothing to do with you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why come to me in the first place?”

He takes a few minutes before answering. “Passion. Attraction. Long lonely nights that needed—”

“—So that’s the reason. You needed a quick release.”

“No,” he quickly interrupts. “You are much more than a passionate night. But that’s precisely why I don’t wish to rush this. I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?” you arch an eyebrow.

“That somehow you are a quick solution for my frustrations. Yes, I am lonely and I have been, ever since I’ve had the Grove responsibilities thrust upon me. And yes, you have ignited a spark within me that threatens to explode into a wildfire.” Halsin’s thumb begins circling your hand. “But you are also wonderful. I can hear you speak about your love of painting until I grow old. I can watch you playing with those tiefling children until my eyes wet with tears. I can’t bear to see you fight, because my heart tears each time I see another scar on your body.”

You search his eyes for deceit, the corners of which begin to sparkle in the dim moonlight. He curls his hand until it’s holding yours tightly, while his other reaches to touch the side of your face. You’ve always compared the rough skin on his palm to tree bark, and you would have melted into his touch were it not for the many questions you felt necessary to ask.

“It has nothing to do with the others or with you. I would happily cradle you in my arms each day, professing my adoration for you the moment the sun’s rays illuminate the skies until it dims down to the blackness of night. And I apologize that I have not done that.” His thumb rubs small circles on your cheek as he speaks, making sure to stare at you as though speaking to your soul.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your hand until you allow him to pull it towards his lips. He gives a gentle kiss on your knuckles, leaning his cheek against them. “I was not aware you wished it of me.”

You shake your head. “Much more than that, Halsin. I want you to crave me,” you profess. “I sometimes feel like you’re not willing to take the extra step. It’s as though you pull back from me when I need you most.”

He nods. “I do, but that’s mostly to contain myself. I may be an old bear, but there are some parts of me that I cannot fully control. I don’t wish to cause you any harm should it come to it. I am especially prone to outbursts at this time, given the circumstances.”

You pause. Halsin has sometimes spoken of his drawbacks—the side he’s not proud of as he would say—of being a druid. His Wildshape afforded him many conveniences, though even you have seen the yellow glow of his eyes at the height of his emotions. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you often had to squeeze your legs together to suppress the gushing need that rose from there at the very thought of it.

“Alright…” you trail off, forming a fist with your free hand, letting the anxiety rest there. “I suppose I’m not used to this. I more so felt you had changed your mind—didn’t find what you were expecting.”

“What do you mean?”

You nod towards your body in gesture. It takes him a short while before he understands the meaning, and quickly reaches to rest both hands against your cheeks. He shakes his head. “No. Never. You are important to me, attractive to me, as you are. What a privilege I have been bestowed upon, having mattered to you this much.”

With some apprehension, Halsin begins tugging at the large fur that covers most of your body. It easily slips down, allowing him full view of your frame, curled against yourself. He reaches forward, touching your neck first, dragging a finger from your chin until he reaches the shirt that covers the valley between your breasts.

“All of you—your softness, your plumpness, your swell,” he mutters, leaning until you feel the surprisingly soft lips against your skin. He inhales deeply, lips hovering over your left breast. “It does not matter. I love every bit of it.” Taking a hand, he reaches in the spot between your waist and hips, squeezing delicately. Instinctively, you jump at the discomfort, but he quickly stills you.

“Halsin, you don’t have to say any of this.” The nervous chuckle betrays you when your hand grabs his in an effort to move it aside. To this, he only hums. Before you have time to react, both hands tear the front of your shirt until your upper body is exposed to the elements. The same slow instincts fail to cover it, because his hands have tightened around your wrists before you can do so.

“Besides,” he continues, easily holding you down when you try to move your hands away. “Your voluptuousness makes for a greater resting place for all the seed I’m going to spill on account of this night.”

Immediately, you stop fidgeting. Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for your brain to understand what your ears have perceived. The druid takes the opportunity to lean forward and take one of your breasts in his mouth. The contact makes you hiss, and still, you are unable to move from his grip. Instead, you moan, not caring for the loudness. His tongue has always been exceptionally good at weakening you. You can feel him twirl it around your nipple, followed by a light teething that prompts you to buck your hips forward.

“Halsin,” you moan, attempting to release from his hold for a second time. Fluttering your eyes closed, you lean back until you feel the tree trunk against your shoulder blades. He follows, not allowing you a moment of peace as he swirls his tongue over your hard nipple. Biting down, he begins suckling at the soft skin when you attempt to close your legs together to satisfy the ache between them.

With a pop, he releases your nipple, cheek resting against the skin as he looks up at you.

“Would you like that?” he wonders, a gentle bucking of his hips making it evident he too was seeking friction. “For me to show you how much I truly crave you?”

You bite your lip in response, hard enough that the metallic taste starts swirling somewhere inside your mouth. Nodding slowly, you attempt to tug away once again, and this time the druid allows it. With newfound freedom of movement, your hands find themselves fisting his messy hair when you propel yourself forward, landing on your knees and capturing his lips in yours. He is solid as stone, unmoving when you do so, and only grunts when your tongues find each other.

Hands begin roaming—his, yours—over soft and hardened bits, frantically looking for somewhere to rest, to hold. Halsin’s are particularly active, first finding your hair, then your cheeks, then your shoulders, then your hips, before finally resting at the front of your belly. You cringe and suck in air on impulse—habit. It only makes him squeeze harder.

“This is the body I have adored since the first time you granted me permission to touch it,” he growls, pulling away from your heated kisses. “I have hungered for every inch of you. Through sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden trips, I have grown to know this is what I want.”

Responding in full sentences is not an option. Not when he dips his head, trailing kisses along your belly, on the folds that he so carefully grabs hold of with one hand—while the other pushes itself through the confines of your trousers to find your soaking nub. Delightful cries escape your lips when he begins circling his fingers, putting enough pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head from the feeling.

“The stream of pleasures you produce, I will lap like an animal starved,” he coos, free hand pushing you to sink lower, until he has enough space to lodge himself between your legs. “Then I will fuck you until you are mute from screaming. Are you content with that, my heart?”

Gods above and below, you think. You can only nod, and you do so, rather vigorously. The chuckle that escapes his lips seems to contend him for now, and so he momentarily leaves your aching clit to help free you from the confines of fabric. Resting slanted, partway exhausted and panting could not have been a sight to behold, but Halsin’s bulge spoke differently.

“Please…” you beg.

