#there is a much sadder second part to
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shotofesspresso · 9 days ago
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so american
summary: In which a singer known for her sad songs surprises everyone with a romantic song, and fans can’t help but try to figure out who it’s about
Lando Norris x Singer!reader
fc: Olivia Rodrigo
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yourusername I am so excited to announce my second album GUTS. GUTS is a collection of my saddest thoughts written into even sadder songs! I can’t wait for you guys to listen.
xoxo, your resident sad girl 💜
user1 I am so excited
user2 this better win a grammy
user3 why is so much of the F1 grid in her likes
user4 well they have good taste
user5 I love how all her songs are so sad
user6 It’s her brand atp
user7 it would be more surprising if she wrote a happy love song
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liked by alex_albon and others
yourusername GUTS out NOW!!! Thank you guys for all the support. The bad idea right mv out tonight!! PS: get your tissues before you listen
Xoxo 💜
user1 yeah I cried listening to pretty isn’t pretty and what about it
user2 I LOVE YOU
chappelroan 💜 liked by author
user3 I know Alex introduced Y/N’s music to the grid
lilymhe on repeat liked by author
user4 I love their friendship
user5 tour when?
user6 not a single happy song on this album and I am living for it
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liked by alex_albon and others
yourusername Gracias Mexico! BEST FOOD EVER!
user1 ok you ate (literally) liked by author
user2 doing everything but going on tour
alex_albon fatty
yourusername I’m telling @/lilymhe that you’re bullying me in my own comment section
lilymhe get out of her comment section @/alex_albon
lilymhe so beautiful liked by author
user3 Alex’s comment is taking me out
user4 GO ON TOUR PLEASE!!!
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lando Mexico City. Best food ever
user1 You’re so fine
user2 what is that last picture
alex_albon big back
user3 do you get deja vu
user4 what?
user3 Y/N posted a Mexico post and her caption and photos were very similar
user5 girl…..
user6 nurse she’s out again
user7 wow so crazy 2 people went to Mexico and ate food there 😑
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liked by lando and others
yourusername thank you for all the love on GUTS! I am so excited to announce the GUTS world tour
xoxo, your resident sad girl!
user1 FINALLY
user2 YAYAYAYA
user3 what is lando doing in the likes
user4 you guys have to stop making a big deal about stuff like this
chappellroan see you soon!
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yourusername I LOVE LONDON
user1 gorgeous
user2 did you find a London boy?
lilymhe do you love London or a London boy? liked by author
yourusername woah this was unnecessary
user3 WAIT WHATTT
user4 is our resident sad girl not a sad girl anymore????
user5 is this part of a soft launch?
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yourusername guts (spilled) out on friday!!!
user1 IM SO EXCITED
user2 more sad songs to cry to
lando 💜
user3 HELLO!!!!
user4 guys this has to mean something
user5 lando in the comments has to be a confirmation
user6 i’m lowkey here for lando and y/n
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yourusername and he says I’m so american
user1 HELLO SO AMERICAN???!!!
user2 our girl is in love
user3 “everybody’s falling in love and I’m falling behind”
user4 Lando in the likes again
user5 what if so american is about him?
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liked by lando and others
yourusername and he laughs at all my jokes
user1 girl whose arm is that!!!
user2 no one can convince me that she’s dating lando
user3 oh she’s in love LOVE
lilymhe ily
yourusername ily more
lando 💜 liked by author
user4 sir what are you doing here
user5 HELLO!!???
user6 this is confirmation
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lando red light, stop signs
user1 bro just snuck a soft launch in there
user2 the driver’s license lyric!!!
user3 that’s @yourusername for sure
yourusername 💜 liked by author
user4 the hearts on each others post is driving me insane
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F1gossip Lando Norris and singer Y/N L/N spotted together. Will there be a new wag in the paddock?
user1 OH MY GOD
user2 this means we are getting more songs like so american
user3 called it
user4 yall need to just focus on the race and not the driver’s life
user5 please shut up
user6 how do they even know each other
user7 y/n and lily have been friends for years so that’s probably how they met
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lando I do laugh at her jokes
yourusername I am so funny guys
lando yes you are babe
user1 your honor I love them
user2 AHHHHH
alex_albon everyone act shocked
carlossainz55 😱😒
maxverstappen1 😱😒
georgerussell63 😱😒
oscarpiastri 😱😒
maxfewtrell 😱😒
lando ok leave me alone
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liked by lando and others
yourusername am i still the resident sad girl?
lando my american girl
yourusername so american!!!
alex_albon get this off my instagram
yourusername get out of my comment section
carlossainz55 I remember when he used to take pictures of me like that
yourusername booooo
lilymhe i love you guys liked by author
user1 him taking a picture of her OMG
user2 the 3rd picture is the picture that she took of him 😭
lando 💜
yourusername 💜
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A/N: literally why did it take me more than a month to post. Guys if there is errors in this let’s just ignore them. I feel like this is lowkey boring but whatever. Short n Sweet update coming soon!!!! LOVE YA!
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itoshiierae · 2 months ago
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Hii i LOVE ur writing sm ugh!!!! i also have a req so pls hmo.. (I thhink this would look good in headcanon format) so ur describing ur type to them(u both have crushes on each other) and its the exact opposite of them, but in the end u tell them u were just joking and that they are ur type
I rlly wanna see this with Bachira, Barou, Gagamaru, Chigiri and maybe pre wc Kunigami<33
˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ not your type (except… maybe he is) 𓂃⋆.˚
──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!
ᡣ𐭩 ft: bachira meguru, barou shoei, gagamaru gin, chigiri hyoma & (pre-wc)kunigami rensuke
ᡣ𐭩 notes: hii there and aww thank you!!! 🥹🩷 anyway, this was sooo much fun to write omg. i loved the chaos of making them spiral a little before giving them the relief they deserve HAHAH <33 btw i tried doing this in headcanon format like you requested!!! c:
ᡣ𐭩 cw: mutual pining, light angst ( but fluffy ending! ), light teasing, barou might seem ‘harsh’, mentions of body type and appearance preferences, eventual fluff
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♡ BACHIRA MEGURU ♡
𖦹 you say it without thinking, “i like quiet, serious guys. y’know, mysterious types who barely smile.”
𖦹 and he just… freezes. like straight up stops swinging his legs, leans back slowly, blinks at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline.
𖦹 “so like… not me?” his voice goes all awkward and small, like he’s trying so hard to sound chill but he’s already spiraling inside.
𖦹 he starts sulking. draws a sad little monster on the table with his finger — doesn’t say anything. doesn’t make eye contact. just wilts in real time like you personally broke his spirit. won’t even look up when you call his name — just keeps doodling his tragic little guy, like he’s going through a breakup you didn’t know you were part of.
𖦹 so obviouslyyy, you push him a little further by saying: “no offense, but you literally talk to your shoes when you’re bored.”
𖦹 after hearing that, he looks genuinely offended. like his jaw slightly dropped, blinking at you as if you just told him his dog ran away and then he turns back to his little monster drawing & makes it even sadder.
𖦹 you let the tension simmer for just a second more, then finally crack a smile, laughter curling at the edges of your voice. “i’m just messing with you... you’re totally my type.”
𖦹 he pauses — stunned — like he seriously didn’t expect you to say that out loud. the sad monster he’d drawn???? now suddenly has hearts for its eyes. “you little liar,” he whispers, fighting a smile. “say it again.”
𖦹 and when you do??? he throws himself at you in a hug and won’t let go for like another 3 hours.
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♡ BAROU SHOEI ♡
𖦹 it starts with a joke you didn’t mean to land: “… y’know i like laid-back guys who are chill & someone who doesn’t care too much about appearances.”
𖦹 he deadass stops mid-sip of his overpriced protein shake and just blinks at you like you spoke a forbidden language.
𖦹 his eye twitches like you’ve just personally disrespected his gym splits, his skincare, and the 17-step hair routine he claims he doesn’t have. “…what the hell did you just say?”
𖦹 “wait so… you seriously want a guy who doesn’t groom himself!!?” he mutters, practically spiraling, listing off how those kinds of men probably don’t floss, don’t moisturize, and — with full offense — are just plain disgusting. “low standards,” he scoffs, as if you were the one who needed to reevaluate your life.
𖦹 he’s seething on the outside, sulking on the inside — muttering that ‘you just don’t know what’s good for you.’
𖦹 so after dragging it out justtt enough, you laugh and reassure him, “i’m joking. i actually like guys who take care of themselves…. that means you’re exactly my type, barou...”
𖦹 he immediately scoffs. clicks his tongue and then glares at you before saying, “tch... you better not say stupid shit like that again.”
𖦹 but he’s blushing all the way down to his collarbone. half-hiding behind his protein shake like it could shield his pride. you could tell that his entire mental system just crashed, and you know he’s probably gonna replay this moment mid-set at the gym later, scowling while angrily curling dumbbells.
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♡ GAGAMARU GIN ♡
𖦹 “i like pretty boys... yknow, those that are skinny, delicate, almost as if the wind could carry them away….” it slips out mid-convo, lighthearted and harmless
𖦹 or so you think. you don’t mean it seriously. it’s just a throwaway preference, a passing comment you figured he wouldn’t take personally
𖦹 but gagamaru pauses mid-sip of his drink and then glances down at his six-foot-something wall of a body, the kind that could body slam a tree and he’d probably win.
𖦹 then he looks at his hands — big, calloused, rough — almost as if they’ve betrayed him. you watch in real time as his soul briefly leaves his body.
𖦹 and worst of all? he’s not even sulking. he’s just… solemn. he stares straight into the void and mutters under his breath, “guess i’ll go learn ballet or something…”
𖦹 you panic because no way??? he’s not even joking. the man is spiraling, full gentle-giant overthinking mode unlocked, and you’re scrambling to stop him before he ACTUALLY signs up for a modern dance elective.
𖦹 you laugh, reach for his hand, and lean in just enough to murmur,“…gagamaru, no. i was only teasing… you’re exactly my type.”
𖦹 he immediately freezes like someone just pressed pause on him. and then, slowly, the softest smile unfurls across his face. it’s not his usual blank-faced calm — this one’s hopeful, warm, basically the kind that makes you want to melt into his hoodie and never leave.
𖦹 his voice cracks faintly. “you’re serious?” like he’s trying to hold back the smile tugging at his lips, just in case it’s a joke.
𖦹 afterwards he lets out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding, then starts grinning — all goofy charm and too-big emotions crammed into one oversized frame. “okay. good. ’cause i was about to buy eyeliner.”
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♡ CHIGIRI HYOMA ♡
𖦹 “i’m into super tall, muscular guys. yknow like those bodybuilder types….” you say it without thinking — casual, teasing, maybe even just to see his reaction. but the moment those words leave your mouth??? oh, you’ve just triggered something in him.
𖦹 chigiri immediately stopped whatever he was doing initially. his expression doesn’t even change at first — he just freezes. and then: “…so you’re saying… you want a guy who can squat me?”
𖦹 his voice came out flat. unimpressed. offended on behalf of every race he’s ever run. “yeah, basically,” you say, just to be annoying.
𖦹 he side-eyes his own legs like they’ve failed him. and the fact that they’ve carried him through national matches & broken records — but apparently, they’re not ‘squat-my-girl’ worthy. “i could sprint you into the next century,” he mutters under his breath, “but okay.”
𖦹 he starts tying and untying his ponytail, trying to look all unbothered — but you can clearly see the crack in his cool facade. the silent fluster. the subtle pout. the internal monologue of ‘so what if i’m not six-foot-five? i have definition. i have stamina. i have quads built by god.’
𖦹 “… you really like those types, huh?” he asks it too casually — like a test. almost as if he wants to see if you’ll actually say it again.
𖦹 satisfied with his reaction, that’s when you finally lean in and say: “not really... i actually like pretty, fast guys with killer legs… so you’re literally my type, hyoma.”
𖦹 he malfunctions on the spot. tries to play it cool, but fails miserably. then he mumbles something like, “…tch. whatever.” but his ears??? red. his neck??? flushed. his hands??? suddenly became too fidgety… and the second you’re not looking? he’s smiling to himself like an idiot the entire day.
𖦹 later that night, he sends you a post-workout mirror selfie. shirt half-damp, towel slung over his shoulder, muscles flexing just right with the caption that reads “still not tall enough?”
𖦹 and you???? you almost combust on the spot.
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♡ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE ♡
𖦹 “…honestly, i like bad boys. cocky, unhinged, the kind that makes your friends worry.” you say it with a grin — playful, but laced with just enough bite to make him pause. and kunigami???? oh, he takes it personally.
𖦹 “so someone like… barou?” he doesn’t even say it sarcastically. it’s genuine confusion like he’s already doing mental gymnastics trying to understand how you ended up liking the complete opposite of everything he is. and then it begins — the spiral.
𖦹 he starts listing his own good qualities like you’re about to file a complaint: “i cook. i clean. i floss. i don’t fight strangers unless i’m legally allowed to. i hold doors open for people—”
𖦹 and then his voice just trails off and he immediately goes quiet like something in him just deflated a little.
𖦹 “…guess i’m not your type, then.” he says it so softly it actually hurts a little.
𖦹 until you lean in and say with a small, almost mischievous smile, “nah… i was just messing with you.” and then — without even letting him recover — you drop the real one: “i actually like guys with strong morals. and a killer body. and guess what???? that’s literally you.”
𖦹 you could’ve SWEAR that the sunlight got brighter after that. he blinks at you — once, twice, mouth slightly parted like he genuinely didn’t expect that coming from you.
𖦹 “…wait. wait you’re serious?”
𖦹 you nod, and that’s when he turns red. not just a light blush — but full on red, ears and neck included. he immediately looks away, trying to hide it by adjusting his hoodie like it’s a shield.
𖦹 “…thanks.” he mumbles. “that means a lot.” and for the rest of the day, his smile got a little brighter. and he also flexes his biceps a bit more than usual during workouts. just in case you’re still watching (which you are.)
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© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.
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o-sunny-day · 8 months ago
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SCROLL FOR @forgettable-au ANGST :D
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ok so ((WAILS LOUDLY))
WE KNOW HOW THIS GOES *breaks knuckles* ITS TIME TO TEAR APART MY ART BECAUSE PASSION
trust me, im a proFESSIONAL yapper at this point
This whole thing takes place within my own headcanon that “The Quiche Room” was one of many of Sans and Wingdings’ little hangout spots. They also really liked the echo flower there (maybe they planted it themselves-) Maybe thats why Papyrus is so unnerved and disturbed by echo flowers now…
Notice, the echo flower grows as they grow!
Oh yeah! I had fun drawing them grown in their kid outfits for 2. Wingdings can finally see his ankles
2 is also sorta a reference to my Radio Star comic, same stuff they did as kids, Wingdings working and Sans assisting, They haven’t changed too much yet. haven’t gotten the lab job. yet.
in 3, this is after they get the job at the lab and Wingdings realizes its a great place for supporting his unhealthy habits of seclusion and emotional repression. The echo flower is repeating something Wingdings said a while ago. I dont know what- fill in your own angst I suppose (I cant do EVERYTHING around here)
in 1 and 2, the light sources… are each other. Sans n Wd. Theyre each others lights. Each others stars (cries loudly and noticeably) but then for 3, the only light source is the echo flower. Yknow. The echo flower. with wingdings’ voice
4 is how the quiche room looks in the game 👍 Dunno whats sadder… Wingdings’ voice being removed because he’s in the void now, or because someone just talked over it without a second thought.
Oh yeah, and its empty because Sans and Papyrus don’t remember that ever being a place they hung out.
Yeah.
Yeah, im crying too. Its okay, let it out.
SANS AND GASTER SANS AND GASTER SANS AND GASTER (PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE) I need them to interact i’m gonna have an aneurism.
THIS PART IS GETTING ITS OWN SECTION BECAUSE CMON MAN, ITS SANS AND GASTER
It was said in this post that Sans knows he was involved in whatever accident Gaster had, that had MAJOR consequences, and made everything and everyone different.
That makes me wonder, does Sans feel any guilt?? like subconsciously or not, he knows he was involved, so does he suspect he could have done something to stop it, or did something bad, and he was at fault in some way?
I DONT THINK HE WAS
so in 5, Sans is asking “what happened.”
What happened to him, why is everything like this, was it his fault? what did he do? what did he NOT do???
And Gaster just replies “Nothing that wasn’t my own fault.”
OK THATS ENOUGH. WHITEBOARD DOODLES, ATTACK!!!!
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also- I PROMISE IM WORKING ON THE DTIYS 😭😭😭 IVE GOT IDEAS IDK HOW TO EXECUTE EM
Heres a thing I made/am working on(???) that was inspired by the dtiys though :3
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fishfooddude · 8 months ago
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Would you still love me if I was a worm?
I put up a poll like two months ago about which WIP y'all wanted first and this was the winner by a landslide.
This may also be one of the sadder things I wrote. Part 1 MDNI 18+
Carmy Berzatto x Reader
The Bear MasterList
Directory
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Carmy got home late that night, later than he’d like, especially knowing he’d only be home for a few hours before returning to The Bear. He kicked his shoes off and shed his backpack and jacket before locking his apartment door. He wandered into the kitchen to see a plate covered in plastic wrap. He looked at it for a second before removing it from the fridge to see a fluorescent sticky note with your loopy handwriting on it, ‘another attempt :)’  he chuckled and removed the plastic wrap and placed the plate in the microwave before pulling his phone out of his pocket to see you’d texted him hours ago. 
‘I found another polenta recipe online!’ 
‘Imma bring a plate over for you, baby :)’ 
‘Miss you!!’
Carmy smiled and quickly texted you back. He was surprised to hear a text notification coming from his bedroom. He put his phone on the counter before lazily pushing a hand through his hair. He walked through the living room to his bedroom. You were in his bed, asleep and drooling slightly. He chuckled and quietly approached the edge of the bed. 
He pushed a fallen lock of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear before kissing your forehead, “Thanks for dinner, baby…” he whispered before walking back out to the living room. 
~
You stirred in bed when you felt the weight of the mattress shift. You shifted in your sleep and sighed softly, “Carmy?” you asked sleepily.  “Hi, baby,” Carmy whispered in your ear as he pulled you flush against his body, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He kissed your shoulder, “Good day?” you asked as you brought a hand to the back of his head to lace your fingers in his unruly greasy curls. Carmy grumbled in response and kissed your neck softly, “That bad?” you giggled.
“Just missed you,” Carmy mumbled before softly biting down where he’d been previously kissed. “I just need you- all fuckin’ day.” His hips subtly pressed against your ass, causing you to gasp at the sensation softly. “I need you, baby.” Carmy whispered, “Can I have you?”
You didn’t answer the question. Instead, you wiggled in his grip, trying to rotate yourself in his arms to face him. Carmy’s grip tightened, “No, just like this baby. I want you just like this…” he cooed as his hands began exploring your body through the oversized t-shirt you’d worn to bed. You felt yourself melt against his chest as he began to manhandle your breasts over the shirt. As Carmy rolled your nipples between his index and middle fingers, a needy moan escaped your lips; you needed him as much as he needed you. 
Cooking had been Carmy’s passion for as long as he could remember. It was a way for him to express his creativity, intelligence, and love; he also despised it. Nothing was good enough. No matter how creative he tried to be or how hard he tried, it was never good enough. Taking over The Beef after Mikey passed and turning it into The Bear should have been a dream come true. The dream had turned into a nightmare, a constant stressor in his life because he wasn’t enough. Then you came into his life.
You’d sat next to him on the L one morning while he was doodling in his notebook. You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t help but look at what he’d been drawing. When you complimented the drawing, Carmy looked up at you and felt the oxygen leave his lungs. He didn’t think that whole ‘love at first sight’ troupe had validity, but the moment his gaze met yours, he couldn’t imagine his life without you. 
Carmy’s life changed when you entered it. He’d dedicated his every waking moment to ensuring the success of The Bear. He’d given up on so many aspects of his life, but a light bulb went off that morning on the L. You’d gotten off before he could work up the courage to say anything, but he knew he had to find you again. 
Every morning, he’d board the train and scan the car for you. Weeks had gone by, and he was ready to give up on ever finding you again- then you were there. You sat there bundled up in some stylish black coat and a bright jade scarf, scrolling on your phone. Carmy swallowed his nerves and sat next to you despite the multiple free seats around the section. “Hey.” he greeted. You looked up, removing the headphones from your ears. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw your mystery man. 
You had your face pressed into Carmy’s pillows as he thrust into you at a painstakingly slow pace as his calloused fingers rubbed tight circles against your clit. “So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” Carmy whined lowly as he pulled his hand away from your clit. He brought both of his hands to your hips and started thrusting faster. Your moans became more ragged as you arched your back, desperate to feel him hit that one spot.
“Fuck Carmy!” you whimpered as you felt yourself coming undone. He had a similar sentiment as he bent over to kiss your shoulder.
“Just like that baby… cream on my cock, baby,” he growled into your ear.
~
The following day, Carmy woke up to an empty bed with a bright pink sticky note on his bedframe. 
“You’re too cute to wake up sometimes <3 
I have meetings all day. See you soon, baby.”
You and your sticky notes. Carmy chuckled as he got out of bed and quickly prepared himself for work. It would be another long day at the restaurant, and he hoped you’d be back in his bed tonight when he got home. 
Carmy walked into the kitchen that morning to hear Richie and Syd arguing about nonsense. Ebra struggled to pile rolls by the sandwich prep station, and Marcus was tweezing tiny flowers onto some cream puff dessert he’d been working on the past few days. Carmy felt his shoulders tighten as the frustration of running a restaurant settled in. 
Something felt off as your day went on, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. “Y/N. You’re goin’ to Houston.” your boss announced as he entered your office with a manilla envelope in one hand and a stupid grin on his face. You laughed and shot him a confused look, “Okay, hear me out, Y/N. You’re one of my best and brightest editors, and I know you can show these newbies how to run a tight ship.” he explained further as he stepped closer to your desk to drop the envelope on your desk. “The details are in there. The company is excited to see how much more you can grow in this position.” 
You thanked him as he walked out of your office. You leaned back in your desk chair and opened the envelope. Six weeks in Huston meant six weeks without Carmy would be hell, but looking at the itinerary your manager wrote, this would boost your career. It didn’t mean you’d have to like it, though.
~
Carmy sat on his couch that night and blankly stared at the TV. He’d put on some Danish cooking show as background noise while he waited for you to call him. He was growing impatient as the minutes ticked by; you had to be off work by now. Carmy put his head back on the couch and stared up at the off-white, almost grey stain on his ceiling. He always wondered what had happened, but the landlord claimed not to know. 
When his phone rang, Carmy jumped at the sound and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. “Hey baby.” he greeted, “Okay… didn’t expect that one Cousin.” Carmy rolled his eyes as Richie’s voice came through his phone speaker. “What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Dam. You talk to your girl like this? I don’t get how you pulled-” 
“Richie. What?” Carmy asked, cutting Richie off mid-riff. “Tyler called out- his wife is havin’ the baby. Need you to come in.” Richie hesitated to call Carmy in; he knew this was his first night off in almost a month. Carmy clicked his tongue before responding, “Okay.” he huffed and hung up his phone. He tossed it on the couch before getting up and walking toward his bedroom to quickly change into a pair of black Dickies and a white t-shirt. As he pushed his feet into a pair of sneakers, he heard his doorbell ring. “I swear to God…” he muttered as he pulled his jacket on before grabbing his backpack and leaving his room.
“Hey, ba—oh. I thought you were off tonight.” You cut yourself off when you noticed Carmy was in his work clothes. 
Carmy frowned, noticing the disappointment in your voice. “Tyler called out last minute.” he clarified as he caught your face falling further into disappointment. He was going to kill Richie when he saw him. “I’m sorry, princess.” 
You sighed, “It’s okay. I shoulda called, but I was packing.”
Your comment was met with a confused look from Carmy, “You goin’ somewhere?” he asked.
You nodded, “I’m going to Huston for like a month to help set up a new office.”
Carmy frowned at your reply; on one hand, he was proud of you for the work you’d been doing, but on the other, a month was a long time. “Oh shit.”
You laughed at his reaction, “I had the same reaction.” Carmy chuckled as he exited his apartment and threw an arm around your shoulders. 
“When do you leave?” he asked as the two of you walked down the hall toward the elevator of his building. 
“Tomorrow afternoon,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know it’s not a lot of warning, but I guess I can walk you to your car or something as a final in-person date until I return.” 
