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dollfacefantasy · 7 months ago

Text

CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now.

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time.

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like - you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout.

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head.

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that.

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

#negan x reader #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith smut #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n #ch: negan 💌

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thanatika · 1 month ago

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a full version of the bachelor's map background in quarantine, with all its scribbles in the margins. (more high quality version here). you can see other (former?) kin settlements on the other side of the river, that weren't visible on the patho 2 map.

i also found a translation for the italian text on the top right:

La colpa seguirà la parte offensa in grido, come suol; ma la vendetta fia testimonio al ver che la dispensa.

The blame, as usual, will be cried out against the injured party; but just vengeance will serve as witness to the truth that wields it.

it's from Paradiso, the third part of Dante's Divine Comedy. i don't have the full context, but a super reductive reading of it from what i just looked up is that Dante is essentially talking about what a persecuted martyr he is for being unfairly exiled from his home city of Florence. he was either exiled for "financial and political corruption", or because he was a "victim of the local and papal politics that roiled Tuscan cities", depending on what search result you believe, lol.

i'm not sure what the russian(?) text at the bottom says because i can't read the cyrillic alphabet well enough, definitely curious about it though.

#mine #pathologic #it's not really spoilers? let me know if you want it tagged though #patho meta

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romanarose · 5 months ago

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Safe With Me

Eddie Brock x fem!reader (Some Venom x reader)

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Summary: You open up to Eddie about being sexually assaulted. He takes care of it.

Warnings: mentions of past sexual violence. Actually literal violence lol but its okay because he's a bad guy. talking about how hard it is to report and victim blaming.

dividers by @kodaswrld

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

Eddie held you close on the couch, letting you tell you're story the way you wanted to. You sat straddled on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder because you said this made you feel extra safe. Like he was all around you. Sometimes, if things were extra rough, venom would come out like a blanket of sorts around you, wrapping you up in his warmth. Today, you thought it might be overwhelming.

Eddie knew something had happened to you, the way you were skiddish when you first started dating. And not that he was complaining, but it was a little odd to wait 2 months to have sex. Still, that was your choice and you were worth waiting.

He wasn't an idiot, he could read the signs in your behavior, so he made sure you're first time together was filled with the most explicate consent you could dream of, and was always conscious of your non-verbal ques in bed. Eddie liked to think he was always the kind of guy to pay attention to that, but with you, he was extra certain.

As he got to know you, you made passing references of a bad past, and he let you know he was ready to listen when you were ready to talk, but you were a private person and wanted to wait. You and him talked about exes, and nothing stood out.

Finally, a few months in, you and him were having a movie night. Rewatching your favorite Disney princess movie Eddie was nice enough to indulge you in and Venom was thoroughly enjoying, when you pause it.

"Can I talk to you?"

At first Eddie thought you were about to dump him, but when you looked at him with sad eyes, he knew it was something more serious.

You sniffle against his wet sleeve. "That's it, I guess..." You said as you finish telling the story. "I know, *sniff* i should've reported it but... I dunno this was when 50 Shades was coming out and I was afraid he'd say I just liked it r-rough..." A fresh little bought of tears come, and Eddie is quick to rub your back in comfort.

"Ah, shit, hey now... I know it ain't like that..." He presses a gentle kiss to your hair. "We believe you, baby. Trust me, I'm not tryna scare no one away from reporting, but man... it can be fucking brutal."

You nod against him. "And, and I was just barely having sex, you know? The idea of a stranger doing the rape kit, having to tell a hundred different people what happened knowing they don't believe me... and I couldn't really prove I'd said no... and god, having to tell my parents?!?! I couldn't do it Eddie! i just couldn't do it!"

"Shhhh, shhhh... it's okay, I know, I know... you made the best choice for yourself."

You sit up, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. "Now I see colleges have this thing, well, some of them, the You Have Options Program where you can report and choose the level. Like if you want to report but not press charges, or you aren't sure if you want to press charges but they can gather evidence... or maybe you just want something on record incase they offend again, you know?"

"That's good, that's real good baby. i think they'll help a lot of people." As a journalist, Eddie had reported on many rape cases, or times people had tried to cover up sexual abuse of different kinds. he'd seen many young girls crying, expressing the same feelings you had. He knew better than to say 'it's not your fault' even if he still had the urge. Instead, he thumbed away a tear as you looked down at him. "We believe you, we don't think any differently of you, okay? We're here to help you."

You smile at him, fondness in your eyes. "Thanks for listening, Edide. And Venom." You lean down and give him a chaste kiss on his plush lips. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The next day...

Eddie is furiously typing on his laptop while you're at work.

"Okay, so she said college, he went to college with her."

Venom excitedly shouts out the name of your old school, happy he remembered, but Eddie shook his head, frustrated. "That's a big fucking school buddy, we need to narrow this down." he pulled up school records. "She said they were in theater, right?"

"YES! AND HE WAS IN HER SPANSIH CLASS!"

"Right! Fuck yeah! and she took Spanish her freshman year because she wanted to 'get it out of the way'. Okay I can narrow down the year, look up students who took Spanish that semester... then i just gott pull up the theater pamphlet... she said he was an actor... alright, now we just gotta cross reference the names of people who acted in that production with spanish class students..."

10 minutes later they had a match.

Pulling him up, he matched the description of the student to a T. He would have a senior at the time, same hair, skin tone, facial features...

"Now, we just gotta find him."

That didn't take long either. Eddie was able to find everything he needed. His job, his home address, everything was right there.

That night, he gave you a little kiss on the forehead as he left for the night. He told you he had something to investigate for work, and you didn't ask any questions.

"And you're sure you don't wanna come over after you're done?" You give him a pout. He hated to leave you alone, everything you'd trusted him with made him just want to watch over you all the time... but who knew how messy this would get?

"I might be out late baby, i don't wanna wake yuh at 4 am. I'll bring you lunch tomorrow, how 'bout that?"

that makes you smile. Food usually did.

"Okay. Lunch tomorrow it is."

The house was way too nice for someone like him, someone who hurt innocent younger girls. He was a corporate executive too, and Eddie was sickened to find he'd had a string of bad luck keeping assistants and interns, no doubt preying on more vulnerable young girls, using his power to keep them complacent. Men like that never changed. He wasn't gonna feel bad.

The light turned on the the living kitchen, revealing where Eddie sat drinking his expensive whiskey.

"Your security is shit, man."

He looked shocked, dropping his briefcase and freezing in fear. Eddie figured its not often he's the powerless one. He was going to let him cook in his adrenalin.

"Whatever you want, you can have it."

But Eddie just shook his head, standing up. "I don't want nothing here but you."

"i have-"

Eddie interrupted him with your name, "Remember her? Freshman girl you raped in college? Or does that not narrow it down enough?"

He chuckled nervously, raising his hands and backing up. "Listen man, you her husband? i don't know what she told you, but i swear to god she wanted it."

"Shut the hell up."

"Begged me for it!"

"Oh yeah? That why she had a black eye and a busted lip after?"

"Hey," he shrugged, trying to play it cool like he wasn't about to dash for the door. "What can I say, she liked it rou-" His words turned into a scream as Venom took over the body, biting off his head before he could say another word about you.

Eddie's face popped from behind the goo. "Venom! i had a whole speech planned!"

"TOO LATE! I was tired of him talking!"

He rolled his eyes but hey, what could he do about it now? Nothing. At least the asshole was dead, couldn't hurt anymore women.

The next day, at lunch time...

Baby <3: Meet me at my place, I went home early.

Eddie Boo: Everything okay?

Baby <3: Just come please?

When Eddie let himself into you're apartment to find you sitting on the couch with your arms crossed, eyes wet.

"baby, are you oke-"

"Do you want to explain to me why, a few days after I tell you I was raped, he ends up dead with his head ripped off?"

Eddie blinked. "Uhhhh.... coincidence?"

You stand, walking over to him. "Venom, got anything to say to me?"

Venoms head popped out behind Eddie. "WE ARE NOT SORRY AND HE TASTED DELICIOUS!"

"Venom!" You gently flick him. "Eddie, why would you do that?"

"Ahhh, come on baby, you know he deserved it! I'm not gonna apoligize for killing a rapist, and i don't feel bad!"

Eddie watched your face soften, lip quivering a bit. "I know. I know he deserved it I just... it's just a lot, right now..."

"Ohhh baby...." Eddie took you into his arms as you began to cry again. "Do you feel guilty? Is that it? Cause this was all me, nothing to do with you."

You sob into his strong chest. "I can't believe you love me this much."

His heart almost broke at that. "Of course I do! baby, don't you know we'd do anything for you? We'd break a guys finger off for look'n at yuh wrong, of course we'd kill for you."

Eddie scooped you up, carrying you over to the couch where he sat you down on his lap. "You're gonna be safe with us, always. You know that don't you? We're always gonna protect you. never gonna have to worry about anything again."

"LETHAL PROTECTOR!"

You chuckle in his arms, and Eddie holds you close. "Yeah, the lethal protector. No ones ever gonna hurt you like that again."

OKAY THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING EDDIE/VENOM

Anyway!!!! thanks for reading!!!! i love fics were rapists die so I thought eddie was appropriate! I saw venom for the first time at the start of the month, literally watched one and two the day before i went to see three in theaters. CRIED

if anyone has any good eddie series, something quality im looking for a masterpiece here! eddie/venom is 100% welcome! so is gay shit.

If you are new to my blog just coming in from this fic, I mostly write Logan Howlett, and oscar isaac/pedro pascal characters. Mostly fem! reader but i like to dabble in other stuff, like trans readers or trans characters, lots of gay shit.

Anyway, hi if you're new!

Have a great day!

I wrote this after already writing a chapter of rooms on fire, and after doing a bunch of homework AND battling bronchitis soooooo plz be patient my writing isnt the best in the first place, i type and spell very badly.

#eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #protective eddie brock #protective venom #venom #eddie brock x you #eddie brock fluff #eddie brock angst #tom hardy #venom the last dance

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golden-moony · 11 months ago

Text

king of my heart | pt. 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

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

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 74,922 others!

yourusername life lately 💌

user1 swiftie, romcom lover and f1 fan... she's really one of us🩷

user2 and that's why she's the girlies' bestie

user3 QUEEN WE MISSED U SO MUCH

user4 as pretty as always 😍

user5 i'm probably reaching here but posting THAT movie feels like a statement's being made 👀

user6 right?? after all the drama she goes and posts that movie title and i just don't know how to feel user7 user6 thank god she just posted the title cause if she'd posted the "you can't lose something you never had" line, i would've lost my mind 😥 user8 or maybe yn just likes the movie??? user9 user8 THIS!! people act like there's a secret meaning to everything and i'm tired of that crap

user10 i'm a simple girl: i see yn and taylor swift in the same post, i like

user11 so what happened? were you starting to lose relevance and decided to come back?😂😂

user12 she needs to pay the bills somehow 😂 user13 girlie came back to keep playing the victim lol user14 y'all need to get a life asap.

user15 YOU DROP THIS QUEEN 👑

carmenmmundt gorgeous woman 😍

yourusername you are💗 user16 OMG MY FAV GIRLS INTERACTING user17 carmen please please please stay away from this problematic woman😕

user18 soooo are we gonna talk about lando liking the post or what

user19 girl i can't do this again user20 can't believe lando is back again with this bitch😒 user21 user20 wtf??? it's just a like omfg chill.

user22 yn please don't leave us again 🥺

📞 calling Pato

[yn; normal] [pato; cursive]

"Hi-"

"I'm not gonna lie, you are either very brave or very stupid for calling me right after the videos of your little date with Lando are going viral. Did you get tired of hiding your relationship?"

"...Guess I deserve that."

"[sights] What do you want, yn?"

"I swear I won't take up much of your time. I just want to talk... well, apologize, actually. I'd prefer to do it face to face rather than over the phone but I know that right now I'm probably the last person you wanna see. At least this way, if you don't wanna keep listening to me, you can just end the call."

"Well, I'm very tempted to end the call right now."

"Pato, I-"

"However, I'm also very curious about what you have to say."

"So...?"

"So I'll give you a chance to talk. But I promise you yn, if I hear any lame excuses, I will hang up and block you. Are we clear?"

"Hundred percent clear."

"Then talk."

"Well... first of all, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I promise it was never my intention to hurt you, even if I ended up doing it anyway. I should've told you from the beginning the kind of relationship I had with Lando and I should've been honest with you, especially when my feelings towards you changed to something deeper. I kno-"

"Hold on. What?"

"What do you mean what?"

"What did you just say?"

"That I'm sorry I lied to yo-"

"No, no. The part about your feelings."

"Oh. Well... you heard me. And I don't know why you sound so surprised. I mean, what happened between me and Lando in Spain was a stupid and terrible decision I made, and I should've known better cause my feelings for you were getting stronger."

"Then why did you sleep with him?"

"I... [sights]. I've thought about it a lot in the last few weeks, you know? I was trying to put all the blame on Lando when in the end I was the one who took the initiative. We were just going to talk to end that situationship once and for all, and then I kissed him. And instead of stopping him when he was going for more, I just let it happen cause in my head it was a form of goodbye. Clearly I ended up feeling guilty but the damage was done. And when I could've made things right by telling you the truth about what happened, I didn't. I was embarrassed, but mostly scared of losing the best man I've ever known... but that ended up happening anyway, and I'm to blame for that."

"..."

"Pato?"

"Did you love him?"

"No. We started out as friends and one day I realized I was attracted to him, one night one thing led to another and we became friends with benefits ever since. He didn't want a relationship at that time and neither did I. But in the last few months that changed for me. I wanted a partner, a committed relationship. Lando wasn't that and I was tired of being just a "casual thing". So no. I liked him, but I never loved him."

"So what was that date night about?"

"Just us being adults and having a real and necessary conversation. I had things to apologize for and so did he. I think Lando and I finally found common ground and are ready to move forward... not with each other, just to be clear. Just friends and nothing else."

"For real this time?"

"For real this time. My priorities and my heart are elsewhere."

"Oh, really? Where?"

"I could tell you or I could show you. To be honest, and if you let me, I'd rather show you. You know, actions speak louder than words."

"Yeah, I've heard that. You have any idea?"

"It depends. What are you doing on Friday?"

pacers

liked by elbaoward, tyresehaliburton, arrowmclaren, and 43,942 others!

pacers We had some motorsport representation in the house tonight!

user1 ynpato being hard launched (again?) by the pacers was not on my bingo card but i appreciate it🫶

user2 this is so random and i love it!! user3 the pacers earned my respect after this 🫡 user4 pacers stonks after this hard launch📈📈📈

user5 YNPATO BASKETBALL DATE? WE WON FR

user6 this is like straight out of a movie 😻 user7 THEY'RE SO ROMCOM CODED

user8 NOOO PATO NOT HER AGAIN 😫😫

user9 right? my week has been ruined. user10 keep cryin' haters 😘

indycar Hi yn and pato!! 👋

user11 basket date a few days after her post? she's an icon AND the mastermind fr 💅

user12 context?? user13 user12 her last ig post included a pic of "how to lose a guy in 10 days" and some people were speculating it could mean something, now yn goes with pato to a basketball game just like in the movie 😂 user14 SHE MANIFESTED IT AS THE QUEEN SHE IS🙌

user15 real question is: yourusername did Pato get you a soda?

patriciooward of course i did! 🙄 yourusername not only that but he also got his head in the game😏🏀 user16 I'M LIVING FOR THIS REFERENCES

user17 they make such a beautiful couple omg🥹

user18 are y'all forgetting she was in a date with lando just a few days ago????

user19 she belongs to the streets fr user20 the day y'all understand yn can be friends with lando or anyone is when you'll finally grow up.

user21 not related but she always slays with her outfits🔥

user22 fashion icon for real 🤩 user23 i want her wardrobe so bad😩

user24 YNPATO CONFIRMED 🚀🚀🚀

user25 i just wanna know if pato can fight 🤺

user26 i wanna be her so badly 😩

user27 same girl, same

yourusername posted to their story!

yourusername

liked by arrowmclaren, oscarpiastri, frosenqvist, and 79,889 others!

yourusername And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for. King of my heart, body and soul 🧡

user1 MOM AND DAD ARE THRIVING 😍

user2 and we love to see it! user3 this is their world and we're just living in it

user4 yn is stronger than me cause if Pato looked at me like in the second pic... 😳😳

user5 IKR??? I'M DEAD user6 i was not ready for that, i'm currently on the floor user7 i meaaaan she's dating him, she already won in life

user8 THE CAPTION???? omg they're so cute🥹

user9 YNPATO AND TAYLOR GANG WE WON

user10 relationship goals for real ❤️‍🔥

user11 tired of being a spectator, I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE😭

landonorris if you three weren't that cute i'd try to steal Norbi from you

patriciooward back off, Norris 🤺 landonorris watch out, O'Ward 🤺 yourusername oh hell no mclaren arrowmclaren may i have permission to ground these kids? mclaren you may proceed 😉 patriciooward WHAT landonorris THE BETRAYAL user12 i used to pray for interactions like these 😭😭 user13 user12 we've come so far 😭 user14 WAAAAR IS OOOOVER

user15 yn's living her best life and i'm so happy for her 🤧

elbaoward I don't appreciate being left out of the photo, but I love you lovebirds anyway 💘

yourusername imma post a dump of just beautiful pics of you😘 love u elbaoward i'll be waiting then ☺️ patriciooward i also want a photo dump🥺 yourusername no 😚 user16 i want to belong to this family so bad, do you need a nanny for Norbi or anything?

user17 atp I'm just waiting for the engagement announcement

user18 same but i don't think i'll survive it user19 CAN U IMAGINE? OMG

user20 tag yourself i'm Norbi in the last pic

patriciooward te amo, preciosa ❤️

yourusername love u more, handsome 🥰 user21 AND I LOVE YOU BOTH

taglist: @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @evie-119 @evans-dejong @minkyungseokie @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bernelflo @eiaaasamantha @ijustgomessitupx @honethatty12 @daemyratwst @f1fan65 @littlexscarletxwitch @sheslikeacurse @charlottejpg @lichterfee @callsignwidow @phantomxoxo @stinkyjax @rubywingsracing @willowpains @urfavsgf @biitch-with-wifi @lightdragonrayne @illicitverstappen @herebereblogs @tvdtw4ever @nataliambc @norwayxo

author's note: AND THAT'S A WRAP! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance💖 To my Lando girlies, don't be mad! He was a jerk in this story but I'll post another one where he gets the love he actually deserves. And to my Pato girlies, stay tuned! I plan to post more stories with him cause it's what our lovely man deserves. And if you want me to write about some other driver, feel free to send me a request! I'll see what I can do🧡 See y'all soon!

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moonchild701 · 2 months ago

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⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Train Stalker: Part 1- On the Train

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Part 2

Summary: Your stalker follows you onto the train, taking advantage of the crowded place.

But it turns out he's someone familiar to you.

Pairing: Stalker Dabi/Fem Reader

Content Warning: Sexual Assault, Chikan, Noncon Groping and touching, Turns Consensual, Dubcon, Public Sex, Public Transportation(Train), Fingering, Humiliation, Degradation, Self Degradation and Blaming, Victim Blaming, Stalking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: Had this in my drafts for a while, contemplating to post it lol

I Do Not condone this, Stalking or Assault. I don't think I should have to say that, but just in case. Don't Like? Don't Read.

My Masterlist

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

You don't really want to go to this company dinner.

What with the constant judging and personal questions, not to mention the token creepy guy, it's just never worth it.

But your only work friend begged you to come, and you're unfortunately inclined to be a good friend, so here you are on the train, on your way to the venue.