“No need to beg,” he comments before standing up, hands finding the belt on his pants until they release the cock that bounces lightly against his stomach. “There is nowhere I would rather be than inside you.”

The very thought of having him rut into you was an occupying thought during most evenings. And despite the bruises your throat suffered for days the last time you attempted to take him fully, the gush of wetness sounds the night at the thought of your cunt choking it.

“Spread your legs,” he instructs. “I need to see you.”

You sit up, carefully aligning your backside until you are able to find a somewhat pleasant spot to rest against. Halsin’s hand reaches for his throbbing member, where you spot a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. He uses his thumb to spread it across his head, letting out a low groan as he does so. Needing no further encouragement, you spread your legs per his command, carefully analyzing his features and how they soften when you present yourself to him.

“Praise Silvanus,” he says, almost to himself. “How beautiful you are.”

Following his line of sight, you look down to see the mess that you have become. Glistening in the fire and moonlight, there is a trail of wetness that begins at your drooling hole, leading in both directions of your thighs. The druid clears his throat, and when you gaze up, you see the faintest glimmer of yellow light leave his eyes as he shakes his head. Letting go of his member, he drops down on his knees in front of you, staring at your pulsating cunt.

The heart that threatens to escape your chest follows the same rhythm between your legs. It’s craving to be touched—to be adored—and as though listening to your thoughts, Halsin leans in to give a soft kiss to your right thigh. Then your left. You look down to meet his eyes, as he meticulously drags his tongue where his lips first kiss, with enough hunger in his eyes to make you audibly moan at the sight.

“I thought,” you gasp when he bites at your inner thigh. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg.”

“No, but I will indulge in this for as long as I can,” he responds, scattering kisses in painstakingly slow fashion at the soft flesh of your thighs. He uses both hands to hold them, and with no effort on his part, sinks you lower on the stone until you are halfway lying down on your back. With legs in the air, he takes his time to study you.

You can see his hips moving rhythmically despite the control he attempts to assert, as though urging him forward. Still, he takes one hand to glide over your stomach, moving lower until it finally meets your center. You immediately hiss, pushing your head against the rock at the gentleness he offers. With two fingertips, he begins circling your clit again, while his other hand holds your leg in the air for support.

“How warm you are,” he says, picking up the pace once he finds you are able to squirm too much for his liking. You push your pelvis forward, needing more friction. “How much warmer you will be when I spill all of myself into you until morning comes.”

Intelligent thought leaves your senses the more he speaks, you writhe and moan like a wanton sinner. This seems to please him, and so with no real warning, he slides not one but two fingers inside you. Your head raises to look between your legs, but you are met with the druid’s intense stare as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to indulge in the explosions that are firing inside your head. His teeth find their mark at your throat and he begins sucking away while his fingers pump in and out continuously, the heel of his palm slapping against your slickness with each thrust. You don’t notice when, but his other hand has found your nipple, carefully pulling at it to elicit a scream loud enough to be heard in Baldur’s Gate.

“Halsin!” you moan, incapable of saying anything else at the intensity of his ministrations. He smiles against the nape of your neck, biting before moving to kiss your lips instead. Your tongues battle—indulge—in one another’s mouths as he continues this delicious assault on your senses.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, noting the considerable lack of fullness he has provided.

“I need to prepare you for me,” he sighs, hands reaching out to his throbbing member once again. He lets out a moan when his soaked hand begins pumping the tip, where you now see a considerable dollop of pre-cum mixing with your juices. “Do you think you can handle three of my fingers, little one?”

His fingers were particularly attractive to you. The way he would whittle with enough dexterity to preplex you. The grip he held his staff with each time he would cast a spell. The roughness contrasting your soft skin any time he would touch any part of you. Though, he had a particular love of stuffing you with them, as you have come to find.

The beads of sweat forming at your temples coupled with the messy hair and half-opened eyelids was enough to define you as fuckdrunk, that you were sure of. Even still, you steel your will enough to nod in his direction.

“Is that a yes?” he muses, fingertips finding your clit once again.

Proud bastard, you think. Smacking your lips, you utter a simple, ‘yes’. It’s barely a whisper and you think he doesn’t register it, but quickly find out his movements are much faster than your reflexes. Three fingers push themselves inside you, and a thumb finds your clit as he continues to stretch you to what seems like impossibility.

“Sing for me,” he sighs. “I want the spirits in these forests to awaken to the sounds of your pleasure.”

“I need you inside of me,” you mutter, mustering up enough strength to look at him again. “I want you inside of me.”

“Soon,” he assures, quickening his pace until you feel the familiar pressure pooling at your entrance. “I need you to let go first.” As though compelled to, your body releases, all manner of reason escaping you as your screams are carried by the wind of the woods. Legs trembling, you lose control of every limb as you pant, completely encased by a coating of fulfillment you thought long gone.

Halsin only watches you, whispering something your ears do not pick up. A faint buzzing interrupts all manner of sound as you relax your body until he’s able to catch you in his arms before you land on the ground. The firmness of his chest greets your cheek, where you are able to pick up his racing heartbeat.

“Are you spent for tonight?” he asks, hand sliding up your back until it reaches the back of your head.

Quickly, you shake your head. “No. I’m just… I didn’t expect this, is all,” you confess. He hums in approval, and positions you atop his thigh while still kneeling. Your leg bumps against his hardness and he hisses, praising the Oak Father’s blessings before turning to look at you.

“You’re pooling for me,” he smirks. “Had I known you were this eager, I would have done this long ago.”

In response, you begin grinding against the flexed muscle, grabbing hold of his bicep to steady your rhythm. It didn’t take long for the need to take hold, and you soon find yourself moaning as you continue moving against his thigh. You glance down to his cock, licking your lips at the sight of the dribble going down the shaft.

As though challenging him, he swiftly grabs hold of your waist, pushing you onto the cold ground with a soft thud. You lay there, blinking up at him. His hand caresses the curve of your body until it reaches your core. There, he spreads your lips apart, sighing approvingly when he hears the squelching sound of your desire for him. Using a finger to trace your cunt, he lifts it to his lips and begins licking away without breaking eye contact.

“So tender, so delicious…” he comments, sucking his own fingers until only his spit coats them.

You attempt to shimmy, feeling the stickiness of his cock meet your folds once you move closer to him. His head drops at the contact, a growl escaping his lips when he looks down.

“Can you take me, my heart?” he questions, grabbing his member and lining himself at your entrance.

