#if I can’t do everything and do it well then I’m worthless

[nope-body]

.

[swiss-army-fangirl]

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan��” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him�� no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧸 Beary soon 🧸

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, June 2024 edition

Prompt: stuff, 483 words

Rated: G

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Recovery; Mutual pining; Tooth-rotting fuff

“Careful,” Eddie says as Steve sweeps a horde of tiny demons off the desk. “They're delicate.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve gripes. His arms are sore from carrying boxes and his head hurts. “How about you pack them yourself?”

“I’d love to,” Eddie grins obnoxiously. It tugs on the bandage covering his jaw, where the bats almost tore out his throat. “But alas, I’m under strict orders to rest.”

He settles against the headboard of his bed and winces as the movement pulls on his stitches.

“So you’d rather watch me work my ass off?”

“Exactly, big boy.” Eddie winks at him, and Steve feels himself flush for reasons he’s been refusing to examine ever since the spring break from hell. “Now go. If you can’t handle them with the appropriate care, I’ll get Henderson to do it. Carry those out to the van.”

He gestures at another pile of boxes, like a king giving orders, and returns to his comic book.

While he lugs the first box outside, Steve silently marvels at how much stuff the Munsons have in their tiny trailer. At least the new one is a little bigger, so hopefully it’ll look marginally less cluttered.

He's on the porch steps when the box tears. Books and random trinkets scatter in the grass. Steve swears and drops to his knees.

A shoebox is in the dirt, lid half open. It's labeled PRIVATE in big, black letters.

Maybe, Steve thinks later, he should've looked away. But he's tired and annoyed, and he figures one look at Eddie's stash of titty magazines won't kill either of them.

There's no titties in the box. What greets him instead is his own face, eyes closed, features limp. A polaroid of him, asleep by Eddie’s hospital bed. One of the kids must've taken it, given it to Eddie after he woke up.

There's more.

Wrappers from the candy he snuck in when Eddie wouldn't stop whining about the hospital food.

The card and little stuffed bear Dustin insisted he buy from the gift shop, because everyone was supposed to get Eddie something. The bear is wearing a tiny shirt. It says Get well beary soon. Steve frowns. Why would Eddie keep a secret box full of worthless junk he gave him, like some schoolgirl with a-

…

Oh.

“Stevie?” Eddie hollers from inside. “Are you still alive? Do you need me-?”

“No!” Steve yelps. He drops the bear as if singed, then crams everything back into the shoebox, slamming the lid shut so hard the cardboard dents. “I mean … stay where you are, you're supposed to be resting.”

“I'd rest a lot easier if you weren't smashing my stuff left and right,” Eddie grumbles. “But whatever you say.”

Steve's head feels light and tingly as he carries the shoebox over to the van.

Looks like he'll need to have a talk with Eddie soon. Beary soon, preferably.

[latenightdaydreams]

Family Planning (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, cucking, p in v, religion, priest König

2.1k word count

⛪

.

.

You’ve been married to your husband, Lucas, for four years now. Both of you are high school sweethearts. You never thought you’d have to seek counseling for the relationship. You nervously twiddle your thumbs as you sit outside your priest’s office, sitting next to your husband. Finally, the door opens and König’s eyes land on the two of you.

“Please, come in.” He stands at the door, waiting for you both to enter before he closes the door behind him. Once he sits down, he leans forward with a polite smile across his thin lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Altman. What brings you to me?”

There is a heavy tension in the room as you gaze over to Lucas. He sits with a finger pressing against his temple as he rests his arm on the armrest. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Well, it’s…we’ve been having some issues lately.” You speak carefully, trying to not offend your husband. 

“What issues?” König gives a concerned look to your husband.

“Well, we’ve been trying to get pregnant for the last four years and nothing. I went to the doctor, and everything was fine with me…” You stop talking and drop your head down, knowing the topic upsets your husband.

“So, that means it’s you that can’t get her pregnant?” His eyes lock with your husbands.

“Yes…”

“And that makes you feel…” König was trying to get him to admit his feelings.

“Worthless.” Lucas says in a low voice. “As if I’m not a man.” You rest your hand on your husband's legs and rub it in a supporting way. 

“We’ve always wanted a family. Since we met as teens, we’ve planned on having kids. The issue is not only his sperm, but to have a child, it would be through unnatural means.”

König watches the shape of your mouth as you speak. He nods his head occasionally to make sure you know he is listening to you.           Once you finish explaining your moral stance against IVF, he finally speaks.

“It seems almost cruel that God would give such a strong, devoted couple as yourselves such a heavy cross to bear.” His blue eyes gaze into yours as he speaks. “I also agree, IVF is unnatural and goes against God's word. The Lord sees how you’ve both struggled, yet never even up on one another.”

Tears creep up in your eyes as Father validates every feeling you’ve had along your way so far. Instead of judgment, he is listening with care. 

“But have you considered… other options?”

“Like adoption?” Lucas asks.

“Hm, no. Just a simple sperm donation.” König leans back in his desk chair, his fingertips touching as he studies both of your reactions.

“But having seed spilled by a contraption…it isn’t of God.” Lucas speaks softly. He knows you’d have the beautiful family you have always dreamed of if it weren’t for him. Guilt floods his body.

“Not with any medical intervention.”

“Then…how?”

“I can offer you my seed, to impregnate you.” König says boldly.

“Excuse me?” There is a bit of anger in Lucas’s tone.

“Please do not misunderstand me. I am a man of God. I’ve given up all pleasures in life. I’m simply the vessel put here by the Lord to give you the family you both desire. Like God impregnated Mary, but Joseph raised Jesus as his own.”

You sit staring at Father König with your mouth slightly ajar. Like God did with Mary and Joseph… Those words you kept repeating in your head, and the more it started to make sense.

“But that’s adultery.” Lucas snapped.

“God let men impregnate another woman in the bible when their woman was barren. I don’t see the difference here. No romance, just God’s gift.” He smiles at the both of you, impressed with how gullible you both seem to be. 

“He has a point, honey.” Your hand continues to caress Lucas’s leg.

He looks into your eyes for a while, a heavy gaze of guilt on his own. Is he really about to allow his Priest to sleep with his wife? That would be crazy, right? It would result in a pregnancy, and you’ll be able to start the family you’ve always wanted. Both he and Father König are blonde blue eyed me, so it wouldn’t be too hard to hide.

“I- can we think about this?” You can hear the buildup of emotions in his voice.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” König suppresses a small smirk. 

Everyone stands and you go home with Lucas. The night you both stay all talking, arguing, crying, laughing; just every emotion hitting at once. This is a conversation you never saw yourselves having. All you’ve ever wanted is to be a mother, and now God has given you an answer.

.

.

You arrive outside of Father König’s home, fingers intertwined with Lucas’s. He hesitates before his knocks on the door finally. A few seconds later, König opens it, greeting you both with a warm smile. He is wearing his black pants and shirt with a Priest collar on.

“Bitte kommen Sie herein.” König steps aside to let you and Lucas come inside. 

The home is simple with crosses and imagery of Jesus and the Virgin Mary hanging on the walls. You both linger awkwardly, thumbs caressing one another’s hand. König closes and locks the door.

“Shall we.” He gestures for the both of you to follow him down a long hall. 

Turning into the last door on the left, he welcomes you in. There is a large king size bed with gray sheets and a blue comforter. A simple wooden cross with a bloody Jesus on the wall behind the bed. Your eyes linger on it for a while before turning your gaze towards Lucas. He is looking at the bed with a dejected look in his eyes. A heavy tension lingers in the air. 

“Y/n, you should undress.” König’s Austrian accent is smooth.

You nod and kick your shoes off before pulling off your sweater. Lucas took it for you, his eyes looking over your body as you slowly peeled away each layer. Both trying to avoid Father's gaze and only focus on each other. Once stripped of all your clothing, Lucas slips his hand back into yours. “You’ll be okay…” He whispers to you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

König takes your hand from your husbands, his icy blue eyes gazing down into yours. He walks to the bed, lifting you and gently laying you in the center of the bed. 

“Lucas, sit at the head of the bed. It’s important that you’re a part of this too.”

Lucas slowly kicks his shoes off and walks to the bed, pulling the pillows aside and sitting. His hands caress your hair, trying to ignore Father touching you. Ignoring how his hands ran up your legs, caressing the supple flesh of your thighs.

You tried hard to ignore Father's touch, but your body was responding positively. He climbs on top of you, his weight sinking you into the bed. Timid warm kisses trailing up your abdomen to your breasts. 

“Is all of this…necessary?” Lucas's voice cracks.

“Ja,” he continues to kiss over your breasts, lightly sucking on your perky nipples. “Her body needs to be relaxed to accept my seed.”

Lucas huffs, rolling his eyes. König ignores him, moving his lips to kiss up your neck, slowly making his way to your lips. He lightly bit your bottom lip before pressing his lips fully against yours. His knee sliding between your legs, rubbing it against your clit. You whimper slightly as his tongue circles yours.

“You like that, Liebling?” He licks your lips before kissing you passionately. 

Lucas stares at a wall as this is going on. He can feel his cock become slightly erect, but he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to get aroused watching a man take his wife. He’s her one and only- at least that’s how it was always supposed to be.