There was an accident on one of the main subway lines, and traffic is horrible and rush hour is still unforgivingly a thing.

There's so many people confined in this one small subway carriage, you're practically packed like sardines. You'd gotten on early, before the influx of people, and it would be a good thing if it wasn't for that fact that you just might spend the rest of the ride sandwiched between the mass of bodies and the corner walls of the carriage.

Things are somewhat bearable for a while. You zone out, trying to think of a passable excuse to get out of this thing that would maybe make your friend believe you.

When nothing comes to mind, your thoughts stray again, this time to your most likely stalker. You sometimes feel eyes following you, lingering for a bit too long. The gaze burns, yet you could never find where it comes from. Even today, as you left your apartment, you could feel them watching you.

And of course, when you went to report it, you were written off as "paranoid" and "imaginative".

Useless fucks.

Before you can dwell on it further, the train lurches, making the crowd shuffle and push, and you end up being further plastered to the wall.

You push back against the people surrounding you in an attempt to reclaim some of your space, only to freeze when you feel a hand pressing against the small of your back.

Your first thought that comes to mind is that you really hate public transportation.

Your second is that the hand is big and warm.

A lump forms in your throat as you swallow your voice. You decide to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt, hoping that it's just an accident; a misunderstanding, as you wait for them to pull away.

But instead, the stranger moves his hand down, resting it on your ass; and squeezes.

A gasping yelp escapes your throat, which goes unheard in the drowning noise of the train and surrounding people.

You curse under your breath as you feel a weight settle over you, pushing you even closer to the wall, till you're completely trapped between the corner and a broad chest; the heat and pressure of the stranger's body suffocating and overwhelming.

You can't believe this is happening.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm down, contemplating your options.

Maybe someone will notice.

You try to look behind you at the packed carriage, but you can only see a black hoodie and a tall frame. Dread washes over you as you realize the stranger's body is completely shielding you from the view of the other passengers; from the posssibility of someone noticing what is happening.

You know. You know you should scream out for help, but you just can't bring yourself to. The thought of bringing attention to yourself like this, to reveal what you've allowed to happen to you is...humiliating.

There's a fleeting thought to defend yourself, but your body is completely frozen; the fear keeping you rooted in place.

And all you can do is clench your eyes and grit your teeth as you feel a second hand move up to grip at your hip, holding you in place, as the first slips beneath your skirt, sliding up your thigh to your underwear.

"Oh?"

You flinch upon hearing the stranger speak, low and breathy, right into your ear. His voice is deep and rough, his breath hot on your skin.

There's a passing thought that he sounds vaguely familiar, but it's quickly pushed aside as he continues.

"Lingerie in public, hm?" His fingers toy with the fabric of your panties, tracing the delicate lace; and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he taunts, "Slut."

A mix of shame and indignation runs through you, yet your body heats up as the stranger continues to play with your underwear.

Hot breath against your neck, mouth dangerously close to the tender skin, sends goosebumps along your skin. An involuntary shiver goes up your spine when his fingers slither underneath your panties, trailing over the soft, round flesh of your ass, his touch feather-light.

A pathetic, whimpering sound of refusal spills out of your quivering lips, which is of course ignored.

Your eyes sting when the stranger's lips meet your neck; his mouth closing around the tender flesh, rough skin and metal...piercings?...grazing your skin. An embarrassing little sound catches in your throat when he licks and sucks at your pulse, marking you. It dissolves into a sob when the hand on your hip slides up your shirt, slipping under your bra to fondle and grope your breasts, and something terrifyingly close to a moan slips past your lips when a thumb brushes over your nipples. Traitorous jolts of arousal run through your body, pleasure clouding your senses.

You come back to yourself when you feel him pressing against you, his chest warm against your back, and something twitching against your lower back and oh fuck that's his dick.

You let out a pathetic little whimper at that, and then you feel his fingers begin to trail along your inner thighs and slide further up between your legs, and a mix of dread and anticipation washes over you as they reach your crotch.

"Look how wet you are," he hums into your ear, fingers brushing up and down your slit through your soaked panties, and you can't help the feeling of shame and disgust with yourself when you realize just how aroused you are. And how good the touch of this stranger feels. "Fucking slut... You actually want this, hm?"

"N-no," you choke out, "I-I don't—,please—"

"Shh, be quiet, Y/N. We don't want to make a scene, yeah?", the stranger coos, voice a soft murmur, yet tinted with the threat of danger, as he gives a squeeze to your tit. Your heart speeds up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you freeze at the sound of your name, spilling like honey from this stranger's mouth.

This man knows you.

This wasn't random.

You were targeted.

Your mind races at that, and you hysterically think to yourself, 'Well, I found my stalker! Useless! Fucks!'

Yet it does nothing to curb the steady arousal licking up your spine as a heated, sleek finger pulls your panties to the side and runs along your slick folds, your body trembling. Anticipation and fear pool in your tummy, yet it's drowned out by the hot, shameful arousal there.

You suck in a sharp breath as you feel the tip of his finger prodding at your entrance, petting at it, before slipping in with embarrassing ease; you clench around the intrusion, but you're so wet that it does little to stop his finger from making a home in your tight heat.

With a bitten off whimper, you scramble for something to hold onto along the uselessly smooth wall as he slowly pumps the thick digit into you.

Almost too soon, he pushes in a second finger, his other hand still tugging and pinching at your nipples, and you desperately try to swallow your moans.

Which is futile as he slowly thrusts them inside you, curling his fingers and caressing your walls, and stretching you, scissoring you open so good.

Long and thick, the stranger's fingers reach all the right places, making you squirm and shake, and your hand clamps around your mouth as you feel a whimpering moan bubbling up your throat,

Your neglected clit aches to be touched, as he finally adds a third finger and you gasp at the delicious stretch; his hot fingers rubbing at your walls making you melt.

He breathes heavily into your neck as you squirm against him, the slow thrusts maddening. He gradually speeds up, into something rough and mouth-watering, fucking his fingers into you at an intense, mind numbing rhythm; the obscene squelching sounds of your soaked cunt as it's stuffed so good just barely getting drowned out by the rattling of the train.

The satisfaction practically drips off of the stranger's voice like honey, thick and sweet, as he hums into your skin, "Fuck, that's it, such a good girl for me..."

You can't help the whimpering moan that escapes through your covered mouth, that specific wording along with the man's deep voice sending liquid heat through you, even as mortification goes along with it. You clench around his fingers, rocking your hips down to chase the sweet friction, lost in the pleasure. The announcer's voice echoing through the carriage is a small mercy, masking your desperate cries as you throw your head back when he hits your sweet spot.

It's fucking mortifying, getting aroused by being assaulted on the train. And to the point where you're turned into a needy, whimpering mess of a slut, is achingly, deliciously humiliating.

You shake, eyes wide with pleasure, and you catch a glance at part of his face.

Your hips stutter to a halt even as his fingers keep going; your breath catches in your throat and you swear your heart simultaneously freezes and tries to beat out of your chest.

Because you recognize him.

You know who this man is.

And how could you not?

Dark scars along his throat and jaw, staples holding it to smooth, healthy skin, who else could it be?

You look up further and your heart lurches as your eyes lock on burning blue, the same ones you've always reluctantly found breathtakingly gorgeous, ever since you first saw them in a dingy bar last year, up close and personal before being kissed stupid, drunk and horny, and then again in his video detailing his life.

The villain Dabi grins down at you when he sees you looking at him; a devilish, dangerous thing, all heat and sharp edges, as his fingers curl, making your breath hitch.

"Missed me, Doll?"

You never did quite forget how he pressed against you, heat and tantalising danger wafting off him; smelling of smoke and sandalwood, tasting of cheap beer and something sweet.

Not getting further than making out and heavy petting, for whatever reason, this is the first time you truly had his hands on you.

And you can't deny the late hours of the nights, after seeing him on the news, bloody and wild eyed, surrounded by his pretty, blue flames that set your heart alight with awe at its beauty, with sweat coating your skin and a hand slipped between your thighs; can't deny that it's his name you cry and chase in your pleasure on those nights.

Yet, this couldn't be real.

It couldn't be.

You swallow dryly. Without thought, the word spills out, a whisper of a thing.

"D...Dabi?" your voice is small and disbelieving, yet so sweetly hopeful.

His fingers slow down, and he smiles, amused and smug.

Scalding lips brush the shell of your ear. "Mhmm.", is the rumbling confirmation and you sag back against him, subconciously rolling your hips.

"Dabi—" you choke out, confusion and arousal warring within as you try to grasp what the fuck is happening right now.

Your voice melts into a whimper as you feel his fingers move faster again and you clench around them as they rub and curl inside you, exploring every inch of your walls in a way that has your hips bucking down to meet him, desperate for more despite your questions.

Because right now, the man you've wanted for so long, your guilty pleasure, is knuckles deep inside of you, and fuck if you're going to deny yourself that, but you want answers dammit.

"Why—mmn—why are you—" you struggle to speak around the moans and pleasure, "—why are y-you here, doing thi—ahn—this?"

His replying chuckle is low and dark in your ear, his answer making your knees buckle.

"I've been watching you for a while now, Sweetheart. And I never did get a taste of this sweet cunt." he accentuates his words with a grind to your sweet spot that has you seeing stars.

And you're suddenly very grateful that you're cornered against the wall; because you know that your eyes are wide, blown and hazy, lips parted and face flushed, and you don't know if you could take the look in his eyes if he sees the slutty, debaunched expression on your face at his words.

Though, he doesn't even need to see it to know, not when he hears the wanton little sounds you let out as he fucks his fingers in and out of your tight heat.

His thumb brushing over your throbbing clit has you biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out, the touch sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body.

"You always look fuckin' hot but today," he breathes into your neck, his voice dark and rough, exhilarating in the best of ways, as he punctuates the last word with a grind against you, the thought of his hard cock so close yet so far is almost enough to make you lose your goddamn mind, before growling out, "Today, you look fuckin' edible."