You bite your lip, taking the moment to admire the beast of a man whose cock was prodding at your entrance—tapping with feather-light touches, enough to drive you to moan.

“Yes, please,” you beg again, searching for grace in his expression—the grace that would compel him to fuck you.

He pushes slowly, enough to give you the accommodation you know you will need. Once you feel him coating himself in you is when he finally moans—deeply—slamming a hand against the dirt to restrain himself. Halsin was thickest at the top, and his mushroom-like head felt as though it split through every fiber of your being even with caution. To say you were not expecting him to split you apart so early was an understatement, but when his hand finds your clit, your wincing turns into mewing as you attempt to swallow his every inch.

Taking the time to push and pull against his cock to the same rhythm of your breaths, you find that the druid has some trouble keeping calm.

“You are a tight little thing,” he chuckles. “Let me in. Open up for me.”

His instructions help you relax enough so he can guide his tip inside you. Once there, you let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of the sweat coating your body. The chills going up your spine are soon replaced by hot flashes once he hits a particularly delicious spot on your clit and you grab a hold of his wrist with both arms, keeping him where you most desire.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he moans. “While I rather appreciate the snugness of this predicament, I would like to bury my seed deep inside you.”

To this, you only groan. Halsin uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, keeping himself steadied as he positions himself fully on top of you. With one more look, he slides himself deeper, and you wince at the size that is piercing through your core. He growls, tightening his grip on your throat as he attempts to exert some control through sheer willpower alone.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when a second wave of pleasure coats your body, and you open your mouth to scream. No sound comes, but you feel yourself loosen up completely, giving Halsin the chance to push past until he is buried to the hilt.

The pain that you momentarily feel turns into bliss. You ride the orgasm, clutching onto his wrist as you pulsate on his cock, which only encourages him to push deeper—as though he could. Any further and he would surely be inside your guts. Every ridge, every vein, every curve on his member jabs at your insides, teasing every spot deep inside you—stretching and filling you until you may just burst.

He doesn’t dare move, not yet. He heaves, chest rising and falling as he waits for you to settle. You reach up, touching the fuzziness on his muscles, tracing your hand until it reaches the side of his face. He’s warmer than you know him to be, and you smile at him reassuringly when he gives you a questioning look.

He doesn’t continue.

Instead, you feel yourself being lifted from the ground, yelping as Halsin grabs a hold of you with one arm, positioning you so that you straddle his waist while the other rests against the curve of your ass, keeping you impaled on his cock. You find the prickliness of the tree hit your back and he settles you there before pulling out completely.

The loss of contact causes you to whimper. You look down, finding him slap his member against your folds, slowly pushing between the sensitive nerves, but not enough to enter.

The sound that escapes your lips is part frustration, part eagerness. The arm holding you up is firm, keeping you steadied with no effort whatsoever.

“You have no idea,” he sighs once he traps his tip between your folds. “How much I wish you rut into you. To fill you.”

“So do it,” you provoke, rolling your hips until you feel your entrance beginning to consume him. “I need you to cum inside of me.”

Halsin snarls and straightens you both, hitching you higher until he finds a comfortable spot. With one push, he settles inside you, slowly bouncing you—breasts jerking in tandem with his thrusts. You note his stare and fist his hair, pulling him forward until he captures a nipple into his mouth. Sucking away, you moan at the intensity building inside you for a third time.

Your clit feels sensitive, as though a bruise being rubbed continuously. The only reason your legs are managing to hold is because of his grip, otherwise you are certain they have gone numb. But Halsin shows no mercy, reddening the flesh with his love bites, creating a line until they reach your throat. You feel his fingertips digging into your skin, but whatever pain you will feel tomorrow is nothing in comparison to the euphoria that’s electrifying you. His thrusts become sloppy, hips hitting against yours as he mutters something incomprehensible.

“Take me,” he commands.

Two strokes.

“All of me.”

Three more strokes.

“By the Oak—”

He doesn’t finish his words. A gushing of hotness overwhelms your cunt, as thick, spurts of cum cover your insides. You feel it hitting your most sensitive parts, coating you until you feel the urge to also release. He slams a hand next to you when he stills, bursting with enough seed that you feel certain would plug you entirely. Glancing where his cock meets your core, you see some of it spill out, dropping on the mud between the druid’s legs.

Halsin leans forward until your foreheads touch once again, heaving from the exhaustion that surely has taken hold by now. You push against him, encouraging him to move and allow you room to land on your feet—or at least try to. With a wobble, you balance, spreading your legs until you’re certain you won’t topple over.

The looming figure in front of you suddenly lowers, and you watch him kneel between your legs, focusing intently on your stomach. He presses a kiss there, before saying, “This is good, but not exactly what I had in mind,” he taps against the softness. “I need to fill your belly until it swells completely, full of my cum.”

A shiver runs up your spine. With a finger, he reaches for your entrance, as though examining you. He tuts. “It seems I have my work cut out for me, little one,” he laughs. “Keeping you stuffed is what I intend to do for the rest of our nights together.”

#halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin x tav #halsin x original female character #halsin x reader #plus sized tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my fics

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rafesapologist · 1 year ago

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the setback ─ rafe cameron; part fourteen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, just angst as per

author's note: hi loves, i apologize for the wait it took to upload this chapter. i've had some writer's block so much and i lowkey hate this chapter but it's a needed filler for what is to come!!

"Baby?" you heard a hushed voice calling out from beside you. You let out a muffled groan, your body resisting the call to wake up. A gentle hand rubbed your back slowly, trying to coax you into consciousness. It was Rafe.

As you became more aware, the memories of last night began to press down on you, hard. Guilt churned in the pit of your stomach, making you feel nauseous. The feeling was so unbearable that you could hardly stand yourself. Kiara's words replayed in your head like a broken record, each repetition a stab of pain.

"Come on, it's time to get up," Rafe's voice was soft and soothing, but it did little to ease the turmoil inside you. You shifted slightly, feeling the weight of his hand on your back, grounding you in the present moment.

"I don't want to get up," you mumbled, your voice barely audible. The thought of facing the day, of dealing with the aftermath of last night's events, felt overwhelming.

Rafe moved closer, wrapping his arm around you protectively. "I know it's hard," he said gently. "But you can't stay in bed forever."

You sighed, burying your face in the pillow. The guilt gnawed at you, each passing second bringing more clarity to the mistakes you had made. "I can't stop thinking about what Kiara said," you confessed, your voice trembling. "She was right. This is all my fault."