“You better.” Carmy teased
“I’ll also FaceTime you as much as possible while I’m gone.”
“You better.” Carmy teased again, making you laugh. “I’m gonna miss you.”
~
Carmy had been grumpy since you left. While the two of you called or Facetimed at least every other night and exchanged some Spicer messages and pictures throughout the weeks, it wasn’t the same. Neither of you were sleeping well, and the frustration of seeing you but not being able to touch you was getting to him. 
And it was everybody’s problem.
“When the fuck is she comin’ back?” Richie scoffed at Natalie that night at The Bear. Carmy was getting into it with the new line cook, and Richie needed a break from him. 
“Just a couple more days.” Natalie laughed without looking up from her computer. “He’ll be back to his usual level of chaos soon enough.” 
“A couple more days? I don’t know Sugar. I might throw that kid through a damn wall. Fuck head is getting on my last goddamn nerve.” Richie huffed as he sat across from her. Natalie laughed and shot him a look that validated his growing frustration. She knew Carmy better than anyone else and understood the annoyance he’d been putting the staff through. “Kid needs to get laid…” Richie muttered before excusing himself back to the kitchen. 
~
Carmy anxiously looked around the airport that morning. A month away from each other proved more difficult than either of you had anticipated. As you rode the escalator down to the main entrance where Carmy had been waiting, you couldn’t help but smile. “Carmy!” you squealed as you ran up to him, forgetting about your suitcase at the base of the escalator. Your excitement had caught him off guard, but when he’d realized it was you calling for him, he perked up. 
“Hey,” he greeted as he pulled you into a tight hug, “Holy shit, I missed you,” he said with an exacerbated sigh. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I literally have so much to tell you about! I missed you so much, Carm!” you rattled off as you tried to drag him out of the airport. Carmy laughed and nudged his head to the bottom of the escalator where your suitcase sat. The two of you retrieved your bag and headed out of the airport toward his car. As the two of you walked through the parking lot, you rattled off about the work you’d done over the past weeks and told him about some places you’d gone to eat. Carmy smiled the entire time. None of it was new information. With the amount the two of you had been texting and calling, it was like he’d been down in Houston with you, but he listened to everything you had to say.
You led Carmy up to your apartment while you continued rattling off details of your trip. He stood back, watched you unlock the door to your place, and followed you as you walked in. He placed your suitcase by the door and watched as you went over to the neatly stacked pile of mail your mom must have brought in while she watered your plants.
“Wanna watch a movie and order food?” you asked as you put your mail back on the counter before returning your full attention to Carmy. 
He nodded and leaned against the counter, “Whatever you want, baby.”
~
Your room was filled with your whimpers and the sound of skin slapping skin. Carmy had one of your legs hiked over his shoulder as he slowly pounded his against yours. “Fuckk- right there.” you gasped as Carmy’s thumb rubbed tight circles against your clit. He grunted as he leaned in, smashing his lips against yours. You moaned into his mouth as you felt the ever-familiar knot tightening in your stomach you’d missed while you were on your trip.
Carmy let your leg fall from his shoulder and his hand to your cheek. He rested his forehead against yours as his thrusts slowed to a painstakingly slow pace. You moaned softly and tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots as his chain tickled your chin. “Carmy.” you winced.
“So fuckin’ perfect baby… fuckin’ made for me…” Carmy groaned as he relished in the feeling of your pussy gripping around him. “I love you, Y/N.” the words left Carmy’s mouth without a second thought, and when he realized what he said, it was too late. You looked at him with wide eyes and let your hands drop to his shoulders.
“W-what did you say?” 
“I love you…” Carmy softly trailed off, hoping he didn’t ruin what the two of you had built over the past eight months. 
“I-I- Fuck, I love you too, Carmy.”
~
“Can you test me again? There’s no way.” you were bewildered when your doctor read your chart. 
“We can, but blood tests are over 99% accurate,” he said as he wrote something down on your chart. You stared at him in disbelief. You couldn’t be pregnant. “With the pregnancy, I can’t give you a refill of your Paxil, but we can try a different anti-depressant. The safest option is going to be Zoloft. I can also set you up with an appointment to see Dr. Parks; she’s an OB who is taking new patients. Here is your prescription and a pamphlet that explains your options… Congratulations.” he grinned and handed you multiple pamphlets and your new prescription. 
You nodded, not knowing how to react. You’d only been back in Chicago for a couple of weeks; there was no way you’d gotten pregnant. You had a period while you were in Houston; it was light, but it was there. You quickly shoved the papers into your bag and exited the doctor's office. This couldn’t be happening right now.
You’d been avoiding Carmy for about a week when he’d come knocking on your door. Telling your boyfriend of eight months, you were pregnant… you still couldn’t wrap your head around it- how would Carmy react? You swallowed and reluctantly opened the door, crossing your arms over your stomach.
“Break your phone?” Carmy chuckled as he stood in your doorway. 
“Sorry, work has been crazy… Can you come in? We need to talk about something…” 
Carmy’s face fell at the mention of needing to talk about something; this was the moment. You were going to break up with him. Why else would you avoid his calls and say you couldn’t come over? You were going to leave him like everyone else did. Carmy nodded silently and walked into your apartment. 
“You’re breaking up with me?” Carmy asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. You sighed and closed the door. You took a deep breath as you finally looked at Carmy. Unsure of what to say, you shook your head. “Then what is it, baby?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?”
“I’m pregnant, Carmy.”
“Holy shit.”
Carmy stood there in stunned silence. He brought a hand to his jaw and looked at you.
“I don’t want to keep it.”
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Part 2
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juudesgirl · 17 days ago
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the space he chose - jude bellingham (part 2)
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Back in Madrid — That Evening
The apartment was too quiet.
Jude sat hunched at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the soft glow of his phone. The room was dim, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening sun disappeared completely behind the buildings of Madrid. But he hadn’t moved to turn the lights on. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see the space around him, or worse — see how empty it felt without her.
3 missed calls from Mum.
1 message from Jobe: “What the hell happened with you and Y/N?”
His chest tightened as he read it again.
What had happened?
He thought if he let her go, he could protect her. That the silence would shield her from the storm his life had become. That maybe if he put distance between them, she’d be spared the weight of always being second to everything else — second to football, to flights, to fatigue. He thought he was doing the right thing.
But why didn’t it feel like it?
Before he could begin typing a response to Jobe — something, anything — his screen lit up.
“Mum calling”
He let it ring twice. Three times. His thumb hovered over the screen.
Then, finally, he answered.
“…Hi.”
There was a pause. Then his mum’s voice, low and strained:
“We saw Y/N.”
Jude’s stomach twisted.
“I figured,” he said quietly, voice already unsteady.
“She told us,” Denise continued. “About the breakup.”
The silence that followed seemed to echo through the room.
“She looked… heartbroken, Jude,” came Mark’s voice suddenly. Softer, sadder than Jude had expected. “And even then, all she wanted to do was say goodbye. To thank us. To ask us to look after you. After you left her.”
Jude closed his eyes. Shame pooled in his chest, hot and heavy.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” he said, barely audible.
“But you did.”
Jobe’s voice cut in, sharp and trembling with emotion. “You did, Jude. She looked like she was barely holding it together. Like she was trying not to fall apart in front of us. And yet, she still showed up with more strength and kindness than most adults I’ve ever met. She still defended you. Still loved you.”
Jude’s breath hitched, and he swallowed the ache rising in his throat.
“I thought I was protecting her,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the phone. “I thought… if I let her go now, it’d hurt less for her in the long run.”
Mark let out a heavy exhale. “Protecting her from what? From being loved? From building something real with you? From being part of your life?”
“I didn’t want her to hate me,” Jude choked out. “Didn’t want her to feel like she was chasing me around the world, only to always come second. I could see it happening already — the missed calls, the last-minute cancelled plans, the nights I came home too tired to even talk properly. I didn’t want her to start resenting me. I thought… I thought ending it now would save her from that pain.”
“But you didn’t save her from anything, Jude,” Denise said softly, and her voice broke in that motherly way that made him feel small — not out of shame, but out of truth. “She didn’t ask for a perfect version of you. She knew what she was signing up for. She chose you. Even when you were tired. Even when you were distracted and distant and didn’t have much to give. She still chose you.”
Jude’s shoulders began to shake. The tears came, silent and relentless. He didn’t wipe them away.
“She never asked you to be perfect, sweetheart,” Denise continued gently. “She just wanted to be loved. To be seen. To be fought for.”
“I didn’t know how,” he admitted through the tears. “I didn’t know how to be everything she needed.”
“She didn’t need everything, Jude,” Mark said. “She just needed you. The real you. Not the image. Not the name on the shirt. Not the kid with the world on his shoulders. Just Jude.”
And that was when it hit him fully — like the final crack in a dam that had been holding back months of emotion.
She had seen him. Really seen him. The version of him that wasn’t always confident. That sometimes crumbled under pressure. That sometimes got it wrong. And she had loved him anyway. She had stayed, even when he made it hard. Even when he shut down, even when he pulled away, she had stayed.
Until he forced her not to.
He buried his face in his hands, phone still pressed to his ear.
“I didn’t even say goodbye,” he whispered, voice barely there. “I let her walk away thinking I didn’t care. I let her think I was okay with losing her.”
There was silence on the other end of the line — not because they didn’t have anything left to say, but because they knew that was the part only he could fix. If it wasn’t already too late.
And maybe it was.
But right now, Jude didn’t know what hurt more — the silence that filled the space she used to be in, or the fact that he had been the one to create it.
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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 4 months ago
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Marked (MOC Dean x female reader)
Chapter 1 - Ten days
CWs Explicit sexual content. Some graphic violence. Dubious consent. Unhealthy relationships. Age gap. Sad ending. 18+. 8.6k words.
Mark of Dean series master list ⏐ SPN masterlist
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It’s been ten days since you and Dean had sex for the first time. Ten packages of twenty-four hours, neatly stacked beside each other, like birthday presents. Every hour filled with sixty minutes. Every minute with sixty seconds. 
You’re pretty sure not a single one has passed without you thinking of him.
Something always brings you back to him. It’s difficult to avoid him, first of all, living together in the bunker, or the signs of him. A dirty coffee cup. A sandwich wrapper. Sometimes his smell wafting in the air, telling you he’s been there – a smell you got to know intimately. A smell you washed off yourself afterwards. 
Standing in one of the large, tiled showers, water so hot it flushed your skin running over you. You try not to remember how long you stood in front of the shower, how hard you had to convince yourself to step in, knowing you wouldn’t be able to smell him on you afterwards. How you scrubbed at yourself, in the end, frantically, once doubt and shock at yourself started pouring in. How it still feels like he’s all over you.
To pretend you went to Dean’s room not hoping for exactly this would be to lie. You did, although you’re not sure you were even aware of the wish. You went there for something completely different. You could claim ignorance, but the way Dean has been looking at you, studying you, is something you’re violently aware of. The crush you’ve had on him for as long as you can remember – try convincing a jury that there was no premeditation and you would land behind bars. You’ve carried a flame for him for a long time, but it was always just that, a crush. You had no idea it could turn into a wildfire.
You assumed Dean was out of your league, but then Dean’s pretty much out of anyone’s league – even the beautiful, breathtaking women you’ve seen him with seem to shrink in his presence. There’s something about that you don’t wish to explore, how a beautiful man holds so much power. But it’s not just Dean’s looks, of course – though they would be enough to make him the most mesmerizing person in any room. It’s him. His presence.
The first layer: charming, funny. A little silly, dorky, but in a way that makes his good looks bearable. He could be vain, could be vapid. He’s not. He’s engaged. He’s present, yet careless. He’s a horndog and a jokester and it’s easy to roll your eyes at him. It’s like Dean gives up a little bit of his power by being himself, maybe because in a way, he doesn’t see himself as powerful, or he didn’t. Not until he got the Mark.
The second layer is his fierce loyalty. His love. Being in Dean’s inner circle, part of his chosen family, his tribe, is like having the sun shine on you and only you. It always made you ache violently, to be loved like that by him. He’s protective. No, that word doesn’t encompass it. There is no word. He will protect you and Sam and Castiel and Charlie and a few chosen others even while he is bleeding and dying and crippled. It’s what he does. And when he did, looked after you, enquired about you, protected you on a hunt, you felt a need so deep inside yourself it made you want to bend over and sob. Not arousal, but something sadder, yet still similar. Need. Want. You’d lie in bed with one hand between your thighs, the other pressing your pillow into your face as you wept from both ends. The knowledge that you would never be loved as fiercely and protectively by anyone as you were loved by Dean Winchester, and that it still wasn’t enough.
The third layer is the one that has all the hate for himself. Dean’s the exception to the rule, or maybe the exception to prove the rule. He should have everything in life with how he is, how he enters the stage. Nothing should be able to stop him. But he himself does. He’s his own worst enemy. You see the way he isolates himself sometimes, the way he’s decided he needs to carry everything on his own. There’s no convincing him otherwise, not at this point. When you say something nice to him, genuinely tell him about his goodness, he waves it off in a way that isn’t just politeness, or pretend humbleness. It’s deeper. It’s uncomfortable for him, painful, because his own idea of himself is so far from what you’re telling him.
It makes your love for him burn that much brighter. Dean evokes that distinct, ever famous I can fix him urge, the one that has been the downfall of many a great woman. The belief that maybe he can be unknotted, in some way. He would be the perfect man, if only he didn’t get so angry at himself and in turn the world, if only he could be a little softer without scaring himself, if only he could settle for something rather than panic the moment any kind of standstill happens. If only he was a completely different person with a different set of experiences, he would be perfect. You’re pretty sure that’s what Dean thinks about himself, too.
And the Mark has done something to him. Sure, it’s old, it’s ancient, it’s biblical, it’s the ultimate symbol of evil and murder and fratricide. But it has flipped a switch in him and suddenly all those voices that have made Dean question who he is, kept him down, suddenly seem turned off. It’s like there is another, louder voice, that tells him it's okay and you are right and this is just. 
Quod erat demonstrandum: him sleeping with you.
You feel a little silly at calling it that. Sleeping together. You didn’t do any sleeping, and the only connection to those words is that you did it in his bed. You had a moment, Dean buried deep in you, his sweat mixing with yours, your brain almost melting out of your ears, where you thought: Dean wouldn’t do this, while he was, quite literally, doing this. It must not have been real. But it was.
You came, harder than ever before, and not just once. No doubt that Dean Winchester knows what to do with a woman’s body - not that you had any doubt about that. It’s the kind of experience you would laugh at fantasizing about, because while it’s a good fantasy, it’s so unrealistic as to be embarrassing. But it still happened. 
Still, it’s not how you imagined it, not quite. It wasn’t your first sexual experience, but close enough to it to almost count as it. But the Dean you imagined being with, all those times before, was, well, the Dean you know. Silly, a little shy maybe in the face of it. He would enjoy you and you him and you would fall down on the bed afterwards, satisfied, laughing. Whole.
But this man who ravished you, opened you up - it’s still Dean, of course, but it was someone else as well. It wasn’t the man who got excited at a pair of boobs, who thought a red thong was the height of eroticism, who bought his almost juvenile skin mags at the gas station, like the world of free online porn had never been invented. He wasn’t just scratching an itch, and he wasn’t making love. He was fulfilling something - something so deep and primal that you don’t have the words for it.
You don’t know whether that’s better or worse. If it had been the Dean you know, the silly one, you know you’d be even more in love than you already were. If he had held you, caressed your cheek, maybe kissed your forehead - what woman wouldn’t have become a vessel with the sole purpose of making this man hers? 
But it was different. He wasn’t dismissive, or rough in a way that you didn’t like, and he didn’t make you feel like he didn’t care. While he was deep inside you, fucking you from behind, you asked him to kiss you - and he did. It was your first time kissing him, after he’d already been fucking you for a while. But he did kiss you, once you requested it. He kissed you, gently, while he fucked you like an animal.
And that’s the thing. On the spectrum of how you expected the sex to be - one end: loving, gentle, soft, the other: rough, hateful, impersonal, not loving - it falls somewhere in the middle. You like to think you don’t have any puritanical views on sex, but you don’t know where to put it. The neediness and passion, yet it was definitely fucking, not sleeping together, and not making love. But Dean doesn’t hate you, doesn’t think less of you for giving yourself to him the way so many men would in his place. 
You lean forward, elbows on the library table and lay your face into your hands, rub at it. 
This is exactly the circular madness you have been going through for the last ten days. Back and forth and back and forth, constantly, on what does it all mean? You’re young, you know that, but not clueless. Still, you’ve been taught enough that you know a sexual relationship with a man almost twice your age carries a certain power dynamic that should make you run the other way. And the fact that you can’t place the act, can’t qualify it - is that your lack of experience causing it, or should you trust your gut? Trust that voice inside you that is telling you to stay away? The one only surpassed by the voice telling you to find Dean right now and tear at his clothes and make him do all the things he already did again.
So this is how you’ve spent your days - fluctuating, unsure, nervousness buzzing under your skin. You’ve avoided Dean, because of the urges it sets free in you - what you wouldn’t do to take his hand, shove it into your underwear while he grunts into your ear - and also because the way Dean has been looking at you, talking to you when you are unable to avoid him, is sure to set you on fire.
He’s not flirting. No, flirting is suggesting, is saying something without saying something, is getting the other person to consider you a certain way. That’s not what Dean has been doing. What he has been doing is much less subtle. 
He stares at you. Stares at you and when you catch him at it, it’s you who looks away, blushing, not him, and something about that isn’t right. He mostly doesn’t say anything outright, because usually Sam or Castiel are there, by your design, and he doesn’t resort to innuendos, double meaning, licking at the rims of cups or stroking cylindrical objects or finger fucking any soft, pliable surfaces. He’s not trying to seduce you. It’s like he knows he doesn’t have to.
Instead, he just looks at you. Which shouldn’t be as effective as it is, but it is. Not stolen glances. No brushing past each other, backs of hands accidentally touching. It makes arousal twist in you so violently you think you’ll be sick.
One morning, he caught you alone in the kitchen - Dean’s usually the one who sleeps the longest, so you didn’t think you’d meet him at that hour. You were pouring coffee and he walked in, stopped in his tracks while you turned to look at him. Then he kept walking towards you. A million perverted fantasies went through your head in one go - was he going to push you against the wall, take what he, maybe rightfully, considered to be his? Kiss you? Pry you open?
Instead he stopped just a step short of you, looked down into your eyes, you half turned to him, coffee pot in one hand, cup in the other, waiting for whatever he was going to do.
“Take your clothes off,” he said, like that was a viable option, like you were going to put down the coffee and then get naked, in the kitchen, where anyone could walk in, only for Dean to– what? Fuck you there? On the table? Fast and hard and hand pressed over your mouth so no one would hear the sounds he drew from you? Not a viable option. Still, exactly the thing that went through your mind. Your breath stuck in your throat when he stepped closer to you, his scent all around you suddenly.
“I wanna see your skin again,” he said and you needed to swallow. Not pussy or tits or ass, or anything like that. Your skin. How absolutely unsexual, and yet the most erotic thing anyone had ever said to you. Surely, it wasn’t depraved if Dean only wanted to see your skin?
“I–” you stuttered, unsure what to say, then settling on: “We shouldn’t.” Which didn’t mean you didn’t want it. Which didn't mean you weren’t craving it. Only that by some outside law, it was bad and wrong. A soft smile played on Dean’s lips while he watched you intently.
“Says who?” he asked. You just had time to wonder who, indeed, before Sam came barreling into the kitchen, sweaty and breathing hard from his morning run. Dean took a step back, switching to his jovial self, leaving you standing there breathless and wet.
Who, indeed? Who is saying you shouldn’t? And so your thoughts make their inevitable rounds. You love Dean, really love him, and as much as the thought that he wants you - he wants you, needs you, he wants to see your skin - is making you fall apart at the seams, you’re also sure it’s not real. Not really. It’s the Mark. It has to be.
And that, in itself, makes it wrong. Makes it bad. Because Dean’s not himself. He’s driven by this thing, by this power. You’ve seen him act out, more violently than ever before, and that’s really saying something. He enjoys it now. Maybe he always has, but he sure doesn’t feel ashamed about embracing it now. Is it the same with sex? You don’t think he’s been hooking up as much when you’re out on a case, which seems contradictory to your theory that the Mark is magnifying all those primal needs. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.
You press your fingertips against the skin of your temple, trying to get some of the tension out. Trying to think of anything other than the way the muscles under Dean’s skin moved when he was over you, the way he kept looking into your eyes even when he pressed his cock down your throat, the way his strong hands felt on your most sensitive parts. You felt beautiful. How sick is that? And you felt safe. Thrilled, nervous. But safe. 
As if summoned by your thoughts, the three men you share the bunker with - well, two men and an angel - walk in, and from Sam’s tone alone you know he is talking about a case. The laptop he has balanced in one hand while gesticulating with the other is a dead giveaway too. Castiel is wearing his usual frown and walking behind the tall hunter. And then there’s Dean.
He’s sauntering more than walking, the way he does. It’s not arrogance. It’s a put-on display of coolness, because Dean meets the world with a balled fist and a charming smile. He has to. It’s the way he’s survived.
He looks at you and your gazes meet before you can avert your eyes. You look away, breath catching in your throat, stare at the table in front of you. As the three come closer to where you are sitting, you look back. Dean is still looking at you, the slightest smile on his lips. God, he’s so beautiful. After how much time you’ve spent with him, you’d think the novelty would wear off at some point. It hasn’t.
“I’m not totally sure it’s something for us,” Sam says while he sits down but two chairs from you, putting the laptop on the table without taking his eyes off it. “But the first death looks suspicious, and there is a witness for it.”
“But you said they didn’t see anything,” Castiel says with that rough voice of his as he sits opposite Sam - it’s still strange to see him casually lounge around, something you’re gonna have to get used to. Sam raises his hands from where they’re resting on the table, his face saying well? Meanwhile Dean positions himself somewhere between the two at the head of the table. Man of the house, you involuntarily think as you try to zone into the conversation.
“Care to fill me in?” you ask, and both Sam and Castiel turn to you. 
Your relationship to both of them is good. They treat you the way Dean used to treat you - like a junior tribe member, a younger sister, not that the age difference really checks out for that. Everyone in this cobbled together family takes care of each other. When you joined them a few years ago - insistent, no family you could go live with since they had all been killed - Sam called you stubborn, and according to your role, you rolled your eyes at him. But Dean just shook his head. She just knows what she wants, is all, he said, and you blushed under his gaze. The gaze that, back then, you’re sure, wasn’t what it is now. 
You’re distracted from your thoughts when your phone buzzes. It’s lying on the table, screen down, and you pick it up, unlock it in one swift motion without even looking who the message is from. 
You look beautiful today. Sexy. Good color on you.
You swallow, eyes going immediately up to Dean. He’s standing there, watching you, phone in one hand, other arm tugged across his chest. Without breaking eye contact, you lock your screen, but keep your phone in your hand while you try to focus on what Sam has been saying. 
“So it looks like they drowned, even though there was no water nearby,” Sam says and turns to you just as you force your gaze back to him.
“Some kind of water spirit?” you hazard, even though you’ve only heard the last little bit of what Sam said. Sam pulls down the corners of his mouth a little. It’s the look he gets when someone’s wrong but he’s too nice, too polite, to say how stupid what they just said is. That’s Sam for you - so friendly and empathetic that it makes your insides twist. It used to not bother you - quite the opposite. It’s Sam you would spend long evenings talking about loss and grief with, not Dean. The perspectives he gave you and how intently you listened to him made you love him wholeheartedly. 
But since you and Dean, Dean and you, that thing, the thing that happened, you realize you’ve been avoiding him. And you know he can tell. He’s been throwing you looks too, but a very different kind than his brother. He seems worried. Only a little over a week that you’ve been feeling strange and already Sam’s picked up on it. It would move you if it didn’t annoy you so much. Fill you with so much dread.
Like now, him considering your suggestion of the water spirit when clearly he’s already ruled that possibility out. If Sam thought it could be a water spirit, he would have said it could be a water spirit. The fact that he hasn’t means he’s already pretty sure it’s not. Still, he acts like it’s a legitimate solution, and that in itself makes your blood run hot. 