“Let’s see how wet you are for Father…” König says as he leans back. On his black pant leg there is a white wet streak. He smirks and looks at you. “Perfekt.”

Your eyes gaze up at Lucas, a bit of shame in your gaze for becoming so aroused. König grabs your hips and scoots you closer to him. Your legs spread open in front of him as he undoes his pants. He pulls his enormous cock out, his hand grasping it at the base.

Lucas' eyes go wide, looking at König’s penis. A wave of jealousy, insecurity, and shame rushes over him. How would you feel about him after you’ve been with Father? Can he compare? Will he ever be able to please you again? He is quickly snapped out of his thoughts as Father speaks.

“Are you ready, y/n?”

“Yes.” You said quickly, almost too quickly for Lucas’s liking.

“Look at me, Liebling.” König grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. His eyes watching you closely as he slips his cock into you. He watches the way your breathing shutters and your eyebrows pinch together. 

His hand moves from your jaw to your hips, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide apart. With each roll of his hips, you let out a pathetic little mewl. You’re trying your hardest to not give into the pleasure, you’re here to procreate, not have sex.

Lucas notices the way your face contorts with euphoria as König’s big cock fucks you. His cock rock hard in his own pants. He can’t help but to keep his eyes glued to your tiny little cunt struggling to accept König. The way your creamy cum covers his cock. You’re loving this and it kills him.

“Father…” The words slip your lips before you realize you’re moaning his name. Your eyes instantly shoot up to Lucas. An orgasm is building up but you try to fight it. Mouth hanging open, you let out a loud moan as König begins to buck into you faster.

“Cum for me.” König drops one leg and reaches out to squeeze your left breast. 

As you gaze at Lucas your body trembles under König, the sound of your wet cunt getting louder as you cum on his cock.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.” König leans over and begins to kiss you passionately, stealing your attention back to him. “Your pussy gets so wet for Father.” His whispers kissing down your jaw. 

König pulls out, his large hands grasping your body and turning you over. You get on all fours, facing Lucas. He comes up behind you and slips his cock back into you without words. His hands squeeze the fat on your ass, spanking you to see the jiggle. Lucas glares at him, this is sex for pleasure for Father. His glare does not go unnoticed. 

“I’m close to giving you my seed Liebling…” König’s deep sensual voice now strained from the feelings of your tiny cunt sucking him in. “Lucas, please pray.”

“Pray?” He sounds shocked.

“For me to cum in your wife. For me to impregnate her.”

Your fingers are grabbing beat sheets as you look at Lucas. Babbling words as he thrust his cock even deeper into you. König grabs a fist full of your hair, holding your head up so Lucas has to see the way he is turning his wife into nothing but a stupid little sex doll.

“Please Lord, hear my prayers. Please let Father König’s seed be successful and fruitful.” Lucas looks at you with a slight bit of disgust. His sweet Catholic wife would never be enjoying fornication with another man this much. This was all a mistake.

“Say you want my cum!”

“Please, please cum in me! Please God! Please fill me!” Your voice is so enthusiastic, you’ve never acted like this for Lucas before.

“Ah, Ja!” König stops moving and pushes his cock deep into you. Your eyes roll back and Lucus turns his head to not see the finale play out.

König leans forward and kisses down your neck, biting you so hard he leaves a mark. He rests his body over yours, panting slightly.

.

.

Fully dressed you all stand by the door. You’re glowing. A huge smile on your face as you gaze at Father König with dreamy eyes. König reaches out and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb. Lucas stands there with a defeated look on his face, slightly dissociated in this moment as his mind tries to process what he witnessed.

“If this isn’t successful, my door is always open.” König grins at Lucas as he opens the door for you both.

Part 2

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[maxdibert]

How can you reconcile being a fan of Snape and defending him so much, while also knowing about the terrible attitude he has as an adult toward his students? This isn’t a malicious question,I’m genuinely curious

I don’t justify Severus’ behavior, I simply understand it. And it’s not for the typical reasons like Harry being a copy of James, or Neville being clumsy, or Hermione being insufferable in class, or just because he can’t stand kids. I understand it because, in my view, Severus is still very much a child.

Take Sirius, for example. We can all see that being locked up in Azkaban for so many years essentially froze his life at a young age, so even though he’s old enough to have grey hairs down there, he still acts like a childish, immature person a lot of the time. And well, that’s exactly what Sirius is—an immature kid. He never had the opportunity to have experiences or grow throughout his twenties. Maturity doesn’t come with age alone but through everything we go through during that time and the experiences that shape us. Without those experiences, there’s nothing to build on.

Severus’ case is different from Sirius’, but it also stems from a lack of maturity and the inability to grow. Severus was a victim of violence from childhood, and that violence didn’t end—it continued throughout his school years. After all that torment, instead of leaving Hogwarts, telling everyone to screw off, and starting a new life where he could rebuild emotionally, he ends up trapped in the same school, playing a role to maintain his cover with pureblood families and burdened with having practically sold his soul to Dumbledore. He has no space to heal, no tools to work through his traumas, and no safe, healthy environment to grow into an adult. Severus is stuck in his adolescence, haunted by his past, his traumas, and totally incapable of managing his most visceral emotions. Sure, he’s great at faking it, acting indifferent, and wearing a mask to hide what’s going on inside. But just because he’s good at repressing doesn’t mean he’s good at managing his emotions, because in that regard, he fails completely. I mean, there are so many moments throughout the saga where Severus gets triggered, and every time it happens, his serious, unflappable façade crumbles, and he acts like a kid throwing a tantrum, someone with unresolved anger issues. That’s when you see that, deep down, he doesn’t know how to handle himself, which makes sense because he never had the chance to do so. We’re talking about an abuse victim who, instead of processing and exorcising his demons, had to lock them away and throw away the key—literally the last thing you should do when dealing with trauma.

What I’m getting at is that, on one hand, it’s reasonable to expect an adult to act like an adult. But on the other hand, as I grew older, went through years of therapy, and worked with people who come from messed-up backgrounds and have lived through terrible things, when I revisited the series and saw certain scenes where Severus is being an absolute jerk to his students, I didn’t just see an adult acting out. I saw the teenager he once was, insecure, feeling worthless, scared in the hallways. And now, for the first time, he’s in a position of power where he can say what he thinks and lash out without consequences. It’s not an adult acting here—it’s a kid who never grew up, trying to have the moment of glory he never had. It’s incredibly childish. And I have to say, I really like this aspect of his character because it’s so consistent with his backstory, even though it’s clearly irresponsible and abusive.

Severus shouldn’t be a teacher because someone who hasn’t matured, grown, or healed can’t be a role model, nor do they have the tools to properly handle situations where it’s so easy to project their insecurities and abuse their authority to compensate for their own shortcomings. But we can’t really expect anything else from him—if he were a well-adjusted adult, it would make him an unrealistic character. It’s impossible for someone with his background, without professional help and many years of personal work, to function properly in an environment like that.

[lovelyjj]

Hey! Could u do a jj x sisterreader JJ comforts his sister after she relap$ed

Relapse

jj maybank x sister!reader

warnings: mentions of self harm (please do not read if this can be harmful or triggering for you)

i hope this is okay

JJ was a good brother. He was always there for you and you loved him for it. This however what you were going through you don’t think he could help you with. You were in bad shape and you didn’t know how to get yourself out.

You were doing so good for so long you don’t know what happened. You relapsed and you were embarrassed about it. What kind of wimp doesn’t stay strong. Things weren’t going so good. Your mental health was at an all time low. You started cutting again and you had thoughts about hurting yourself frequently.

There wasn’t many things that could cheer you up or make things better. You were stuck. You hated yourself for your choices and you just wanted everything to stop. You were mad at yourself for relapsing and you felt like you deserved the pain. You were almost numb.

Luke was home. This being the worst thing to have happen. He was yelling at you. You were in your room, with the door locked and he was saying things like “you are a worthless piece of shit.” He hit you too but you managed to escape to your room.

JJ came home and he saw his dad passed out on the couch. He had a bad feeling. He went to go check on you. “Y/N/N, it’s me, open the door please.”

“Go away JJ,” you sniffled.

“Y/N, please.”

You unlocked the door and JJ entered. Your arms were behind your back. “Are you ok?” JJ asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I mean he hit me but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

You reached your hand out to stop him and JJ’s eyes widened when he saw your wrists. They were bloody with fresh cuts on them.

“What did you do?” JJ frowned.

“JJ please don’t-“

“Y/N, let’s get out of here, please come with me.”

After JJ attended to your cuts he took you on his bike away from the traumatic household.

JJ took you to the beach. He wanted you to feel safe and he wanted to comfort you. He thought you would enjoy hearing the crashing of the waves.

The two of you sat down on the sand and watched the water. This is where you broke down and cried. It broke JJ’s heart. He put his arm around you and told you “It’s ok Y/N, i’m here for you. You are not alone.”

“I’m sorry I just- It gets to be all too much sometimes,” you sniffled.

“I know and I shouldn’t have left you alone with him I feel terrible. I didn’t know he was coming home.”

“It’s not your fault we have a shitty dad.”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore,” JJ began.