Rafe shook his head, his grip on you tightening slightly. "Hey, don't say that," he urged. "You didn't cause this. JJ came in here looking for a fight. None of this is your fault."

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. "But if I hadn't... if I didn't come back here, maybe things would be different. Maybe JJ wouldn't be hurt, and Kiara wouldn't hate me."

Rafe's expression softened, and he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. "You can't blame yourself for their actions," he said firmly. "They made their choices. You have every right to be happy, and if being with me makes you happy, then that's all that matters."

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in your throat. "I just feel so lost," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I don't know what to do."

"I know," Rafe cooed, brushing your hair out of your face gently. "I'm sorry, baby. You don't deserve this." He kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer, his arms creating a barrier between you and the guilt gnawing at your thoughts.

You felt a momentary sense of relief, guarded in his embrace, but the reality of the situation quickly resurfaced. "I need to visit him," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's the only thing that'll make me feel the least bit better about all of this."

Rafe hesitated, his brows knitting together in concern. "Do you think that's a good idea? You know, with Kiara being there and everything."

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the dilemma pressing down on you. "I don't know," you admitted. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing. I have to see him, to know he's okay."

Rafe's grip on you tightened slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. "I get that, but Kiara's pretty stubborn. She might make it harder on you than it already is."

"I have to try," you insisted, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. "If I don't, I'll regret it. I need to face this, no matter how hard it is."

Rafe gazed at you for a long moment, his expression a mix of worry and understanding. He brushed a tear away from your cheek, his touch tender and comforting. "Alright," he finally said. "But I'm coming with you."

You nodded, grateful for his support. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," Rafe replied softly, pressing his forehead against yours. "I promise."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. The thought of facing Kiara and the rest of your friends filled you with dread, but you knew you had to do it. For JJ, for yourself, and for any chance at healing the rift between you and your friends.

As you got dressed, Rafe stayed close, his presence a constant source of reassurance. He held your hand as you walked out the door, ready to bear whatever awaited you at the hospital. The drive there was filled with a tense silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When you finally arrived, your heart pounded in your chest as you made your way to the entrance. Rafe squeezed your hand gently, giving you one last look of encouragement before you stepped inside. The sterile smell of the hospital hit you, and the reality of what you were about to do settled in your gut like a stone.

You approached the front desk, your voice shaky as you asked for JJ's room number. The nurse eyed you suspiciously but gave you the information. As you walked down the hallway, you spotted Kiara pacing outside JJ's room, her face a mask of anger and worry.

She looked up as you approached, her eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I came to see JJ," you said, your voice steady despite the fear bubbling inside you. "I need to make sure he's okay."

Kiara scoffed, shaking her head. "Haven't you done enough? Just go home, Y/N. You're the last person he needs to see right now."

"Please, Kie," you pleaded, taking a step closer. "I know you're mad, and you have every right to be, but I need to see him. Just for a minute."

Kiara stared at you for a long moment, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and something else—hurt, maybe. Finally, she sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine," she muttered. "But if he doesn't want to see you, you leave. Got it?"

You nodded quickly, grateful for even a small chance to make things right. "Thank you," you said softly.

Rafe squeezed your hand one last time before you stepped into JJ's room, the door closing softly behind you. The sight of him lying there, bruised and battered, made your heart ache. You took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

You stepped closer to JJ's bedside, your fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The room was sterile and cold, but the sight of JJ lying there, looking so fragile and broken, brought a warmth of regret and sorrow that almost choked you. JJ, who was always the strong one, the protector, now lay battered and bruised because of you. The guilt gnawed at your insides, making you feel nauseous.

"JJ?" you greeted him sheepishly, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm so sorry." Your words were strained, burdened by the enormity of your regret. Your eyes flickered across his injured body, taking in every cut, every bruise, every sign of the violence that had transpired. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him directly in the eyes, not yet.

At the sound of your voice, JJ's head snapped toward you. He winced slightly, the movement causing him pain, but his eyes bore into yours with a mix of anger, betrayal, and confusion. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough and strained from both the pain and the emotions coursing through him.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "I had to see you," you said, your voice breaking. "I needed to know you were okay. I'm so sorry for everything."

JJ's expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he glared at you. "Sorry?" he spat, the word dripping with bitterness. "Do you have any idea what you and Rafe put me through? What you put all of us through?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. The raw hurt in JJ's voice was a dagger to your heart. "I know," you admitted, your voice cracking. "I know I messed up, JJ. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, you did," JJ snapped, scoffing at your distress. "I don't even know why you're here right now. Shouldn't you be off frolicking with Rafe?"

Your expression fell, your brows furrowing at the seriousness of JJ's resentment. His words cut deep, and you felt the sting of betrayal and guilt wash over you. Taking a hesitant step forward, you slowly sat at the foot of JJ's hospital bed, sighing as you gazed down at your feet.

"I know that nothing I say is going to make up for what has been done," you began, your voice shaky. You sniffled back your tears, trying to steady yourself. "But this whole thing is much bigger than me."

Your lip quivered as you spoke, desperate for JJ to hear you out. "I didn't come back here in hopes of getting back with him. None of this was planned, Jay. I hated him when we first got here, you know that. But then things happened, and I... I can't help how I feel, okay? I know he's done shitty things, but so have I, so have all of us. And trust me, I tried to fight off how I feel, but it was killing me, JJ. I know that's hard to hear, but I need you to understand where I'm coming from. I'm stuck here, forced to choose between my family and the person I love. Do you know how hard that is?"

JJ's face softened slightly, but the hurt and anger were still evident in his eyes. He looked away, his jaw clenched as he processed your words. The silence in the room was thick, the tension almost unbearable.

"Why him?" JJ finally asked, his voice quieter, almost broken. "Of all people, why did it have to be him?"

Your heart ached at his question. "It's been this way since before we left, when all of this started," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You let out a dry laugh, the reality of the situation settling over you. "I wish I had a better answer than that, but it's the truth. I can't help how I feel."

JJ sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "This is so fucked up," he muttered, his voice filled with frustration.

"I know," you replied softly. "But I'm here, trying to make things right. And I'm begging you, JJ, please don't make me choose. You guys are the only family I've ever known, but," you began to tear up more, laughing quietly through your tears as you shook your head, "I love him."