Heat washes over you at the depraved praise as you let out a tinny whimper.

"Oh fuck," you breathe out, high-pitched and needy. The thought that he's been watching you all this time, wanting you all this time, added to the sensations ravaging your body to the point it's almost too much, and you're just on that precipice, heat coiling low in your tummy.

You desperately clutch at his scarred wrist as his pace quickens into a near brutal rhythm, fingers simultaneously fucking into your pussy and rubbing at your clit, while his other hand fondles and kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between the rough pads of his fingers, and it's just all so much, so good.

The pleasure is overwhelming, he is overwhelming, in all of the best ways they could be. His smoky scent, his deep voice, his filthy words, the feel and heat of him against you, the fingers that play you with the ease and prescision of a pianist; his very pressence electric, his every touch incendiary.

"Such a good girl for me, baby, so fuckin' wet for me, so fuckin' pretty..." he groans, muttering into the crook of your neck where he's nuzzling his face into, as his hips jerk forward, pressing and grinding his clothed erection against your ass.

Feeling him so big, so hard against you, for you, you moan; high and needy, dizzy with lust, wishing you could feel it stretching your insides instead of his fingers, pulsing and hot. That thought has you shaking, your eyes rolling back, vision going white, as you go limp; the only things now keeping you up are your shaky, braced hands against the wall and his hold on you, and you feel like a bubble just about to burst.

"Aww, you gonna cum for me, Doll?" He whispers almost harshly against your ear, his tone playful and full of sadistic glee. When you nod frantically he laughs, dark and mocking, "Do it baby, lemme see you."

It's exactly what you need.

Your juices drip down your thighs as you clench around him like a vice, and his hand releases your breast to slide up and cup over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

Ecstasy saturates your very blood, and you feel your cunt convulsing, your toes curling, and you reach your peak with a barely muffled cry, your release gushing down your legs.

Any thought of shame at the utter debaunced indecency of what you did and allowed to happen, is forgotten as pure bliss clouds your senses, sagging back against Dabi's chest, spent.

His body is tense against you, as it takes all of his willpower to not fuck you right then and there in front of everyone, but he wants you to himself, so he endures; breathing heavily into your neck as he mutters, voice strained and husky, "Good girl."

If you could, you would come all over again just from that.

You moan softly as he pulls his fingers out, bringing it to the front of your face to see them glistening in your juices, sticky and stringy where he spreads them, before bringing them up and back. Your eyes helplessly follow them as he brings it to his mouth, lapping at them with a soft groan.

Your chest heaves at the sight as you stand there, dizzy and in disbelief, catching your breath.

He grins, a cheeky little thing, "I said I never got a taste."

You just stare at him, trying to wrap your mind around what the hell just happened; so out of it, you almost don't notice the train slowing down, announcing your arrival to yet another station......and you notice that you missed your stop.

Shit.

Though before you could panic, he speaks into your ear.

"This is our stop, Sweetheart."

Heart racing, you turn around to face him, after he steps back, allowing you space. Flushed and confused, you hastily fix your clothes to be somewhat presentable as you look up at him; at his dilated pupils and the unmistakable hunger in his eyes as he watches you intently.

And you realize what he means. The sweet, titillating promise in his words and what he plans to do with you: to you.

Once you do, you don't even have to think about it before you agree.

As the train comes to a halt and the crowd of people rush out of the carriage, you let Dabi lead you out to the platform, your veins thrumming with excitement.

So much for being a good friend, but you'll just have to apologize to her tomorrow.

You're finally going to have what you've been craving.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

#moonchild701 #mha #bnha #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #my fics #mdni

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doctorbitchcrxft · 6 months ago

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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genericpuff · 11 months ago

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wait wait wait, regarding that Minthe post, you're telling me that Rachel literally wrote the character as having BPD.....and portrayed her as an abusive mean piece of shit??? WOW. fucking WOW. sorry for being so angry, but even if she "retconned" that - it's still so god damn disrespective. as someone who has BPD it hurts so much to see my mental illness villanised :(

ugh I'm so sorry pal. and I don't blame you for being angry about it, like I don't even have BPD and I'M fucking pissed LOL like I can understand why Rachel might have wanted to backtrack from that knowing fully well that Minthe's story wasn't gonna have a happy ending, but writing her with BPD in the first place and then BACKTRACKING from it as soon as she likely got heat for it (or just realized it wasn't a good look) isn't much better because it means now all she's done is written the stigmatized negative effects of BPD into her character without showing the more positive outlooks of healing and managing. Maybe that was doomed to happen considering Minthe is someone who doesn't get a happy ending in the myths, but it begs the question of why she'd write her with BPD to begin with because in hindsight it really does seem like she just wanted to use it as a way to make her "evil".

But like, when you read the actual episode, you can SEE the potential there for character growth, you can SEE that she's aware of her actions - but doesn't understand why she's "like that" which is a VERY common feeling among people with undiagnosed mental illnesses - but it was never meant to be.

Like jfc not only is it HEAVILY IMPLIED, but again, the episode is literally called "Splitting". And we see exactly that with Minthe, who can't seem to rationalize with herself that she messed up.

But... that leads me to another point that I failed to mention in that first ask response: she DIDN'T mess up. Like, yes, she messed up by escalating it to the point of slapping Hades, but it wasn't her fault that she didn't make it to her date with Hades. Whose fault was it?

Continuously throughout the first season we see Thetis being an awful influence who manipulates and gaslights Minthe. They're "friends", but it's clear Thetis does not have Minthe's best interests in mind. In this very scene we see Thetis manipulate Minthe and even attempt to get her so drunk that she won't be able to show up to her date. And then of course when that plan works and Minthe freaks out, Thetis spins it around on Minthe in a very passive-aggressive way.

But of course, the narrative has to find a way to turn this whole thing on Minthe being the bad guy. Hence we get the slap which shifts the focus entirely away from what led up to it back onto Hades who has, in a lot of ways, put her in a situation that she can't control. And of course, being in those kinds of situations does not help with mental health.

Like, sorry, I'm really going off here now, but... the slap happens in Episode 76.

When is it finally addressed again? Episode 103.

It took Rachel nearly THIRTY EPISODES to finally bring it back to Minthe, and in that time the reader has spent SEVERAL EPISODES reading about how sad and lonely Hades is, and about how cute and lovey he is with Persephone. The reader has not had ANY time to reflect on Minthe's circumstances, because it completely pivots away from her to focus on H x P as a sort of distraction from the fact that Minthe is a victim in her own right.

And when it DOES return to Minthe in 103, we get this harrowing reminder that her entire life is dependent on Hades-

And once again, here comes Thetis to the "rescue", reinforcing the negative feedback loop that Minthe is trapped in where she's put in unhealthy situations. She drags her to a bar and the whole time Minthe is not having fun because she's understandably still reeling from what happened.

Now we DO get some character development here, where Minthe realizes exactly what I've just finished explaining, that Thetis isn't her friend, that she'd rather not have Thetis as a friend than continue being talked down to and manipulated.

But then, as we know, because Rachel still needs Minthe to be the "bad guy", the breakup between Hades and Minthe winds up being all about Persephone from a POV that attempts to villainize Minthe for being "jealous" (rather than focusing on how shitty Hades actually is for having an emotional affair with Persephone to begin with) and then Minthe goes right back to hanging out with Thetis anyways for the sake of having the "evil other girl" who wants to "ruin" H x P's relationship.

It's not until Season 3 that we finally see Minthe tell Thetis to fuck off for good, but by then it's too little too late, and Minthe has lost an entire character arc. Rachel tries to go "see! Minthe's life is so much better now that she's taking care of children!" but that's an entirely different solution to a problem Minthe never had. She never got treatment for her BPD. She just got away from H x P which, while is a good thing, isn't actually analyzed as such. It's treated more as a "good thing" for H x P and the readers, because now they don't have to be subjected to Minthe's evil scheming anymore, something something "the evil is defeated". And don't even get me started on this comic's problem with constantly resolving female characters' story arcs through motherhood.

It bums me out so fucking much. Minthe deserved so much better. She's one of the many characters in LO who make it so painfully ironic when they're done dirty, because despite Rachel's attempts to write a "feminist retelling" that focuses on "moving on from trauma", she's inadvertently done more damage to feminism and the stigmas around mental health and trauma through her assassination of grounded and realistic and relatable characters like Minthe and Demeter who are shown ZERO empathy or understanding for their actions (unless it can be done so by making Persephone and Hades into the heroes). It happens so often throughout the comic it almost feels like how the comic markets itself as a "progressive feminist retelling" is some sick joke that I'm just not getting.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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pluckyredhead · 1 month ago

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my life for the kon clark thoughts, i love hearing your takes on the superfam

Okay this bait wasn't QUITE as powerful but it still got the job done lol. Also I won't be talking about the YJ show as I only ever watched the first episode, sorry!

Anyway. The thing I want to talk about is Is Clark Kon's Dad Discourse, which honestly is less discourse so much as it is half of the fandom cheerfully writing Kon as Jon's big brother and the other half going "Ummm Clark and Kon are actually more like brothers as they have said many times in canon" (they have not). And more than that, the question of whether Clark is actually a good dad/brother/cousin/whatever the El he is to Kon (he is not). (Sorry Clark I still love you.)

Content warning: rape, both hypothetical and in-canon statutory, will be mentioned.

TL;DR: 1. Like Dinah and Roy, Clark and Kon have a complicated relationship that English doesn't have a word for, and to reduce it to "father and son" or "brothers" is doing a disservice to the interesting dynamic that actually exists, and 2. unlike Dinah, Clark does not come off well here, although it's important to take the Doyleist argument into account here as well as the Watsonian one.