You’re good at this. The hunting, specifically. The interpreting the lore and understanding what monster it is this time. You are, and more than once you’ve made the three men give each other impressed looks at your words. Look at you, big brain, Dean once said, grinning. Proud. He was proud of you. You don’t think that’s an emotion he feels regarding you anymore.
Just then, your phone buzzes again and without thinking about it, you look down at it. The preview of the message shows. It’s from Dean.
Too bad Rizzoli and Isles are here. I would love to have you on that table, right where you’re sitting. I could go so deep if you’re be…
The screen goes dark again before you finish reading, and you don’t wake it again. You need to swallow, a delicious, almost painful twist somewhere in your lower abdomen. You can see it, almost as if Dean beamed the images from his head into yours.
Shirt pulled up, jeans pulled down, no time for full undressing. Bent over the table, Dean standing behind you, one hand on your hip, one… in your hair, maybe? Your chest on the smooth wooden surface. You’ve never had your cheek pressed to it, but you’re sure you know what it would feel like. And Dean maybe wouldn’t thrust but grind into you, twist himself around in you. It would take a long time for you to get there, but it wouldn’t matter, because Dean would take his time and you could explore that rise of pleasure, how his body makes your body feel exactly. You would explore it together while he’d hold you like a taut string, calling you baby girl and good girl and my girl and who knows what else.
You blink yourself out of your reverie, try to focus on what is happening. Heavens, you feel like you’re running a fever. You look up and just catch Castiel looking at you too. It makes you clench your teeth just as the clenching between your legs lets up. God, why can’t everyone just stop looking at you? Why are you under such constant scrutiny? Your eyes shoot up to Dean, who is looking at Sam who is talking again. Is that what you want? For everyone, including Dean, to stop looking at you?
“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, and Sam stops talking in the middle of a word, looks at Castiel, then, following his gaze, at you. Dean does too and you quickly look away from him, focus on the angel. He cares too, is kind and sweet, but a little less concerned with everyone’s feelings when it comes to staring into your soul with those baby blues.
You almost want to shake yourself. Why are you so dismissive of their care, of their worry for you? It’s something you’ve always loved, something that always made you feel safe, looked after. Why the sudden antagonism?
Because you have a dirty secret, a voice inside your brain offers. And if Sam or Castiel found out, found out what you have done, no, what Dean has done to you, or what you have done to him, with him, they would look at you differently. You clear your throat.
“I just, I have a headache,” you say, then clear your throat again. 
“Maybe you should lie down for a little,” Dean says and you whip your head towards him, eyes wide. A perfectly innocent suggestion. Except of course it’s not.
“Yeah,” Sam says, looking at the laptop screen, then at his watch. “Look, this is pretty inconclusive, so even if it is something for us, we won’t be leaving for a couple of hours. Why don’t you take a nap?” Your shoulders tense, but then you stand up.
“I will,” you say, feeling a little breathless, “thanks, guys.”
With that, you stride out of the room, not looking back. You walk down the hallway to your bedroom, quicker than you need to. Like when you used to need the bathroom in the middle of the night as a child, and even though you were too old to think monsters were real - ironic, now, looking back - you still couldn’t help but hurry on your way back to bed. Just in case something snapped at your heels. Just in case something was about to breathe down your neck.
You’re almost at your door when your phone buzzes again. You shouldn’t look, you know that. It could be anyone, in theory, but you know it’s not. But you still look. Of course you look.
When you get to your room, I want you to touch yourself. Think about me. 
Your palm lands on the door to your room, throwing it open, then throwing it shut behind you. You think about locking it for a moment - but that would be an overreaction, right? That would be mad? That would imply you don’t feel safe living there. Is that what this is? Do you not feel safe?
Walking to the bed, you put your phone on the small night table, then lift up the comforter, slip under it. No thick boots for you to kick off, you leave that to Sam and Dean. You’re a creature of comfort and you refuse to tie up your feet all day long in what is supposed to be your home.
Tugging your legs up, you wrap your arms around your knees. Ignore that you want to stretch out. Ignore that you want to feel the fabric against your skin, running over you. Imagine it’s someone’s fingers. You close your eyes, try to ignore that tight fist inside of you.
Go to sleep, you think. And when you wake up, everything will be fine.
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Dean stands there, listening to his little brother blab about the case, throw theories back and forth with Cas, and the only reason he doesn’t rush right after you is because he’s imagining you on that table.
You’re naked, fully naked, bared for him and only him, and you’re on your back, ass at the edge, your ankles somewhere near his ears while he bends you in half as he fucks you deep. You whimper, but you also spur him on. Fuck yes and keep going, harder and oh God, you’re so deep, Dean. And he would. He would do it all.
He can feel himself grow hard in his jeans, shifts a little to hide it. He likes the chase, it’s not that he doesn’t. He loves walking in on you unexpectedly when you’re in the kitchen or the library, loves the look on your face when you’re surprised when you see him. He knows that you think about him then, about that night, about the ways your bodies sang together. Maybe you’re thinking up some new things, too, but whatever it is, you’re thinking about him. That’s really all he cares about.
Because he thinks about you. Every second, every minute, every hour. He goes to bed, freshly emptied, your name on the tip of his tongue as he finishes himself off with quick and rough strokes, and he wakes up achingly hard, already seeing your face before he has even opened his eyes. It’s like he’s a goddamn teenager all over again, except without all the confusion and shame. 
There’s no shame he feels when he sends you a message telling you he wants to fuck you on this table, or when he goes to the washing machine and your laundry is waiting in a nearby basket and he presses a piece of clothing of yours against his face, inhales. No shame when he once had to take care of himself right there when he found a pair of your panties, buried deep in the pile, a dried white smudge right there. No shame when he walks past you, brushes close by on purpose. No shame when he eye fucks you across the room. No shame when he’s sure, so sure, he can smell your arousal in the air every time you’re close. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or not, and he doesn’t really care, if he’s being honest.
He raises his phone, checks the message he sent you. You haven’t opened it, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen it. Doesn’t mean you don’t know exactly what he wants you to do. 
He latches back onto the ongoing conversation. He’s better at it than you, maybe exactly because of the lack of shame, so he waits until his brother has said something, and then Cas, and then taps his hand against his arm.
“Didn’t we have something like this in storage downstairs?” he asks, making his voice sound curious. Sam raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t know, did we?” he asks. Dean nods.
“I’ll go take a look,” he says and before anyone can ask any further questions, he turns around and walks away, straight to your room.
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You try to go to sleep for a whole thirty seconds, but you know immediately it's useless.
Somehow your hand has found its way between your legs, and with the comforter still over you, you can almost pretend whatever is happening there under it has nothing to do with your head peeking out from the covers. Never mind how quickly your fingers have warmed you up. Never mind how you’re slowly rolling your hips. Never mind that it’s Dean’s head you’re imagining moving under the covers.
You just want to come. You just want that tension out of you, let the tiredness of it carry you to sleep. A quick nap, a case. Exactly what you need to focus yourself. And if thinking about Dean working away at you is what gets you there quickest - well, you’re just being practical, right?
Right then you’re imagining Dean unlatching his plump lips from your clit, and kissing his way up your body. Deep, open-mouthed kisses with his breath fanning over you to warm the coolness left behind by his spit. He nips at your throat when he reaches it and you hum at it.
Then he’s over you and both your imagined and your real version drop their legs open. To receive him, to let him in. No barriers, already wet and glistening, and he slides in so easily, yet there’s rapture on his face at feeling you. You make a sound in your throat and when you hear another sound, you freeze.
Eyes flying open, you look. A part of you expects Dean to simply be standing at the foot of your bed, but he has not crossed that line - as far as you know, at least. But he’s not standing there, and you wonder what the sound was. Until you hear it again, and your eyes go to the door.
Someone is standing on the other side of it. You just catch the slight movement, the change in how the light from the hallway outside falls in through the gap at the bottom, the slightest creak, maybe of shoes. It can’t be the floor, since the hallways are tiled, but maybe a leather boot?
He’s standing there, you realize. Dean is standing on the other side of the door. He could come in, right now. He could. See you here, making yourself come to the thought of him. 
But he doesn’t. He just stands there. Unmoving, or almost. The shadow and light interplaying under the door only slightly moving. Is it possible you can see him breathe? No, there’s no way. You must be imagining it. And yet…
For a moment, it leaves you cold and freaked out. For a moment. Then you imagine him there - he was wearing that shirt with the brownish, yellowish pattern, the one that would look grievous on anyone else, but that made his eyes pop. Swampy, you told him only a few weeks ago, making him smile. Swampy in a good way.
The light stubble. The one you now know, intimately, the feel of. Against your cheek, your lips. So many parts of your body. You can almost feel it now, at the top of your breasts, scratching along the skin while he works his way up, or down, or wherever. You don’t really care.
His hands. Compact and strong. Good, honest hands, you always thought. Hands that can squeeze your flesh, the thumb that can press down on your tongue, the fingers that can roam your insides and undo you.
Your own fingers twitch, there, between your legs. Twitch, then move a little, only testing. Oh, who are you kidding?
He’s right there, behind that door, as your fingers explore your wetness, find all the places you know will make you warm. Another sound comes from your throat. The shadow moves.
Is he maybe touching himself? Could it be? Right out there, in the hallway? For anyone to see, anyone to walk by suddenly? Castiel’s eyes would probably burn out of his skull, and Sam’s too, only more violently. But no, you don’t want to think about them.
You want to think about Dean. About his hand, rubbing over the bulge in his jeans. About his breath hitting the door, because he stands so close to it, too eager to hear every single sound you make. How he’s staring at that door handle - should he or shouldn’t he? He wants to, that’s for sure.
You imagine he doesn’t. He needs to stay outside, but he can’t stop himself, because you hear clinking, metal on metal, you’re sure, maybe a belt buckle being opened, maybe a zipper being pulled down. Maybe a skilled hand pushing inside.
He finds himself, just like you found yourself, and he’s so hard. Just from thinking about you, just from hearing a single sound on the other side of the door. How pathetic. How good. How right. You know what he feels like, what his softest skin felt like under your palm, and that’s what you feel now, in the hand rubbing you, like some sort of strange, phantom double sensation.
He can’t wait. He’s too hard, needs you too badly. Still, the first stroke is excruciatingly slow, because it’s the one he imagines sinking into you on. Velvety, wet softness greeting him, you so open and ready for him. He doesn’t even have to put in any work, although he would be happy to. 
He drags his hand up to his balls, pushes against them just a little, imagines it’s you, it’s the natural stop of how deep he can go, even though he wishes he could go deeper. He wishes he could fill up all of you, until he’s coming out of every pore. He wishes he could become the essence of you, crawl under your skin.
Emotion, deep in your throat. Love, need, want - one of them, or all of them. The shadow shifts again but then your eyes fall closed so you can focus on the sounds, focus on the image of Dean on the other side of the door.
He begins stroking, pulling out of you and in. He goes slow, even though it’s hard to control himself now that he’s inside you, but he wants not just to fuck, but to learn. Learn about every single bump and crevice and part of you. Commit it to memory. Not that he needs to. Not that this isn’t just the first time of a million.
Your breathing is chopped as your bodies get used to each other, as he finds that perfect rhythm, the perfect angle. It’s almost like he’s exploring you, like some new exotic continent he’s come to claim and make his, to own and pillage, and when on one stroke, one round of your fingers on your clit, you pivot your body up, throaty sound bursting forth from you, he knows he’s found the way to you.
He focuses on that, tests it again, and it elicits the same reaction from you. There you go, he says, the concentration on his face breaking in favor of a soft and knowing grin. That’s where you need me, isn’t it? 
It is. It’s where you need him, need to have him, exactly like that, how is he doing this? So sudden, so expertly, but now that he knows where, knows how, there’s no stopping him. He pushes that part, over and over, and there it is, that first taste of pleasure, spreading outside from that spot like a tidal wave. Into your lower abdomen, the tops of your thighs. You’re clenching, searching for him, but there’s no point in you taking control, not when he is taking you high so perfectly. 
His hand tightens on your thigh, or maybe it’s your own, it doesn’t matter. He’s adding a twist to the hand stroking him, the inside of his index finger pressing into the sensitive spot under his cockhead. Except it’s your pussy instead, dragging this pleasure from him. He’s fucking you, but the way you look at him, the slightest smile on your face, clenching down on him, allowing him to pleasure you - you’re the one in charge. Or he is. It’s not clear. Maybe it’s too complicated for that.
He picks up his speed, and you moan. His mouth is open, lips parted while he’s breathing hard, and he looks down at where your bodies are meeting. Oh fuck, baby girl, look at you taking me so well. This tight little pussy taking me so well, huh? Maybe you want him to say something else. It’s too pornographic, too on the nose, right? But it feels so good to hear it. How he makes you small small small but you never diminish.
He huffs. Your body is so good and perfect that even though he’s calling the shots, if that's what he's doing, it’s almost too much for him. He’s fucked a thousand women but you, you are the one who’s gonna ruin him. The only one he ever really wanted.
Faster, deeper, there is no upper limit, not in your imagination and certainly not in his, standing behind that door, now breathing through his nose in an attempt to make himself more quiet, but it’s like he’s all you can hear.
Dean, you moan, over and over, his name so often expelled from you that he should grow bored of it, but he doesn’t. Yes, please, oh God, you feel so good. So f-fucking good. 
You’re gonna come. You’re about to, it’s there, it’s behind your eyelids and in your toes and in the backs of your knees. You’re gonna come, so your hands shoot to his ass, push him harder against you, or trying to, while all these uncontrolled sounds leave you, your fingers on your clit so fast it’s dizzying, his hand moving so fast he won’t be able to stop, even if he wanted to. But why would he ever want to?
Yes yes yes you cry out, teeth clamped shut, body shoved back and forth by his hard thrusts and Dean pulls his upper lip up, like an animal about to strike, his balls and pelvis slapping against you, bruising you, but only stimulating you more, his cock thick and filled with blood and so close to bursting. You want me so fucking deep inside of you, huh? Want me everywhere all over inside of you? he pants, but it barely makes sense. How could it, with his brain having turned into a melting reactor core?
He comes first, but only just. Throws his head back while his hips keep working on their own accord, snapping back and forth, painfully hard now, perfectly hard now. But you are right behind him, aah aah, could be pain, could be horror, could be lust. At some point, all three become the same. The muscles on the insides of your thighs twitch hard, out of control and your stomach muscles tense, so perfectly, eyes rolling up. Your hand grabs the pillow under your head, twists it, while the other keeps working away at you until you need to stop, the feeling becoming too much.
Your body goes slack, blissfully, buzzing, perfect, excruciating. It’s done, it’s over, and it’s the deepest relief. You feel like you ate your fill off a table of rich foods after days without a morsel. 
The pull of sleep is so strong behind your eyes, and you almost miss the shuffling sound over your own breathing. You move your head, eyes blinking open, which is hard work, the hardest in the world. There’s the slight tackiness of sweat under your armpits, and other parts of your body. You need to shower before you leave, you remind yourself, or, if there’s no time for a shower, apply some more deodorant. Change your underwear, that unhelpful voice in your head suggests.
The shadow under the door is gone. Only a thin strip of light, one that you can never turn off as the lights in the hallway don’t turn off. One you had to get used to when first sleeping here. A little bit of light is fine, but the fact that it comes in so concentrated, on that spot, made your eyes go to it over and over instead of close for sleep.
But there’s no one standing there. Or not anymore, at least. There was someone there, right? 
You should care. You should worry. But you can’t. You roll to your side, and fall asleep.
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Dean stumbles to his room. Jesus, he almost painted your door white. Not entirely untempting, but not the erotic present he wants to leave you, his come dripping down the wood of your entrance. He snorts at the idea, his brain still scrambled from the intense orgasm that, luckily, ended up in his boxers. 
He just has the energy to kick closed the door behind him and pull all of his clothes off himself. He almost stumbles as his jeans end up stuck on one leg where his boot didn’t fly off when he kicked it away. Life long hunter skills and the Mark, but the way his brain leaks out of his dick when he comes thinking of you makes him trip around like an idiot.
He pushes off the urge to fling himself on the bed for just another second, grabs one of the tissues from the box next to his bed, wipes it over himself, grimacing at the expected sensitivity. Distantly he’s aware that he should feel more done, or that he used to after busting it like that. And he is, done, he means, but also, if you were to walk in right now, he’d be hard and fucking you again in a few seconds.
No, not again. He didn’t fuck you. But it felt like it when he heard you, listened to you. He could have sworn he felt you wrapped around him.
He just manages to pull off his shirt and t-shirt, then falls down on the mattress, groans contentedly, eyes already closing. The air of the bunker’s a little nippy on his ass, so he blindly feels around for the blanket, finds it, drags it over himself as best he can without actually, really moving.
He’s snoring before he can form another thought.
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There is time for a shower, and it’s good, because it’s what you need to do, to do what you need to do. You need to feel clean. It’s important.
You raise your hand, only hesitating a moment before knocking on Dean’s door.
Shuffling inside, and a moment later he opens the door, handsome face peeking through the widening gap. He looks a little surprised, cheeks sucked in slightly. You love his face like that, curious, boyish, but then you love his face in pretty much any way.
You smile at him. You haven’t smiled at him in so long, too worried it would feel like encouragement, too worried it would open you up to his advances. But you don’t worry about that anymore.
“Hey,” you say, and your voice is clear. “Do you have a minute?” Dean blinks, then nods, opens the door wider.
“Sure, come in,” he says, and you can’t deny the small thrill inside yourself at how surprised he sounds. No trace, right now, of the dark seducer. He’s just Dean. 
You walk in, and he closes the door behind you. You look at the bed, the bed you spent that night in ten days ago. It doesn’t look as scary now.
“Sammy and Cas ready to leave?” Dean asks, and it’s almost like he’s making conversation. You turn around, arms not crossed in front of your chest, no guarded look on your face. You’re open. Because you love this man. 
“Yeah, we can leave in a little bit,” you say, then intertwine your hands before your body. “But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”
It’s Dean who crosses his arms over his chest. He looks interested, now, intrigued, but also you don’t miss the slight flick in his gaze going over your body.
“What did you want to talk about?” he says, just the slightest twist of irony on the word talk, like you’re using it as an excuse. You can’t blame him. But you’re here to be honest, straightforward. 
It’s the one thing you haven’t done. No actual conversation was had over what happened between you two. Only looks and messages and silent need. But Dean’s not himself. He isn’t, no matter how much he likes to spin the whole the Mark only makes you more of yourself idea. He’s not. 
He’s not capable of saying no. He has biblical forces working against him. But you don’t. You’re the adult in this situation, as strange as it may sound. And you need to make a decision. 
“What happened between us,” you say, then press your lips together, almost chuckling at yourself, your own inability to come straight out with it. “Us, having sex? It shouldn’t have happened.”
Dean drops his arms, looks down, one corner of his mouth going up, a little huff escaping him. It makes him look perfectly charming. He looks back up at you, some softness in his gaze accompanying the knowing spark.
“Cause it was wrong? ” he asks. “Bad? Naughty? Immoral?” You can’t help but shake your head a little. Figures he would try to turn this into dirty talk. How would he know he shouldn’t do that if you’ve never told him?
“Because you’re not yourself,” you say, voice gentle. “Because I took advantage of you.”
Dean blinks, then blinks again, his smile slowly vanishing, dropping off his face. It sounded strange to you too, until you thought about it more, really thought about it. But it’s the truth. 
“You might say that the Mark is a means to an end,” you continue before Dean can say anything. “But it has changed you, even you admit that. It might just be removing your inhibitions, but that’s still changing you.” 
Dean still looks dumbfounded. A slight frown is all that’s left on his face. It’s free of expression otherwise.
“It’s like you’ve been magically roofied,” you say, then incline your head. “Or magically viagra’d, maybe more fitting.” You shrug. “The point is, you don't have the capacity to control yourself. Or to say no.”
Dean blinks again, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It makes him look young. Like he’s in trouble and expects someone to yell at him.
“So what does that mean?” he says finally. You give him a sad smile.
“It means, Dean,” you say, slowly, the words not easy to bring out despite your mind being made up on this. “It means it can’t ever happen again. It means that no matter how much I care for you…”
You stop, feeling awkward for the first time. Now it’s you shifting around.
“No matter how much I might want you,” you continue and Dean inclines his head at that word. “It’s not right. Because you can’t say no. Because whatever… urges you have that made you do this, they aren’t your own. Not really.”
It might be your imagination, but Dean looks sad, you think, maybe a little disappointed. It surprises you and tugs at your heart. So you do something that might be a huge mistake. You step forward and take his hand.
He looks down at it, then up at your face again. You run your thumb over the back of his hand, your gaze briefly flicking to the Mark on his arm. It looks like a scar, like a thick, ugly scar.
“I care about you so much,” you say, and you’re surprised at the emotion in your voice. No, you’re not surprised, actually. Of course it’s there. You look up at Dean. 
“And I think I hurt you,” you continue, swallow. “And that’s worse than anything else in the world.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” Dean speaks up. He’s still looking at your hands holding his, but then he looks at your face too. “You didn’t.” You force a smile onto your face. Of course he would take the blame for himself.
You bring your hands up, and Dean’s with them. You press the knuckle of his thumb against your lips, kiss it. Then you look up again. There’s tears in your eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” you say. “I’m really, really sorry.”
With that, you let go of him. Dean doesn’t stop you when you walk around him, out the door. It’s difficult not to look back.
When you’re halfway down the hall, a single sob leaves you. Your heart hurts so much it threatens to burst out of your chest. But there’s another feeling as well. The feeling that you have done the right thing, even if it is hard. 
You love Dean. You always will. But not like this. Not at this cost. Never at this cost.
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Dean stands where you left him, the hand you kissed flexing open and closed over and over. There’s two things happening inside him.
One is the mangled, dried out throat of his old self, his real self, whatever one wants to call it, moving because it’s trying to speak. 
You think you took advantage of him. You of him. It’s seven kinds of fucked up. It’s not the truth, and the fact that you think that, makes Dean want to rip down the walls, smash the furniture. He was a kid who thought every bad thing that happened was his fault. He’s an adult who thinks the same. And you’re not a kid, not anymore, but you think that. About him. It makes him sick. It makes him panic.
A hand goes over the mangled throat, squeezes. It quiets. Dean’s chest rises and falls. His gaze, slowly, wanders up, past the place where you stood only a minute ago and to the door, as if he’s following your path.
This is unacceptable. How can you not see that? How can you not understand that what happened between you two, how he’s been thinking about you, every night, all the time, every goddamn waking fucking moment, is special? You’re not stupid, so how the hell do you not see it?
Is this a trick, he wonders briefly, a trick to get him to storm after you, claim you? It doesn’t seem like something you’d do, but maybe he got it all wrong? Maybe it is?
No, he thinks, no, it’s not. You genuinely believe this. He hoped you would just come to your senses. He’s so tired of waiting on everyone to finally get it, the things he already got a long time ago.
Fine, he thinks, his hand flexing again. He’ll find a different way.
He hears Sam call down the hallway, saying they’re ready to leave.
A small smile builds on Dean’s face. He’ll get you there, he knows he will.
And woe to anyone who stands in his way.
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leahsgf · 8 months ago
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DISTANCE II - mcfoord
mcfoord x child!reader | sometimes things work out
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read part one here
-
“i’ll figure something out, promise”
the irish woman smiled softly in response to her girlfriend’s words, but she knew deep down that it would be unlikely, as much as she’d love to believe it. flights from australia weren’t typically what you’d think of when you heard of last minute, impromptu plans - and caitlin still had her own international duties to carry out, being without a doubt a pivotal player for the matildas.
despite the call helping your mood massively, the hours and that days that followed it were even worse than before, you demanding to ‘see mumma’ constantly, and simply not understanding the concept of sleeping, or time difference.
-
after about four days of little to no sleep, it’s safe to say you were both pretty close to losing it.
katie had spent most of the evening busying herself with packing for the next days’ training, making the absolute most of you finally being somewhat content for a brief moment - finding much joy in scribbling in your colouring pad, and also trying to distract her mind from spiralling ever so slightly.
she was incredibly worried about you, but alongside that was just simply exhausted. you hadn’t slept properly the entire time you’d been stuck in this hotel, and if you had it was flat on top of her (almost directly on her face, making it impossible for her to rest even for a second)
and when you were awake you were miserable, crying or throwing a fit over things you never usually did - like her putting socks on you, or even just looking at you ‘in the wrong way.’
above all else, she missed caitlin, more than anything. arguably even more than you - it just wasn’t socially acceptable for a twenty nine year old woman to kick and scream over not wanting to put a shirt on because of how much she did.
she struggled with long distance usually anyway, being a major home body - and you were typically her distraction, though right now you were quite the opposite.
and as much as the facetime calls helped you both, hanging up just brought her back to reality, and made her feel even sadder than before.
a sharp knock at the door broke her from her train of sorrows thoughts, standing to answer it with a sigh, assuming it would be a teammate wanting to talk over tactics, or even better, some kind of god coming to save the day.
turns out, she wasn’t too far from right.