JJ stared back at you with a sympathetic look, one you hadn't seen in a long time. His eyes scanned your face, as if trying to determine your sincerity. It was evident that you were telling the truth by the way your lip quivered and your cheeks flushed with redness. He sighed in defeat, looking down at his lap.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," JJ admitted, his voice tinged with sadness.

"You won't, JJ," you said earnestly. "Just please... I can't be made to choose between the two of you. Because it's always going to be him." You swallowed, biting your lip.

JJ's eyes flickered with pain, but he nodded slowly. "I get it," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It just hurts, you know? Seeing you with him after everything."

"I know," you replied, your voice breaking. "And I'm so sorry for that. I never wanted to hurt you."

JJ took a deep breath, composing himself. "Just promise me one thing," he said, looking up at you with earnest eyes. "Promise me that this is what makes you happy. That's all I want for you."

"I promise," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "And I promise that I'll always be here for you, no matter what, just like before."

JJ squeezed your hand back, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Okay," he said, his voice barely audible. "Okay."

You leaned in close, planting a soft kiss on JJ's forehead, your touch gentle against his bruised skin. His eyes briefly fluttered open, meeting yours with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. A small, understanding smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as you pulled back, a silent farewell passing between you.

"I'll see you later, Y/N," JJ murmured quietly, his voice carrying a hint of warmth despite the tension.

Turning away from JJ's hospital bed, you walked back into the waiting room where Rafe sat, his focus buried in a magazine that seemed more like a distraction than a source of interest. A small chuckle escaped you as you observed him, shaking your head slightly at his attempt to appear occupied.

Rafe looked up at the sound of your laughter, concern knitting his brows together. He set the magazine aside and rose from his seat, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Rafe asked softly, stepping closer to you.

You met his gaze, feeling a surge of gratitude for his constant presence and support. "Yeah," you replied, a faint smile touching your lips. "I think we're okay."

Rafe nodded, his hand finding yours as he squeezed it gently. "Good," he murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. "Let's get out of here."

Exiting the hospital, you and Rafe walked hand-in-hand, avoiding Kiara's piercing stare as you passed by. Her disapproval hung heavy in the air, but you focused on the warmth of Rafe's hand holding yours, grounding you in the moment.

Once beyond the hospital doors, away from the sterile corridors and tense glances, you turned to Rafe. Leaning into his chest, you exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the past twelve hours begin to lift. His arms enveloped you instinctively, providing a sense of security and calm amidst the emotional turmoil.

Standing there together on the sidewalk, Rafe gently rubbed your back, his touch soothing as you let go of the tension that had gripped you. The outside world offered a welcome change from the clinical atmosphere inside, the breeze whispering through the trees and carrying away some of the heaviness that had settled on your shoulders.

"I just wish everyone would accept us, Rafe," you confessed, your voice carrying a hint of longing as you stared out into the tranquil evening sky. The town's bustle seemed distant now, replaced by the quiet intimacy between you and Rafe.

Rafe gently squeezed your hand, his touch a reassuring anchor in the midst of your uncertainty. His eyes, reflecting the fading hues of the sunset, held a warmth that mirrored his words. "I know, baby," he murmured, his voice soft against the backdrop of the evening breeze. "They'll come around some day."

You let out a sigh, feeling a knot of tension loosen in your chest as Rafe's understanding washed over you. "I never imagined it would be this hard," you admitted, turning to meet his gaze. "But being with you, it's worth it."

A gentle smile played on Rafe's lips, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. "It is," he affirmed, his gaze holding yours with unwavering sincerity. "We'll show them, I promise."

As the sky deepened into twilight, you leaned into Rafe's embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. The world around you seemed to fade into a soft blur, leaving only the comforting presence of Rafe beside you. In that moment, amidst the quiet reassurances and the fading light, you found a sense of peace and belonging that was uniquely yours.

"Y/N?" Rafe's voice was filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability as he peered down at you, gently holding you at arm's length so he could look deeply into your eyes.

"Yeah?" you replied softly, your voice tinged with the fragile emotions swirling within you.

"I... I want to be with you forever," Rafe confessed, his voice steady but brimming with sincerity.

A rush of warmth spread through you at his words, unexpected yet profoundly welcomed. His declaration stirred a mix of love and curiosity in your heart, leaving you both elated and curious about where this conversation might lead.

"You always will be, silly," you reassured him with a tender smile, your fingertips gently tracing the line of his jaw.

Rafe took a deep breath, his gaze holding yours with unwavering intensity. "No, I mean... Y/N, I can't take the risk of losing you ever again. I want this to be permanent," he continued, his voice softening with each word.

Your brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard by the depth of his declaration. A flutter of uncertainty mingled with joy in your chest as you waited for him to elaborate, your heart beating faster with anticipation.

"What are you trying to say, Rafe?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat.

Rafe paused, his expression tender yet determined as he took both of your hands in his. "I want to marry you, Y/N," he said earnestly, his voice carrying the weight of his love and commitment. "I want us to build a future together, to wake up beside you every morning, to do everything together. I want to be with you in every lifetime."

His words washed over you, enveloping you in a wave of emotions—love, gratitude, and a profound sense of belonging. Tears welled up in your eyes as you processed the depth of his feelings and the certainty in his voice.

"I... Rafe, I..." Your voice caught in your throat, overwhelmed by the enormity of his proposal. You searched his eyes, finding nothing but unwavering love and sincerity.

"Y/N," Rafe whispered, his voice a soft caress against the quiet evening breeze. His thumbs traced gentle circles over the backs of your hands, his touch tender and reassuring. "I know this is sudden, but I've never been more certain of anything in my life. You're my home, the calm in my storm, the light that guides me through the darkest nights. And while I don't expect us to rush into anything next week or even next year, I want you to know—I plan on marrying you someday."

His words lingered in the air, shimmering like constellations in the twilight sky above. Each syllable carried the weight of his love, his voice a melody that resonated deep within your soul. You looked up at him, your heart swelling with warmth and gratitude for the man who stood before you, vulnerable and steadfast in his declaration.

A soft smile graced your lips, touched by the depth of his devotion and the promise of a future entwined. The world around you seemed to blur into insignificance as you focused on the warmth of his gaze and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Rafe," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, reverberating with emotion. "That means everything to me. You mean everything to me."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I mean every word," he murmured against your skin, his breath a gentle caress against your cheek. "Whenever you're ready, whenever we're ready, I want us to take that step together."