“I was doing so good I don’t know what happened,” you replied.

“Please Y/N, I’m serious.” JJ warned.

“I know you are.”

“I care about you so much. It physically pains me that you do that to yourself,” JJ cringed.

“If you ever need to talk please know i’m here for you,” JJ continued.

“It’s just sometimes I get in my own head and I feel so alone and I just can’t control how I feel. I feel so bad I get the urge to hurt myself over and over.”

“What can I do to help?” JJ asked.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.” You sadly stated.

“There has to be something.”

“Well you could switch brains with me so I don’t have to deal with my thoughts.”

“Ok i’m down.” JJ laughed.

“I really appreciate you, you’re such a good brother,” you complimented.

Maybe things won’t be so bad as long as you have JJ by your side. Things don’t seem that bad anymore because you have a brother that would give you an arm and a leg if he could.

[loser364]

Rory Keaner Imagines

-the one where he feels alone.

Rory saw his girlfriend Y/n standing at her locker. He walked up to her with his signature bright smile that rarely left his face

"Hey! Do you wanna hang out?" He asked with a smile. Rory had got blown off by Ethan and Benny again. He didn't really want to admit it but he was lonely. He looked at you as he waited for an answer.

“Sorry Rory, I have to babysit after school.” Y/n says feeling a little bad, but it quickly goes away when she remembers that it’s Rory and he’ll bounce back, by next minute.

Rory's face instantly fell but he nodded "Okay. Just- well- have fun, I guess." He said as his smile faded and he walked away. What had once been his happy mood was now replaced with a deep sinking feeling of worthlessness. He tried to brush it off but it stuck with him all the way to his desk.

Y/n gets to lunch and sits with Ethan, Benny, Erica, and Sarah. Y/n looks over and sees that Rory isn’t here. “Uhm guys have you seen Rory?” Y/n asked.

A wave of silence washes over the entire group as they realize that Rory wasn't there. Benny turns toward the door and stares before speaking "No. But I'm sure he'll be fine."

“But he seems really off today, I don’t thin-“ Y/n tries to finish but they push her concern down.

Ethan sighs and speaks "Look, Y/n/n, I know you care. And I know Rory's a great guy, but he has to learn that there are just some things he can't get involved in." Benny and Sarah nod in agreement. They all look at you with expressions of sympathy but also firm resolve.

She leaves the table and goes to look for Rory. After an agonizingly slow class period, school finally let out. Rory walked toward his locker, a miserable look on his face. He was still thinking about the conversation with the group and his mood had only diminished. He heard footsteps behind him and he turned to see you.

“Rory, uhm are you okay?” Y/n asked concerned for Rory, he was never like this. Rory's expression softened as he looked at you. He managed a small, weary smile "Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." He replied as best he could. He didn't want to admit he was unhappy. He was very embarrassed by his feelings. The last thing he wanted was to look like a coward Infront of you.

It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Rory was upset “Baby you don’t have to lie to me..you can come over while I’m babysitting,” She says trying to resolve the situation.

Rory blinked a few times in disbelief. This was an opportunity he had been dreaming of but he had been certain he wouldn't be this lucky.

"Really? You mean it?" He asked as a smile spread across his face. He began to walk toward you but stopped as he thought of something. "Are you sure that's okay with the people you're sitting for?"

She nods and smiles. Rory's heart soared at your response. It took everything he had not to wrap his arms around your waist as he replied"Alright then. Lead the way."

They get to the house she’s babysitting for. The parents explain everything and head off. Y/n sits on the couch and Rory joined her. “I’m really sorry, for making you seem unwanted,” she says.

Rory looks over, “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to love.” Y/n gets closer, “How about I make it up to you.” She says seductively. Rory chuckles.

She gets on her knees before him, and messes with his belt. He stops her hands, “Baby we can’t,” Rory says. “Yes we can, you just have to be quiet,” Y/n says and takes off his belt and he pulls away his hands and puts them beneath his head. He watched his girlfriend get to work.

She pulls down his jeans so he’s only in his boxers. “Someone’s eager, huh?” Y/n teases. He smirks down at her.

She pulls down his boxers and his member comes out hitting his lower abdomen. Y/n kitten licks his tip, which earns a throaty moan from him. He immediately covers his mouth. Y/n smiles. Such a contradiction, she smiles so sinisterly but still has those innocent eyes.

She takes him fully in her mouth and goes at a slow pace. This earns his hips to buck up and he started fuckign her throat.

She gagged but let him do it. She just sat there as he fucked his cock deeper in her throat. She gags a little. The vibration earning a moan from him.

He started thrusting at a relentless pace, trying to reach his peak. He abuses her throat.

His thrusts get sloppier, and he gets faster. His cock twitching in her mouth. She looks up to see him throwing his head back and he hangs his head low showing that face. The face he made before he came. She loved that face. A little crinkle of his nose and a twitch off his lips. He moans breathily. Y/n pulls away and swallows his load.

He threw his head back. Y/n pulls up his underwear and his pants. He buttoned them and put on his belt. Y/n kissed him passionately. Which he easily returned.

“I’m really sorry,” Y/n says sincerely. “You’re okay, stop saying sorry…let just watch a movie, love.” Rory smiles and turns on a movie.

[coco-loco-nut]

Down Bad

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

summary: a heartbreak like no other

a/n: it’s super short, sorry

masterlist ttpd masterlist

________

You should've known better. Really. You aren't the kind of girl that a hot, 29-year-old, Spanish Formula One driver would like. Of course, you are beautiful, but apparently not enough for him. His attention was fleeting, leaving you just another one of his conquests in a long string of girls like you.

You met Carlos while interning in Madrid during the Winter. At the time you didn't realize he was love-bombing you, only to drop you cold once your internship ended a month later and you went home, practically shipped away by him. For a moment you knew, or thought you knew, extraordinary love, but it wasn't real. Was anything real anymore?

“Sweetheart, you need to stop moping,” your mom says from the doorway of your bedroom. “You know I love you, but if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you are a moody teenager,” you know your mom means well, but the last bit struck hard.

“Fine, I’m going for a run,” you groan, rolling out of bed. She leaves your room, seemingly appeased. It doesn’t take you long to get dressed, lace up your trainers, and play your angsty playlist through your headphones.

You take the path you know by heart, the one you take when you need to be away from people. When you are sufficiently alone, you let it all out.

Crying and running may not be the wisest idea, but it’s cathartic to you. You stop when you get to the meadow and lay down, staring at the cloudy sky. As the music plays, you yell the lines that hit too close to home. I might just die, it would make no difference. Fuck you if I can’t have us.

Fuck. You need to get over him. Everything just feels so hollow now, like you were stripped of everything you are and ever were. You just want to talk to your friends about it, but you know them. They will call you nuts, saying that it never really happened, that Carlos Sainz would never date you.

So instead, you lay in this field, thinking about when you were heaven struck. You might just not get up, stay down while you are down bad for someone who doesn’t even care about your existence anymore.

Maybe you were abducted by an alien to another, then returned back to this spot. That could explain it. Explain why you are feeling the angst of a scorned teenage girl, when you have more emotional maturity than that. You are 22 after all.

It’s how you imagine it feels like to lose the touch of a twin flame. I guess being love bombed then abandoned would do that to you.

The more you think about it, the more the alien analogy seems to fit. It’s like he beamed down from a ship, did a hostile takeover on your heart, the alien encounters closer and closed as each day passed. And you let them happen, willingly.

It started with a hello, then coffee, then a stroll, then a lunch, then a drive, then a dinner, then a night spent together, two, three, four, it spiraled. He did everything he could to worm his way into your heart, only for him to say it’s over.

Maybe you will take the ship, go to some planet and find an alien who can understand all of it. How dare he do everything he could to make you fall in love, only to leave you stranded. How is that romantic? You were in love, and fuck him if you can’t have him because of his actions.

You stare at the sky, music pumping through your headphones, willing the sky to part and reveal the alien spaceship that will beam you up to it in a cloud of dust and take you away.

Minutes pass until you realize your efforts are worthless, you mentally wave goodbye to the ship that carries him (and his pet names and his perfect dates) with it. Shedding a few tears on your run home, you start rebuilding yourself with each step. The hurt and pain slowly being chipped away.

No man with EVER make you feel this down bad again.

[alphajocklover]

I’ve always been a nerdy guy and did theater in high school. But I always wished I could be a big hot jock. Do you think you could send me back and make me a huge muscular horny wrestler jock or something?

You want me to send you back? As in, take you back in time, or as in deage you back to highschool age? I’m going to be honest, I really hope you’re just asking me to deage you, because time travel can get so fucking complicated. Plus, being a teenager today is a lot better than being a teenager in the past. Obviously not everything is better than it was before. There's been an increase in school violence overtime, and well I can’t prove it, I swear to god that they give kids more homework every year. But if you went to the past you wouldn’t have the internet or social media, and I have a feeling those are going to come in handy later. So, let's just deage you. 