“here sweetheart, i’ll be right back, kay?” she murmured softly, ruffling your hair and wrapping you in a blanket, figuring that you should probably be covered than more than just a nappy in front of whatever unsuspecting visitor was on the other side of the door.
when she opened it however, she realised that she was in fact the unsuspecting one, freezing in shock.
“what the fu- cait?” she gasped, her eyes widening.
“surprise?” the australian grinned in response, suitcase stood next to her. “spoke to the staff and managed to sort things out so i could catch the next flight to you. they can do without me for some friendlies” she shrugged, chuckling softly as she’s pulled into her girlfriend’s arms.
“you, caitlin foord, are unbelievable” katie breathed in pure relief, her body physically relaxing, almost slumping into her hold.
“now, where’s my little monster then?” caitlin broke the moment of silence, peeking over the brunette’s shoulder.
katie stepped aside in response, chuckling in disbelief, gesturing inside and in the direction of the bed. “go see for yourself.”
you were so invested in your colouring, and being grumpy - your back facing the door, that you didn’t notice her entering.
“hey pudding” she spoke, so softly it was almost a whisper, but your head snapped up as if she had shouted.
“mumma”
caitlin opened her arms just in enough time for you to launch yourself off the bed and into them, with an alarming amount of strength for a toddler. you clung to her like a koala, burying your face in her neck and letting out a string of happy squeals and babbles - being by far the happiest katie had seen you in days.
“you came back!” you said, voice muffled against her shoulder - your speech still being at the stage where it was just about understandable, but your two mothers understanding you perfectly every time.
“of course i did silly girl” she tickled you, kissing the top of your head softly. “i missed you, my baby”
katie leaned against the wall, still by the door, watching the two of you, her girls, with a loving smile, the weight she’d been carrying for days finally beginning to lift.
the night drew in with the three of you curled up in the duvet of the hotel bed that had been the centre of all the weeks chaos - you nestled snugly in between your parents, having crashed out almost immediately after the initial excitement wore off.
katie and caitlin exchanged a look over your head, a silent agreement that nothing - no crazy schedules, no distance, would ever keep their little family apart like that for too long, ever again.
-
i have indeed not proof read this as i just got back from work and promised you all an update….enjoy
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last-words-ofashootingstar · 3 months ago
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Ptolemaea
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❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader
♫"You poor thing. Sweet mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."Ethel Cain, Ptolemaea♫ Baby Playlist ♫
Baby Series ! (this is the second part chronologically)
➯a/n: shiiiiiit im hitting yall with a double whammy today !! i didn't think id finish this and code l-o-v-e at the same time but here we are
♡'・ᴗ・'♡genre: yandere, angst to the max
✫彡wordcount: 10.7K
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: only briefly proof read: kidnapping, drugging via sleeping pills, restraints, throwing up (non descriptive), smart and resilient reader(which makes it even sadder😭), everyone is morally muddy, physical altercations, threats of violence and death (not towards reader), light injuries to reader, seonghwa unintentionally (?) manipulates everyone, talk of murder, non sexual nudity, panic attack
✩index: little space- a regressed state of mind where someone feels like a child. little / age regressor - a person with a little space. caregiver - someone who cares for a little, usually their significant other. hyung - a close male friend older than you, used by other males. nim - a suffix added to the end of someone's name to show deep respect.
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➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind.
MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
You awake sometime in the morning, though you have no way of knowing when.
     Your mind is foggy. Your eyelids are heavy with protest while you force them open, screaming at you to close them as sunlight hits you.
   You're in Seonghwa's room, laid on your back in his bed.
You blink away some of the blur in your vision and see him sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, twirling a roll of duct tape on his fingers. "H-Hwa?"
His head snaps up, eyes immediately on you. "Hey, Baby," he whispers as he stands up, his actions look like they're in choppy slow motion to you. "How did you sleep?"
"Uhm," you groan as you shift on his bed, kicking the blankets off of your legs, "yeah, good." When you go to rub your eyes —
    Your hands are tugged back, tied to the headboard above you by a fabric of some kind. What the fuck?
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
    It all comes back to you. Seonghwa in your apartment. His confession of murdering your ex boyfriend. The fact that he roofied you.
    You let out a yell, but it comes out muffled. He was quick enough to slap his hand over your mouth, shaking his head. "Don't scream, Baby, don't scream, please." Your lips won't part more than an inch under the pressure of his palm. You stare at him wide eyed. "Please don't make me gag you, I don't want to do that."
    What the fuck? What the fuck?
He doesn't want to do that? But he's okay with drugging you and kidnapping you and tying you to his bed? What else h-
You look and are thanking every God you can think of as you see that you're still in your work clothes.
"Are you going to scream?" He asks after a moment, looking down at you.
He looks much better than he did last night in your apartment. He looks well rested and like he's about to leave the apartment, freshly showered and dressed.
You shake your head underneath his hand, choking back your whines of fear.
When he moves his hand hesitantly, you immediately thrash and kick at him, but true to your word; you don't scream. You don't want to be gagged. "Get away from me, you stalker," you sneer through your teeth, tears beginning to swell in your eyes despite your attempts to fight them off.
"Stop, Baby- Baby, please," he grabs your ankles without much of a struggle, making you still quickly. He looks up at you from his place by your feet. Your chin wobbles as you feel your first tear fall. You know it will be the first of many. "Listen-" Forget this, you think.
"Help! H-" He dives on top of you, his long legs holding yours down as you helplessly fidget; his hand back over your mouth heedless of the way you try to bite at it.
He bites his lip as he looks at the door. Over your heavy breaths, he strains his ears to hear anything in the apartment.
Nothing.
"Huh," he huffs with relief, looking back to you, "they left for practice already." He watches the way your face falls as he moves his hand, sitting up to straddle your hips. "Sorry, Baby. I'm going to figure this out, I promise," he leans over and grabs the duct tape from the floor.
"No! No, no! Please, Hwa," you wail as the tear of the tape rings in your ears, "please, don't! I-"
It's over your mouth before you can plead more, and he sits back; listening to your muffled cries. "I did warn you. I don't want them to hear you when we get back, so..." He sighs softly, cupping your cheek even as you flinch, using his thumbs to wipe your tears as they become puddles on your cheeks. "Those pills will probably have you drowsy for a while. I was like that when I took them the first few times, made me tired for like twelve hours."
He strokes your head gently as you yell and curse under the tape. "So, try to get some rest, Baby." You'll probably cry yourself back to sleep. He hates to leave you when you need comfort, but he's already been missing from practice for almost a week. And he finally feels like he isn't being torn apart atom by atom.
He slept next to you last night, fell asleep as he thought about what to do. He didn't have a fool proof plan, admittedly. All he knew was that he couldn't let you leave him. He hadn't slept more than two hours a night since you'd broken up with him, and with you in his arms he finally got a full nights rest. He couldn't sleep knowing you were out there, but not knowing if you were okay.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours. I have to go to work and then I'll go by your apartment and get some of your things, okay?" It wasn't really a question — that's what was going to happen. That's where he was going to start. And he'd figure things out as he went.
You shake your head, shouts weakened by the tape. You wouldn't be able to be heard with his door shut.
This fucker! Is all you can think as he grabs your phone from his nightstand and uses your thumb to unlock it, unable to move it away because the fabric holding you in place.
"Ah, Yejin," he gives you a small half-smile after reading your notifications, "she really does care about you, huh? She's so observant of you. Even noticed that you turned off your Blink."
This fucker!! He turned off the doorbell camera so she wouldn't be able to see him dragging you out last night or coming back later.
"She won't be a problem for us, right?" He pouts as he taps on your phone.
You shake your head quickly, muffled begs of him not hurt her barely intelligible. You don't know what you'd do with yourself if she met the same fate as Namsun.
1:42AM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. look, i told you a million times i'm sorry, babe. seonghwa deserved to know the truth. you really like him and he likes you! you said he's the one!
1:44AM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. well... i'll talk to you in the morning. i love you (y/n), don't stay mad at me forever.
7:02AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. i'll talk to you later. you really crossed a line !
He makes sure to match the way you text, turning it off before putting it back on the far side of the nightstand. "I'd hate to have to get rid of her, she seems like a good friend."
"Mm-mmm!"
He looks at the way you shake your head, panic evident on your face. "Good."
He finally gets off of you, and leans over. "Get some rest." Is all he says before he kisses your head, and then he's out the door.
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
You allow yourself to freak out for a good long while. You let yourself sob and cry and scream and thrash against your binds for probably a hour before you make yourself calm down.
    You take a million deep, shaking breaths through your nose before your tears finally come to a stop.
    Holy shit. Is your only thought. You knew Seonghwa was a bit clingy- a bit strange. But you had no fucking idea that he'd be capable of kidnapping you, telling you without even a hint of remorse in his voice about how he cut off your ex-boyfriend's head.
    You're sweating, your throat is dry, your eyelids feel swollen, your head is heavy.
    He was right, those pills he crushed up and slipped you nearly six hours ago are still working in your nervous system. And your state of hysteria was only working with it to make you want to close your eyes even more.
    But you refused to give up so easily. You refused to let this maniac you once loved get back and find you in the same place he left you.
     You let out another shaking breath out of your nose, turning your head to see your phone only an agonizing arms length away. 
    But your arms were out of the question, if your binds didn't give by now with all of your squirming, they weren't going to. He tied them too well.
    You slide as far to the edge as you can, then hold one of the bars on the wooden headboard to give you leverage as you turn your body sideways; groaning at the stretch on your shoulder.
    You bite your tongue and test your plan. You outstretch one of your legs, a sigh of relief as your foot reaches the device. You don't allow yourself to celebrate just yet.
     You struggle to rid yourself of your socks, but you manage. No way are you going to let it slip because something as simple as socks.
    You slowly nudge the phone off of the edge, catching it between your feet and breathing deeply as you pull yourself back fully onto the bed. Then, and only then, you let go of it and let it fall onto the dark grey blanket.
    With another steadying breath, you maneuver yourself awkwardly to kick and bump it up to your head. Freedom is almost within reach. You slide your hands down as far as they'll go and succeed in pinching it between your index and middle finger.
    As you're trying to get a better hold on it, pressing the power button —
  
    It slips from your fingers and lands between the bed and the wall.
    You let yourself cry some more.
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
Your arms are losing their feeling, your skin tingling with the lack of blood flow and your muscles crying just as badly as you were.
    You could hear movement within the apartment. Muffled and unintelligible speech. Shadows passing under the door.
   You focus on the Lego black dahlia on his desk as you force yourself to stay calm.
By the time Seonghwa finally opens the door, you have managed to stop your tears and panic almost entirely; trying to think of a rational way to get out of this.
Clearly, he was fucked up in the head; so logical reasoning would probably be a lost cause.
But, also clearly, in his fucked up mind; he loved you and cared for you. At least in his own sick way.
So that was your plan of action. Get his heart soft and then get Mingi or San's attention.
You sniffle as he closes the door quickly behind him, trying to get some deep breaths in to calm yourself once more as you freak out at the mere sight of him. You get ready to act your ass off. But the duct tape on your mouth makes it a bit difficult.
You were sweating underneath it from the May heat, or maybe because your nerves. Your work clothes are damp and rumpled.
"Hey, Baby," he whispers, coming slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. He sits down the glass of water in his hand on the bedside table, he doesn't notice your missing phone. He sets a duffle bag by his feet. He hesitates, but places his hand on your thigh. "You must be really thirsty, all that crying..."
When he looks up and meets your eyes, you make them soft and begging, trying to even out your shallow, rapid breaths to make it seem like you aren't still freaking the absolute fuck out. "I know," he luckily doesn't notice the small flinch you have when he reaches and pets back your sweat-soaked baby hairs, "I know you're scared, but I'm still just me, okay?"
You move your eyes down to the tape on your mouth, humming quietly.
He sighs. Rubs the bridge of his nose. Looks at you with narrowed eyes before leaning forward and pinching the corner of it — and then he pauses. "Don't scream. Promise me you won't scream, okay?"
You nod quickly, maintaining eye contact with him to tell him you're truthful. To trick him into thinking you are.
"I'm gonna just," he pouts as he gets a good grip on the side of the tape, "rip it off like a band-aid, okay?"
You bite your tongue to prepare for the pain, but the intensity of the sting still makes you whimper; although thankfully you can keep your sounds to a minimum to satisfy him.
You immediately start sucking in breaths of fresh air, closing your eyes as they fill with tears once again. Of course you could breathe through your nose, but in a situation like this it was hard to get a good lung-full. Between panic and your crying making your nose stuffy, you were beginning to think he might accidentally let you suffocate.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, My Baby," he rubs his thumbs over the irritated skin gently, resting his forehead against your chest like he's shameful.
Simply replenishing your neglected lungs is enough to make you want to sob. But you can't. You can't have any of your real emotions showing to him. You take one last shivering breath before whispering, "Hwa?"
"Yes, Baby? Yes?" His head is up in a millisecond, he's cupping your cheeks and hovering over you.
"Can you untie me?" You see him begin to shake his head, so you kick your puppy dog eyes into high gear, "please, Mommy?" He halts his immediate rejection of the idea as you mutter that name, wanting to give in the second you do so. "Please? My arms are tingling, it hurts..."
He's still unsure of what to do, you can see him fighting with himself. So you let one single tear fall to give him a shove to the direction you want him to go, "Mommy?"
"Of- of course, Baby!" He quickly gets to untying your arms, tugging off the impromptu bindings made of some suit ties he found around the apartment, "I'm sorry, precious." He repeats himself. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
You don't believe him. You don't think he's actually sorry. A remorseful person wouldn't do any of this in the first place. "It's okay, Hwa," you sigh with relief as he lowers your dead-weighted arms to your sides. The itching from within your limbs intensifies as your blood begins moving around again; it isn't just uncomfortable now, no. Now it hurts.
You let him see these tears, and he wipes them away with his finger tips ever so gently. "I-I'm so sorry, my little angel. Mommy didn't mean to hurt you-"
"I know," you sniff, twitching your fingers to see just how long it will take for you to get feeling back enough to lift your arms. "I... I'm sorry I left you," you begin, choosing your words very carefully. He always knows when you're lying, so you tell the truth, for the most part. "I was just scared that... that we wouldn't work out. Because of how public your life is and when we those pictures of us got out I just-" You stop yourself as you find your voice getting louder, lowering it, "My first thought was, I just ruined his career... And I care about you too much to do that." At least you did.
He watches you intently as you speak, and then watches you some more. And then, "oh, my sweet girl." He dives ontop of you and wraps his arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. "I love you so much, Baby. So, so, much! I would rather be with you than have this stupid career."
You can barely lift your forearms enough to rest your buzzing hands on his sides, but you manage, "don't say that, Hwa. You love your job."
"I love you more." He says without hesitation, his face still buried in your shoulder. "I love you more. I- I cherish you more than anything else in the world. I would set the goddamn world on fire if you said you were cold."
You take slow, calming breaths as you manage to fist the sides of his shirt in your fingers weakly.
    "I think- I'm gonna be sick. I'm gonna be si-" He seems like he anticipated this, quickly snatching up the little trash can and helping you up calmly as you gag. "Oh my g-" You cut yourself off as you empty your stomach into the bin; the image of the man who gently rolled up your sleeves and listened to every word you said and kissed you like you were a fragile doll — it was gone. The man who made love to you like you were the last other person on Earth. Shattered. Replaced by your brain visualizing the words he spoke last night. All you can see is him hunched over a body, stabbing it so violently that he manages to decapitate it.
"It's okay, Baby," he rubs your back gently as you retch, "get it all out. I know, it's a lot to take in."
You hold the bin with all of your (admittedly weakened) might, hiding your face in it as you dry heave, tears flowing all the while.
You feel him stand, hear the zip of the duffle bag. You look over at him with as little movement as possible, "Hwa?" You're almost afraid that he's going to be pulling out instruments of terror, but what you see is arguably worse.
He's pulling out your clothes. From your apartment. From your room, your dresser and closet. "Hm?" He looks over softly, like he didn't just make you vomit with his words alone.
"Are you going to kill me?"
He pauses for a moment before he lets out an airy laugh, "kill you? I would never do that. Don't be silly." He opens up his dresser, pushing his clothes over to make room for yours.
If he's keeping your clothes here... he isn't letting you go.
"...Are you going to rape me?" Your voice trembles as you ask the question that's been on your mind since you woke up tied down.
"Baby," he pouts, abandoning his task to come and cup your heated cheeks; looking deep into your eyes, "Baby, no. No. I love you. I know this must be confusing for you, but I promise it's for your own good. For our own good. I need you, and you need me."
All you can do at this point is cry. He's right. This is fucking confusing. How is this the same man who rocked you to sleep when you had a nightmare? How is this the same man who was so kind and shy the first time you met?
"Here, Baby," he takes the can, sliding it away carefully. He picks up the glass of water by the bed and holds it to your lips. You hesitate. "It's just water." You eye it suspiciously.
"It's just water," he reiterates, taking a small sip, "see?"
When he puts it back to your lips, you gulp as much as you can in each swallow. You want to take the glass yourself and chug it, but your arms are just now feeling normal; if a little sore. And you need your strength.
You definitely need to go through with your plan, and soon. Your eyes have been flicking to the door ever since you woke up. More specifically; the crack under it. When a shadow passes underneath it, you almost yell out then and there. At least one of his roommates is home. If it's San, Wooyoung is probably hanging out with him too. You want to yell to them for help as soon as you see the shadow pass.
But that would be stupid. He could slap his hand over your mouth before you could even finish a single syllable.
He sets the empty glass back down and looks at you with something resembling softness.
"Are you going to let me go home?" You whisper, already dreading that you know the answer.
"No, Baby."
Well. Here goes nothing.
You wipe your brow and sniff, looking to the fan on the far side of the room. "Can you... can you turn that on, please, Mommy?"
It's a simple request that he can't deny, especially when you throw a 'Mommy' his way. He smiles lightly and pats your head before he goes to do just that.
The second he turns his back, you scramble to the wall furthest away from the one he's going to. When he crouches to turn the fan on, you start yelling. You start banging on the wall that you know is shared with Mingi's room.
"Help! Mingi!! Help me, Hwa's crazy!"
He falls to the floor, head swinging around to face you with wide eyes. He looks shocked, almost. "Baby, stop!"
"Help me, please! Mingi! San! Please, he killed someone! He won't let me leave! Min- noooo, get off me!"
You thankfully got a lot of words out - because of his distance and shock - before he got to you. He slams his body into yours, crushing you against the wall as his hands try to stop yours from their incessant banging — which Mingi and San have undoubtedly heard.
He didn't know how exactly he would explain this to his members. He was still workshopping that, to be completely honest. All he knew was that he couldn't let you leave his side ever, ever again.
"Mingi! Plea-" When one of his hands finally comes to cover your mouth, you bite at him like a rabid dog.
He slams his hand onto the wall before falling to the floor with you as you twist and turn in his arm.
"Please, someone help me!" You shout with a new wave of uncontrollable sobs as your weak arms start giving out from the exertion. You've ended up immobilized underneath him on the floor, flat on your stomach.
    If he wanted to take back his words and kill you, he wouldn't have any problem doing so.
    There's nothing you can do to defend yourself. No weapons within reach.
     You look around frantically, and spot something under his bed. Barely peeking out from between two storage boxes — the missing lego piece.
    The stalk of the flower. If you aimed it right, you might be able to do some damage.
   You claw for it.
"Baby, stop! Stop fighting!" He growls as he manages to pin your arms to your sides, essentially bear hugging you. "Why did you do that?" Crushing all hope, he drags you back up and forces you to bend over the bed; his chest against your back, holding you down.
"You're crazy!!"
"Hey, let go of her!" A wave of relief rushes through you as you hear the door slam open, Wooyoungs yell following soon there after.
"Oh, thank god! Young-ie! He's crazy!! He cut someone's head off-"
"Stop!"
"He drugged me! He broke into my apartment and kidnapped me! Please, get him off me!! Get him off! Don't let him hurt me!"
"Get off her, man! What the hell is wrong with you?" You feel San struggling with Seonghwa as he keeps his arms locked around you tight.
Mingi is standing in the doorway with wide eyes, watching the scene unfold. When he heard you screaming, he didn't know what to think of it. If it was a sick joke you and Hwa were playing or what. But the terror in your voice couldn't be ignored as you called out for help. It was entirely too bone chilling to be faked.
He'll never forget that scream of 'no' you let out as he heard your body thud against the wall. You sounded like you were facing the Devil himself and about to be dragged to the underworld. Pure dread.
Wooyoung is in the same boat, watching in horror as San tries to free you. He was in the hallway when you screamed. He heard it so clearly. Like you were right next to him. You begged for anyone to help you like you were on the verge of dying. You sounded so broken.
"Shit-" he runs to help San free you from his grasp, prying his fingers off of your arms while he tries pulls him back, "Hyung, stop! Look at what you're doing to her!" His nails are dug into your skin, little streaks of blood trailing down your arms and staining the gray sheets.
"You can't take her from me! You don't understand!"
"Mingi, go-" San hisses as Seonghwa steps on his foot, "go, get the others! Hurry!"
They still aren't exactly sure what was going on. What they did know for certain was that you were right, Seonghwa was not in his right mind.
   It isn't the first time they've witnessed him hurt someone. All the other times though, it was another member. And he was always angry.
   He didn't sound angry, he sounded terrified as they tried to take you away.
As Mingi ran as fast as humanly possible, he heard him yell. "You can't take her! Please!"
    Wooyoung is successful in prying one of your arms free, and you cling to his neck like he's a life-saver in the middle of the ocean. "Oh my god, Young-ie! He's crazy!" You cry nearly unintelligible as you're pulled around between them.
    "Damn it, Hyung! Let go!" San finally succeeds in tearing the taller man away from you completely, falling to the floor with him. "What the fuck, man!?" He quickly flips them over, holding down the older man down by his shoulders. 
     "Get off me!" Seonghwa thrashes, eyes never once leaving you as you crumble, hugging Wooyoungs neck and crying into his shirt as you prattle on about what he's done; though very little of it is comprehensible. Wooyoung helps you kneel on the bed, looking at you worriedly.
   Despite your rocky start with him, you came to call him a friend along with Yeosang. He was always over when you came over to visit Seonghwa, so you spent a good amount of time with him.
    When he wraps his arms around you in a comforting manner, and Seonghwa fucking snaps. "Don't touch her! I'll kill you, Jung Wooyoung! Get your filthy hands off her, I'll break your fucking fingers! Please," he breathes heavily as he struggles against San, shocking them even more with his three sixty change of tone of voice, "don't touch her... She's My Baby. You can't take her..."
    He wraps his arms around you tighter, holding you as you cry into his shirt.
      He thinks that his Hyung has finally lost it. He's had episodes of... something... before; but never like this. Never digging his nails into someone like an animal protecting its kill from vultures. Never threatening to break a members fingers because they touched something he thinks that they shouldn't have.
     "Hyung, what did you do...?" San asks, turning his head and seeing the way you shudder and curl up on yourself. His hold on him faults for only a second, but that's all Seonghwa needs to knock him off balance and throw the man off of him with all his strength.
      You're yanked away from Wooyoung by your belt, plucked off the bed; landing with a thud and a yelp before being drug across the hardwood as you scream. "No, no!"
    He drags you all the way to a corner while the men recuperate, slamming his back into the wall and pulling you into his chest. He pulls his knees up and effectively shields you from the world while you fight against him weakly.  "Shhh, it's okay, Baby."
    "Stop..." Is all you can weep, swatting at his hands as he wipes your ever following tears until you start to lose feeling in your arms again. No, that's not it. They aren't tingly. They're heavy. No, no, no, no. "You fucker... there was s-something in the water?" Your vision is going blurry, just like last night.
    "Just another sleeping pill, sweet girl," he sniffles as he fixes your messy hair, "I knew you'd be acting like a brat..."