In that moment, the evening breeze seemed to whisper its approval, weaving through your hair and carrying the scent of the salty ocean breeze. The world felt suspended in time, cocooned in the tender embrace of Rafe's love and the promise of a future filled with shared dreams and unwavering companionship.

"I love you," you confessed softly, the words spilling from your heart like petals unfurling in the warmth of spring.

"I love you too, Y/N," Rafe replied, his arms pulling you close, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety and affection. "I'll show you everyday how much I mean it, I swear."

Tears welled up in your eyes, reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights above as you stared down at your intertwined hands with Rafe. A single tear escaped, tracing a shimmering path down your cheek, followed by more that fell freely, unchecked. You sniffled softly, the weight of emotions catching in your throat.

"What's wrong?" Rafe's voice was filled with concern, his eyes searching yours for answers. His brows furrowed as he gently wiped away a tear with his thumb.

"Nothing," you shook your head, your voice breaking with the intensity of your feelings. "It's just... nobody has ever loved me like this. As loudly as you have."

Your words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. You felt exposed, yet liberated by the honesty that spilled forth. The depth of Rafe's love had cracked open something inside you, releasing a flood of gratitude and disbelief that someone could cherish you so profoundly.

Rafe's expression softened, his touch tender as he cupped your face in his hands. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet conviction, "you deserve every ounce of love I have to give. You're my everything."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, allowing his words to seep into your soul and heal the wounds of doubt and insecurity. His love was a beacon, guiding you through the shadows of your past and illuminating a future where you were cherished beyond measure.

"I'll never hurt you again, Rafe," you swore, the sincerity in your voice ringing clear as you locked eyes with him. "I'll never leave here again if it's not with you."

Your words carried a solemn weight, a promise forged from the depths of your heart. The pain of past mistakes still lingered, a reminder of the fractures that love had healed. But now, standing before Rafe with unwavering determination, you pledged to protect what you had found with him.

Rafe held your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and resolve. He reached out, gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek, his touch a soothing balm against your pledge.

"I believe you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice steady and filled with quiet reassurance. "Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again after that stunt you pulled two years ago." He chuckled, trying to break up the tension of the moment.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving," you chuckled softly, shaking your head at Rafe's playful humor. His comment had brought a lightness to the moment, a gentle reminder of the bond and the shared understanding between you.

Rafe grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection as he squeezed your hand gently. "Good to know," he replied with a teasing lilt in his voice. "Because I don't plan on letting you go anywhere."

"Likewise," you replied with a smile, your heart swelling with gratitude for the depth of his commitment.

"Do you think you're ever gonna tell them about this?" Rafe's voice carried a gentle cadence, his eyes flickering towards the hospital where Kiara, JJ, and Sarah were.

You exhaled softly, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decisions yet to be made. Running a hand through your hair, you met Rafe's gaze with a mixture of contemplation and resolve. "Eventually," you murmured, your eyes drifting past him to the entrance doors. "But it has to be at the right time. Not like this."

The hospital surroundings seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment of quiet introspection. The night air held a hint of anticipation, as if it too awaited the unfolding of truths and the gentle cadence of words spoken from the heart.

Rafe nodded, his expression soft yet filled with understanding. His fingers intertwined with yours, a silent promise of solidarity and patience. "We'll find the right moment," he assured you, his voice a soothing melody in the stillness. "When the time is right."

"Yeah," you agreed softly, your voice carrying a hint of contemplation as your gaze remained fixed on the hospital building. Your thoughts drifted to how your friends would react to the news, the weight of their potential responses lingering in the air like unspoken promises. "Someday."

"Someday," Rafe echoed, his voice a gentle reassurance that echoed your sentiment. His hand squeezed yours lightly, a silent reminder of his support.

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#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe angst #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe x y/n #rafe x you

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midnight1nk · 1 month ago

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it's been a while since I've done a mind palace rambling, and now that I'm thinking about it, I haven't done one for goop!4. Definitely should fix that *ahem*

We are all aware of at least some goop!4 signs; the magenta, the eyes, perfectionism, maybe something PC/video related. I mean:

yeahhh. But I did mention that the goo can technically be classified as a parasite, making 4 and the goo two separate entities, y'know. I know that I've been sorta asked this before, but I do want to share how I would have the goo be, as in full-on physical form and stuff. But admittedly, it feels very headcanon-y, but it's my blog so we're gonna do this for the sillies. Been brainstorming some "phases" for 4:

first phase: the typical signs (perfectionism, magenta aura, eyes, etc.), perhaps a boost of energy than usual

second phase: heightened senses which can be mistaken as paranoia, sensitivity to hearing and touch (yes, I did grab that from IGBP)

third phase: twisted voices/thoughts in 4's mind in which the goo would use his to be more trusting, "shadows" or reflections not matching the actual ones (think Dr. Facilier's shadow from Princess and the Frog, or Moon Knight the show), a magenta glint in his eyes

fourth phase: basically Shadow Meggy but for 4 to interact with and talk to. A black silhouette of 4 with a magenta aura, only 1 glowing eye (his left's and interchanges to the other goo eyes depending on the voice tone). 4's scars glow, getting sicker that he needs to cough the goo out from time to time

fifth phase: the goo's true form, looking less and less like 4. More like the goo we're familiar with. Design-wise, there is plenty of inspiration I can take from, but for the vibes I got the perfect candidate (haha get it? I'm not funny): The Voice/Ikol from the graphic novel series Amulet

If you ask me how I would imagine the goo in its true form to be, this is what comes up in my mind palace. Obviously, it's gotta have more eyes of the goo and again, for the 4th phase, it would be more 4-shaped than the 5th phase. But this is pretty darn close to what I imagine, also I kinda do have a soft spot for one of my fave book series from childhood haha also 4 being able to manifest the goo from his hands when he's angry

fifth phase: the goo taking over 4 and becoming one, the ultimate goop!4. Or what I call the SMG4 version of "Venom". More likely bc the trauma can't be suppressed anymore and overwhelmed him

sixth phase: final form representing the balance and total acceptance of himself. His true self, his perfectionism, the goo, and the pain he went through. It always has been a part of him, or started to be like the goo. And the thing is, there isn't a magical thing that could just make it all disappear. To heal is to accept, to do it right. So yes, the goo would stay, but it'll be under 4's consciousness. A compromise between host and parasite.