You might notice you’re not actually that much younger. You were 22 before, right? Well I know you probably wanted to be deaged into a freshman and experience all of highschool as a hunk, but as a rule I don’t transform anyone under 18, and that includes deaging someone to be under 18. 18 is the lowest I’ll go. Plus, everyone knows senior year is the best year of high school. There's less stress, more fun, and unless you’re a major loser you’re automatically cooler than anyone in the grades below you. And you, the new you, are anything but a loser. See, while I won’t deage you past 18, I can still change your past. In this new reality I’m creating for you, you’re not a theater kid. You’ve never been anything close to a theater kid. You’re not even just a wrestling jock. You’re a fucking wrestling prodigy. You’ve been huge, incredibly huge, ever since you were a kid. No ones quite sure how it happened. One day you just started to shoot up and out, and never seemed to stop. Your middle school wrestling coach noticed your potential, and ever since you’ve been dedicated to wrestling. As time has gone on you’ve only gotten larger and larger. Most kids who go through an early growth spurt end up small, but not you. Every year you get taller, hairier, and beefier. Every year you get fucking better, and you’re well aware of it.

Now, you’re an 18 year old stud, the big man on campus. You dominate the ring, and everywhere else you go. You’re the kind of guy who gets anything you want by virtue of your being. The kind of guy who has been worshiped by the school, students and teachers alike, because of your athletic prowess. The kind of guy who fucks a twink in the locker room after every wrestling practice. You’re exactly the manly, horny, wrestling jock you used to fantasize about being. The kind of guy who would never have paid attention to someone like the old you, because he’s just that worthless in comparison.

I hope you enjoy your new life. I set up an instagram account for you to show off your amazing self. I figured you’d do great on instagram, and from the amount of likes your first post is getting, I can safely say I was right. Enjoy your new life. Soon you’ll outgrow this small town and highschool and go on to rule your college with a manly iron fist. I can’t wait to watch. **Hey guys! Been a bit! Got really busy but don't worry, I'm keeping at it with this blog. Hope you guys like it!**

[rd0265667]

Mina x Reader: When Death comes knocking

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

A/N: First of three Misamo fics

“Thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.”  Your coworker thanks you profusely through the phone

“No problem, just send the files over, I’ll take a look at it. Quicker we solve this case, the quicker those pensioners get their money back. Alright, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” You reply through the phone, phone wedged between your head and shoulder as you search through your cabinet, searching for sustenance for what you were sure was going to be a long night. Standing at your kitchen island, you yawn as you open the tea bag, a cup of hot water in your hand. As you walk to your table, the low hum of your computer the only sound disturbing an otherwise peaceful night, you hear the doorbell ring. That’s odd, you mused, it was late. Who could be here? Throwing a sweater on as you walked, you stepped to the door, opening it while rubbing your eye. At the door, stood a slender figure, body covered by a long black robe, a scythe in one hand, and a scroll in the other. A scroll with your name on it. “Good Evening, I’m here to collect your soul.” The black clad figure said. “Oh, honey, it’s late, why don’t you come in for a cup of tea? Everything else can wait.” You beckoned her into the room, much to the confusion of the figure at the door. “Please do come in and close the door behind you, if you would, it gets windy at night, and it’s a tad chilly.” You say, walking back to the drawer, taking another tea bag. The figure stood confused, but she nodded, stepping in, closing the door behind her as her scythe shrunk to the size of a hair, picking it and putting it into her ear. “Please, sit. Is there anything else I can get you?” You asked, setting the cup down before her, bundling up the documents on your table and setting them aside. “You’re not afraid?” The figure asked, looking at you in confusion. “What do I call you? Calling you Grim Reaper seems a little lengthy,  Thanatos is, well, it’s not the simplest either.” “Mina.” She said, slowly reaching for the cup, still trying to figure out what you were doing. Was this some kind of trick, to stall her long enough for you to make a worthless attempt at running, or some attempted drugging of a non-corporeal form that just amounted to a sad waste of drugs. Mina had seen it all, collecting souls for so long, some people did think themselves able to elude death. “Well, Hollywood likes to vilify you, that you are the personification of death, and that you want to drag souls to the afterlife, kicking and screaming. But you’re just doing your job. Ferrying us into the next plane, soothing us along the ride.” You say, leaning back on the couch, sipping your tea. Mina was stunned, to say the least. She had seen every reaction to her arrival. Fear, Anger, Desperation, Bargaining, Denial, Delusion, Acceptance even. But no one really understood her. “That’s a new one.” Mina commented, a light chuckle. “Perhaps. I see a lot in the world, so I have a rather unique view on the world, if I could say so myself.” You say, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. “Besides, I can’t imagine it’s easy for you. Sure, taking the souls of the bad people, probably pretty satisfying. But the souls of the innocent, those undeserving of death. Watching them cry and beg for their lives. It can’t be easy.” You asked, Mina’s gaze softening as moments from her infinite life flashed before her. “It isn’t all bad. It’s not always a good experience, seeing good people go, but I consider it an honour, to ferry their souls to the afterlife, to find peace.”

“Do you have a favourite story? You’ve reaped the souls of every person who has ever passed, I’m sure some have stood out to you.” You asked, seeing Mina look confused. “You’re an interesting one.” Mina with a small smile, though you could see the confusion hidden within “There was this lady, most who knew her called her Kam, and she had a wife, Jimin. They were good people. Jimin was the daughter of a successful businessman. When they inherited the business, they used their financial freedom to help those in need. They funded orphanages, organised several non-profits. They were good people. Her wife passed away several years ago. I took her on a quiet evening, when the two had gone camping. After the initial shock wore off, all Jimin wanted was 5 minutes. She woke Kam up, speaking her last words to her. A reassurance of love, last pleas to take care of herself. Before Jimin left, she had set Kam down, making her think it was a dream. So, years later, when I came to collect Kam’s soul, she seemed unsurprised. She spoke of that night. She asked if it really was a dream, or did Jimin really speak to her before she died. It was a heartwarming sight. To know that two people could love each other so much, that they feared the other being lonely more than they feared death.” “Love must be a foreign thing for you, huh? I mean no offence by that of course, just that, I assume being the Grim Reaper doesn’t leave much time for love.” You say softly. Mina shoots you back a small smile. It was nice to be understood. “Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time, we probably need to get going soon?” You warily ask, feeling your heart thumping against your chest, fighting to escape. “We have some time. Can I ask you some questions?” Mina asked with a smile. “Of course. Before that though, do you mind if we go somewhere else? Outside maybe? I heard the stars are showing tonight, it’s supposed to be beautiful.” You say with a smile, moving from your seat, refilling Mina’s cup before walking out to the small patch of grass in front of your home. Mina looked on in confusion, but mostly amusement. The path she was set on was a lonely one. This was fun. “Come!” You pull Mina out from her thoughts, seeing you lying on the ground, excitedly patting the ground next to you. “That’s a whole lot of mud.” Mina said, looking down at the mud in apprehension. “So to escape death, all I have to do is hide in a puddle of mud? Come on, Miss Supernatural being, have a little fun!” You said, chuckling as you slammed your hand down onto the mud, causing it to splatter onto Mina. “Did you just splash mud on the Grim Reaper?” Mina asked, and anyone just listening to this conversation would have nailed you for dead, but you saw her gummy smile, and the playful glint in her eyes. Mina’s fingers plucked the hair from her ear, blowing on it as it grew into her scythe, then using the end of her scythe, began hurling mud at you with a chuckle. “Hey! No fair!” You shout out in the middle of your laughing fit as you tried to block the mud with your hands. “I yield! I yield!” You shout out, panting, chuckling as Mina put her hands up, the scythe shrinking back. Taking a hose to the side of your yard, you cleaned yourself up a little, face and hair primarily, before going back to lay down with Mina. “The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” You whisper with a smile on your face. “They are.” Mina replies with a smile, though her eyes fell short of the stars, instead falling onto your side profile, which gazed in wonder at the stars.

“Have you ever thought about how the stars we see right now, the ones that shine so bright and illuminate the night sky, really aren’t there anymore?” You said with a forlorn smile. Mina hums in agreement, though her focus laid more in the stars she found in your eyes. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it. The thought that even after you die, as long as you shone during your lifetime, you’d leave behind something for people to remind you of, no matter how big or small the star. A reminder that they were here, and they mattered.” “That’s a unique way to think about it. That’s the first I’ve heard of it at least. Most astronomers beg for their life, or try to square up with the scythe wielding hooded figure. They’re smart, but their fight-or-flight response needed work.” Mina joked, a smile on her face as you began to chuckle in tandem.