     Wooyoung hugs San's arm tightly as they watch with wide eyes, almost afraid to move. What the actual fuck is going on?
    Your eyes meet theirs over Seonghwas knees, begging silently before he rolls your heavy head back to face him. You don't have the energy to move again after that, only giving him a feeble glare through your dazed and tearful eyes.
    You're fighting as hard as you can against the sleeping pill he'd forced you to ingest on an empty stomach. At least last night, he put it in the food. That helped you to delay your inevitable unconsciousness.
    "(Y/n)?!" You hear with a parade of quick footsteps. Yeosang, you manage to connect the voice to the man who you considered a friend. He won't let Seonghwa hurt me, you think. Now that the calvary is here, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes. Sleep takes you quickly, and you can only hope to wake up somewhere safe.
     They enter the room as you slump in Seonghwa's hold. His gaze still fixed on your face with tears of his own in his eyes. He cradles your face in one hand, the other holding you to his chest tightly.
    They look around slowly, trying to connect the dots.
    The blood on the sheets, and the wounds on your arms that must be the source.
    The empty glass with a residue in it.
    San and Wooyoung afraid to move after their Hyungs violent behavior.
    The ties still on the head rest, and your irritated wrists.
   The bite mark on Seonghwa's hand.
    "What the fuck." Wooyoung whispers, not as a question. As a statement.
    What the fuck, indeed.
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
After a long moment of tense silence, nobody daring to move a muscle; Hongjoong is the one to do so.
He slowly steps forward, stopping the other members from following him by holding out his arm.
It's quiet beside Seonghwa's light sniffs as he admires your sleeping face. Hongjoong is almost on his tip toes to be as silent as possible.
He stops just over an arms length away, crouching down, "...Hwa?"
The man jumps, wrapping both of his arms around you. San and Wooyoung flinch at his sudden movement, still holding onto each other after what they'd witnessed. Mingi is holding Yunho's hand so tightly his knuckles are starting to lose their color.
"Joong," he blinks as if coming to recognize the man in front of him, "Hongjoong... please. You can't take her away from me."
The leader looks over to the others, then around the room again. "What did you do, Seonghwa?"
Seonghwa shakes his head, going back to looking at your peaceful face, "I d- I..."
Wooyoung silently comes behind Hongjoong, leaning down to his ear and whispering, "he drugged her, he admitted it. She said he killed s-"
"I had to!" Hwa's head snaps up to glare at the younger member.
"Hyung, maybe I should-" Yeosang steps forward, reaching out to grab you as San yells to warn him —
"I wouldn't touch her!"
Seonghwa grabs Yeosang's wrist, squeezing it with all of his might, "I will break your fucking arm." He threatens before throwing his arm, making him stumble back with shock evident on his face.
"Okay, Hwa! Calm down." Hongjoong raises his hands as he kneels and slides between the two, "look," he waves his hands slightly, "I'm not going to take her. We aren't gonna take her. We're just worried, 'kay? You can't see how crazy this looks from the outside, right? Why don't you tell us what's going on?"
Hongjoong is his best friend. He's been there through every up and down of his unstable emotions. He's the only one Hwa isn't eyeing like they're about to jump him.
He knows how to handle their Hyung.
"Hey, why don't we all go to living room, huh? We can give you some space while you explain things."
They do just that.
The six younger members are sitting along the wall, watching with varying degrees of fear and confusion and anxiety.
Hongjoong tells Seonghwa to sit you down on the arm chair, and he begrudgingly agrees. You curl up on yourself in your sleep. "I should put her in bed-"
He immediately goes to pick you back up, but Hongjoong places a hand to his chest; shaking his head. "She's okay, Hyung. How long has she been in there, anyway? She'll probably appreciate being somewhere else, don't you think?"
The oldest member seems to be fighting himself. He wants to change you out of those uncomfortable office clothes and settle you in front of the fan to have a comfortable sleep. "I can't- I-"
"Sit down, Hyung," he gently leads the man to sit on the couch across from the members, and he's the only one who sits within reach; right next to him.
Their eyes are going from you to him to the floor, they desperately want to ask for answers — but they know better than to overwhelm him when he's having an episode. They let Hongjoong handle it.
"Did you drug her?" He starts asking questions, one by one so as not to spook him.
Seonghwa finally tears his gaze away from you, looking down. "Yes." Their hearts drop.
"Did you... kill someone?"
He's silent.
"Hyung?"
"Yes."
Their hearts fall to their stomachs. Yunho puts a hand over his mouth, squeezing Mingi's hand back with the other.
"Will you tell us who?" Hongjoong swallows around the lump in his throat.
"Lee Namsun. Her-" He has to take a deep breath as he finds himself getting angry at the very thought of the man- "her ex-boyfriend."
Hongjoong leans back into the couch, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Seonghwa, you know I have to ask. Why? H-how?"
"Because he deserved it. He hurt her. I... I followed him from his job and I stabbed him in the neck. I decapitated him and I threw him in the river. Last night. Before I got her."
He says it so nonchalantly that it takes a moment for them to process it. "Ooookay," Hongjoong finally nods, clearing his throat and pushing back his tears as he sets a hand on Seonghwa's knee. "Uhm, and why- uh- why did you kidnap her? Because she broke up with you?"
"Because I need her. She needs me! I-"
"What were you gonna do to her?" Wooyoung speaks from the wall, his death glare like nothing else.
"Nothing! I love her-"
Wooyoung stands up abruptly, despite the way Jongho tries to pull him back. He points at the man accusingly, "you had her bent over the bed for 'nothing'? Yah, be real! You were going to ra-"
"I would never do that!"
"Yeah, fucking right! You already drugged her and tied her to your bed-"
"I wouldn't! You think I'm a monster?!"
"Yes! Yes, Hyung! You are a crazy person and I'm tired of pretending that you aren't!"
"Wooyoung," San exclaims, jumping up quickly to hold him back as he sees Seonghwa's eyes getting darker by the moment.
"I'm crazy? Is that what you think of me?!" Hongjoong is holding back Seonghwa in a similar manner.
"Yeah, you are! You think it's normal that we have to fucking tip-toe around you when you're upset!? You- oh my God!" He laughs in disbelief, gesturing to your figure; knocked into a dead-sleep from the drugs even as the men yell. "You think it's a-o-fucking-kay to kidnap someone because they break up with you?! Look at yourself, you're delusional! You don't love her and you're certainly not above raping her-"
"Wooyoung! That's enough!" Hongjoong snaps, making the man finally shut up; his jaw tight and his glare never ending.
The air is charged with anger and tension.
"I'll kill you," Seonghwa fumed, "I will fucking kill you. If you ever-" He reaches before Hongjoong can stop him, before Wooyoung can move away; and fists the man's shirt. Nose to nose, "ever say that shit again. I killed that bastard because he hurt her. You think I'm gonna do the same shit? If you ever say that again... I will kill you where you stand. I don't care if there's a million cameras on us. Say I don't love her, say I'd hurt her like that — and you're a dead man. Got it?"
Wooyoung gulps. This is the second time in less than an hour that his close friend has threatened his life, and he can tell by the look in his eyes that he means it.
"...Got it."
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
After that, none of the members dared to speak any of their thoughts. Only Hongjoong. And he was very, very careful with what he said.
He gently coaxed everything they needed to know out of him.
   How he got into your apartment, which was by way of the spare key he saw Yejin use. How he knew Yejin wouldn't suspect him: because he left out the door while the camera was still on and then used your phone to turn it off before coming back to get you. How he texted her from it so she wouldn't know you were 'missing' yet.
    "Where is it now?" Hongjoong asks, keeping himself as calm as possible as his mind races a million thoughts per second.
   "On my nightstand."
   "Hyung," Mingi whispers, clearly afraid to speak up, "no, it's not. I didn't see it, at least..."
     Seonghwa looks to your sleeping form, then down the hall.
    "She couldn't have called for help, right?" Yunho whispers as well, "you had her tied up." He's afraid that he'll be caught in the crosshairs if the police come knocking any minute. In their hurry, none of the members grabbed their phones. If they had, he would have called them himself. But now it's too late for that. Until Hongjoong figures something out, they're stuck in this apartment with the ticking tomb bomb that is their oldest member.
    "Fuck-" He stands up quickly, running down the hall with Hongjoong following quickly after.
    While they and Yunho search his room, Yeosang quickly scrambles over to you. The first time he's moved since they all sat down almost two hours ago now. "Hyung," San murmurs even though there's no chance he'll be heard over the frantic search. "What are you doing? He's crazy, if he sees you touching her-"
    "Shh," he shushes him quickly, placing two fingers on your wrist and breathing a sigh of relief as he feels your heart beating normally. "Jesus," he sniffs back his tears as he searches your body for the missing phone. If he finds it first, he can call the police before Seonghwa even comes back to the living room. But it's not there.
    "Hey," he whispers as he shakes your shoulder, "wake up. Wake up, please." He almost thinks it's a lost cause before you groan, slapping at his hand clumsily. "Hey, where's your phone?"
    "Sang?" You slur as you fight to open your eyes.
    "Where's your phone?" He asks urgently, slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes attempt to close again. "Hurry."
    "I dropped- the bed and... wall," you manage to mumble before your eyes shut, grabbing onto his sleeve in your last waking moment.
   "They won't find that, right?" Yeosang turns to look at the others as he puts a hand over yours comfortingly, even though he knows you won't notice it.
    "Not unless the ringer is on," Wooyoung bites at his nails, shaking his head, "it'll look weird if we suddenly go try to help look."
   "We could tell Seonghwa that she woke up, when he comes to-"
   "I got it!" Hongjoongs yell breaks any hope of that plan.
   Yeosang looks from you to the door. It's too late for that. Should have thought of it sooner.
    "When did you turn her location off? Where's the last place it pinged?"
    He's back at his spot on the wall when they return, phone in hand.
    "Uhm, by the convenience store. I didn't think of it until I was almost home..."
    "We can drop her off there, never speak of this again. She'll just seem like-"
    "No!" It's Hongjoongs turn to be grabbed by the shirt, "no! I can't let her go! I can't- I can't function without her! Please, please... You don't understand."
    Hongjoongs eyes are wider than ever. Seonghwa has never gotten physical with him before. Not even during his worst episodes. He feels like his heart just might explode as he gets his first taste of what the rest of the members have been through. It's beyond terrifying. Hwa looks unhinged this close. Well — more unhinged.
    "O-okay, Hyung... Just, let me down?"
    Seonghwa takes a moment to realize. He's pushed the leader to the wall and has him pinned to it, hovering just above the floor. He steps back, and Hongjoong's feet hit the floor with a thud. "I'm sorry... I- I-" He places his hands over his mouth in shock at his own actions. "I'm sorry, Hongjoong. But you don't get it... I can't live without her. I can barely sleep not knowing if she's okay, if she's taken care of! I think I might kill myself if-"
   "Hyung, please..."
   "I'm serious." One look at the man tells everyone that he is.
    Despite everything he's done to them, and now you — he's still their Hyung. Their oldest member. Their friend. The man who encouraged them. Looked out for them, going on a decade.
   "We'll figure something out..."
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
    Your head hurts. Everything hurts. Your stomach is in knots. You swallow, and it burns your raw throat.
    Everything comes back to you like a bad dream; in bits and pieces.
    "Yeo-" You groan out weakly. He's the last thing you remember. "Yeosang," you call for him, tears lining your eyes the second they open and see that you're still in the apartment.
    He quickly comes into your blurry field of view, his eyes sad and a finger to his lips, "shhhh."
    "What's goin' on?"
   "Keep your voice down," his words sound like a distorted radio, slowly becoming clearer as you further awaken, "he's in the other room."
   "Huh?"
   Their manager had come when Hongjoong used San's phone to call him; with Seonghwa looking on the entire time. They'd been in his room for forty five minutes by this point. Muffled conversation was all that the other members heard for the entire time, none of them dared to speak up and start a conversation of their own.
     Mingi had started crying at some point, and Wooyoung and San were silently holding him.
   "Why isn't he-" you go to stand up, quickly falling into Yeosang's arms when your knees give out.
    "Shhh, if he hears you, he'll come running," he soothes you quietly, rubbing your back as you begin to sob. "I'm so sorry."
    You slam a hand over your mouth as you whimper, curling up on the floor in his arms. You're putting the pieces together, he can tell. His apology says more than that he's sorry for what's happening to you — it says that he's apart of it now.
     "Get-" you shove him away, hyperventilating, "don't touch me." You look at each of the members in the room with wild eyes. "What are you doing? What are you doing?!" You don't care that Seonghwa will hear you. "You bunch of cowards!" You use the chair as leverage to hoist yourself up, even as you stumble. "You're gonna let him get away with this? Young-ie?"
    He looks away at your broken questioning of his actions. He's too deep in now.
    You hear the door down the hall open, and your heart drops to your feet. "(Y/n)?"
   You dash for one of the members. You don't know why you chose him. Maybe because he's got muscles. Maybe you think he'll protect you. Maybe because you didn't know him before, so you don't feel as betrayed by him.
   Seonghwa comes running into the living room, Hongjoong and someone you don't recognize behind him.
    You cower behind Jongho, and he does protect you. At least for now. He reaches back and places a hand on your arm, the other outreached to stop Seonghwa from grabbing at you.
    "Stay away from me!" You yelp as you grab the back of Jonghos shirt, backing into the wall and dragging him with you.
    "Yah!" It's the first time that he's spoke since this entire fiasco started, and it makes Hwa jump back. "Listen to me! You're freaking her out. Let her breathe. Let her breathe, okay? Give her some space. She's having a panic attack, can't you see that?"
    Seonghwa looks between the two of you a few times before taking your appearance in more closely. You're breathing heavily, ribs shaking with the force of each forceful intake. Your hands are trembling, knuckles losing their color as you hold onto Jongho's shirt tightly, and the grip on the fabric is the only thing that keeps you from falling over completely. "Okay..." He backs away slowly, biting his lip. All he wants to do is snatch you up and rock you in his arms until you feel better. "I'm sorry, Baby," his voice is met with cries as you slide down the wall.
    "This can't be happening! This ca-can't be real!" Jongho slowly lowers himself to sit infront of you, putting up a wall between you and the eldest member. He looks him in his eyes, almost daring him to try and grab you. He doesn't know what's come over him, but since you sought him out for protection; he won't let you down in that regard. "I trusted you! Oh, my God! I slept with you- I slept with- oh, my God!"
Mingi covers his ears as you sob, leaning further into Wooyoungs arms. Yunho covers his mouth as finds himself letting out a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut as they fill with tears.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Yeosang is completely detaching from reality to protect himself from his friends weeping, staring at the ceiling; not even noticing as his cheeks become wet by his crying. San wants to curl in a ball and disappear, deeply disappointed in himself for allowing this to happen — but also not being brave enough to lose his Hyung.
"Why!? Answer me!"
Seonghwa wipes his eyes, looking away. Hongjoong puts a hand on his back, and he turns quickly; hugging him tightly and hiding his face in his shoulder. Their manager is watching with...unease.
"Answer me..." You pant through your tears, falling onto your side. "Hwa..."
He moves his head ever so slowly from Hongjoongs shoulder, meeting your tearful eyes with his own.
"Why?" You choke out, grabbing back onto Jongho's shirt as Seonghwa turns around to face you fully.
    He slowly moves, like he has to hold himself back from rushing in and grabbing you. Because if he doesn't, he will.
    "Why?" He repeats you, sitting infront of Jongho but looking right past him. Looking at you. Like you're the only thing in the world. "I didn't know what else to do... Loving you is the best thing I've ever done. And I couldn't let you just leave. Not when I know you feel the same way. I can't let the world tear us apart. I know- I-" He shakes his head, "I never... I never felt this way about anyone before. You make me so scared. I love you so much. I can't rest knowing you're out in the world without me. I need to take care of you. I need to know you're safe. I need to know you're mine. I can't let anyone else have you."
    Everyone in the room is staring at him with wide eyes, quiet cries and sniffs from all around as you all realize he's too far gone to ever let you go without a fight.
   "You're my Baby."
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
When his words only served to make you cry more, unable to barely breathe when you realized nobody in the room was going to go against him, Hongjoong finally tore him away; giving you space to wail out every emotion you were slammed with.
You were staring at the floor blankly by now. Still laid on your side. Still behind Jongho, who was like a loyal guard dog. Still in between a state of terror and shock and betrayal and numbness. They come in waves.
    You don't register any of the very long conversation that they had with their manager. You don't register anything. You're gone in your own head until Hwa comes into your view again.
    "Baby? Can you hear me?"
    "...Yes."
    "Are you ready to get off the floor now? I promise I won't tie you up again." Because you don't have to, you want to snap, you have everyone on your side. "You have to be hungry by now, right? It's been a whole day-"
    "I don't want to eat anything from you." You state simply, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. "That didn't go very well for me last time."
    He sighs, patting Jongho's shoulder. The man gives you one last sad look before standing up and going to join the rest of the group in the hallway, where hushed conversation continues. Leaving you alone with him.
    You swallow around the lump in your throat, looking up at him with a new batch of tears brewing in your eyes. You are hungry. You're thirsty and sore and scared and you feel like your skin is crawling.
   "Don't cry, Baby," he whispers softly as he kneels down beside you, lacing his fingers in yours, "no more tears."
    "I c-can't help it," you finally break your facade of strength, of numbness to the situation, "I'm scared..."
    "C'mere, angel," you allow him to pull you up and cradle you to his chest. "You don't have to be scared. Mommy will take care of you."
    No. No. No. No. Not now. Please.
   You're so stressed out and tired, your inner child is clawing to come out. To just let him do what he promises he will. To let him take care of you.
  He can tell. He can always tell.
  "Aren't you hungry, Baby? You need to eat. I can make something in front of you, that way you know I won't give you anything. Will that make you less scared?" He pets your head, like you're a doll with the softest hair.
   Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop talking like that.
  "...Yes."
   He smiles inwardly as he stands with you in his arms. You don't have it in you to fight right now. You cry silently as you allow yourself to be carried to the kitchen.
    You catch the others eyes as he carries you past the entrance to the hall. You briefly register that their pinkies are all locked together, most of them with tearful eyes.
    "Hyung?" They begin to file out of the hallway and follow you, watching him closely as he sets you on the counter.
    He soothes out your rumpled office clothes and kisses your forehead even as you grimace. "Poor Baby. I promise I won't let you go hungry again."
     Your promises don't mean anything.
You swallow your tears, looking over to Yeosang; who quickly turns away. "I think," he clears his throat, "I'm going to go to bed."
Yunho quickly joins his side, and he's brave enough to meet your gaze. Only for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, (Y/n)-nim." He bows deeply to you before following Yeosang out of the door.
These assholes seriously aren't going to help...
Jongho does the same. Then the manager, who hadn't spoken one word to you. San and Mingi settle themselves at the table with far off looks in their eyes. Hongjoong joins them, similarly not gutsy enough to look at you.
As Seonghwa gathers some things from the pantry, Wooyoung is quick to approach you, leaning in to whisper. "Keep your head on straight, okay? Don't let this fucker break you. I'll find a way to help you."
He's gone as quickly as he came, giving you a more than ninety degree bow before leaving out of the front door, making a point to glare at Hwa as he slams it.
You want to believe him. You want to have hope — you have to have hope.
Wooyoung, no matter how betrayed you felt by him at the moment, is right. You won't let Seonghwa crush you so easily.
❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
"Are you serious?" You deadpan at him.
"Yes."
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as a way to comfort yourself at the very idea of what he's proposed. San and Mingi had left after a very awkward dinner, leaving you staring at Seonghwa incredulously; Hongjoong along with you. "Hyung, maybe you could let that slide, just tonight... Don't you think she's been through a lot already? Maybe you could just go to bed?" He suggests lightly, picking at his nail polish.
"You'll feel better after a shower, right, Baby?"
"Fuck you- ow!" You hold your head after he gives you a smack upside it, glaring at him.
"It's been a long day. You've been in those sweaty work clothes for twenty four hours. You're taking a shower. Got it? I'm not going to let My Baby be filthy." You let your jaw drop, looking over to Hongjoong; who still hasn't met your eyes the entire time you've been here.
"Are you going to let him get away with this- hey! Put me down!" You yell as Seonghwa comes up behind you and lifts you from your waist, holding you tightly as you pull at his arms.
"Goodnight, Hongjoong," Seonghwa says like he isn't hauling your writhing figure away.
You're determined to put up a fight. If nobody else is going to help you, you'll have to help yourself. "Go to hell, Hongjoong!" You scream as Hwa carries you down the hall, grabbing at every door frame you pass to slow him down.
"Don't be so rude, Baby," his tone makes you laugh, you feel like you're already losing your mind. You have a right to be rude in this situation. "I know this is going to be a hard transition for you, but it'll all be okay."
You fall to the tile floor of the bathroom as you finally struggle your way out of his hold. Your muscles are still heavy with the weight of who knows how many sleeping pills he gave you. "Hwa, seriously... don't make me shower in front of you." Your heart is pounding against your ribs with a vengeance as you see him lock the door. You put on your best begging face, though all you really want to do is scream and claw at him. But that hadn't gotten you anywhere but here.
He seems to consider it, but all that does it crush your hopes harder when he shakes his head. "Sorry, angel. You need to clean up. And I can't trust you to not do anything stupid."
All you do is stare.
"Come on, I know you're tired. The sooner you get c-"
"No."
He pauses, his jaw tightening. "Baby, if you aren't under the water in the next minute I will wash you myself."
No, he won't- You similarly pause. You don't know what he will or won't do, to be completely honest with yourself. A week ago, you'd've laughed in someone's face if they told you he'd drug and kidnap you. "What?"
"Get in the shower, or I will get in with you."
"Seriously?"
"Your time is already almost up."
"Are you fucking kidding-" You yelp as he leans forward quickly, grappling at your belt. "Hey! Stop! Stop it, I get it, I'll do it-"
"It's too late for that," you find tears welling up in your eyes for the umpteenth time as he speaks; yanking your belt off, "I know that you know the rules, Baby. They haven't changed. So stop being a brat. Stop cursing, stop being rude. Do you understand me?"
"Yes..." You whimper as he yanks away your pants, and scramble out of his reach with big eyes, "I can do the rest."
He takes a slow, calming breath before nodding. "Thank you, Baby." You flinch as he leans and kisses your head. You know that he's going to live up to his threat of showering with you as he begins undressing himself.
You have to take a moment to collect yourself before you start doing the same so that you don't have a repeat of this morning and lose the only food you've got today.
"Please, can't I do it on my own?" You try one last time as he turns on the water, your arms wrapped around yourself protectively.
"No," he pulls you forward and under the spray of hot water, making you recoil at the sudden sensation, "you lost your chance. Next time do what I ask, okay, Baby?"
"Okay..."
"Okay?"
"...Yes, Mommy."
He places a kiss on your forehead that could have felt like affection. But it's much too piercing and invasive to your heart.
You try to detach yourself from your body, you try so hard. But it won't let you leave. You're forced to feel every soft touch of his hands as he washes you clean.
Thankfully, truthfully to his words, he never tries to do anything even remotely sexual. Seonghwa is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. Not to you.
His soul would never let him, it never has. Ever since the beginning, when he found himself blurting out the truth of his identity before he could stop himself.
His touch is innocent as he turns you around to wash your back, and you can't decide if that's somehow worse. If you'd rather him just be a through and through monster instead of going back and forth between soft moments and terrifying admittances of murder and obsession. You suppose not. At least there's some bit of your Hwa that you can try to hang onto until you get away.
"Hwa?" You speak lowly, just over the pitter-patter of the water.
"Yes?" He's moved you gently out of the way as he washes himself up, allowing you to try to hide yourself in the corner.
"What's going to happen now?"
"We'll go to bed," he shrugs, tilting his head back and looking over at you as he rinses the shampoo from his head.
"That's not what I mean and you know it," you hold yourself back from throwing a curse word at him, not wanting to anger him now that he's calmed down.
"We're going on a couple weeks hiatus until you get settled. While our manager sorts some stuff out. I'll go by your apartment again tomorrow and get you anything you want. Be thinking of a list."
He says it all so casually. Like this isn't entirely life altering and deeply fucked up.
You slide down the corner of the shower and wrap your arms around your knees.
The irony isn't entirely lost on you, but you can't focus on it at the moment. You broke up with him because you didn't want drama or stress, and you got it slapped back in your face ten-fold with a big side dish of trauma.