Let's take the second thing first. There have been several times in canon that Clark has been presented with a teenage biological relative and gone "Well, I'm not going to take responsibility for that." (Three separate continuities with Kara, two with Kon, although to be fair in post-Crisis he did make a half-hearted effort with Kara.) Most infamously, when he first met his 15-year-old recently orphaned cousin Supergirl in 1959, he put her in an orphanage. There are two reasons for this, editorially:

DC doesn't want Superman tied down by a kid.

Equally if not more importantly, DC doesn't want the kid tied down by Superman.

It took 77 years for DC to give Clark permanent custody of child, when Jon was born. But also...DC designed both Kara and Kon to have their own adventures and eventually their own books. That's a lot harder to do if they're under the literal Super-vision of Clark. DC wanted these kids to be reasonably independent and autonomous, so it's hard to "blame" Clark for that when this is such a good example of how, uh...he's a fictional character and doesn't get to decide what he does.

But a Doyleist argument only goes so far if the writers don't bother to give Clark a good reason to behave in a certain way. So switching back to the Watsonian side of things: does Clark actually have a responsibility to Kon, and did he fail to meet it?

I have seen people argue that Clark doesn't have a responsibility to Kon, because he did not consent to having his DNA used to create him, and thus Clark is analogous to a rape victim being forced to care for the resulting baby. I understand the logic behind this argument but I don't think it's a fair one because, well, Clark wasn't raped, and it's inappropriate to say that he was. It's closer to someone stealing donated eggs or sperm from a clinic - not exactly like, since those are obviously donated consensually, but much closer. And regardless, we don't consider the donor responsible for the baby that results, so it's not like that analogy puts more onus on Clark.

However. I do think there is a difference between being responsible for a child in the sense of being obligated to raise that child, and being responsible for a child in the sense of making sure the child is okay. That holds true whether you are biologically related to the kid or not. If I see a small child running down the street without an obvious adult guardian, I will ask that child where their grownup is, because we live in a society and it's the right thing to do.

Obviously Kon was not a small child when he first appeared, although I don't think we should underestimate his naivete - he was physically and mentally 16, yes, but he had literally zero life experience. But while I don't think Clark had a responsibility to make up the guest room for Kon, I do think that he had a responsibility to make sure Kon was in a safe and healthy environment. Quite frankly, I think Clark had more of an obligation than an ordinary person, because he's Superman, and he's supposed to be the best of us. Ethics aside, it's out of character for him not to do the right thing.

And this is where things really fall apart, because for much of his original solo series, Kon was not, in fact, in a safe and healthy environment.

I'm not talking about crime fighting, or any danger or injuries that resulted from that, because it's just a function of the genre. Kon would have nearly died from clone plague whether he was superheroing or not. I'm talking about:

The fact that one of the adults in a position of semi-responsibility for Kon was Rex Leech, a man who very clearly intended to financially exploit Kon as much as he possibly could, and pimped out his own daughter to get Kon to sign with him.

(The other adult responsible for Kon was Dubbilex and he has never done anything wrong, ever, in his life. <3 u Dubbilex.)

Kon's long-running relationship with an ADULT WOMAN, Tana Moon, which was so sketchy that all of her coworkers were like "Ummmmmm what's up with you dating a 16-year-old?" but literally no one ever intervened on Kon's behalf.

The Knockout storyline, in which it's heavily implied that their relationship was sexual, making it very much statutory rape, and to which Kon has a pretty clear trauma response afterwards.

The fact that no one except that one poor truant officer is making this kid go to school.

Pretty consistent housing insecurity (Kon only has housing at Cadmus and later in that one building where he's the super because he works there, which...he's a minor).

This is quibbling because it never (to my recollection) comes up in the comics, but what is Kon's legal status? Is he property of Cadmus? Is he a person, as far as the government is concerned? Does he have a social security number, citizenship status, legal rights? I'm guessing no because he literally doesn't even have a name until Clark gets around to giving him one *checks notes* six years after they first meet.

I want to talk about that issue because it's extremely important to me: Superboy #59 (1994 series). Clark shows up and takes Kon to the Fortress for the first time:

Look at Kon's first speech balloon. Not only does he not know that Superman is Clark, he doesn't know that Superman is Kal-El, and he had no idea either possibility existed. He knows absolutely nothing about Superman, and he's completely severed from his own Kryptonian heritage. Clark has given him nothing.

Until now.

According to this timeline, the original Kon-El was a Kryptonian who was adopted into the El family. Also, the Supergirl they're talking about isn't Kryptonian, which is why Kon implies that she isn't automatically entitled to the S-shield but is granted permission by Clark.

I'm fascinated by the different ways Clark and Kon view family here: Kon, whose life has only ever consisted of being a superhero, sees being part of the family as...branding, basically. It's Clark who sees it as having to do with who they are as people. (Yes, Clark is being weird and cold here in the art - he was going through some shit in the Superbooks, don't worry about it.)

MY HEART IS GOING TO BURST. YOU HAVE A NAME, BABY. YES YOU DO.

But, like...as lovely a moment as this is, it's also a pretty dire indictment of Clark. Having a name means so much to Kon that he weeps - and is such a fundamental part of being a person - and you only got around to it now??? And fine, maybe it wasn't Clark's responsibility...but it should have been someone's.

The other specific comic I want to talk about is very different tonally: Superman #155 (1987 series), in which Kon shows up at the Kents' house for dinner, and Clark is a giant pissy baby about it:

For context, Kon still doesn't know Clark's secret ID, and this is several years before he moves to Smallville. He says he stopped by for dinner because he met the Kents "a few months back" and they invited him to visit anytime because he "reminded them of their son" - but actually that was six years ago, which just kind of goes to show you how fundamentally deprived of family and human connection this boy is, that he would remember and take them up on this offer after so long.

Orrrr maybe he's just doing some detective work, because Clark is sure Kon is there because he's figured out Clark is Superman, and sure enough, Kon does drop a few heavy hints that are juuust this side of plausible deniability. Either way, Clark spends the entire issue being a pissy, bratty child about it:

LITERALLY HE GOES INTO HIS ROOM AND TELLS KON TO STOP TOUCHING HIS STUFF. Big only child energy. (He also, notably, does not know the name of Young Justice. Dude is FULLY checked out of Kon's life.)

Anyway, Pa is finally like "Listen, if you trust him enough to let him be Superboy, don't you trust him enough to tell him the truth?" and Clark's like "But being Clark is my private, personal life, and I don't want to share it with too many people," and Pa's like "HE IS A CHILD WITH NO PARENTS CAN YOU PLEASE GET A GRIP."

Clark realizes he's being an asshole, and though he doesn't come right out and confess, he does relent enough to teach Kon how to milk a cow:

Yes, the metaphor here is that Kon is trying to milk Clark's secrets out of him, complete with the, um, imagery in that first panel. Anyway, I'm not sure if there's actually an issue where Clark explicitly tells Kon that he's Superman, but this issue ends on a note that makes it pretty clear that Kon knows, and that Clark knows he knows, and that Kon knows he knows he knows, so. (It's obviously explicit by 2003 when Clark makes Kon move in with the Kents.)

Anyway, I love this issue because Clark is allowed to be 100%, undeniably, unequivocally wrong. He is being petty and jealous and immature...and human. His behavior here is totally understandable and relatable, even when he's being a brat - and because he's called out on it, he's allowed to improve.

And that, I think, is what we're missing in the Clark and Kon dynamic. Though there are external narrative reasons for it, Clark's neglect of Kon is, in the gentlest possible terms, Not A Good Look.

(Also not a good look: barging into Kon's life in 2003 after paying zero attention to him for years and forcing him to live in a town he hates wearing glasses he also hates. Did Clark tell Kon he would be honored if he would also accept the name "Conner Kent?" Was he given a choice at all? YOU'RE OVERCORRECTING, CLARK. And then he just totally bails again and makes his elderly parents do all the actual work of parenting! There is a super (ha) telling line in Supergirl (2005 series) where she asks Ma why Clark didn't ever have her (Kara) live with the Kents, and like...why does Clark get to decide who Jonathan and Martha have in their house? WEIRD.)

Again, I'm not saying Clark needed to adopt Kon, but I do think that he bore some kind of responsibility to at least make sure he was well taken care of and to check in regularly - and it would have felt more in character. But he didn't...and because that looks bad, it has gone almost completely unacknowledged for 32 years except for Superman #155 and that bit in Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow where Kelex calls Clark out on not noticing Kon was missing for two weeks.

Because if the comics admitted that Clark wasn't stepping up to the plate, they could also tell us why. Clark's reasoning in Superman #155 is not actually a sufficient reason, but it's completely understandable and makes us sympathize with him. My personal headcanon is that immediately upon meeting Kon, Clark was recovering from the profound trauma of, you know, dying and being resurrected, something that goes largely unaddressed in the comics. I would absolutely buy that he didn't have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with "oh a lab cloned a replacement of me which they activated because I died and now the clone wants to hang out." I would even buy that the longer he didn't involve himself in Kon's life, the guiltier he felt, and the more he thought he might be unwelcome for not doing so sooner. But none of that is actually canon, because again, the comics pretty much completely ignore Clark's failure here...and that makes it look so much worse, because it looks like he just doesn't care.

Finally, to address the question of what to call their relationship: arguably Clark and Lex are Kon's biological parents, which yes, is very funny, but also the terms we use for clone relationships tend to be very driven by how old the clone is rather than a donor/donee relationship. Like, I might say Kon is kind of Clark's kid...but I would never say that Match is Kon's kid, because Match and Kon are approximately the same age, which goes to show how much these terms come from appearances rather than biological relationships.

Instead, I'd rather look at how they refer to each other, like I did with Dinah and Roy. This post is already insanely long so I'm not going to dig through three decades of comics for the relevant panels, but trust me when I say that especially in the 90s, it was a running bit that people would assume Superman was Kon's father and he would say "He's not my dad." He is very, very consistent about that, and always in this sort of awkward, uncomfortable way rather than a rebellious one. (My baby, let me hug you.)