And this form? That's where Glitch 4 comes in (that's right, SuperMarioGlitchy4 is REAL WOOO!!). Glitch powers & reflexes, heterochromia eyes, his scars more visible. Yeah, I'm giggling and kicking my feet rn :3 and I mean, if the birthday episode told us anything *finger guns*. Anyway if 4 passes out or gets knocked out unconscious, the goo takes over his body and does what 4 needs. Like if 4 gets too sleepy from trying to pull an all-nighter editing, the goo can take the wheel, save his progress, and move 4's body straight to bed. After all, protect the host.

That's pretty much what I got from my notes, and you can tell this is a rambling cuz I've been YAPPING for too long in this post, haha. I just wanted to throw this out there just for the funsies.

And there is one more thing for yall:

#smg4 #goop!smg4 #👁️#ink rambles #mind palace ramblings #also some Insomniac spidey 2 in here just cuz #made this post mostly just for me (or else I'll go crazy again)#someone push me down the stairs /lh

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yeslikethewizard · 1 month ago

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【 all to myself, chapter 10 update!】

LINK: Chapter 10 - did you say, "please just follow me" FANDOM: The Scum Villain’s Self Saving System RATING: M, full tags and content warning on A03 PAIRINGS: Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu/Luo Binghe, One sided SQQ’s harem hopelessly in love with him

SUMMARY:

After making it to Jin Lan City to aid his martial brothers in curing a strange plague, Shen Qingqiu stumbles his way directly into a curse of his own. The fates have chosen a life to tie to Shen Qingqiu’s own—and of course it would be tied to the early arriving protagonist! As the curse worsens, Shen Qingqiu finds that distance between him and Luo Binghe begins to freeze him slowly. Literally freeze, he is at risk for hypothermia for not being right next to the guy who probably wants to turn him into a stick!

Wait—what do you mean Shen Qingqiu will also lose the ability to lie!? That’s an integral part of him not being unceremoniously sent back to the life where he’s already dead!

EXCERPT:

“The Old Palace Master seems to have it out for this Shen,” Shen Qingqiu says calmly. “Forgive me, but I can’t seem to recall a time I insulted him so much as to call for this level of attempted manipulation. You were initially helping Qiu Haitang, correct?”

“Ah, so you did speak with the girl,” the Old Palace Master sighed. “Indeed, it was this master’s pleasure to assist her in seeking the justice of her murdered family. Then she decided to be impatient and cavorted with demons—this master did advise against it, of course. Results notwithstanding.”

Meng Mo, Luo Binghe asks. The demon’s consciousness stirs against his own, thoughtful in its presence. He’s been aware of him nearby through the last little while—at least when he didn’t seem overly disgusted with Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe’s behavior toward one another.

He’d have to be unconscious for me to dive into that, Meng Mo points out mildly in his head. Then, thoughtfully, The woman that was with your beloved Shizun though, I may be able to get some interesting insight from her.

Go, Luo Binghe orders, and the dream demon fades from his thoughts like mist.

“This master has spoken with Miss Qiu and cleared up a misunderstanding,” Shen Qingqiu says calmly. “As much as her pain saddens this master to hear, he is not responsible for the death of the Qiu Estate.”

“You’re lying,” the Old Palace Master immediately responds. “This will come about in trial.”

Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu meet one another’s gazes for a brief moment, before their eyes flit away again. So the Old Palace Master doesn’t know the details of the curse—that makes sense, if the man was truly against Qiu Haitang employing a demon. The old man darts forward quickly, blade like lightning as it aims for Shen Qingqiu’s neck.

Three blades crash into one another, two crossing and one caught between the two of them. Xin Mo seems to hum in displeasure under Luo Binghe’s fingertips. Shen Qingqiu shoves the blade up and Luo Binghe pulls back to sweep Xin Mo in a slash. The Old Palace Master is gone in a moment, blade crashing against Xiu Ya before he can stab his Shizun.

The flurry of blows happens in an instant, and the Old Palace Master doesn’t let up. He attacks again and again, meeting Xin Mo or Xiu Ya—or blocking either of the two blades himself—in a shower of clangs and sparks. The fight is close quarters, and dangerous despite the Old Palace Master’s age—he is a master, a sect leader, after all.

But the fight is still two against one—the Old Palace Master is powerful, yes, but so is Luo Binghe. What Luo Binghe lacks in experience, his Shizun more than makes up for. More than that, the two of them are a fantastic team. They fall into a perfect rhythm with one another that Luo Binghe has dreamed of before. A deadly dance, each willing to cover their own openings—it helps that the Old Palace Master seems focused on Shizun. Something that fills Luo Binghe with a quiet rage.

#scum villain self saving system #svsss #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #dreamscape shenanigans truly #svsss fanfiction #time for the climax babbyyyyyyy #fic: all to myself

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adelrambles · 2 years ago

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Tips on Writing Bishop

I've been asked a couple times for advice on how to write a good (03-style) Bishop, and I'm well-aware he can be a bit tough to get a grasp on. As someone who's studied him specifically to learn how to write him as accurately as possible, I figured I'd compile some thoughts in case it'd be helpful to anyone else. I know a lot of Rise takes on him are basing off the 03 version, so maybe this could help generate ideas, too. SO!

Big Overall Points!

At the core of EVERYTHING Bishop does are two primary motivations. The first: the protection of the earth. What this means to him can get tricky, because it doesn't necessarily mean protecting the people, at least not all of them. But it will be better understood alongside the other:

The second: The protection of his sense of safety. Bishop has been deeply traumatized, and everything he does is born of a want to avoid that pain ever again. In his mind, earth is a safe area, a controllable factor, and anything outside it is a danger that must be eliminated. This is why he will still be willing to put himself and other people on the line in service of this; any sacrifice is worth the greater goal. (It's worth noting, Bishop will claim the first as his motivation freely, but is likely not consciously aware of the second.)

Bishop deals in Big Picture ONLY. Another reason Bishop will willingly throw away anything, including the lives of the people he claims to protect, is that he seems incapable of understanding things on a small, individual basis.

Bishop is a cold personality. He does not have strong displays of emotion. He does emote, but for the most part it's muted, so I recommend using emotional bursts very sparingly. (In my own writing, as an example, I try to limit my use of exclamation marks in his dialogue as much as possible.)

At his core, Bishop is afraid, and his response to fear is aggression. This also makes it particularly difficult to talk him down, if he's put in an emotional state. His response to not being in control is often violent retaliation.