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what he would say. He lets you have your moment to yourself until he turns off the water.
You let him wrap his arms around you and heave you up. When he wraps a large towel around you, you hold onto it for dear life, thankful to finally have some cover.
He wraps one around his hips before leading you back into the room the day started in by your hand. He knows you won't be making a run for it right now.
He closes the door and suddenly you feel like you're in an entirely different world. Like everything has shrunk around you. Like it's suffocating you. Like the world has wrapped its hand around your neck.
"You know how I said the rules haven't changed Baby?" He had them set in place for you while you were dating, for when you were in little space. Simple things, things you appreciated at the time. Like set a reminder to eat and don't be mean and always remember your manners.
"Yes..." You try to ignore the fact that he already has your clothes mixed in with his in his dresser, but it makes you want to gag.
    "They haven't for me either, okay?" You had some for him as well, when he acted as your care giver. No taking away comfort items, always ask how you feel before doing something new, things that made you feel safe.
    You didn't know how safe you could feel when he had broken into your apartment and rifled through your things. "Okay..." It didn't matter anyway, you were out of here the first chance you got.
    "I have some new ones for you." He hums as he hands you a pair of pajamas, giving you the freedom to dress yourself as he does the same.
    "I don't want you touching the front door. Even if someone we know is knocking, stay away from the entrance. You're going to eat with us at every meal. And this last one is very important," he cups your cheeks to make you look up at him, "don't look anyone else in the eyes." Your eyebrows crease with confusion, and he elaborates, "you're My Baby. Only mine."
    His voice is stern. Leaves no room for any type of rebuttal. "Okay?"
   "Oka-" You stop yourself, remember your manners, "yes, Mommy."
    "There's my sweet girl." You hate the way his smile makes you think back to times when things were okay. When they were perfect.
    When you crawl into the bed after he gestures, you curl up as close to the wall as you can possibly get while he turns off the light.
    He knows you're afraid of the dark, so he isn't surprised that you let him hold you without a fight. Any comfort is better than none in the darkness.
    And you'll cling to any comfort you can get as the void leaves you with nothing but your own mind.
    You're feeling entirely too many emotions all at once, but above all — betrayal.
Yeosang, Wooyoung... you considered them friends. You considered them good people. You thought that of all of them.
Nobody is coming to save you.
Nobody did save you. They had the chance. Were they cowards or were they his victims as well? Probably a heavy mixture of both.
The only people who might be looking for you will be Miss Lee and Yejin. Yejin... Yejin... She thinks you're mad at her. She doesn't even know you're missing yet. How long will it take? Seonghwa has the resources to cover his tracks pretty well. Will she even be able to connect the dots? Will she be able to even fathom the idea that an idol is holding you captive? An idol that you were dating?
That you were dating...
He, above all, has betrayed you. Forget Yeosang. Forget Wooyoung. San. Mingi. Any of his group mates. Forget his manager. Forget the world.
You let him into your life. You thought he was a good man. He acted like one. You thought he was the one.
Seonghwa seems to sense your oncoming panic attack, because he wraps his arms around you tighter and rubs your sides right before you break into a fit of loud, ugly sobs.
"Shhhh," he coos sweetly, resting his head on your back; holding you tight. "It's okay."
It is not fucking okay.
"Stop, stop," you cry quietly for nothing in particular, "stop." You don't know what you want to stop. Maybe everything. Everything. You want everything to stop.
You begin to thrash in his arms, his apparent ease in holding you down only serving to make you more panicked. "Stop." You say it louder. "Make it stop. Stop."
You fight and cry, fight and cry. But you don't get anywhere. You can't get away. "Make it stop! Make it stop! Please, I've had enough!"
You let out a scream of terror into the dead of night, all of your thoughts entirely too much for your overwhelmed brain to handle.
"STOP!!"
❝Ptolemaea❞ ✧ ೃ༄ 。
190 notes · View notes
maxwell-grant · 3 months ago
Note
Any thoughts on Namor? I was going to ask about whether he counts as villain, but given that part of Namor's whole Thing is wrapped around the fact that he hops back and forth over that line all the time, I'm not sure it's a question that can be answered.
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He was made king before he was even born; it was something that he didn’t have a choice in, it was destiny. - Ryan Coogler
"HE IS THE PENDULUM THAT SWINGS BETWEEN THE POLARITIES OF DEVIANT AND ETERNAL, X-51. HIS IS THE SECOND FACE OF MAN." - Earth X #0
I've spoken before on Namor and his Weird Tales pulp horror debut story, and I can't really get into how I feel about Namor as an F4 villain without giving thoughts on Namor himself. The short version is I think Namor rules, and in a better world, Bill Everett would be better remembered as a foundational creative force for the entirety of the Marvel Universe, just based on the creation of Namor. I think he's the Rosetta Stone by which the core of the Marvel Universe is first seen and is subsequently translated and reiterated, and I think it's also extremely self-evident why he got so many revivals and why he gets to stick around in ways guys like Jim Hammond and Ka-Zar didn't.
Not just for the history of Marvel but for the comic book superhero as a concept, he is tremendously significant as well as very compelling, and in the context of Lee-Kirby F4, in large part because he already ruled as a character beforehand, he makes for a really dynamic villain/anti-hero/force of nature who consistently made for some of their most fun stories. The problem here is that the influence of said villain run ended up affecting Namor for the worse in ways that seriously drag him down as a character, to the point he is very consistently at his absolute worst and most limited whenever he has to share a story with them. He's FAR from the worst Fantastic Four villain, not even close, but I can't think of a character I'd like to see lees as a F4 villain than him. It truly pains me to say I'd sooner have another Blastaar or Psycho-Man F4 story than a Namor F4 story, and to get into why we have to talk about Namor's history.
See, as much as I like discovering and doing pop culture paleonthology, I'm generally not in favor of propping up characters mainly through what historical importance or possible influence they had, because that, on it's own, just doesn't make an interesting character, and in fact usually marks a character as having failed to retain relevance or popularity, when all that matters about them can only be spoken about via the past tense and not what they do or mean now (Wonder Woman, and her inarguable decline of popularity, is unfortunately a relevant example of this). I think it's often one of the sadder ways to try and prop up any old character you like, and I bring this up mainly for context's sake.
I don't think this is truly applicable to Namor - his historical significance has always taken a backseat to his mercurial alliances and troubled personality and that other thing and all that's usually defined him since the 60s up to his modern appearences, and it's certainly not the thing most writers use him for anyway, for better or worse. But in his case, it is absolutely necessary to bring up because of how significant it was to his comeback, and to understand why I argue Namor is one of the most important characters for the Marvel Universe as a project and shared story. In the Sub-Mariner, introduced as an "Ultra-Man of the Deep", we have one of the first and most significant responses to Superman.
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(Excerpt taken from Bill Everett: Fire & Water)
Timely's big innovation, which was to serve the embryonic Marvel well and help to distinguish it from DC, was to come down from Olympus and give voice to the elements themselves by personifying the forces of nature as heroes.
Prince Namor of Atlantis, the Sub-Mariner, was the creation of seventeen-year-old Bill Everett. Superman sometimes flouted the law, but decent people had nothing to fear from the essentially upstanding Man of Steel. Prince Namor was different: This half-human terrorist was prepared to inundate the just and unjust alike as he rode on whaleback at the foaming apocalyptic crest of the devastating mega-tsunami that he unleashed on New York in his first adventure.
Namor was the face of JD insolence, awaiting rock 'n' roll, Marlon Brando, and James Dean to ratify his power. Driven by passions and brief allegiances, Namor faced the entire world with a fuck-you snarl, committing acts of high anarchy on a scale undreamed of by terrorists in the real world. There was no shortage of sea stories, tales of Atlantis, storms, piracy, dynastic succession, and imperial vengeance from which to draw inspiration for Namor's fertile new fantasy playground. - Supergods, by Grant Morrison
Even all the way back in 1939 in his murderous beginnings, Namor already felt like a Marvel character in every way that matters, the forerunner to all the tools Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko would use to revolutionize the superhero. Bill Everett just doesn't get enough credit for how profoundly he beat everyone to the punch, all the Wolverines and Hulks and Venoms and Magnetos, descendants of Marvel's primordial super menace. Everett would eventually look back on these early Namor stories as too raw and unpolished, describing them as mostly the ventings of an angry young man, and sure enough the Sub-Mariner would quickly team up with the Torch and join the fight against the Nazis and transition into superheroics proper. But even as Namor gained solo titles, even as he became more of a household name, that unpredictability and edge to the character still remained. Namor was always a character of intriguing extremes and an irreconcilable duality, from his birth in-universe as well as out of it, up to everything that would define him for the following 80+ years.
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When Everett is happy, Namor will save kids whose yacht sunk and cooperate with police while receiving accolades from the public as if he’s freakin’ Superman. When Everett is pissed about something, Namor will contemplate stealing world-destroying weapons from the villains so he can wipe out the human race himself! Sometimes Namor will be perfectly friendly initially, but be falsely blamed by humans, join up with the villains, then turn his back on them at the last minute.
Just like the gods of Greece, Namor can be mankind’s friend in some stories, in others; he can be its worst enemy over something petty. Everett may not have thought much of it, but he was doing something unique among superhero comics: Creating a character that the reader is fascinated by not so much because of the question of what others will do to him, but because of what he’ll do to others, and because watching Namor rage at the humans allows the reader (and his creator) to blow off some steam of their (his) own - Outofthequicksand
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And speaking of said duality, it's also important to highlight the extent to which Namor was indeed, from day one, coded as biracial and placed in opposition to the "white race", particularly in his earliest comics that openly placed him at war with "the white man". I'll defer here to the resident Namor expert @imperiuswrecked, who has covered this aspect of Namor more extensively. This will come into relevance later.
It's important to establish the history and significance that Namor had prior to the 60s, that he was Marvel's first star character (Captain America has a much, much spottier track record until his proper comeback) but one without a consistent title to be in, because it's that very same history and significance that caused him to be brought back and remain an inviolate mainstay of the universe from the moment there was a universe for him to live in and return to. When Timely becomes Marvel, when the Fantastic Four revolutionize the superhero and begin the building blocks of the new shared universe, Namor can enter right out of the gate to add history and intrigue and turmoil to this new universe.
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DC’s heroes were authoritarian in character and concept. They were authority figures, whether formally or informally. They were solidly in favor of established authority. Marvel’s heroes, however, were the opposites of DC’s characters. They rejected consensus and conformity. They were usually alienated from society and felt themselves to be men and women apart. They were the products of tragic beginnings, but unlike DC’s characters, the Marvel superheroes were never allowed to forget the tragedies that birthed them. They had uneasy relationships with the public, who often turned on them. They had uneasy relationships with the forces of authority.
Even Marvel’s villains were granted two dimensions, leaving them villainous but flawed in recognizable and understandable ways. Marvel’s heroes, villains, and stories were often ambiguous, and ambiguity was an entirely new concept in superhero comics - The Evolution of the Costumed Avenger, by Jess Nevins
Marvel can now repurpose it's old comics and it's oldest icon for texture in the new ones - we can discover that the Fantastic Four are entering a world that already beheld the Sub-Mariner, "the world's most unusual character", and forgot about him, that saw the mighty war hero enter a hypnotized slumber and, once awakened, find himself in the world of the atom bomb and the destruction it wrought upon his old life and people. Now, all the might of the former superheroic Namor is turned against "humanity", and with him an endless oceanic bestiary under his command, and a mandate to reconnect with what's left of his people and let nothing in the world get in his way.
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And thus Namor takes on a newfound role - on top of being their first continuity deep cut, he is now the complicated/sympathetic/nuanced baddie who can become an ally, the first ambiguous villain of Marvel. The first of it's villains who displays a capacity to become an ally or reform, soon to be followed by the likes of Hawkeye, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch and Black Widow. And the moment a bigger menace enters the scene via Doctor Doom, the new greatest villain of their world, Namor can now be an opposing force of conflicting alliances and loyalties, assisting Doom and turning against him on the same story.
For the rest of the Lee-Kirby run, he will go on to become arguably the 2nd greatest Fantastic Four villain of the time, one reserved for special occasions in the same way Doom is, but one who demands entirely different considerations writing-wise because he is, fundamentally, not a true monster or villain, just an opposing force of mercurial allegiances but unwavering commitment. Traits that in the past made him a game-changing but inconsistent hero, here make him into a unique but difficult villain, one who unfortunately often does fall into routine as he is simply not built for the kind of long-term commitment to direct antagonism that Doom or the others are. But at his best in the Lee-Kirby run, he is incredibly fun to read about.
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I simply do not get tired ever of all the weird animals and monsters and contraptions and underwater set pieces that Namor as a villain in this era brings with him in every appearence, he appeals really strongly to the ocean nerd in me and the palenthology nerd also, because Kirby absolutely was cracking open the picture books for reference, I was not expecting a Dunkleosteus and a Xenacanthus to show up when I started this run. I was so happy to find them in here, and wait you mean to tell me that Namor was piloting a fucking Mosasaurus??? Why isn't he doing that more often??? There is just a consistently enjoyable unpredictability to Namor's arsenal in this era, whether it's the monsters he summons or him pulling new weird powers related to sea creatures. Him having "the powers of all creatures who live beneath the sea" is one of those typically over-the-top early Marvel developments (like the Lizard having the powers of all the lizards on Earth) that I DEARLY miss and wish would come back, because they promise infinitely wilder possibilites than anyone's ever taken advantage of.
With the Marvel Universe underway and his newfound role, Namor now exists in a dual-role: He grows away from being a full-time Fantastic Four villain and rejoins his kingdom and ostensibly returns to something akin to his original role, but the world has now changed and changed Namor with it. Away from Everett's hands and from Lee-Kirby's vision, there are now significant competing ideas of The Sub-Mariner, and the following decades will be defined by this push and pull. He reattains a solo title, but only sporadically. He joins the Defenders, a team with fellow self-contained weirdos who defy superhero convention, and go on adventures to map out the weird corners of Marvel. He retroactively forms the Invaders, defining the vision of 1940s Marvel with Cap and Hammond, and his flooding of New York would go on to become a formative catastrophe in the history of this world. Subsequent Fantastic Four writers will drag him back again and again to diminishing results, he fights the Avengers and joins the Avengers, he gets pulled into the X-Men orbit because of his mutant connections, and when the 2000s mega-arc initiates, he is tapped to join the Illuminati, where he now must adjust to the rest of the Marvel Universe playing in his pool and worse, fucking in it.
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As the Illuminati forms, as events like Civil War and Secret Invasion and Dark Reign proceed to twist and darken the universe and all of it's heroes, as the Marvel Universe starts to reckon more and more with it's nature as The Bastardverse it has always fundamentally been, the primordial bastard must step in to respond accordingly. When representatives of the world convene in the shadows to steer it, Namor has to be invited, even if only to clash against them. When the mutants go to war with the Avengers and attain godhood, they bring him in, so he can be goaded into going on a rampage and do what they all were always going to do. And when the Illuminati has to turn truly monstrous for the sake of saving the multiverse, when it's time for Reed Richards and T'challa to drown their doubts and principles and commit to monstrosity for the sake of saving their worlds, there they must bring in Namor again, because he has been doing it longer than any of them. Because amidst everyone else grappling with moral complications and tough choices, he is the only one who is perfectly fine with who he is and what he's doing and what needs to be done. His new job is to give these people a license, and the warning that comes with it.
He gives the Illuminati a license to be villainous in the name of a greater good (surely, they can never be worse than Namor, they all think), and he warns them of the path this will inevitably lead to. He gives them a warning about how justified the Hulk will be when he comes after them all. He gives the Phoenix Five a license to drop the Miracleman act and go to war, and the early shot that warns them all of what's to come next. He gives T'Challa a license to be the monster he needs to be to save the world, and when that fails, avenge his people by taking him down. He gives the Cabal a license to pick up where the Illuminati left off and, to his horror, show Namor what real shameless monstrosity looks like, and at the end of everything, he's there to help T'Challa in his last stand, putting everything aside to distract Doom even at the cost of his own life.
And as a result of his antagonistic dynamic towards Black Panther and Wakanda culminating in this arc, Namor's deal became significantly informed by his status as a pseudo-Black Panther villain, and thus we, at last, reach the latest and most significant development regarding Namor: his role in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever.
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Ryan Coogler and Tenoch Huerta to me granted the character an emotional context here that clarifies everything he is, and all that shapes his thought. He’s not angry at the surface world and its clownshit in abstract. It’s not just the anger of a distant warrior-king of the oceans. It’s the anger of the colonized, of the Othered.
What Ryan Coogler and Tenoch Huerta did is give him specificity. He’s not just a broad-strokes figure in White hands, for White writers to write as an archetypal broad-strokes morally murky angry bastard guy. No, there’s a specific history to this guy, there’s a cultural specificity and context to his very existence.
I like this Namor a lot. The character finally makes an emotional sense, to me. I understand him. I relate to his rage, as I'm sure plenty of people do. - Ryan Coogler’s Namor and Specificity
Namor in Wakanda Forever has been touted as a complete reinvention of the character, which isn't quite true: while many of the Mesoamerican traits and specific signifiers are indeed new, and certainly do a LOT to recontextualize and breathe new life into every facet of his character, Wakanda Forever Namor is less a reinvention of Namor as much as it is a synthesis of Namor. It is all the prior Namors we have discussed here unified and blended into one: He is the avenging villain/troubled anti-hero who has incredibly justified reasons to wage war on humanity for the sake of his people, he is the emburdened child king of a wronged underground civilization, he is the noble but troubled romantic figure who swings between monster and savior on a dime, he is the fun over-the-top supervillain with an endless supply of underwater trickery who will go on a rampage if he feels spurned or betrayed, he is the folk demigod who floods the great noble city in a life-shattering calamity, and he is the righteous bastard here to stake his ground on these new political backstabbing games that superheroes engage with now, dragged away from his kingdom and people so he can play the primordial shadow the righteous bastard anti-heroes of new must defeat or work with and, at minimum, recognize within themselves.
And he is, at last and once more, the righteous fury of The Other. He is no longer just coded as a POC character or implied to be, and he can now fully resume his original aims. He can now once again be at war against "the white man", against the colonial forces that have ravaged his home and people, and this no longer has to be subtext. He can fully embody a power fantasy of retribution against your oppressors without having to be allegorical about it, but because he is no longer alone in being such, he can now clash against and be in dialogue with another character who also represents such a power fantasy. He can bestow upon Shuri the hunting license to be like Killmonger, but he is no mere oppressor, and even if he himself deserves vengeance, he is what he is to protect something greater than himself, and for the sake of their people, they must sacrifice even their own vendettas. He warns that they must hang together, or be hanged separately.
And so Namor achieved this new form, and funny enough, one that ties him into the greatest legacy of the Fantastic Four. Where as he was once the 2nd or 3rd greatest/most popular Fantastic Four villain, he is now the 2nd or 3rd greatest/most popular Black Panther villain. Outside of these specific stories that can afford him a clear arc to work with, does he work as a reocurring Black Panther villain? No, not really. But he was T'Challa's most personal enemy on the biggest story either of them were ever a part of up until that point, and then his MCU debut that revitalized and redefined the character happened with him as the villain in the Black Panther sequel, so he's undeniably already there. Although as much as I throughly loved Wakanda Forever and what it did with Namor, I have absolutely zero desire to see him come back for anything unless it's the same team at the helm (I am not optimistic and indifferent towards Avengers: Doomsday for a variety of self-evident reasons, and unfortunately he is one of them).
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Yes I was supposed to be talking about Namor as a Fantastic Four villain, guess it's time to ruin the fun and shoot the elephant in the room: In the context of Lee-Kirby F4, I actually think Namor and Sue's thing is mostly fine. Not good, but fine, for what it is at the time. I think there's a lot of things that I give Lee-Kirby F4 a pass for that I otherwise wouldn't on other comics and not simply because of goodwill, but because even a lot of it's problematic / outdated elements I think are useful signifiers, interesting points of contrast and discussion, or thematically relevant for the time period and what F4's aims were, although that's certainly not a blanket pass for everthing (there are good reasons why nobody has bothered to textually address how misogynistic Reed was to Sue in that era). Namor and Sue's thing, from day one, existed in the service of an exoticized "romance with the alien monster/foreigner" pulp trope that was already outdated and problematic then, but doing a 60s superhero/sci-fi take on the pulp tropes and cliches that Lee and Kirby grew up reading about was central to the whole thing, Sue's complicated feelings about Namor made it a shlocky pseudo love triangle instead of a one-sided creep obsession, the kid-friendly tone meant that things hardly ever got too uncomfortable or like actual assault (although still a little too close).
Fantastic Four was built atop their prior experience with monster comics and romance comics, a monster romance was kind of inevitable, and when Reed and Sue properly got together and married, while Namor's subsequent appearences still brought it up, it would get gradually phased out as the Sub-Mariner drifted more into uneasy ally/heroic status. That, in itself, should have been the end of it, but evidently it was not. Every decade, someone decides to reiterate this plotline, and every decade, it reflects worse on them. On Sue, it was a misogynistic reputation as someone who deep down wanted to cheat on Reed, it was being known as a character who had nothing exciting going on with her life besides the horny fishman, and on Namor's end, it's a pop culture reputation as a sleaze and a womanizer and a creep who revolves around his obsession with a married woman who does not want him. That was the thing Namor was and is known for, the main joke of every pastiche, and unfortunately it seems like not even Wakanda Forever was able to change that in the long run. I'm not sure what could, at this point.
I'm gonna be upfront here, part of the problem is that Sue Storm has always gotten the short end of the stick, and as a result has always been considerably less developed than the other 3. In the Lee-Kirby F4 era, unfortunately is is true that Namor was the only thing Sue had going on until she and Reed got married, and then the marriage was the only thing she had going on. Her lack of foundation is the original sin of Lee-Kirby F4, and things only got worse for her when said foundation was later provided by John Byrne, a putrid man who left everything he ever touched toxic for generations after to deal with. To this day, Sue Storm functionally does not have a foundation the way the other 3 have, and that's why the default with her still exists defined around either Reed, or Namor. Even Hickman couldn't think of much of anything for Sue to do other than to beat up Namor and get involved with Atlantean politics, on the one part of the book she got to have her own adventures. It's a problem that goes beyond whatever tiresome shtick she and Namor have, and it drags them both down.
And it's not like Namor playing the heel is a bad thing, that's been inseparable to his deal since day one. But it was already lame enough in the comics when he was a cool compelling versatile character constantly reduced to a shlocky trope or a creep. It's infinitely worse now that Marvel has, in the wake of Wakanda Forever, a clear interest in acknowledging Namor as not-white, in making him more explicitly indigenous, in having him exist as a principled rival/enemy within the Black Panther side of the world. I think having him be that, and doing the Sue thing, is just a complete fucking misfire on every level, just an unthinkably bad idea to combine the two, taking the allegorical exotic pulp racism of the 60s dynamic and doing it without the allegory / feeding into extremely dangerous and bigoted stereotypes against indigenous / brown-skinned men, really just shooting out the character's knees and making him too detestable for anyone to even want to see him be anything but a prop to be knocked down. I'm certainly not saying I want him and Sue to be magically chaste friends (although, again, that is a dynamic Namor can have just fine with other characters), I just don't think there's any redeeming this even if he goes back to looking like a white Dwayne Johnson. I think the best case scenario is him never interacting with the Fantastic Four again or at least until they figure out what they want out of him.
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So yes, I think Namor absolutely does count as a villain - he is not just a villain, but being a villain, being able to play the villain and play the hero in varying measures, is a core part of what he is and does. Namor is a character that I think will probably never be particularly or especially popular again for similar reasons as to why some of the pulp characters I talk about or Captain Marvel or, shit even the Fantastic Four, face difficulties in that regard - their deal has been replicated endlessly and absorbed into what everyone else around them does, and even if they remain unique and dynamic characters, their cultural import and significance will never truly translate to them being a thing most non-comics people have reasons to know or care about. But even if Namor will never be a particularly important character for the Marvel Universe on an ongoing basis, I do think he is an extremely important character for understanding the Marvel Universe and how it works. Even past whatever he means for Marvel - in many ways, I'd still argue he is The Marvel Superman - the purer, more primal or powerful strain of what the others are trying to be and do.