You could argue that their dynamic is more "brothers with a large age gap," since they were (eventually) raised by the same parents - Kon calls Martha and Jonathan "Ma and Pa," not "Grandma and Grandpa." They do occasionally fall into something that feels like those roles - see Superman #155 above, and really any time they are talking about the Kents. But they also aren't close, by any definition, which is certainly possible with siblings, but it doesn't feel like a lived-in dynamic to me. When Clark used it at the end of Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow, it felt very jarring and unearned, and I can't think of a single other time either one has used the word to refer to the other. (If I'm wrong, please let me know! I'd be fascinated to see other examples.)

Finally there's Superboy #59, where Clark chooses to name Kon after an adoptive cousin he never met. Which, not to make a joke of it, but feels much more like how Clark actually feels about Kon. And certainly "cousin" is a term Clark is comfortable extending to the rest of the Superfamily: Kara is obviously his first cousin, but he used it for Matrix and Linda Danvers (not related to him or even Kryptonian), and it covers a wide range of alternate universes/clones/Daxamites/look it's complicated.

Ultimately, Clark and Kon don't really have a familial term they use for each other on any kind of consistent basis, but if I had to pick one, I think "cousin" would be the one they would both feel comfortable using - and I think Kon would also happily apply it to Kara and Jon, too. (Although I did once read a fic where Jon refers to Kon as his "bruncle" and every day that is not canon is another crime against humanity.)

IN CONCLUSION:

They aren't father and son.

They aren't really brothers, either.

But it would be very funny if Kon started calling Lex "Pops."

If you are going to have a character who is supposed to be a paragon of virtue act like kind of a dick, you should acknowledge it in the comic so that he can maybe improve his behavior a little or at least explain it.

Kon's bad at milking.

THE END.

#clark kent #superman #kon el #conner kent #superboy #meta

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venus-is-thinking · 7 months ago

Text

DRDT Chapter 2 Episode 16: Initial Thoughts

Sorry for missing episode 15 :(

That being said, oh my god, Chapter 2 is actually complete! This is so exciting! I'm really hyped to talk about this episode and give my not-live summary of my live reactions!

SPOILER WARNING FOR DRDT THROUGH THE END OF CH 2!!!

CW: Murder, sacrifice, suicide

The Reactions

12-1, this time. I'm still personally partial to the extra vote on Teruko last Trial being Arei (being petty about her "I'm voting for you no matter what" thing), so I would assume Ace is the Teruko vote. If so, I do think it's interesting that he voted Teruko as opposed to, like, Nico. Then again, it might be that it's just more convenient for DRDTdev to consistently put the extra vote on Teruko, lol.

Notably, the dead people have "N/A," not 0. We probably could tell this because of Xander last time, but I didn't check. I wonder if this implies we won't ever need to vote for someone dead (ex. a mastermind who "died" earlier in the killing game).

I'm free... I can read whatever Eden says as genuine...

Take THAT, Whit time loop theorists /j

I do think it's funny/kinda telling? that Whit is only saying this after the trial is over. Like, I feel like the normal time to go "oh my god we're having another trial" is, like... when you find the body? So, it's interesting that his reaction is so delayed.

So, I don't know if this was an intentional parallel, but...

These feel similar to me. I really like the Ace/Arei parallels, where they're both chronically hated people, but Arei apologizes and tries to change whereas Ace lets the fear and paranoia consume him until there's no turning back. Ace only says this after he's already been found guilty of murder; Arei says this before promising to change her ways to the victim of her bullying.

Teruko out here hopping on that self-blame train.

It's so funny how different Hu's standards are when talking about Ace's murder vs. Nico's attempted murder. Like... Hu this is what everyone was telling you like an hour ago. What.

It's really interesting that we're highlighting this line. I wonder if this is part of a theme that we're going to explore further, maybe tied into the "all murderers have to be punished" thing. Or maybe Eden isn't actually accurate here, but doesn't know it; has Ace killed someone in the past?

Fun trick you can do here!

When we first met Teruko a week ago, she was the same person, certainly, but she was also different. She was happier, and she trusted people more.

There are so many good character parallels in DRDT. The Ace/Teruko one was really interesting in this post-trial.

Ooh, new flavor of J anti-murder! This seems to be broadening it to also being critical of the killing game, which would go against my weird hypothetical "J is anti-murderer but also the mastermind" read.

It's interesting, with how this is Ace's logic. It makes total sense for his character, though. I think it's easy for us, the viewers, to forget the fact that the characters probably don't have the precedent of "every blackened ever always loses." When Ace is running the odds, he thinks his survival odds were better as a killer than as a participant in the killing game. And y'know, considering how close he came to dying as Nico's victim, that's kinda fair.

I desperately want to know what Levi was going to say here.

I really like the fact that Ace DID care about Levi. That he intrinsically cares about him, but he knows factually that he isn't supposed to like or trust someone in a killing game. That once he killed Arei, he had to resolve to kill everyone in the killing game, even Levi.

The only way Ace knew to prevent himself from caring was to stay mad, I guess. Kinda unfortunate though, considering that I do think Levi wanted to patch things up with him genuinely.

Meanwhile, Levi, who doesn't understand emotions, is just like "man what the fuck. That makes no sense."

What a pair. I'm sad we're not going to get to see their dynamic anymore :(

In other words, I'm back on the Levi survivor train baby! My biggest problem with it before was that I thought Ace was gonna survive and I didn't think Ace and Levi were both gonna survive, so now we're locking tf in!

This is fun! I always wonder why more people don't try stuff like this. Like... shoot your shot. You're gonna die otherwise, soooo...

Great animation as always

I think it's really funny that Teruko is so fucking mad that she bullies Ace into action. Like, that's so fitting for both of them.

I love using this David expression here. He's just like, "was it that easy? Why was I trying to throw the trial then???"

aaaaAAAAAAAA--

What the fuck!! XF-Ture mention!!!!!!!!

I like the spooky vibe MonoTV has for this post-trial, but I do hope we get our normal silly lil guy back next chapter. I like the MonoTV personality we see all the time. I'm gonna miss it if it just died like that :(

I am also squinting so hard at everyone's reactions through "who is the mastermind" goggles. Maybe I'll analyze them in a different post sometime.

Fascinating purpose. Not "to create despair." Not "to run the killing game until only one participant survives." To kill everyone.

Does this include whichever mastermind?

Why does whoever programmed MonoTV want to kill all of these people? Are they being punished for something?

This countdown sequence fucked me up. The tensions and emotions are so high. Even as someone who was confident that Teruko, at least, wasn't going to die no matter what, I was so on edge. I got really scared that Eden was going to take the hit for Teruko, though, and that's what I was reading into when I wasn't sure Eden would make it to Chapter 3.

This speech, more than any other one Teruko has made or any actions she's taken or endured, really made me feel for Teruko. The fact that she can so casually talk about truly traumatic and horrific things happening to her, while smiling, truly shows how much she's grown used to it. Like, girl. You don't deserve this. What.

The character work on Teruko especially this episode is just fantastic. No words.

This panel stressed me out so bad because it was really just a question of WHO took the bullet for Teruko. Like, if she's thinking this, someone clearly did.

My bets were on either Eden, Charles, or Ace.

Levi, though, was such a surprise to see. Like, in a good way. It means so much.

First of all, it's a callback to the end of the prologue. Levi attacks MonoTV, and when MonoTV tries to kill him in response, Teruko's danger sense alerts her. It's only through Teruko warning Levi to move that Levi dodged the main attack, resulting in only an arm injury rather than death. Now, Levi returns her favor, preventing her from dying from attacking MonoTV.

Second, it puts Ace into the position we see of having to confront the possibility of Levi's death. I got the distinct sense that they wanted Ace to be able to do something heroic on his way out, to prove all the haters wrong (which is why I thought it was possible he'd take the hit for Teruko instead of Levi). By putting Levi, pretty clearly the person he cares most about, into harm's way, it makes Ace take action. It means that he HAS to confront the fact that he cares Levi, and that he has to die.

And, thirdly... I am so fascinated to learn why Levi did this. Was it as simple as a transactional, "you saved me from execution before?" Is it "I thought saving someone would make me a good person?" Does Levi actually feel some remorse for Teruko in this moment, causing him to take action?

No matter what his reasoning, I can't wait to hear from him. I strongly suspect Levi won't actually die from this (at the very least, I hope not, because I really want to hear more from him), but even if he does, hopefully we'll still get some more insight in a bonus episode or a flashback or something.

I'm trying to figure out what triggered Whit here.

This is immediately following "The elevator won't open," but it also definitely can just correlate to "[person] will die if they don't receive immediate medical treatment." I have to assume that something here is reminding Whit of his mom...?

With the weird "Whit knows a lot about hanging" earlier, I got the impression that Whit's mom probably hung herself. From this, I would probably theorize that Whit found her while she was still alive, but not quickly enough to save her. Yikes.

Anyways, I think that means everyone has some kind of despair sprite now! That's fun!

I'm sure many have pointed this out, but do we think he's counting himself here (Arei + Ace + Levi = 3), or do we think he feels responsible for someone else's death in his past (probably Taylor)? I'd lean towards the second one.

Y'know, before I thought Arturo was just pressed about the surgeon thing because people were unfairly hating on him. This, at least, I think implies something relating to Felicity.

Arturo doesn't have any experience saving lives. He left, and Felicity died. He can't save lives; he's only responsible for Felicity's ending. I think that's how he sees it.

On a side note, I think there's a very definite possibility that Chapter 3 cold opens on Arturo saving Levi's life??? Like, how Chapter 2 started with Eden POV, I think Chapter 3 could start with Arturo taking his shot at healing Levi, eventually resulting in Levi stabilizing. I'm not sure who would be there with him. Possibly Hu, since she was leading the "let's get Levi to the infirmary" effort...?

I love executions like this. Accirax has said before that the best executions are what make their recipient feel the most despair, and that's definitely what they did with Ace here. Put the talent aside; fear is what Ace fears the most.