“It is a hopeful way of seeing the stars though. Most of the people I talk to, usually are more concerned with what happens after their light fades.” Mina said with a sigh

“That’s just the thing though, I don’t think the stars care about whether anyone depends on their light, or what happens after they die. They just burn as bright as they can while they’re here, and after they’re gone, their light stays with us, a reminder, a declaration. I was here, and my legacy will far outlive me. It’s a nice thought. That things don’t end when we think they do.” “You talk of endings like you’re not afraid of them. It’s admirable.” Mina said, her tone a mix of admiration and sadness. It would be a shame once she brought you to the end. “You understand that I invited the Grim Reaper into my house and offered her tea?” You joked, Mina giggling in response. “Touche.” “Okay, I’m not, not afraid, but I just…mortality is a tough thing to really grasp. I can understand that death comes for everyone, but I still don’t want it to come for me.” You lament, a drop in your cheery facade that took Mina by surprise.“I’m glad it’s with you though. Thank you.” You whisper, Mina shooting you back a comforting smile. Just then, rain began pouring down, pelting both you and Mina. “Let’s head inside shall we?” Mina said, extending her hand with a theatrical bow, a move that shocked even her. She wasn’t one for, well, one for any of this. It confused her, but at the moment, all she really cared about was your hand looped around her arm, walking into the house like an old couple. In the house, you took a towel, wiping yourself down, then changing into a new clean set of clothes. Emerging from the toilet, you saw Mina standing at the door, teacup in hand, staring out the window, clearly deep in thought. A little part of you knew, it was time. With a final gulp, Mina set the cup down onto the cup, draping her hood over her head, scythe in hand. “Thank you for the Tea.” Mina said, walking to the door. With a deep breath, you followed behind her, only to be stopped. “For our next meeting, I’d like Chamomile, if you’d please.”

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hcs for a Tav who grew up being starved/neglected. Maybe their parents were poor or they were an orphan on the street. They don’t hoarde too much food but they don’t eat in front of others. And rarely take enough. And they refuse to shower near the others or camp super close to them. They’re almost always on alert and are really bad at self care. They’re always dirty, hair a mess. They kind of smell. And they are also ashamed of the fact no one taught them how to take care of themselves???

For Astarion, Gale, Halsin, and Wyll? ^_^

Thank you!

A/N: Oh Nonnie, I feel this! I was a child of divorce and at one house we were very disciplined and had routines for self-care and homework and everything. But the other house was chaotic and full of resentment and neglect. It’s so odd how something 20+ years ago can still affect you today, but it absolutely can. 💚

For some resources on having to figure things out as an adult, may I recommend the “How Do I Dad?” YouTube Channel and the r/InternetParents subreddit? Those are the two I like the best atm. Also remember, Google is your friend. Whenever I want a real person to answer, I usually type in my question with a plus sign then Reddit (+reddit) which will pull up real user’s threads from Reddit about the subjects you’re Googling. It’s one of the last platforms I think is usable in that way. So that's why I do that. Then again, I’m old and might just miss the old ppl’s Internet. 

Anyway, on to the ask!

…

TW: Mentions of Past Neglect, Disordered Eating, Food Insecurity

...

🧼️ HCs for Neglected!(GN)Tav With Astarion, Halsin, & Wyll 🛁

Astarion: 

Okay, he’s kinda a dick about it at first. He doesn’t mean to be. Well, I mean, yes he meant to make those petty comments, but he wouldn’t have made them if he knew about Tav’s past circumstances. Once Tav lets it slip they’re bad at self-care because no one ever taught them, Astarion immediately feels a sense of kinship. 

He was a magistrate before Cazador captured and turned him, and he considered himself to be a man of some luxury, but after being taken that all changed. He lived in filth, he was fed filth, by the hells, Cazador saw him as filth. He knows what it feels like to be seen as worthless and to have to survive in meager conditions. He wants Tav to understand none of it is their fault. They had no control over their circumstances. He tells Tav to never apologize for the way they had to live in order to survive. 

The first thing he offers to help Tav with is bathing and dressing. When Cazador let him out to lure victims, Astarion perfected disguising his undead scent over the decades. Part of it was using oils and perfumes, and another part was choosing the right attire. He’ll find the right kind of soap and cleansing oils for Tav's skin and hair type, insisting they get only the best the markets of Baldur’s Gate have to offer. If Tav can’t afford it, who cares? He’ll just sneak around the merchant and steal it while Tav distracts them. Or Lazel, if Tav refuses to do something so morally questionable.

He doesn’t really pick up on Tav’s refusal to eat with the others, mainly because Astarion also doesn’t eat with the others. But if Tav requests, Astarion will gladly sit and gossip with Tav as they eat their meal, away from everyone else. 

Astarion might suggest the party visit an inn or a bar one night, and encourage Tav, in his way, to let their guard down and eat around the others. He wants Tav to practice consuming food in the presence of their other friends. Astarion believes it’ll do two things: 1) It’ll prove to Tav, that it’s safe to eat in their company and 2) It’ll reinforce what Astarion’s been saying to them, that there’s nothing wrong with the way they eat. Even if they scarf their food down or eat with their hands or burp extra loud- who cares? Karlach practically inhales three portions in a single bite. Gale won’t shut up while he eats, so he’s always talking with his mouth full. And Shadowheart takes the tiniest bites imaginable, meaning she takes fricken forever to finish a single plate. Everyone has their own style, and Tav’s is nothing to be ashamed of. 

If Tav and Astarion are especially close or if they’re dating, Astarion will even offer to help Tav wash up. Not because he wants to see them naked, or to have sex, but because he really wants to shower them in affection. He’ll gently massage their shoulders as he works the cleansing oils into them. He’ll help them balance, bending backward as he washes their hair, gently using the very tips of his sharp nails to scratch their scalps. It feels heavenly, and it’s a great intimate, non-sexual way for the two of them to grow closer. 

It may be true no one was there to take care of either Astarion or Tav in the years past. But now that they’re together, the two of them can take care of each other. 

Halsin: 

Halsin prefers to live amongst nature as opposed to city dwellings, so he’s more accustomed to roughing it than the others may be. That being said, he’s not unclean, or unkempt- he keeps himself very well groomed (as one must do when they tend to ask to bed anyone and everyone they come into contact with for more than five seconds). He assumes Tav is just more accustomed to frequent bathing at first. Not everyone is as fortunate as he is. But he begins to suspect something the more the days go on, and Tav’s appearance and demeanor don’t change. 

He’ll try casually inviting Tav to come bathe with him. He knows the perfect spot just beyond the Grove, that’s secluded but not too small, that would well accommodate both of their bodies. He suggests this regardless of whether he and Tav are dating or not. If Tav is hesitant, he apologizes for being forward and kindly explains he just wanted to present Tav with the opportunity to take some time for themselves. When Tav breaks down in front of him, explaining why they’re so upset about the idea of grooming and self-care, Halsin is immediately sympathetic.  He listens intently as Tav gets their fears off their chest. 

Once Halsin understands Tav’s situation, he’ll take them into his tent, and show Tav his collection of soaps and brushes and oils. Halsin explains how he prefers to use each one, before gifting them to Tav to keep for themselves. When Tav protests that it’s too much, Halsin puts a hand up to stop them. He can always buy new items. Besides, he’s learned how to make the most of what only Mother Nature has to offer. He can manage without fancy cleansers and bristles for a time. Tav deserves them more. 

Halsin might even offer Tav some clothes if he has any that wouldn’t be too difficult to tuck or take in, as he’s a very tall man. With Tav’s permission, he might even ask Shadowheart Lazel or even Astarion if they have something they could spare for the time being, if Tav is too embarrassed or shy to ask for themselves. 

He offers to keep watch and guard Tav as they bathe, promising not to look unless Tav asks them to. If the two are dating, Halsin will assist them, helping Tav scrub down, and removing all the dirt, grime, and dead skin before washing them in the water. If the two are only friends, Halsin keeps his promise of not looking at Tav until they are dressed again. He’ll help detangle and braid Tav’s hair, taking care not to pull too hard on any knots. The whole ordeal leaves Tav feeling rather pampered. 

As far as eating goes, Halsin will always offer to share any meal he catches while the party is camping together, which is how Halsin notices Tav’s different eating habits. Halsin swears that as long as he is well and able to hunt and gather food, Tav will never go hungry in his presence. Halsin assures Tav that it’s okay to eat full, rather than stockpile most of their meals for later. It’s much more important to eat for energy now, rather than wait to eat later. It keeps one’s energy levels stable and helps to reduce any unintentional food waste as things tend to spoil sooner rather than later. 

Halsin takes it upon himself to become a provider of sorts for Tav, the one Tav never had. He plans to lavish Tav with so much attention and care, that those wounds caused by years of abandonment and neglect have no choice but to close. 

Wyll: 

Wyll is a bit awkward about it in the beginning. Not because he intends to be rude, but because he’s unsure of how to approach the subject with Tav without sounding like a snide ass. If it were any other companion, he might have made an offhand comment days ago, but when it comes to their leader, Wyll holds much more admiration and respect. So, Wyll holds his tongue until things become a bit more apparent, and he believes he knows the most sensitive way to navigate them. 

When everyone sits down to eat, Wyll asks Tav if they’d like to join them. He does this every evening, hoping Tav will eventually say yes. If Tav still doesn’t bite, he’ll come to them, and ask if he could sit next to Tav as they eat. Wyll makes a casual conversation between bites, trying to bring Tav out of their shell. If there's still no change, Wyll opens up about being on his own, having been kicked out of his home as a young man. He reveals how for the first few years he was often hungry, tired, and cold- being forced to move around from place to place outside of Baldur’s Gate without the proper supplies to fend for himself or keep himself dry. This prompts Tav to open up a bit about their past- how they also had to survive on their own, and now, as an adult, they don’t know how to do anything other than ‘survive’. 