Whether he is hero or villain, whether he leads the charge or takes a backseat, whether he is right or wrong, he is The Guy. The universe comes from him and around him, if not in-universe then outside of it. The universe is shaped like him. He comes to tear down the order of things and brawl with whoever tries to stop him, to meet brothers in arms and war against new enemies and guide his monstrous children to their futures. The DC heroes aspire to be like Superman, the man from the stars who wants others to rise and meet him there, while the Marvel heroes deny the Namor within them, the man from the depths who beckons them to the abyss where he lives. Because the truth of the Marvel Universe is not joining hands in the sun as the people of tomorrow, it's the avenging sons and children without love flooding New York City and fighting each other atop the ruins.
Rather than slap a symbol on an altruistic strongman’s chest, like so many other characters in Superman’s wake, Everett eschewed those impulses, pulling instead from legend and literature to craft a unique character. In an odd way, this gives Namor and Superman a deeper kinship than his caped imitators, as the Last Son of Krypton was also inspired by mythos, literature, and, some theorize, profound personal heartbreak.
Superman is the immigrant who never knew his destroyed homeland, and fights so that his new homeland does not suffer the same fate, while the Sub-Mariner is the product of two races, and cannot find peace within himself until his peoples find peace with each other
It is appropriate Superman came from another star; he is a kind of unsullied messiah. Namor, however, is a demigod, fully in tune with his sometimes visceral passions, and fully aware that sometimes that leads to trouble. But he is alive, and this is his nature.
a bastard son, a half-breed prince his underwater race never fully trusted, and a super-powered anomaly the human race always feared, leaving Namor forever at odds with both worlds. He has all the power and uses it for vengeance – although sometimes, reluctantly, for a common cause, as well.
Fighting between self-interest and emotional nobility, he is a reflection of us. - The Brilliance of Bill Everett’s Sub-Mariner, Marvel’s Superman
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coldfanbou · 7 months ago
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Kinkcember Day 21: Costume
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Your girlfriend Hayoung planned a little gift without you knowing it. Let's see what she has in store...I hope it wasn't too embarrassing for her.
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Hayoung X Mreader
You wake up early in the morning, reaching for your phone immediately. You’re disappointed, though, when you see that there wasn’t a notification from Hayoung. You expected your girlfriend to have sent you something to wake up to. You change into your work clothes, a little sadder at not having had a message from her. You work throughout the day, and you’re a little upset that Hayoung hasn’t messaged you at all.
While you were working, though, Hayoung was setting herself up for your birthday. She remembered a comment you made in the past about wanting her in a sexy cat costume. She figured now would be the best time to do it. Hayoung had ordered the costume, made some minor adjustments, and set herself up in your room. The only thing she needed to do was wait. Like a cat stuck at home, she lounged around through the day, tempted to message you something but deciding against it. Occasionally, she’d look at herself in the mirror, a little embarrassed to see herself in a bikini with a tail on the end. She did get some entertainment out of it, though. More than once in the hours she waited, she’d chase it, every time stopping to think, “What in the world am I doing?” Hayoung tried to busy herself by writing you a not-to-read when you got home; she wrote it and rewrote it dozens of times before finally settling on a final version. 
She was sitting in the living room when she heard the door jiggle. Hayoung scrambled to your bedroom, tossing herself onto the bed and facing the entrance as she waited for you to appear. 
You come home seeing nothing. The disappointment you’ve felt through the day becomes greater until you see a small note stuck to the wall. “Happy Birthday! I brought you a small gift, you know how you’ve always wanted a pet? Come to your bedroom.” It was signed by Hayoung. You can’t shake the smile on your face as you realize she didn’t forget. You rush to the bedroom, overjoyed.
You walk into the bedroom and find Hayoung lying on her stomach, passing a little ball between her hands. Your eyes move up slowly, sticking to the black cat ears on her head. “Meow?” Hayoung’s meow makes you laugh; it wasn’t something you had expected to hear from her. As she hears you laugh, Hayoung buries her head into the mattress, covering her head out of embarrassment. “Don’t laugh!” She shouts into the bed, muffling her words. She covers her head with her hands, and you now notice that she wears little gloves that mimic paws. “I did this for you!” She yells, tossing a pillow at you. You dodge the pillow and get closer to Hayoung, finally getting a closer look at her. She was wearing just a bra and panties, her panties having a tail attached to the end.
Hayoung pokes her head up, her cheeks turning a bright red as she blushes. Her hands cover her face the next second as another wave of embarrassment hits her. “Say something!” 
Your voice catches in your throat for a second. “You look beautiful,” you manage to say. Hayoung’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of red. She feels embarrassed to be wearing something so silly, silently cursing herself for thinking the cat bikini would be the best option. 
Hayoung quickly gets out of bed and runs over to hug you, her head resting against your chest as she tries to hide herself. “Happy birthday,” she grumbles, but you’re barely able to hear her.
“What did you say? Can you repeat that?” 
Hayoung kneels before you, rubbing her face against your legs while looking at you with loving eyes. She places her hands on your thighs, moving them up until she reaches the waistband. “Happy Birthday,” she says softly as she pulls on your pants. Hayoung smiles at you and meows again as she rubs her face against your bulge. As much as she didn’t want to play the part, she was trying for your sake. The meow makes you laugh again, though, and Hayoung stops. “If you laugh again, I will stop.”  She says breaking character. You stare at each other, understanding where you stand in this odd situation before Hayoung continues. 
It didn’t matter that she just told you not to laugh; Hayoung couldn’t handle it anymore. “I can’t do this anymore,” Hayoung says, tossing off the cat ears, having had enough of making a fool out of herself. She grips your cock tightly, moving her hand along your shaft and spitting on it. She moves her hand quickly, her attitude getting more serious as she feels your pulse rising. The contrast between her cute face and her sultry smile only added to your arousal. You moaned Hayoung’s name. She rises to her feet, continuing to stroke your cock as she stares into your eyes. “Tonight, I’m taking control, okay, baby?” It was a rhetorical question. Hayoung pulled you toward the bed and pushed you onto your back. Hayoung leans over your cock, sticking her tongue out and drooling over your cock before taking one long lick. You moan Hayoung’s name, making her smirk. “Don’t wear yourself out yet.” Hayoung presses her lips against your cock, moving them toward the head before swallowing your cock. She runs her tongue along the underside of your cock; you watch her cheeks hollow out as she sucks you off. You throw your head back and moan her name; the warmth of her mouth makes you forget about how rough your day was before this. 
Hayoung smiles; she loves seeing you lose yourself because of her. The young woman slowed down, making her movements more precise and using her tongue more. Your hips thrust up, and Hayoung has to hold you down. “Not so fast, baby. I’m in control.” She swallows the tip again and moves her tongue across the head and then back again. As your cock begins to throb, Hayoung quickens her movements; her hand strokes your cock quickly, making you cry out as she makes you cum in her mouth. Hayoung greedily drinks every drop, moaning as she tastes the salty liquid.  
Hayoung keeps her hand on your cock, stroking it until you’re hard again. Climbing onto your lap, she straddles you. She lays on top of your body, her elbows digging into your chest as she rests her head on her hands. “This little kitty had some milk; now she wants something else.” Hayoung rocks her hips back and forth, feeling your cock rub against her slit, her panties the only thing keeping you two apart. “How bad do you want it?”
“Hayoung, please,” you groan, feeling the heat from her body.
“It’s so fun seeing you like this,” she says with a smile. “I’ll make sure you enjoy this.”With that, Hayoung raises herself, pulling her panties to the side and rubbing the tip of your cock between her lips. She aligns you with her entrance and slowly sinks onto your cock, cooing as she feels you split her apart. “Oh, you're so big.” Hayoung takes you a little bit at a time, teasing you as she lowers herself a little more, only to rise back up to the tip. It’s madness on your end; you could only watch as Hayoung rode you. Eventually, she finally finished, taking your cock wholly inside her cunt. You were already near your climax at this point, but Hayoung was just beginning. She lifted herself up suddenly and just as quickly crashed against your body. Her eyes widen, and she gasps as she feels your cum pour into her body. “Oh, baby, you came already? I hope you have a little more for me.” Her words were teasing you; she leaned over and kissed your chest before beginning to ride you again. 
Hayoung bounced on your cock quickly. You groaned as she moved along your shaft; her walls clung to you. You’re more sensitive now and barely able to do anything as she rode you as if her life depended on it. She moaned your name, arched her back, and pushed herself to her climax. Hayoung only had two thoughts, one on how your cock was splitting her in two, and the other was how much she wanted your cum. Her usually cute smile looked sultry to you. She knew what she was doing. Hayoung swiveled her hips as she rode you, bringing in a new sense of pleasure as your cock rubbed against her walls. The two of you were getting close to cumming. Hayoung’s walls tightened around your cock, her pace became erratic and until she impaled herself on your cock, crying your name as you made her cum. You fell at the same moment, pouring another load of your semen inside her already full cunt. 
Hayoung grinded against you until she collapsed on top of you. “H-how was that?” she asks, out of breath.
“That was amazing,” You say, putting your arms on her waist. 
“Was I a good present?” 
“The best,” you say, leaning up to kiss her forehead. You chuckle as you see Hayoung transform back into her usual cute self. She has a warm and cute smile on her face as she closes her eyes and begins to fall asleep on your chest. You try to move to put her in a more comfortable position, but she shakes her head and holds onto you. You eventually give up and let her sleep on top of you, your cock still inside her.
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awriterinthenight · 9 months ago
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"You're all I need, love,"-Five Hargreeves
requested: anonymous
words: 866
warnings: uhhh idk really, maybe a bit of angst, no Five and Lila, they do get stuck together, but nothing happens between them
summary: Five has been stuck for 7 years without you, and now he's finally home.
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7 years.
7 long years.
But to her it's only been an hour. Five had gone off on one of his adventures to try and figure out how to solve our apocalypse problem. Even though it was barely an hour for her, Five had been on the worst trip from hell for a whole 7 years.
He would constantly think of how having her there with him would've made everything better, but no matter what he tried he could never get to her. Every train line seemed to take him farther and farther away.
To him being away from her was the punishment no apocalypse could ever make him feel. Being without her, traveling from timeline to timeline, felt like walking through each layer of hell alone, with only the distant thoughts of the person you once loved to keep you company.
Of course he has Lila there with him, but even she was starting to hate his mopey attitude, and how every other sentence was how much he missed her. She herself missed Diego and her own kids, which made her understand how Five felt. They both had someone who truly understood them, and now here they were stuck and trapped with the hope of getting back to them, withering away like a flower stuck in eternal winter.
But, when Five found the notebook with the instructions on how to get back it felt like maybe believing in a higher power wasn't so horrible, and that some god or deity wanted him to get back to her. He would trade his whole life just to be able to find a way back to her, and here it was in his hands. The messy writing giving the perfect instructions on every step needed to make his way back.
When he and Lila found themselves back at the front door of her house it felt unreal. It felt like at any moment someone would pull the rug out from under their feet, and tell them it was an elaborate mirage. But it was all real.
Every second felt like a moment wasted, so they opened the door where Lila's kids ran to her, full of joy of seeing her again. To them it had only been an hour. Maybe you wouldn't think he was the same? Maybe you wouldn't notice anything and act like it was just his normal self?
All of these thoughts went through Five's head, thinking of every possible way the both of them would react when seeing each other. When she finally appeared she immediately moved towards him, happy to see him again. She saw how he looked sadder, but somehow happier at the same time. Their hug lasted for longer than it seemed time could handle.
"I missed you. I missed you so much," He whispered into her hair, softly stroking it while pressing her so far into his chest that their heartbeats were felt by the other.
She smiled, amused by his loving words, "You've only been gone an hour, was it really that bad?" she asked, concerned about him, willing to devote every inch of herself to make him feel better.
Five moved to press their foreheads together, "Yeah, it was that bad," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper, as he downplayed his 7 years he couldn't have dreamed of in his worst nightmares.
"I'm sorry then. But, now I'm here," she told him, knowing that that was usually enough to make him relieved. He just held her tight, breathing in her scent, as if it was a quintessential part of his life he hadn't had in an eternity of suffering.
He would move to peck her lips softly, or to place a kiss somewhere on her face. To her it was just him relishing in her presence and showing his love to her. But to him it was his way of making sure she was really there. That she was really in his arms, that he could really kiss her, that he could finally tell the face that haunted his dreams with the presence he thought he would never be in again, how much he loved her.
All those years apart from her made him realize how much he would give for her love. Maybe she was a goddess in disguise, since it seemed almost impossible to make a person go crazy just from not being with them. No matter what, she was his savior. She was the one keeping him going all those years, and the only reason he kept looking for an escape to the point where he would've sold his soul for a way back to her.
Being there in her arms gave him a feeling he wanted to bottle up and savor till his death. "You're all I need, love," he told her, his words meaning more than he had ever meant anything before. She was all he needed to live a perfect life.
And finally after all these years he was back with her. This time not even the heavens or hell, or anything in between could separate him from the person he would run to if the world was ending.
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kandyscorner · 2 months ago
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Do I Know You? Part 24
Synopsis: You meet Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson (for a second time?)
Note: I know some of you guys wanted drama with Bruce but I was genuinely, like, not mentally prepared to write about him, so his time is very short and of course Selina is there (I am a BatCat supporter on the side). I don’t think y’all are prepared for what happens with Dick (I hope I didn’t hype it to much.) please enjoy!!
(Secondary Note: for those not aware. I am moving blogs. All older chapters of Do I Know You? will stay on @fanfics-i-find-here, any new chapters will be posted on @kandyscorner.)
Masterlist
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Ten minutes and an empty mimosa glass get you nowhere. Your neck was starting to ache more from the dress, and you couldn’t find anyone you knew. In an effort to continue your search for someone and get some space from the higher than thou crowd, you figure you’d check the manor.
You find the door you came out through and begin your search, which isn’t much of a search and more you walking through the hallways of the manor at random. You still feel dizzy and warm, but the space from others soothes your mind a little. As you walk, you come across a lineup of family portraits in a smaller hallway, one that doesn’t seem to get much traffic.
You follow the photos and realize the ones you were greeted with were the most recent, so you speed up to move to the beginning. You pause at what you think is the start and stare. It’s an older portrait, but the family in it is one you recognize from your brief research on Bruce Wayne. Thomas and Martha Wayne stare at you with warm smiles, their hands resting on the shoulders of a young boy, who looks like a pale Damian with a wide grin, a young Bruce, you can only assume.
The next portrait is sadder. Thomas and Martha are missing, and Bruce is just a bit older. An older gentleman, one you assume is Alfred, stands with the boy. You feel the comfort the man is trying to ooze to the young teen with the sad, forced smile.
Next is Bruce as an adult with Alfred. Your lip quirks as you stare at the adult version of Bruce Wayne. You wonder if Jason realizes how much he looks like his adoptive father. The man seems stoic, no forced smile, but the way he stands with Alfred shows comfort between the two of them.
There’s another young boy in the next one. Black hair and blue eyes. He looks like he's pouting, like he would rather be anywhere else. You pause to try and remember the order of the Wayne kids. If you remember correctly this should Dick Grayson. The poor boy's parents had died in an accident, and he became a ward of the state. You could understand growing up in a traveling circus, your parents dying, and suddenly being stuck in one city. You’d be pouting too.
He's older in the next one, much more smiley. He’s handsome, too, you think. He could be a model. He’s missing in the photo after that, but he’s been replaced by another smiling boy with the widest grin you have ever seen. He has back hair and blue eyes like Dick Grayson but his hair is curly and just bit wild, two little curls framing his forehead. You're put off by how small the boy is, especially compared to the bulk of Bruce Wayne.
You're surprised by the next portrait. Instead of an older version of the curly haired boy, your meet a younger version of Tim and Dick is back. There's an odd solemnness to the photo, like an overbearing sadness to everyone in the photo. You move backwards and almost trip over yourself to look at the previous photo.
You stare at the curly-haired boy as your mind slowly does the math. Jason? You stare even longer. This young version of Jason seemed so… light and free. The Jason you knew always seemed like he was carrying a burden, like the world had been coarse and rough to him, but he still chose to shoulder its problems anyway.
You wonder what happened, where he went to not be in the next family photo. You wonder what happened to his eyes, all carefree and unmistakably blue. Jason's eyes were tired and green more often than blue. There’s not an ounce of green in his eyes in the photo.
“I believe you are in the wrong place.” You flinch at the strict woman's voice. You turn your head to find a gorgeous, tan woman. Tall and lithe with a pixie cut of brown hair. She wore a black dress that had to have been made for her. Her eyes are sharp and scrutinizing, and you feel like you need to explain every bad thing you’ve ever done to her.
“Sorry,” you rush out as you turn the rest of your body to blink at her. Her hard features relax once she sees your face, and a smirk makes it to her face.
“Oh, it's just a lost little kitten,” she coos at you and takes a few steps to stand in front of you.
“Sorry?” you say, more confused than apologetic. Did she just call you a kitten?
“There’s no need for that, dear. I’m Selina. Selina Kyle. I’m Bruce’s,” She offers her hand, and you take it. She wraps her other hand over the top of yours, “and your Jason’s, correct?”
Your mind is still trying to catch up with the conversation. You miss her tone and assume she means plus one for the event.
“Yes,” you nod.
“Poor boy has been out of his mind searching for you, kitten.” She pulls you into her, arm around your shoulder, and starts maneuvering you back towards the exit, “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
****
Like many people in Jason’s life, Selina is surprisingly strong, easily pushing and pulling you where she pleases. She speaks to you quietly like she’s gossiping, but you learn very quickly that Selina's idea of gossip is how expensive someone's jewelry is and whether or not it’s fake.
It's not long before two men come into view, one looking far more stressed than necessary and the other trying to placate him. It takes until you're much closer for you to tell the difference between them. Jason is the stressed one, which, honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised about. The other is Bruce Wayne himself. Up close to them together, you're startled by how much alike they look. They have the same nose, same angular jaw.  They both have that knot between their brows that seems like permanent worry. Only Bruce Wayne has blue eyes and his hair is slowly streaking with gray hairs. Selina brings you up to them.
“Look at this stray I found wandering the manor.” She playfully pinches your cheek and you fluster easily, “Such a sweet thing,” she adds before stepping away from you and into the arms of  Bruce Wayne.
“-okay?” You're caught off guard by the hand on the side of your neck, and it takes a moment of you staring at Jason’s lips to catch up.
“Yea, yea, I’m okay,” You nod, blinking at him. Your ever-constant urge to kiss him is back, and it’s nearly doubled. You feel very happy to be in his bubble again.
 “I missed you.” You add, and he smiles so sweetly at you.
“Where’d you run off to, huh?” You can’t help but smile at his soft words.
“Your family. I met a cow.” Is what you answer because that’s where you went first.
“Damian took you to meet his cow?” Your eyes slide over Bruce.
“Batcow.” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, which, in hindsight, was unnecessary, but your head was starting to feel a little fuzzy, “And yes. You have a very nice barn Mr. Wayne.”
He smiles at you, and you decide you understand why all those people on the internet were into Brucie Wayne, if his dazzling smile had anything to do with it.
“Thank you, and you can just call me Bruce, and I see you’ve met Selina already. She’s my girlfriend.”
Jason mumbles in your ear something along the lines of “right now,” but you pay no mind to it. You're far more distracted by the knowing smile Selina sends you. You understand her phrasing in the house. It was a trap. I’m Bruce’s and you're Jason’s? and you had agreed.
“Oh,” You feel a little frozen as you're overcome with the realization that Jason’s entire family and slightly extended seriously think you two are dating. Which is surprising because you didn’t learn anything about any of them from Jason, aside from Damian and Alfred. Had Jason talked to them about you?
You spare a glance at Jason. His features are hard set, a tenseness in his shoulders that nearly makes you worry if not for the way his hand, which had been holding your face, settled on your mid back, his thumb barely skimming the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.
You wish he would talk to you. He’s done something, said something that makes his family think the way they do, but now is not the time for that conversation. You turn and smile at Bruce and Selina.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you pause, a hesitation before you admit something, “I'll admit to doing some research on you…Bruce.” It feels awkward using his name. “It's very rare to find a billionaire so willing to help. Um, I'm a waitress at Jackie’s coffee house right on the edge of the narrows. She keeps it open thanks to your old town business loans. Most people would say having a loan with no interest is bad for business, but I can appreciate what you're doing for Gotham.”
Jason’s hand pauses on your back, and you can see the curious flicker in his eye. Bruce just smiles at you.
“I met Jackie, a very sweet woman with a bout of bad luck. It's fairly common in Gotham, but I have as much money to spare as possible, and if it means helping Gothamites, then that’s what I want to do.” You don’t hear any childish pride in the sentence like you would expect, but you hear Jason scoff under his breath at Bruce’s words anyway, “Although I have to say when people research me, it's usually not out of the goodness of their hearts.” He continues. Selina giggles like she knows something, you’re starting to think that’s her default attitude.
Bruce seems intent on continuing the conversation, but another man interjects himself into the conversation. Both Selina and Bruce roll their eyes, but apparently the man is too stuck up to notice. Bruce shoots you an apologetic look and quickly shakes your hand before he’s dragged away. Selina is slow to follow him.
“He’s happy you’re here, kitten, and that you’ve brought this one with you,” Selina says as she pats Jason on the arm, “We would like to see him just a bit more, yeah?” The last line feels more directed at Jason. It has no teasing to it, a statement said in utmost honesty. Jason flounders a bit, not meeting her eye.
“Thanks, Selina,” He mumbles, and she flashes you both a smile before she follows after Bruce, stealing a glass off of a tray with a slickness that rivals even Jason’s exchanging of glasses.
Jason turns on you, hand moving from your back to your shoulder. He stares you down with a sternness that makes you smile at him. He rolls his eyes at you.
“Seriously, where’d you go, honey? I came back to where I left you, and you were gone.”
“Well,” you start, “I was with Duke and Steph and then Cass pulled her away and it was just me and Duke and then Damian shooed him and Damian took me to see Jerry. I thought Jerry was another dog like Titus. I was wrong, Jerry is a turkey. Then I meet Batcow, she’s sweet. Then we came back here.” You keep out the conversations you had with both siblings because you don’t want him to know how you’ve apparently given up on vetoing the rumors about you two dating.
“I started looking for you, but then realized how much my dress was hurting my neck, so I went looking for the girls, but I had no success with that either, so then I figured ‘maybe they went inside’, so then I went inside, but I didn’t find anyone. I did find a hall of family portraits. I think I found you. Did you used to have curly?” You finally pause, waiting. You had watched Jason through your rant. He had only a teasing grin, but at the mention of the portraits, it drops.
“Yeah, yeah, I used to have curly hair.” He says only loud enough for you to hear. You want to ask about the melancholy of the next photo, the one he’s missing from, but you continue with your story instead.
“You were cute, like a chipmunk,” his mouth opens like he’s going to defend himself but you keep going, “and then Silena found me and I thought I was big trouble but then she called me kitten which I thought was really weird but you didn’t seem to surprised when she used it just now so maybe its just a her thing then she brought me here and now your all caught up on our activities.” You finally stop taking a breath. You feel warm, still dizzy, but you don’t mind so much now that you can stare at Jason. His hand moves from your shoulder to massage your neck around the halter tie. You sigh at his touch, eyes sliding shut for a moment.
“I did not look like a chipmunk,” he mumbles, and as you open your eyes, you become aware of how close Jason is. You can see the swirl of green in his eyes, feel his breath on your face.
“How can I help with your dress?” he asks, and you blink at him. Take it off, your mind offers. You bite your tongue to stop the words.
“Will you help me with the straps? I can't do them myself,” you ask quietly, hoping your face doesn’t give away your thoughts.
“You know I’ll help you with anything, sweetheart.”
****
Jason led you away from the crowd into a more wooded area with a little pocket of space for some privacy. You explained to him how the dress worked, the four ribbons that were straps, where the other two were tucked away, and how you wanted them tied. He stood behind you and quietly went to work untying the knot to the halter.
He was warm, you could feel it radiating off him. You had to bite down the urge not to shiver as he would lean in close to look at the knot as he undid it. If he leaned in more, he could kiss your bare skin if he wanted to. You wanted him to.
You shift on your feet, the heat between your legs returning easily now that you were alone with Jason again and vulnerably so. His hand pauses to press against your ribs under your arm. If his hand slid forward, he could cop a feel with no problem.