Uhhhh. I'm pulling an Accirax. Part 2 in reblog!

#drdt #drdt spoilers #danganronpa despair time #levi fontana #ace markey #teruko tawaki #arturo giles #whit young #i think those are the people who have justified this #reblog being made rn

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rems-writing · 11 months ago

Text

Her savior

Pairing: dilf!Mingi x widow afab!reader

Summary: I lowkey want to make these two oneshots connected to each other so there will be slight mention of dilf!Yunho and his s/o. This will pick up after Mingi and Wooyoung left his cousin in front of Yunho's doorstep to babysit his three daughters.

Warning(s): Hurt with comfort, mentions of bullying (i.e. harsh words, etc.), Mingi is lowkey scary sexy when angry, non-Ateez character mentioned, yelling and swearing, mentions of death and murder, slight size kink, face riding, pussy slapping, pussydrunk!Mingi, boob play, backshots, bigdick!Mingi, unprotected sex (don't do this!), squirting

Genre: Cracked beginning, angst (for the main part), a bit of fluff, smut

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Thank you to @yourfatherlucifer and @holybibly for helping me figure out what kind of dad Mingi is lol

As Mingi and Wooyoung ran down the street cackling their asses off at Mingi's poor cousin being left on Yunho's doorstep, they slowed down to catch their breath.

"He's going to kill you, Min! And maybe me as well."

"Maybe? You smacked his ass while he was hoisted over my shoulder and laughed at his misery as he tried to escape my grasp!"

Wooyoung was going to retort when the two of them heard bickering from across the street they were running in. Normally, if they saw two women bickering, it was most likely just loud gossip. That's how the neighborhood was. However, that wasn't the case. Mingi looked closely and listened intently to what those two women were talking about. The more he listened, the more his anger grew.

Those two women weren't bickering.

It was only one woman bullying another woman who was trying so hard to ward off the first woman.

Mingi hated gossip, but he hated bullying even more. Having been bullied back in high school, he would not stand idly by and let this fester any further. He marched over to the two women and broke up the fight between them.

"What is going on over here?"

The woman that was starting the fight gasped dramatically and tried to fall into Mingi's arms but he pushed her back upright and kept the scowl on his face.

"Oh, Mr. Song! You have to help me! This hag over here bumped into me and made me drop all my groceries! I think she should compensate me by buying all my groceries for an entire week! That's only fair. Right?"

Her shrill voice annoyed him and the taller man turned to the other woman.

His scowl softened a bit when he saw who the victim was.

It was the widow.

He's heard about her but to see her in person...

Yeah he was subconsciously right to not believe the rumors.

The woman was wearing all black with a thin black shawl covering her face so he wouldn't see her tears. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

Imagine the shock on his face when he saw how young this widow looked.

He wasn't able to memorize the beauty on the widow's face since the tears were coming down like a waterfall. Mingi pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her face with it lightly. She sniffled and gave a silent 'thank you' to him, to which he nodded.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to know the facts. Did you bump into woman and made her drop her groceries?"

The widow instantly shook her head.

"I was minding my own business when I accidentally bumped into her. She was the one that dropped them and pinned the blame on me when I was simply trying to navigate my way through the neighborhood after coming home from a walk. She then started screaming her head off and started nagging me about how I'm horrible. All that I could forgive. But then..."

She breathed in deeply.

"She had the nerve to mention how my husband is dead because of me."

Mingi's blood boiled and Wooyoung saw this. He gently guided the widow back towards his direction. The widow was confused at first. Then she saw Mingi's anger and decided to hide in Wooyoung's shoulder. She never liked confrontation but this time, she had enough of people accusing her of her husband's death so she let the tall man chew that woman out.

"Here."

He threw a wad of bills at the first woman's face, to which she was either shocked or offended by this action. She tried to speak but Mingi held a finger up and she shut her mouth.

"Unless it truly was on purpose, I suggest you apologize to her. She was minding her own business and she was even prepared to apologize for bumping into you when you just had to make a big deal out of it! I mean come on! It's 2024 for fucks sake! Why are we putting down women still?!"

"But Mingi -"

"You will address me by Mr. Song! And you will not interrupt me!"

The woman nodded and her face became red out of embarrassment. He continued to speak.

"You know... I've seen you around. You do nothing but gossip around and show off your miserable trophy husband. I think you're on husband number three. Am I correct?"

Wooyoung had to stifle a snicker while the woman tried to protest, only for Mingi to shut her up again.

"Yeah... one of my employees mentioned that you divorced him because he 'wasn't making enough money' persay."

"But he truly wasn't-"

"I SAID DON'T INTERRUPT ME!"

The woman clamped her mouth shut, fear evident on her face as Mingi kept talking growling angrily.

"Just because baby daddy number three is making more dough than your last husband doesn't mean that you can flaunt your shit and then belittle other women. How would you like it if you were in her position?!"

"Mr. Song, here's the thing! There's a reason why the entire neighborhood doesn't like her!"

"Oh I can't wait to hear this!" Mingi barked out a sarcastic laugh while Wooyoung remained stoic, occasionally comforting the widow in his arms.

"Well she... she killed her husband! She's crazy and -"

"Stop talking."

"But Mr. Song-"

"I SAID STOP TALKING!"

"But Mr. Song! You have to understand-"

"DO YOU WANT ME TO FIRE YOUR THIRD HUSBAND FROM MY COMPANY?! BECAUSE I WILL FUCKING DO IT!"

The woman shut up and looked down in shame. Mingi forced her head up so she could look at the anger in his eyes.

"You do not know the full story. And even if you do, just the mere fact that you continue to degrade her regardless of the truth makes me sick. You make me sick."

He clenched his fist and sighed deeply.

"And people think I'm the monster. Nah. I just hate bullies. In fact, I'm staring at the monster right here."

The woman's face paled and she had the audacity to beg for forgiveness and for him not to fire her husband, to which he laughed at.

"Why are you asking me for forgiveness? You should ask her."

The woman looked at the widow wearily and Mingi sighed.

"Forget it. You're so adamant on making her miserable. Fine. I'm firing your husband and I'm telling the landlord to raise rent on that little condo you have nicely decorated."

"Wait! Mr. Song, have mercy-"

"Girl, just go! You keep yakking and yakking! Don't make things worse for yourself." Wooyoung spoke up this time and the woman hung her head in shame before taking the bill wad and entering her car so she can rebuy the groceries she dropped. Mingi huffed out a sigh of relief and walked over to the widow in Wooyoung's arms.

"Hey. It's ok. I'm sorry if my anger got the best of me. I just can't stand it when people are bullied for no reason whatsoever. I hope you can forgive me."

The stark contrast between the softness of the taller man's voice and the sheer anger of his aura earlier shocked you to say the least. Even though you were still shaken up, you were happy that someone stood up for you. You looked up from Wooyoung's shoulder with big glossy eyes. Mingi fought the urge to grab your face and hold you close to him. In the end, he resisted. Although, his heart swelled with adoration and care when he heard your sniffles and your shy voice.

"Thank you, Mr. Song. No one has stood up for me like that before. I usually have to fend for myself but today was a really bad day for me so I couldn't. I'm sorry to have disturbed your peace with Mr. Jung."

Mingi shushed you and smiled kindly. You found it endearing how his smile reached all the way to his eyes so his eyes formed crescents.

"No need to apologize, love. And definitely no need to thank me. I'm just doing what a good Samaritan would do. Oh and you can call me Mingi."

"And you can call me Wooyoung."

You looked back and forth between the two men and nodded shyly. Mingi then slung an arm around you and held you close to him. The sheer size difference between your bodies was overwhelming. Through your shawl, your breath was taken away by how large this man was.

Broad shoulders, tiny waist, huge muscles with an even bigger chest, long legs, chiseled jaw, and huge hands with long fingers adorned by many rings. His black hair was swept back and his body was covered from head to toe by a suit that clung to his figure deliciously. You stopped your ogling and looked away shyly.

"My goodness! You must have work today! I'm so sorry for keeping you here."

Mingi looked down at his outfit and chuckled sheepishly.

"You're right. I should get going. However, I technically have the right to be late since I'm the CEO of my company. You heard me mention something about firing someone so hopefully, that gave it away."

You giggled and nodded shyly. Mingi wanted to hear you giggle again so he cracked bad jokes until the three of you approached your home.

"Um... sorry if it looks like death. I do keep the inside pretty though! It's usually my husband that tends to the outside. Although, I tried to do it myself... it's not as good."

"It looks good either way. If you want, Wooyoung can help with the outside."

"I can?"

Mingi gave Wooyoung a look and the younger of the two got the message before smiling kindly.

"I totally can! Just tell me what I need to do."

The smile under your shawl was bright and Mingi almost folded.

If only he was courageous enough to remove that shawl from your face so he can bask in your beauty. Alas, you two only met so he held back out of respect for you.

"Thanks, guys. It honestly means a lot to me knowing that there are still kind people out there who are willing to help a lonely widow such as I."

Mingi nodded and stuck out his hand for you to shake. You took it and shook it, ignoring the fact that your hand was swallowed by his. As he pulled away, you grew sad at the loss of warmth but chose to hide it.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it. I have to get to work. I'll see you guys around!"

"Wait! Mingi! Before you go..."

Mingi looked at you curiously.

"My name is Doh Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

Mingi smiled and nodded in acknowledgement as an indication that he will indeed remember your name. As he left your home, his thoughts were nothing except you. When he entered his office, he couldn't concentrate on his work.

All he could do was think about you.

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

It had been a few months since your first encounters with each other. You two slowly became friends as you got to know each other a bit more. Mingi learned that Kyungsoo, your dead husband, was murdered by someone else as he was coming home from work one night.

The man that killed Kyungsoo also killed Mingi's own wife.

In the end, the two were nothing more than victims of the Namhae Strongman.

The neighborhood knew of the death of Mingi's wife and the death of Kyungsoo, yet for some odd reason, people gave the two of you different treatments. Mingi received sympathy while you received accusations.