Wyll is, of course, empathetic. Tav may not have come from a noble background like Wyll did, but that’s no excuse for all Tav had to endure, especially as a child. Wyll tells them he’s sorry Tav had to live through all that, and makes it very clear that it was in no way, Tav’s fault. They were just a kid, they should have been protected. There’s nothing to feel ashamed about. They didn’t fail, other people failed them. 

Wyll had to learn how to do many things on his own, and he thinks it would be best for him to share all he’s learned. One night he sits with Tav at dinner, encouraging Tav to eat, as Wyll tells them how he learned where to stay, how to get work, when to leave, and where to train. 

Together, Wyll and Tav come up with a list of items Tav most likely needs for self-care. All the while Wyll does his best to ensure Tav doesn’t feel judged for lacking such things. Again, Wyll reminds them, it’s not their fault. And there’s never any time to start like the present. If they’re close enough to a market, Wyll will take them there, and help Tav purchase everything they need. However, if they’re somewhere without vendors, say the Underdark or the Shadowlands, Wyll will approach a party member for assistance. 

Out of all of the companions, Wyll asks Astarion if he has any extra cleansing soaps or oils because Wyll knows Astarion’s the most high-maintenance party member amongst them lol. Once Wyll secures those items, he gifts them to Tav, and lets them know he’d be happy to stand guard while they bathe. Wyll plants himself midway between the camp and the river, giving Tav ample space. Wyll would feel being too close to them, in this manner, at this point, even if he and Tav were in a relationship, would be inappropriate. 

Once Tav is bathed and dressed, Wyll escorts them back to the fire. As Tav’s hair dries, Wyll regales them with much more upbeat stories, tales of his times as the Blade of Frontiers. His battles and triumphs, his rescues and saves- all of that. He wants Tav to know he has their back. Wyll is capable of protecting Tav, and he intends to do it in a way where Tav never has to feel abandoned or forgotten again.

...

💚💚 Don't Forget to Like & Please Reblog!!! 💚💚

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Inspired by this.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Barty Crouch Jr. x fem!reader

You leaned back against the worn stone wall of the dungeon corridor, glancing up at Barty with a soft sigh. "Snape was a bit rude to me today," you began, your voice light, almost nonchalant.

Barty didn’t miss a beat, cutting you off before you could elaborate. “Of course he was rude, love,” he said with a wild grin, leaning closer to you. “That man’s entire existence is a tragedy, starting with the fact that his father didn’t love him. He has to live with that reality every single day.”

You blinked. “What?”

Barty paced around you in a circle, throwing his hands up as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it! Snape wakes up, looks in the mirror, and all he sees is the cold, empty void left behind by his father’s neglect. It’s no wonder he lashes out at people like you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to keep up. “I didn’t even tell you what he said—”

“And you don’t need to!” Barty interrupted, his voice rising as if he were performing for an audience. He waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter what he said because whatever it was, I’m sure it’s fueled by decades of emotional starvation. Frankly, I get his father’s point of view. I mean, have you met Snape?”

You gaped at him. “Wait, you’re taking Snape’s father’s side in this?”

Barty stopped pacing, turning to face you with a look of pure exasperation, like you were the one missing the point. “Am I wrong? Just imagine having to deal with Snape every day. His father probably threw his hands up in defeat and decided, ‘You know what? I’m just going to emotionally distance myself from this whole situation.’ And honestly—” he shrugged dramatically, “—I can’t blame him.”

You stared at him, caught between laughter and disbelief. “But Barty, you don’t even know what Snape said to me. It might not have had anything to do with his daddy issues.”

Barty rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in that smug, slightly crazed way of his. “Of course it did. Everything about Snape screams unresolved childhood trauma. So go on, tell me what he said. I bet it’ll prove my point.”

You hesitated, feeling ridiculous now that you were actually about to recount it. “Well… he said my potion-making skills were ‘below average at best.’”

Barty let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. “Exactly! That’s classic Snape. He probably saw your potential and it reminded him of how his father probably told him he was worthless! It’s textbook projection.”

You stared at him incredulously. “Are you seriously analyzing Snape’s psyche right now?”

Barty smirked, stepping closer, and you could feel the electricity in his movements. “I’m just saying, love, if I had to grow up with that face and that hair—” he gestured wildly toward his own head, mimicking Snape’s greasy locks, “—I’d probably be rude to everyone too. It’s his only coping mechanism.”

You couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled out of you, and Barty’s grin widened at the sound. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, pulling you into his arms with a dramatic twirl. “But I’m your brand of insane. So, should I hex Snape or continue psychoanalyzing him?”

You giggled, leaning into his embrace. “Let’s hold off on the hexing for now. But maybe next time he’s rude, we’ll revisit the idea.”

Barty looked down at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Deal.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You really do have a flair for the dramatic.”

Barty smirked, dipping his head closer to yours. “Only for you, darling. Only for you.”

[basil-the-slinking-thing]

You know. I really and truly understand Jekyll’s horrible self hatred.

Because Hyde has ADHD.

A that means that before they split, Jekyll had ADHD.

And I have ADHD to know what that feels like.

I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s livable. It’s has enough advantages. It’s my favorite part of being alive. It’s also a fucking curse, and sometimes it makes me spiral into despair and shame and listless, bitter self loathing.

I don’t even believe it, but I sometimes find myself huddled in a ball muttering over and over again how I’ve failed to do anything significant with my life, and how I’m a worthless, horrible person. That everyone would be right to be disappointed in. That it’s not my fault that I’m losing the race, I’m just deficient and made wrong. ADHD doesn’t make you feel like that, but the consequences of having it do.

It’s like. It’s like if you gave one guy all the advantages of ADHD along with all of the side effects, but then you made some other guy do all the masking for him and carry all the emotional consequences. Which is literally what’s happening, I guess. (Almost like being a parent holding it together for a child. He is a lot of work and cannot do much for you, but you can’t very well just get rid of him.) Nobody should have to deal with the trauma of growing up with ADHD without also having all the advantages that make it worth it. All the resilience and zest for life and energy and thrust and exhilarating appetite and joy that comes from deep within your soul perpetually.

Of course Hyde is, himself, starting to scrape the surface of that “all of my fire and everything that I am has actually amounted to nothing” flavor ADHD trauma now. Would you look at that, he’s growing up.

[jessybarnes]

Bunker Nights

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Tags: Angst, mentions of past physical and emotional abuse, nightmares, panic attacks, eventual fluffy smut, and protective!Dean

Betas: @winecatsandpizza

Word Count: 4,667

Fic Aesthetic: Yours Truly

A/N: This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I am in the process of transferring all of my fics over to this one. I hope you enjoy :)

One year.

It had been exactly one year since you ended it with Tyler and you still suffered from the aftershocks of the abuse. Even though your body and mind weren't subject to his fists or harsh words, you still felt worthless. Every day the memories of the torture you went through filled your mind.

The moment you met Sam and Dean in the shitty hole-in-the-wall bar, your personalities clicked. You needed a distraction and somewhere to live, and they needed help in their line of work. So when they offered to let you stay and help them hunt you agreed without hesitation. 

Finally, things seemed to be looking up for you, or so you thought. Two weeks after moving into the Bunker, the nightmares started.

These weren't just any run-of-the-mill bad dreams either. No, in these dreams, Tyler was torturing and trying to kill you. The vividness left you screaming and crying in your sleep almost nightly. The nightmares plagued your mind every time you went to sleep.

Neither of the brothers said anything to you about it, so you tried to pretend everything was fine. It was one of the hardest things you've had to do if you were being honest with yourself. The physical training alone sometimes brought on a panic attack. Even though you knew Sam and Dean weren't trying to harm you, your mind was starting to become your biggest enemy. 

You could tell they wanted to ask you about it, but they also knew that you weren’t one to talk about your past. The only thing you told them was that you and Tyler had a rough breakup. The thought made you laugh. Calling it a rough breakup was putting it very mildly. 

The day before your first hunt went surprisingly well. You went the entire day without any panic attacks or a questioning glance from either of the Winchesters. Even though you couldn’t remember the last time you slept, it didn’t stop you from humming in the kitchen while you cooked everyone dinner. Not to mention, the copious amounts of makeup you used to make yourself look less like a zombie. You made a mental note to get some more of the coverup you hid your dark circles with. 

Sam rounded the corner as you filled everyone’s plates, one of his eyebrows rising quizzically. 

“You’re extra happy tonight, Y/N.” 

You shrugged and continued to hum as Dean joined you both at the table. 

“Yeah, what’s gotten into you? You win the lotto or somethin’?”

You gave them both your signature eyeroll and took a pull of your beer. 

“What? I can’t be in a good mood now?”

Sam cleared his throat and looked over at his brother before staring back at you, concern evident in his eyes. 

“Of course you can, Y/N. Dean and I …  well, we’ve noticed that you’ve been having nightmares.”

Your eyes narrowed to thin slits. If this was their attempt to keep you from going on tomorrow’s hunt, then they had better think again. 

“I’m. Fine."

You enunciated your words, making sure to look at both of them sternly. Sam scoffed and set his drink down.

“I don’t call it fine when you wake up almost every night screaming, Y/N”

All you wanted was one day, one day where you could just forget about the grim night that awaited you.