With those basic tenants understood, let's move next to some major personality traits:

Bishop is a controlling personality. This is a direct result of his trauma response. Things that can be controlled are safe, therefore he must control everything. If something cannot be controlled, it's a threat that must be eliminated. If he doesn't know why something happened, he becomes angry (including even when it benefits him.)

Bishop is very low-empathy. When writing him, I try to keep in mind that he cannot put himself in the perspective of others. (Or if he can, he doesn't care to.)

Bishop is a sadist. He gets personal enjoyment from hurting others.

Bishop likes fighting, but only when he's winning. He will quickly leave if he can't see a guaranteed victory.

Bishop is paranoid. This is probably self-evident, but it's the reason he's often so well-prepared even when things don't go to plan.

Bishop genuinely seems to enjoy science. He's shown to be far more lenient with scientist characters than anyone else, and he seems to involve himself in his scientists' projects to a degree. Enough to, at the very least, understand their work. (Given he was the one set to dissect the turtles, it might also be argued he has some medical or biology background, himself.)

Bishop is an opportunist and scavenger. He can roll with failures as long as he can find something to get out of it. If he's presented with an opportunity to stab someone in the back, and he has something to gain? He'll take it without a second thought.

Bishop is deeply self-blind. For all his perceptiveness and strategic prowess, Bishop is not very self-aware in the slightest. He is completely blind to his own hypocrisies, and thoroughly confident in his own righteousness.

Bishop adapts fast. He accepts situations for what they are and acts (Though he may still be angry about them, or what have you.) This is likely a skill developed via longevity; the world around him has changed rapidly, but he doesn't feel out of place at all.

Bishop will take extreme risks and thinks wildly outside the box. Also self-evident, if you're familiar with the plans he enacts throughout the show. He'll put a lot on the line if he thinks the reward is worth enough, and he's willing to go to extreme lengths to get what he wants, even if his plans would be considered crazy by normal standards.

Bishop is persistent. If he wants something, he won't stop until he gets it. If he fails, he'll retreat, make a new plan, and try again. It is very difficult to convince him to back down (and certainly not on moral grounds.)

Habits and triggers I've noted:

Being restrained of any sort puts Bishop in a panic. He is more likely to have an emotional response in these scenarios, and seems to have (an albeit muted) desperation to escape. (See: Leatherhead restraining him in the first encounter; His reaction to being trapped on the surgical table in Head of State.)

When being duplicitous or suppressing a reaction, Bishop will go to adjust his tie. This could possibly be considered his tell.

Bishop seems to have a particular fear of aliens blending in as humans. His slayer project was built around the assumption that this is a common threat. (Worth noting: This makes The Shredder the model of the exact threat Bishop is afraid of. Technically, Bishop himself may also fit the description of a threat shaped like a human.)

Writing considerations:

In 03's narrative, Bishop is EPF and EPF is Bishop. Narratively speaking, any organization Bishop is head of acts as if it is an extension of his will and character.

Bishop is shown to strike fear and/or discomfort into most characters he interacts with. Anything beyond this is an outlier, and will draw a reader's attention.

Dialogue-wise, Bishop is generally succinct and blunt. He does dabble in gloating, though, and especially likes to upset others. If he's given a chance to be mean, he'll usually take it. It can help to consider he has a Mission Mode and a Normal Mode. When it comes to Mission Mode, he gets straight to the point and hates unnecessary talking. Otherwise, he's still not very talkative, but will take the time to make pointed jabs or talk through a plan. A lot of his sense of humor seems to be rooted in how He's Better Than You (And You're Going To Die Painfully.)

It's a common pitfall that Bishop is depicted as seeking out the turtles. In 03, once he gets their DNA, he's done with them. Any encounters after that are incidental. Bishop does not care about anything that won't effect his greater goal. If he's targeting another character, it should have to do with a greater plan.

Bishop is an extremely competent combatant, shown to be able to handle up to 7 opponents at once. For a breakdown on his fighting style check out my other post on that!

Bishop is hard to kill, and oftentimes he accidentally contributes to his own defeat. (The hook from Bishop's Gambit is an example I get a LOT of mileage out of, as a perfect symbol of his self-defeating prophecies.)

We almost only ever see Bishop in the context of his work. While it could be construed that he depersonalizes himself, it's much more clear that the narrative depersonalizes him. As far as we, the audience know, Bishop's work is all that he is.

It's unclear if Bishop was released from his abduction or escaped. Depending on which you ascribe to, this can have ramifications for his mindset on how to deal with the alien threat. (Personally, because so much of his inability to cope hinges on a feeling of helplessness, I believe he was released. If he escaped on his own power, that undercuts it, somewhat.)

Thematically-speaking, Bishop parallels both his own torturers and his own victims at the same time. He has perpetuated the cycle that traumatized him in the first place by trying to fight fire with fire. (In that vein, I don't think he's capable of understanding that, not seeing aliens as people in the first place, just dangers. Considering how deeply ingrained his trauma is in his worldview and actions, it would probably ruin him, if he were ever able to actually grasp it.)

Bishop and EPF are likely a commentary on the military of the time 03 was coming out. This can be something worth keeping in mind, when figuring out his greater themes in your story, though it can just as well be discarded if it doesn't fit.

Adding to that, Bishop has an extensive american military background. His skills and knowledge will reflect that.

Bishop also plays on and references a number of real-life alien conspiracies. It can be worth digging through conspiracy history to drum up ideas and themes, too.

The ethical and philosophical quandaries of Bishop's body-hopping and humanity tend to not hold too much weight, because Bishop, himself, doesn't seem to care.

If I think of more I'll certainly be adding on to the reblogs of this post! Or, if you have more thoughts, please feel free to add! If you're in the mood for more Bishop ramblings, that's practically most of this blog atm, but this post is a particular favorite. If you're interested in Fast Forward!Bishop, specifically, consider this post! (also read Taking Pawns. slipped in that self-promo, nice.)

#agent bishop #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #And man I still gotta make an analysis on 2012 Bishop #my man is so underrated #There are only a handful of fics out there that include him at ALL and for the most part I find he's blended with 03's characterization #Which takes away what makes him fun in his own right and muddies 03 Bishop's character basis imo #anyway I had this post on the backburner for a while and finally got the motivation to finish her up #And of course if ever there are more questions on characterizing him I'd be happy to help! I love rambling about this guy ad nauseum #oooh stray thought I should do one for Rat King too. Went through that guy's episodes recently theyre GREAT #I've also been very tempted to compile most of these posts into a big ol video essay. idk if I could pull it off but it sure is an idea

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