Oh how life can be so bitter.

However, you fought through it and you leaned on Mingi and Wooyoung for support. Mainly Mingi.

It was the weekend and Wooyoung was playing with Song Minhee, the only daughter of Mingi. While the two were running around, the two of you were sitting on the couch in a comfortable silence. Your head was on his shoulder while his arm was secured around your waist. You were mindlessly playing with the rings on his fingers when you looked up at him.

"Any updates from your little brother?"

Mingi's brother was the cop in charge of helping the detectives investigate the string of deaths that the Namhae Strongman left behind, including Mingi's wife and Kyungsoo. Mingi shook his head.

"Sadly, no. The killer is apparently good at covering his tracks, which is ironic since he's depicted as a huge man with easily recognizable arms."

You hummed in acknowledgement to his response. You were disappointed yet not surprised.

"I hope they catch him soon."

"I hope so too."

Another silence filled the air once again but it was only temporary before Mingi spoke up this time.

"Can I tell you something, Y/N?"

You lifted your head and nodded. Mingi sighed quietly before speaking.

"It's been a few months since I met you. And it's definitely been a few months since I stood up for you that one time. I've never felt closer to anyone other than my wife. However, the more I'm around you, the more I realize that you and I have a bond that no one can compare to or break. Sure, our union exists due to our spouses being dead, but I feel like it's beyond that. I feel like I've known you my entire life and... well... is it wrong of me to say that I fell in love with you?"

You shook your head.

"I don't know... maybe I'm just talking out of my ass. I don't want you to think that I'm using you to fill the void my wife left when she died. However, knowing her, she'd want me to move on. And believe me. I've tried. I gave up at some point but then you came along. I feel like, in a way, she sent you to me. You're like a guardian angel to me."

"And you're definitely my savior."

Mingi's eyes widened upon hearing your revelation.

"Ever since Kyungsoo's death, I've felt lost. And alone. No one stood by my side and everyone tried to blame me for his death. How stupid are they to think that?! I know I'm not a good wife but still... it hurts so much knowing people still blame me for his death! I... I just-"

Mingi shushed you by bringing you into a much-needed hug and reassuring you that you aren't a terrible wife and that it wasn't your fault that Kyungsoo died. The Namhae Strongman simply just made everyone's lives miserable due to his murderous actions. As he held you close, he couldn't help but to kiss the top of your head and tighten his hold on you.

"Listen. The authorities will make sure that this killer is behind bars so we will finally get justice and closure. My brother is good at his job. The killer will be brought to justice. I can guarantee that."

His firm words of reassurance brought you comfort in this hard time and you held onto him like he was your lifeline. If you let go, he would disappear from your grasp.

After a few minutes have passed, the two of you pulled away but not entirely. You stared into each other's eyes, and before you could speak, Mingi removed the shawl covering your face and slowly leaned in. You found yourself leaning in as well but before your lips met, Mingi whispered something.

"Tell if you want to stop and I will. But just to let you know, I've been dreaming about you and I've been itching to remove that shawl from your face so I could bask in your beauty. However, if you think this is too fast, I will back up and we can remain friends."

"No no. It's ok, Mingi. Like you, I feel the same way. I'm not trying to use you to fill the void that Kyungsoo left behind but knowing him, he'd want me to move on. As I said. You're my savior."

"Well then... now that it's established, may I kiss you?"

"Yes. You may."

Mingi captured your lips in a desperate yet passionate kiss. He held your waist and pulled you close to him while you removed the glasses he was wearing from his face and had your hands all over him. One hand was in his messy black hair and tugging on the strands while the other hand fisted the white silk button up he was wearing.

Before it could go any further, Mingi pulled away. You both were breathing heavily, and both of your lips were swollen. Mingi caressed your cheek and you blushed from the contact, still feeling flustered about this entire situation.

"Y/N. I know we just confessed to each other and all that, but if we are to start something, let's take it slow. We're both still hurting and I don't want us to use each other as a rebound."

You nodded in agreement and kissed his cheek.

"Ok. I can do that."

Mingi smiled and put on his glasses before intertwining your hand with his.

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

It had been a while since the two of you had confessed to each other and shared a loving kiss yet the two of you were going strong. Mingi was taking it slow and respecting your boundaries, to which you loved.

However, he would also take things to the next level, to which you didn't mind.

From wild makeout sessions in almost every corner of the house that you two share (he asked you to move in with him since Minhee took a liking to you) to public displays from affection that ranged from holding hands to him smacking your ass and grabbing it so people know that you two were serious.

All of that left you riled up and wanting more. You just didn't know if he would feel the same way.

On top of that, you made some new friends along the way. You met Mingi's best friend Yunho, Wooyoung's other best friend named Yeosang, who worked as a barista, and Mingi's cousin, who was Yunho's boyfriend.

You also met Yunho's three daughters. Yumi, Yunju, and Chanmi. Apparently, they were sent to Mingi's place to spend the night one time since Yunho wanted to be alone with his boytoy. You didn't mind it since you loved seeing little Minhee interact with the Jeong sisters.

Seeing that interaction alone made you realize that you wanted something more with Mingi.

Perhaps you were ready to take your relationship to that next level.

Hence, the sit-down talk with Mingi about how you felt. To your surprise, Mingi felt the same way. He just wasn't sure if you'd be up for it. Seeing as how you two are on the same page, you took a page out of Yunho's book and asked Yunho if he could let Minhee spend the night at his place.

With a teasing and knowing look, Yunho happily allowed Minhee to spend the night at his place so she could play more with the Jeong girls.

It was now nighttime and the two of you were holed up in Mingi's room, making out fiercely and desperately. The riled up sexual tension spilled over and it definitely showed. With the way you were grinding desperately against him and the deep groans he would let out, it's safe to say that the both of you needed each other.

Craved each other's touch.

As you shoved each other's clothes off of your bodies, Mingi carried you in his arms and readjusted your positions so you were sitting on top of his bare chest.

"Tell me something, babe. Have you ever ridden someone's face before?"

His deep voice caused shivers to go down your spine and you shook your head. He chuckled deeply before tapping your hip, indicating that you should move towards his face so you could sit on it. As you lowered yourself onto his face, you stopped momentarily and Mingi sighed deeply before grabbing your hips and lowering yourself even more.

"When I say sit on face, I mean fucking sit on it. Like a fucking chair."

His deep voice rumbled throughout the room before it was muffled by your wet pussy. You didn't get a chance to speak as a loud moan escaped your mouth due to feeling Mingi's tongue licking a stripe up your clit before licking your folds and shoving his tongue straight into your wet hole.

Your head was thrown back and you grabbed onto his hair for support as you felt your hips move back and forth. His hands were on your ass, keeping you in place and occasionally smacking it.

"W-Wait! Mingi! Let me pleasure you as well-"

A loud squeak was heard from you when you felt one of his hands slap your pussy. His fingers directly hit your clit and it sent new waves of pleasure throughout your body.

"No. Just keep riding my face, baby. God your pussy is a fever dream. I want more."

As he dove back in, your moans increased and your hips moved back and forth faster than before. Mingi slapped your pussy a few more times before his hands reached up to cup your boobs. He massaged them with his huge hands, rolling your nipples in between two fingers and pulling on them.

"Fuck, Mingi! I'm gonna cu-"

He interrupted you by lifting you off his face and flipping you onto your stomach so your ass was in the air. He smacked both cheeks a few times before grabbing his huge cock and pumping it a few times. The tip touched your folds lightly and you let out a mewl due to the touch.

"Please, Mingi... please!"

"Baby girl, I got you."

He entered you slowly and groaned at the way your tight walls were stretching around his cock.

"Fuck, baby. You're so fucking tight. Fuck!"

As he bottomed out, he reached down and grabbed you by the hair before yanking you by it so he can see you.

He almost came just from looking at your fucked out face.

He placed a messy kiss on your lips before shoving you back down into the mattress and mapping out the expanse of your back with his palm.

"I'm going to move now."

You expected him to start slow so you could get adjusted to his size.

Imagine the look on your face when you felt his thrusts go at a medium pace.

He truly didn't want to waste time.

As he held your hips and hit it from the back, both of you groaned in unison. Your walls hugged his cock deliciously and he kept up the pace. When you asked to go harder, he didn't deny it. His thrusts became harder and harder with each passing minute. Your moans were so loud that you were sure you would get a noise complaint.

Good thing the walls are thick.

Mingi hit a particular spot that made you arch your back and he decided to make it better by reaching his hand down so his fingers could rub your clit at a rapid pace. The contact made you squeal and he chuckled darkly before leaning down to whisper dirty words in your ear.

"You like that? You like the way I'm touching you? Yeah I know you do, pretty baby. Fuck you're squeezing me so much. I love it. God I love you so fucking much!"

"I LOVE YOU TOO, MINGI! FUCK! I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!"

"Cum all over this cock. Squirt all over it. I want to feel you come undone like this. Where do you want me? Hmm?"

"INSIDE! CUM INSIDE!"

"You want me inside? You want me to fill you up with my cum? Hmm?"

"PLEASE! FILL ME! FILL ME!"

"Fuck! With the way you beg, I might just do it. Fuck! Here it comes. Take my load."

With one final thrust, he emptied all of his seed into you while you squirted all over his cock. The sensation got him moaning like a pornstar as he still inside you. Once he felt that everything was drained from his balls, he pulled out slowly and groaned at the way his semen was dripping out from your quivering hole. He plunged two fingers inside you and you moaned weakly.

"Mingi, too much... I can't-"

"I know, baby. I just want my cum to stay inside you."

After shoving his cum back into you, he pulled his fingers out and laid down next to you. He pulled you close to him as you two got under the covers. The two of you started into each other's eyes.

Eyes filled with love.

"My guardian angel."

"My savior."

Eventually, the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms, knowing that you would keep each other warm and safe.

You found your peace within him.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #mirohsaurorasociety

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