“They’re just dreams, and I’m going tomorrow no matter what. I’ve been training for this day for months, and a stupid nightmare isn’t going to bench me.”

The hostility in your voice caught them off guard, and you suddenly weren’t hungry anymore. You pushed the contents of your plate around with your fork, the awkward silence becoming more deafening by the second. Dean was the first to break it, his soothing tone of voice practically making you sick to your stomach. You knew they wanted you to stay home, and it pissed you off even more that your brain somewhat agreed with them. 

“Look, Y/N, we just wa-”

You slammed your fists on the table cutting him off mid-sentence. 

“ENOUGH! I’m not here to be your charity case! I came here to hunt, not for you to feel sorry for me!”

Before either of them could say anything you had stormed down the hallway to your room. Slamming the door for good measure, you finally let yourself unleash the angry tears you’d held back. You knew they were only trying to help, but being pitied didn’t sit with you well. You’d grown accustomed to it after being with Tyler for so many years, and it made you feel like everyone was hypersensitive to your feelings. 

Once the tears stopped, you were left exhausted and feeling numb. Falling asleep right after an outburst would definitely bring on a nightmare, so you opted for a long hot shower instead. The moment the water cascaded over your skin you felt the stiffness in your muscles leave your body. You spent extra time massaging your scalp and even used your lavender soothing body wash to help calm your nerves. 

Finally, in your pajamas, you slid beneath your covers and sighed deeply. Couldn’t you just have one day where you didn’t have someone worrying about you? Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, you turned the bedside light off and let yourself fall asleep. 

Fear, raw fear coursed through your body as you ran. You’d just told Tyler you wanted to see other people and he’d tried to force himself on you so you’d stay. He pinned you against the wall, his breath reeked of stale beer as he kissed down your neck. The feeling of his lips made you shiver with disgust. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you raised your knee hard and fast hitting him right where it counted. 

Tyler yelled in pain as you broke free, running as fast as you could to the door. 

“Ow, FUCK! God Dammit, Y/N! Come back here you fucking bitch!”

Cold air hit your face as you ran barefoot into the woods behind your home. Branches hit your exposed skin leaving little cuts in their wake. You could hear Tyler shouting after you as you found refuge behind a big tree trunk. Your chest heaved and you shivered as you tried to stay still and quiet. 

Tyler’s footfalls and yelling became louder by the second, and you were sure he could hear the thundering of your heart. Just as you thought you were in the clear, strong arms boxed you in, the bark of the tree cut into your back as Tyler stared menacingly down at you. 

“There you are… you pathetic little slut. You shouldn’t have done this, Y/N. You should have just come home like the good little bitch you are and kept that pretty, little mouth shut.”

His fingers grazed your cheek briefly before his mouth was on your own, the taste of his tongue made you almost vomit. 

“Now, we could have done it back at the house, but seeing as how you made a scene, I think I’ll just take you right here.”

You tried to push, shove, kick, anything to get him off you, but it was of no use. He began to forcefully rid you of your clothes, and all you could do was scream. Scream for anyone to help you.

“Stop! Please, Tyler!”

Sobs racked your body as he pawed roughly at your skin. You could feel him now, shaking you, calling your name.

“No! Just leave me alone!”

You bolted upright in your bed, a cool sheen of sweat covered your skin and the sheets. Dean knelt in front of you, concern etched in his features. 

“Y/N! It’s okay! It’s me… it’s Dean.”

You blinked a few times before covering your face with your hands, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks. 

“D-Dean… I’m… I’m s-sorry for waking you up. I… It was just another d-dream.”

You tried to sound confident between your sobs, but you knew he wouldn’t buy it. Hell, even you knew how pathetic you sounded. Ever so slowly Dean sat on the foot of your bed, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at you with worry in his eyes. 

“C’mon now, Y/N. Don’t bullshit me. You and I both know that this is past the point of being 'just dreams'. I want to help you, but you’re going to have to work with me here.”

Using the back of your hands to wipe the loose tears away, you finally got the courage to look at him. His eyes were soft, kind even. The lopsided smile he gave you was the moment you finally let your walls down. Dean was here to help you, not judge you. 

“O-Okay… so umm… what do we do now? How do I stop dreaming of these… these horrible things?”

Dean started to move his thumb across your kneecap. In any other situation you’d be in a fit of laughter, but at a time like this, it was soothing. 

“Do you trust me?”

Those four words made you swallow thickly. Trust wasn’t something you took lightly, and Dean knew that. Sam understood this too, but Dean was different. He could count on one hand the people he had full trust in.

“Yes, of course, I trust you, Dean. Believe me, I want these nightmares to stop just as much as you do if not more.”

He stood and held his hand out to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you took it anyway and let him lead you to his room. The Bunker was eerily quiet at night, but you knew you were safe. You stood at the threshold, watching him as he padded across the floor to his bed. Your cheeks flushed as he rid himself of his t-shirt, leaving him only in his low-hanging grey sweats. You never let yourself think about Sam or Dean this way before, but you weren’t a prude. Every woman who came in contact with them knew how attractive they were. 

Dean cleared his throat bringing you back to reality.

“You comin’ sweetheart? I don’t bite...much.”

He winked, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but who were you kidding? You couldn’t share a bed with Dean. That would make things weird, and that’s the last thing you wanted to do. Nightmares or not, you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship. 

“Dean...I-I don’t think I can do this… I’m pretty worn out from crying so let’s just say we forget about this night and I’ll go back to my own bed… I’m sorry for being a burden. I’ll just.. I’m gonna go…”

You turned to leave, but not before Dean caught your arm. 

“Whoa whoa slow down, Y/N. What’s wrong? Is it because I took my shirt off? ‘Cause I can put it back on. I’m just used to sleeping without it on is all.”

You sighed and shook your head. 

“No, it-It’s not that. I just… I don’t want this to ruin our friendship ya know? I don’t want things to get weird or anything.”

Dean shook his head and chuckled. 

“So, don’t let it get weird.”

His look went back to firm before he continued. 

“Y/N, be honest with me. How long has it been since you slept, and I mean really slept?”

Your eyes went to your feet, your toe rubbing across a rough spot on the old floor. 

“I umm… I haven’t slept in four days…”

A flash of concern laced his features as he pulled you back into his room. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

He pulled back his covers and got under them before patting the other side of the mattress invitingly. 

“Come here, Y/N. You need sleep just as much as I do. I promise I won’t try anything with you. I mean, I’m a cuddler so, I might do that, but nothing else, I swear.”

You lowered your head in defeat and crossed the room before climbing into bed next to him. He carefully wrapped his arm around your waist, feeling you tense a little, before relaxing. Neither of you talked, but there really wasn’t any need to. You already felt more at ease in Dean’s arms. The smell of his shampoo and pheromones calmed you. Mere minutes later, his breathing evened out, and his light snoring filled your ears. Moments later, you were asleep. 

It became a routine that none of you spoke about. Every night, you would get ready for bed in your room and slip into Dean’s, silently climbing into bed beside him. True to his word, he was a cuddler but instead of the apprehension you’d expected at his touch, you only felt warmth and safety.

He was never inappropriate either. His hands stayed firmly in the safe zones, holding you around your middle if you decided that spooning was the position for you; his lower half was always carefully angled away when you woke up. If you slept curled into his side, he kept his hand on your shoulder or waist, never anywhere else.

The nightmares weren’t dispelled so easily. But being with Dean, they were normally stopped before they were over - he was a naturally light sleeper and the slightest twitch in your slumber had him waking you with gentle reassuring murmurs.

It was three weeks before your first night with no memories assaulting you. You woke with your face against Dean’s bare chest - you’d fallen asleep there the night before. His skin was warm under your cheek and you sighed, closing your eyes and allowing the haze of sleep to keep you still for a little longer.

“You slept well,” he muttered without opening his eyes and you smiled.

“No nightmares,” you whispered.

“Good.” Dean yawned, stretching his arms up. “I think I slept pretty well too.”

The covers slipped down with his movement and you couldn’t help it; your eyes went south to the straining erection that was fighting against the elastic of his pajama pants.

His hand wasn’t fast enough to snatch the covers back up and when you raised your head to look at him, his face was beet red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “s’morning and everything… y’know.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, patting his chest.

“It’s not,” Dean grunted, clutching the covers over his lap, “you didn’t want this to get weird.”

“You having a…” you swallowed, unsure how to phrase it, “an erection, isn’t weird. It’s perfectly natural.” With a shrug, you slid your eyes away from his, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’d say it’s a compliment.”

He blinked, processing what you’d said before his mouth set in a thin smile. “Can’t help what happens when I sleep next to a beautiful woman.”

You were sure your face was about to burst into flames and you giggled. “Now you’re making it weird.”

Dean smirked - not one of those sarcastic expressions, more playful, devilish. The way you expected he’d look at a woman he wanted to -

“Besides,” you added hurriedly, shifting a little way away from him, “I’m not your type.”

“Who says?” he challenged and you pulled back, frowning.

Dean moved, pushing himself up with his arm. “You say you don’t wanna ruin our friendship but I can’t keep spending the night with you warm next to me and pretending I’m not craving you in every way possible.”

His declaration left you speechless - what were you supposed to even say to that?

Thank you?

Dean chuckled, leaning in a little closer. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered and you were struck by the thought that no man should ever look that pretty when asking that question. With scruffy bed hair and sleep lines on his face, Dean managed to look like he’d fallen out of a GQ photoshoot.

Your reply, when you finally forced it out, was barely a squeak.

His lips were soft when they pressed against yours but you couldn’t relax. Your entire body was stiff with trepidation; you felt hot and cold all at once and it took only seconds for Dean to notice your tense posture.

Breaking away, he cupped your cheek, dragging his thumb down to rest on your chin, making your eyes meet his.

“Talk to me,” he urged softly.

The temptation to shut off, to not tell him anything, warred with the need to spill your illogical shame for what had happened. You knew Dean would never blame you but seeing the pity in his eyes would be unbearable.

But he deserved to know what he’d been protecting you from. At least, in part.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve,” you took a shuddering breath, dropping your chin away from his hand, “since I’ve been with anyone. And the last time wasn’t…” Your eyes closed and you tried to forget the rough touch on your skin.

Dean’s hand moved, resting on your hip and the warmth of his touch seeped into you, forcing you to look at him again, letting his gentle touch replace the horror from before.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you,” he coaxed, smiling softly. “I could never hurt you.”

What you feared most was nowhere to be found in his face. His sincere green gaze focused on you, filled with nothing but lust and affection.

You moved closer, startling him with a chaste kiss, your little moan swept away by his hum of appreciation and when he tugged you closer, you moved with him easily, losing yourself in the warmth of his skin.

Dean didn’t push, letting you set the pace and you were content with kissing, feeling his hands roam your body. You licked into his mouth, breaking only for air; you weren’t paying much attention to the way you pinned him back onto the bed, straddling his lap so you could kiss him and run your hands over his solid chest and stomach.

He laughed, arching when your fingers caught a ticklish spot, which only prompted you to do it again.

“Quit it,” he chuckled, grabbing at your hands but keeping his touch light.

Dragging your right hand to his lips, you sucked in a breath as he kissed each fingertip, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

He continued down over the palm of your hand, tracing the throb of your heartbeat to your wrist. By the time his soft lips reached the inside of your elbow, you were practically mush - before he could continue, you used your free hand to cup his face.

“Later,” you promised.

Dean’s eyes sparkled as you rolled your hips, reminding him of the erection straining at his pants. “Fuck,” he groaned, letting his head fall back, “don’t do that.”

“Why?”

The tone of your voice had him narrowing his eyes at you. “Because if you do, I might not be able to help myself.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

Dean pushed himself up onto one hand, abruptly enough that you squeaked and giggled, smiling when he used the other hand to cup the back of your neck and draw you in for a deep kiss.

“Do you want me as much as I want you, princess?”

You nodded, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise, his nose squished against yours.

“You know you can tell me to stop at any time, right?”

“I know,” you whispered, initiating another kiss, dragging your tongue over his.

Shifting his weight so his back was straight, Dean’s hands landed on your hips, grinding you down harder against his cock. His fingers trailed up underneath the thin tank top you’d worn to bed; he groaned when his thumbs brushed the underside of your bare breasts.

You lifted your arms, letting him pull the top up over your head, giving him full access to your breasts and Dean leaned in, brushing his nose across the top of one.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you are,” he murmured and you smiled, folding your hands around the back of his head as he started to worship your tits with his tongue.

His cock was twitching against your core and Dean grunted, pushing one hand underneath the covers to shove his pants down.

“Sorry, it’s getting a little uncomfortable down there,” he joked, resuming his attention to your nipples and you gasped when his teeth grazed one solid peak teasingly.

The sudden desire to feel his skin on yours was a full-body craving; you shifted and pushed at your shorts, managing to drag them down without dislodging him.

The sound Dean made when you were finally perched nude in his lap was only amplified when you pushed him back, using your feet to shove the covers down. His cock was warm and throbbing against your bare slit and you whimpered, grinding against him and he broke away from your breast, groaning loudly.

“Fuck, Y/N -”

“Sssh,” you ordered, sliding down his body until you were straddling his thighs, wrapping one hand around his shaft before you could stop and think about it.

Dean’s chin tilted up and the veins on his neck popped with the strained angle of his neck, a low moan accompanying the bob of his Adam’s apple when you licked the tip of his cock.

He kept his hands at his sides, clenching them in the sheets, giving you all the room you needed. It wasn’t something you had an entirety of experience in but Dean seemed happy enough to let you explore, finding the sensitive spots at the base of his length. When you cupped his balls with your other hand and fondled them gently, Dean emitted a noise of pure lust and warmth swelled in your core in response.

Stroking him slowly, you watched a bead of precum seeping from his slit; the urge to taste it was more than you could ignore. The salty tang was worth the way Dean’s entire body twitched and he looked down at you, tucking his chin into his chest.

“You know there are limits to torture, right?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and you giggled, continuing to stroke him as he moaned under his breath. “Jeez, Y/N, you’re gonna… fuck…”

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” you chided, your gaze fixed on the way his cock fit in your hand. Your fingers didn’t quite touch either side, not until you reached the slightly flared head and you suddenly wanted to know what it felt like to have him buried inside you.

The thought was enough to provoke a sudden rush of wetness between your thighs and Dean groaned as you rutted against him, barely acknowledging your own movement. 

A tiny voice in the back of your head stilled your movements, doubt settling in the pit of your belly. Shouldn’t you be frightened of this? After… after him, there hadn’t been anyone and this felt like something that should be shaking you to the core.

But all you could feel was pure adrenaline and desire pumping through your veins; everything was focused on the way Dean felt underneath you, the warm weight of his cock as you stroked him, and the sounds of pleasure he was making.

“Dean,” you whispered, meeting his eyes, “I wanna fuck you.”

He muttered a curse, biting his bottom lip when you released his cock and crawled further up his body. There was no objection - Dean continued to let you set the pace. You lifted yourself, slipping two fingers between your thighs, sinking them into your body.

“Y/N…” Dean muttered, covering your hand with his own, “let me.”

You nodded, letting him take over, whining when he pushed a single digit into you. Just one of his fingers felt bigger than your two, more calloused and filling. He pumped them a few times, smirking when you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, enjoying his slow touch.

All too soon, you grew impatient for more but before Dean could add a second finger, you tugged on his wrist. “Want you,” you pouted, leaning over to kiss away any protest he could make. Lifting your hips, you pinned his hands beside his head, smiling against his lips. “Stay.”

Dean obeyed, groaning when you slipped one hand down to grasp him again, lining his tip up with your soaked entrance. Lowering down onto him, you whined, lifting again when your body struggled to accept the intrusion. With a few more thrusts, you had him halfway inside and his body was shaking with the effort of holding back.

Lifting up once more, you pushed down, taking him to the hilt. The shock of being so full made you yelp and Dean’s hands were on your hips, holding you steady so you could adjust.

“Gah,” you moaned, resting against his chest, “you’re… fuck.”

“Now who has a dirty mouth?” Dean teased and you pulled back, smiling. “Want me to put my hands back?”

You nodded, waiting for him to return his hands to the pillow before sliding your fingers up to lace them with his.

When you started to move, rocking gently on him, Dean closed his eyes, a low rumble in his chest letting you know that it felt good. The way he reacted made you a little bolder and you lifted yourself, letting him withdraw a few inches before taking him to the hilt again. 

“Y/N…”

“What?” you asked, worried you’d done something wrong with the way he moaned your name.

His cheeks were a little red when he answered. “I’m close and you haven’t -”

“Oh,” you blinked, ceasing your movements, unsure what to do, “do you want me to stop?”

“God, no,” Dean chuckled. “I just wanna make sure you cum too.” The way he said it, his low throaty voice almost catching on the words, made you shudder and clench around him. “Sit up straight,” he instructed - you obeyed, a little puzzled until you felt how much deeper it let him be.

You moaned, circling your hips as Dean’s jaw clenched. Your lips parted in a little “o” when he responded with a slight thrust, one hand untangling from yours to hover over your mound, his thumb settling just above where his cock was inside you.

“That okay?” he asked and you nodded, squirming needily. Intense pleasure was on the edge of your senses, teasing you with the promise of climax but you craved more. Dean’s thumb traced your clit and a spark made your hips jerk. “That’s it,” he coaxed, “keep moving for me, baby.”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you started to rock, much like how you had started. The throbbing inside you increased with each glide of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Electricity ran through your veins prompting your head to fall back as you whimpered into orgasm.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Dean murmured his other hand on your hip now, guiding your rocking motion when you fell over the edge.

It was calmer than any orgasm you’d ever experience but possibly one of the best. Dean’s climax followed yours within seconds and he stopped touching you, letting you fall forward onto his chest, panting heavily.

Although you’d barely moved, you were sweating, exhausted and more sated than you’d ever felt. An overwhelming sense of calm swept through you; even though your legs were shaking with the effort of simply existing, you felt peaceful.

Eventually, Dean had to move, helping you clean up before he slipped back into bed with you. Neither of you spoke as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew you back against his chest, letting you curl into his side.

“Get some more sleep,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You nodded, closing your eyes without a reply and letting the last ebbing waves of bliss carry you off.