“Stop squirming,” he murmurs in your ear, tone demanding, and it makes your stomach flutter. You want to move just to see what he would do. You stop moving, though, here not the right time nor the right place. His hand leaves your side to return to untying. The ribbon straps fall forward.
Instinctively, your hands come up to hold the top of the dress, pressing your hands to your chest. You know it won't fall, the dress is designed both to have straps and not to have straps. But you're in “the middle of the woods” with Jason, away from everyone else. If someone happened upon you, you didn’t want the dress to suddenly decide it wasn’t built to be strapless and end up flashing someone. Or heaven forbid, confirm that you and Jason are dating and tried to have a sexual rendezvous in the woods.
You feel the ghost of Jason’s finger skim down one shoulder blade before it dips into the back of the dress to tug out the hidden ribbon of fabric. Your breath catches as he repeats the process on the other side, hand not skimming so much as dragging across your skin down into the back of the dress. You feel warm, very warm, and you lean back into his touch. You must have moved more than you thought because Jason’s hands grab onto your waist, pushing you forward slightly.
“What’d I say, sugar? Hmm?” he says, his voice low and steady, the breath of it makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. You think he’s created a Pavlov effect on you when he uses the pet name sugar with that tone of voice.  You literally stop breathing for a moment, resisting every urge in your body demanding that you step back and press yourself against him. It takes much more energy than you expect.
“Sorry,” you murmur as your fingers twiddle with the top hem of the dress. You keep your gaze ducked, staring hard at the grass as he shifts.
“It's okay, just hold still, yeah? Let me help,” Jason says as he steps to stand halfway beside you, halfway behind you. His hand comes into your eyesight as he lifts the ribbon from your front and brings it to your shoulder, meeting the back ribbon there. His words calm you, a little less low and more concentrated. You can feel him staring into your cheek, but you keep your eyes trained on the grass.
“Bows, right, sweetheart?” he asks, hands hovering over the skin on your shoulder. You finally turn your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.
“Please,” you say quietly with a nod, “make them pretty too.” He drops his eyes to the ribbons and focuses in, periodically glancing at your face.
He ties and unties like he can't decide if it was done right. As he unties it again, he pauses to press the back of his hand to your cheek. It has you blinking in confusion.
“What?”
“Nothing. You just look hot.” He drops his hand and starts to tie again. You giggle at his words.
“Aw, thanks, handsome.” His hands stop for a moment.
 “That’s not-” He pauses, head turning to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else as he watches. You wonder if he saw something or heard something with the way his eyes seem to search.
“Am I interrupting something?” a voice calls out. You flinch. Hard. You take a startled step back, right into Jason, your shoulder to his chest. You nearly trip over yourself with the movement. If Jason’s chest hadn’t steadied you, then his hand certainly would have, suddenly teleporting from your shoulder to your waist. His grip there tighter than before.
The voice that spoke has a certain joyful cadence to it, like the man is witnessing the funniest comedy show he’s ever seen. It sounds familiar. The voice probably wouldn’t have drawn you to it if it weren't for the words spoken, ones you’ve heard before. The man in question finally pops out of the woods with an apologetic smile that you know you’ve seen before.
“Dick,” Jason says gruffly, hand moving from the side of your waist forward, a gentle press against your tummy has you pressed more tightly against his chest. Your mind lags with everything happening.
“Jason,” you scold quietly, finding his name-calling unnecessary. Your brain slowly catches up as you remember that Jason has a brother named Dick. You stare at the man, the image of him slowly lining up with the photo you had seen inside.
“It’s okay. He’s just saying my name,” Dick waves off what your almost positive Jason was saying as an insult. He gives you both a disarming smile and you can only imagine what it looks like he just stumbled upon.
You and Jason, away from everyone else. You, flushed, according to Jason. The top of your dress in shambles, one shoulder entirely bare, the other covered by Jason’s hand holding your straps up. That and the way Jason holds you against him. This can’t be a good look.
“Jason’s helping fix my dress.” You rush out quickly. Dick takes a step forward and Jason’s hand tightens against your stomache. Its almost possessive the way he holds you, like he was trying to tell Dick that you were Jason’s. You quietly file in your mind that kind of like it.
Dick just continues to smile, “Take it easy, Little Wing.”
Your eyes widen and you suddenly feel like you’ve been hit in the chest. Despite how fuzzy your head feels, your mind connects the dots on why he seems familiar, and it has nothing to do with the photo in the manor. The phrasing of words at first had stuck out to you, but now, you understood.
 Little Wing. You had only heard the name once before and it was from Nightwing. Your eyes track over Dick Grayson as he stands there. The comparison is easy. He’s already wearing a black button-up with an electric blue tie. Maybe he wasn’t trying to hide it. You can see it now as you met his eyes, blue eyes that were previously covered by a black and white mask at your last meeting.
Dick Grayson was Nightwing. Jason’s brother was Nightwing. You wonder if he knows that his brother is a crime-fighting vigilante. You don’t even know what to do with the information. Should you tell Jason? What if Dick is keeping it a secret on purpose? You push the thought aside, a problem for later, as Dick finally comes to stand in front of you.
He says your name with the familiarity of people who have already met, which you guess you had just not like this. You blink at him in disbelief.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Dick Grayson.” He offers his hand, and you take it limply, still staring at him, nodding slowly. His eyes leave yours to look at Jason's hand on your shoulder.
“What’s wrong with your dress?” he asks you, but you're still taking in his face. His facial structure was so obviously Nightwing, you wonder why more people don’t know. After a beat of silence, Jason answers for you.
“Her straps were hurting her neck. I’m just tying them into bows on her shoulders.” His hand leaves your shoulder to show Dick his handiwork.
“That’s a shitty bow,” Dick tells him. Jason’s hand on your stomach moves again as he moves back a little, no longer pressing you against him. It snaps you out of your stare, your head turning to stare at the trees instead, trying to steady the panic you have from your newfound information.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you could do so much better, dickhead.” You don’t have it in you to scold Jason for the name-calling. His tone is challenging, and you flinch again at the feel feel of unfamiliar fingers on your shoulder. It has your head swiveling quickly and Dick pulls his hands back.
“Sorry, I should’ve asked. Is it okay if I help?” He asks and you stare for a moment too long. Jason huffs behind you, and you finally answer.
“Yeah, sure.” You say with a shrug because you’re still freaking out. It doesn’t take long, much less time than it took Jason, for Dick to have both of your straps tied up into pretty bows. You admire them with surprise.
“Thank you. They look nice.” You murmur as Dick steps out of your bubble. Your hand absentmindedly swings behind you, searching for Jason. He had stepped away from you as Dick had worked but you missed his warmth, and you need some comfort to cool your rapid thinking mind.
“Jason?” you ask as you turn your head, “Where’d you go?”
You find him a few steps away from you, out of reach, and doing what you can only describe as pouting, hard features and arms crossed in front of him. You have to shake your head to keep your focus away from how the material of his shirt stretches over his muscles. His face softens a hair when he looks at you, certainly not as much as it usually would.
“Just giving you space.” He says, and it has an anxious feeling crawling up your back. He sounds mad but you can’t figure out if it’s with you or with Dick, or with something else.
“Oh, but I want you in my space.” The words slip out of your mouth without much thought of who you're in company with. You just don’t want Jason to be angry with you. He glances between you and Dick before his gruff look melts. He easily slides back into your bubble.
“I’ll leave two alone,” Dick says, and you turn to find smiling at you two, something akin to loving pride on his features, “and Stephs looking for you. That’s the reason I came out here looking.” He waves as he steps back into the trees, heading for the brunch. You watch him go, still a little distraught about the Nightwing thing but choosing to ignore it.
With Dick gone, you turn on Jason. Your hands make their way to hold his face, some leftover upset still there. He seems surprised by your sudden cradling, most likely because you missed, hands landing on his neck before crawling up to his face.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice bubbling in worry. You can feel the tears in your throat. If Jason was upset with you, you don’t know what you’ll do. Jason mimics you, his hands coming to hold your face.
“Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. Why do you sound like you're gonna cry?” he gently swipes on the skin of your cheek, and you sniffle.
“I thought you were mad at me,” you pout.
Jason laughs under his breath, “Mad at you, honey? I could never. If anything, I was mad at Dick.”
“Why? Do you not like the bows?” Your head drops to look at the bows unsuccessfully because Jason’s hand and wrists were in the way. You end up pressing your nose to his wrist instead.
“No, I like ‘em,” his hand leaves your face to fluff up the bow you were trying to look at, “You were just staring at Dick a lot.”
You want to explain to him the reason you were staring wasn’t because you were into dick (he was very handsome, model worthy but that’s not the point). You were staring because you just discovered that his older brother is a vigilante who runs around in black and blue spandex. You couldn’t just say that to Jason, though. What if he didn’t know? He was already on rough terms with his family, you’re sure a lie like that would cause problems, and you already made a deal with Damian to make sure Jason spent more time with his family.
“I’m sorry,” you say instead
“Don’t be sorry. I was just jealous, it's stupid.” He tries to shrug off your apology, his hands leaving you. Your own hands on his face tighten, smooshing his cheeks and lips.
“You have no reason to be jealous. I’d rather stare at you than anyone else.” You say as earnestly as possible. You can feel his face shifting under your hands, trying to smile.
“Okay, Sweetheart,” his words come out weird thanks to his smooshed lips and you give him a cheeky smile. He wraps his hands around your wrists and tugs his face from your hold, “Stop crushing my face, I get it, you like me.” He teases.
“Duh,” you slide your hands into his and start pulling him, “Let’s rejoin the party.” Jason lets you pull him with mild resistance. He has a fond smile and its only when you get to the edge of the clearing that he’s pulling you back to him.
“The brunch is that way, sweetheart.” He points at the opposite side of the clearing and his arm wraps around your shoulder to guide you the correct way. “Are you feeling okay?”
You turn your head to smile brightly at him, “I’m great now that I know your not mad at me.”
“If you say so,” he says, pressing a pleasant kiss to your temple.
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Additional note: So that reveal? Crazy stuff. I have been waiting to write the scene since the pollen chapter. Although to be far, prior to the pollen fic, the scene was supposed to be almost a little more steamy (who wouldn’t want to be sandwiched between Dick Grayson and Jason Todd) but then I wrote the pollen chapter and I was like ‘oh you know what would cause even more drama’ and now we’re here. Also she’s stupid, I’m sure you noticed she missed some important details when comparing that night to the current event (Namely WHO Dick called little wing). I promise it will be worth it y'all. I love you guys for reading and commenting. Let me know any thoughts!
Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa, @nekotaetae, @redsakura101, @sleepy-head1
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hotvintagepoll · 6 months ago
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Dwight Frye (Dracula, Frankenstein)—he's my babygirl please please please please please i want to baby bird feed him flies and spiders and pick him up and make glitter edits of him and give him gross forehead kisses like he's my cat. in dracula he was so incredibly creepy that he was typecast as madmen for the rest of his life and he fucking hated it but by god if he didn't do a fantastic job. he steals the show every time he's up on screen just because he's so fucking deranged. i need him
Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.
This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.
[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]
Dwight:
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He absolutely owns the entirety of Dracula (1931). Compared to the novel, his part is massively expanded and it's clear why. He's magnetically unhinged and his facial expressions are pure scrungle. And in Frankenstein, he begins the archetype of Frankenstein's assistant even if the character's name there is Fritz. He'd still go on to play other scrungly guys in later Frankenstein movies. But he's kinda the archetypal and progenitor of the scrungly lil guy. The scrungliest guy ever to scrungle. He's pretty much the blueprint for every mad scientist's assistant, and he's the best part of every movie he's in. He manages to make you feel sorry for the creepy little dudes, even when he's eating spiders and crawling across the floor. [editor's note: content warning for the "hunchback" stereotype and "madness" in the clips below]the "Rats" soliloquy:
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I saw him in Dracula and frankly he has me bewitched. I could watch him do his silly routine forever. The gay tension with Bela Lugosi onscreen was frankly unparalleled. Kirk and Spock levels. I am chewing on the furniture
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Played the weirdo little guy in Dracula AND the weirdo little guy in Frankenstein in the same year. Iconic.
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The scrungles to end all scrungles! There's a reason why this man codified the manic vampire's familiar and the hunchbacked lab assistant for generations, because by God can this man be feral and scrungly: Whether he's soliloquizing about rats as Renfield, scurrying around Frankenstein's lab like a spider as Fritz, or skulking around dark alleys (and scaring the hell out of little baby me) waiting for a fresh heart to steal as Karl, if you want a scrungly little man for your classic film, Dwight Frye is your man. He has the range to play varying kinds of scrungle, with his wide eyes, his manic smiles, his soft, breathy voice, he is truly an undisputed scrungle master.
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I honestly think it would be a crime to ignore Dwight Frye's scrungle factor. He played two of the prototypical creepy little henchman as Dracula's lackey Renfield and Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback servant Fritz, and I believe that his excellence in these roles absolutely shaped the future character tropes of the "Igor" type as much as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shaped the future understanding of Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. He's got it all from the looks, to the manic energy, to the crazed laugh, I'm telling you right now that I think he could win the entire tournament.
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Harpo Marx:
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He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people
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Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!
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Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.
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In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.
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He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat
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All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.
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leah-lover · 9 months ago
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Little helper
lucy bronze x reader ( smut 18+)
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Summary: you help Lucy with her frustrating about leaving Barcelona.
Content: spanking, daddy kink, strap-on sex, aftercare.
Ever since you and Lucy came to London she has been different. Her step is heavier, her sleep is messier and she is much more quiet than usual. You knew that leaving a club that she loved so much would haunt her. She loved Barcelona with all her heart. She adored the weather, the city, the team, and all the relationships she formed there. For you it hasn't been any different. Sure you missed Barcelona but not as much as Lucy did. After all, as long as she was with you you were happy.  You tried to talk to her about and to get her to share her thoughts with you but to no resolution. 
With the days progressing she only got sadder. She hasnt ignored you or your needs but she felt a little different, a little colder. Your heart ached for her and your brain hated her stubbornness and needed to always seem like she was okay. 
Today was no different than the past week.  Usually, she would get from training, go sit on the couch and wait for you to join  her with dinner in hand. She would cuddle with you, kiss you and sometimes have sex with you. But today you were determined to change her mood. As soon as she sat on the couch you took off your apron and your oversized t-shirt to show a set of black laced lingerie. You put your hair in a ponytail and headed staring to the living room. Once you got there you stood in front of her and knelt between her wide spread legs. She looked at you amazed and surprised. Her eyes scanned every inch of your body hungrily from your eyes to your chest to your core. She then leaned forward and gave you a sweet kiss. 
“ What did I do to deserve this?” she whispered a meare inch from your face. “ you have been sad lately and i thought since you didn't want to talk about it,  you can take it out on me?” you answered while looking at the floor, your submissive instincts kicking in.  “ Is my little girl worried about her daddy?” she teased. “ Yes, very much. I want to please you and make you feel better.” you whisper while still looking at the floor beneath you. 
Lucy then lifts your head up by your chin and takes your lips for a lustful kiss. “ I don't know if I can do this little one. Daddy is very angry today.” she admitted once you two separate. 
“ But daddy I can take it. I can take everything. I want to make you feel better.” 
“ I don't trust myself today. What if I hurt you?” you never heard lucy say that before a little part of you got scared once you heard her say this but you need so badly to make her feel better. 
“ You wont hurt me daddy. I trust you.” you reassure her. She stayed quiet for a minute. 
“ giving you a spanking would make daddy feel better.” she said. You immediately get up from your position and go to her lap. She gives you a pillow to put your head on. “ if you need me to stop, safe word.” she demanded. You nod in response. “ use your words little one.” 
“ Yes daddy.” you respond while you situate your head on the pillow. Her hands roamed every inch on available skin on your ass before the first hit. It was painful but it made your core flutter. 
Then came the second hit, the third and the forth. Your ass was pink, your skin was on fire, and your new underwear was damp. The room  echoed grunts from Lucy after each spank, hisses of pain from you, and occasional whispers of “ thank you daddy.” By the 10th spank,  your core became needy and the hisses of pain became moans. “ is daddy's little slut turned on? Did you want to be spanked so badly?” she said in a condescending tone. She didn't leave you time to answer, she gave a much stronger spank to which you responded with a pornographic moan. 
Lucy’s focus was on your ass. Every  spank was powerful, she didn't stop until she reached 40 spanks. By then your ass was red, your eyes were filled with tears, and your moans turned into cries of pain. At the 40th  spank she froze and closed her eyes. The echo carried your muffled cries. A few minutes later, she helped you straddle her lap. Your ass was in the air because sitting on it would be painful. 
“ You did soo good for daddy little one.” she said while wiping your tears away. “ Daddy feels so much better. I am not angry anymore.” she confesses. She then takes your lips for a much softer and more intimate kiss. You stay silent. The skin on your ass was burning and your core was needy and sensitive. “ Daddy thinks her good little girl deserves a reward. What do you want us to do?” you didn't usually choose what to do so you froze for a second. While you were thinking, Lucy's hand roamed your back and took off your bra. 
“ I want you to make love to me.” you whispered. She kissed your lips again, then moved on to your neck where she left shallow kisses. 
Lucy was aware of what your choice of words meant. You didnt ask for her to “fuck you” or for her to give you her “ cock” you wanted her to make love to you. She carried you to the bedroom and put you on  the bed slowly so as to not irritate your already sensitive skin. You watched as she went to the closet and came out wearing nothing but your favorite strap. She immediately went to work worshiping your body and giving every inch of your skin a passionate kiss. The silence in the room quickly turned into a symphony of moans coming from both you and her. When she arrived at your core. She found your pussy dripping with arousal. She came back up  to you and gave you another kiss. “ If I had known a spanking would get you this wet, I would have done it a long time ago.” you couldn't think about anything but her cock at this point. “ I need you,” you whispered. She immediately started to duck you after that. Her thrust was slow but fulfilling. She didn't leave you as her lips found a spot to bruise your neck. 
“ I am so full. I want to come.” you whisper in between moans. You felt lucy smile against your lips.  “ whenever you are ready.” Lucy loved to edge you but since this was a reward she wanted to make it easy on you. She kept her thrusts deep and slow which quickly made you cum. Your legs started to shake quickly and your head was deep in your pillow. A few minutes later Lucy came too in the same intensity as you. 
She stayed inside you for a few minutes until you both came down. “ stay still, I am gonna go get us a glass of water.” she said as she kissed your head. She then came back witha cloth, a bottle of lotion and 2 bottles of water. You were quiet, your brain still fuzzy from what just happened. She cleaned you up and handed you the water. “ turn around for daddy to apply the lotion on you.” she demanded. “ Daddy, I need to cuddle with you.” you answer shyly. 
“ We will , princess but I need to apply this first.” Getting you to do anything after you just had sex that didn't involve cuddling was a challenge for lucy. “ The quicker you turn around the faster we can cuddle. You comply angrily and let her apply the lotion on you. She does so in a sweet manner leaving a kiss when she was done. She found her place next to you and you cuddled to her side. You practically layed on top of her so that your ass can heal at night. 
“ Thank you for tonight my love.” 
“ You can always talk to me, you know.” 
“ not today, maybe tomorrow.” you saw her eyes closed as she drifted asleep. 
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whetstonefires · 2 months ago
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there was a post i saw a while ago, before i'd read the vorkosigan books, unfavorably comparing that conversation about Cordelia being simultaneously put in charge of the child-emperor's education and told she was Not Allowed In Politics (where they're like, do those old men realized what they've done lol????) to a much sadder character in I believe a piece of historical fiction?
who had the early upbringing of several boys, but ultimately no control over the sorts of men they grew to be, which was determined instead by the men in their lives and the expectations of the world, because that's the reality of what it means to be a woman in a patriarchal society etc etc.....
and the person found that conversation obnoxiously twee and smug and unrealistic on Bujold's part. a cult-of-women's-knowledge style second wave feminist historical revisionism of how gender roles and power interact. and i remembered this, because it was interesting and well-argued.
so it was really funny when i actually read that book and was like. hey. hang on. the person who wrote that meta post was wrong. they Did Not Get this scenario in a very crucial way; they were imposing their own expectations too hard.
because the key thing about Cordelia in this scenario is not that she is a Strong Female Character, who's going to subvert this society single-handed via the undervalued Feminine Power.
it's that she's foreign. she is from another planet with wildly different social values, ones significantly closer to the interstellar norm than those of barrayar.
and barrayar is a formerly closed society going through the ructions and convulsions of adapting itself to external influences from galactic society, of deciding what it will and will not allow itself, in terms of change, and whose expense those changes that do occur will come at, and so forth.
aral's brief as regent, the thing the last emperor broke and bridled him to achieve, is staving off the reactionary fascist era of Barrayaran history.
they were so close to eating themselves alive that way.
giving cordelia, his partner, an outspoken Betan with a strong personality and strong opinions, control over the education of the boy emperor, and therefore structuring how he is going to respond to the inevitable changes in their no longer static society, is a completely accidental surrender of vast amounts of future territory by the conservative wing to the progressive one.
because they were so fixated on gender and pushing people into gender roles as a form of control that they couldn't see the bigger picture.
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buckysegan · 1 year ago
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With all my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration - Part three.
Summary: The letters back and forth between our loves through the rest of the war. Word Count: 2.1K A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me, do i know how long the letters took? not a clue. but google gave us a good guess. john egan how i miss you, i need your love so here i give you mine. Part two link.
Dear Major Egan,
I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too. It's rather insane to me if I think about it too much, just how much I've thought about you in the time that I've waited for your letters. Part of me was worried that you would think I was a little crazy righting to a man I didn't know and an even bigger part of me was worried my letters would reach you too late, but I'm glad you were happy to hear from me.
I don't mind that you're a simple guy, in fact I think I like that, then I won't have to worry about impressing you whilst we write back and forth I can just say what comes to mind. I like to think that I laugh quite easily myself, laughter is free right? And right now I think we could all use a little laughter in the world. I'll tell you my favorite song next and then you can tell me yours, I love you are my sunshine, it warms something in my chest whenever it comes on, I just can't help but smile you know? Your turn John!
I wish I could know exactly where you are, then I could know if you were some place safe but I'll settle for knowing you're still out there. As for me, I'm in Washington, Redmond to be more precise, is that anywhere near where you're from? I'd like to meet you very much Major.
With all my anticipation, excitement and continued adoration,
A friend from home x
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Dear Darling,
That's what the boys have been calling you ever since your second letter arrived and given I don't know your name, that's what I decided to roll with. I hope that's alright.
I have no idea how your letters keep finding me at the exact right time, it's like fate keeps leaving it till it knows I need to hear from you. You should also know, it wouldn't matter to me if you were a little crazy, I know I'm crazy so you'd just fit right in. I don't think anyone that thinks laughter is free could be considered crazy though. You seem to good for such a thing.
I've had you are my sunshine stuck in my head for the past few days whilst I tried to find paper to write you. I think the boys were grateful at first because I wasn't sinking Blue Skies my old favorite, now I think they're ready to kill us both darling. Next question, do you like cats or dogs more? I'm not telling you my answer till I know you can be trusted.
I am with you. Know that much, and I guess Washington will be my first stop when I'm back home.
Please never stop writing.
With all my wondering, respect and ever growing adoration
John Egan
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Dear John,
I could have given you my name. But I've decided that darling will do quite nicely for now. If you want to know my name you're going to have to make it home and come and get it yourself.
Is it sad of me to confess that every day I don't get your letter I get a little bit sadder until one comes through? I just hate the wait each time even though I know that these things take time. Writing you might just be the most stressful thing I decided to be. How does anyone's heart survive doing this?
You'll be pleased to know, I've been annoying the girls plenty in return with Blue Skies since learning that it's your favourite. I feel like it tells me a lot about you Major. Sing it for me sometime? I also feel like your question is a trick, a cat and a dog have very different purposes in life so I'll just chose both if that's ok?
I wanted to tell you I joined the war efforts myself since I last wrote. I'm in the factories now and I have to admit, I've never enjoyed having dirty hands so much. I'm helping to build the planes. The wings specifically, I think they put me here because I wouldn't stop talking about my pilot John.
I wonder if anything I ever build will make it across to you? My letters won't stop as long as yours don't John.
With all my curiosity, joy and bursting adoration.
Your darling from home x
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Dear Darling,
I'm in a terrible mood. Buck said I can't start my letter like that but I told him you'd be alright. You don't mind do you? I have to tell someone or I think I might actually start going a little crazy. I might already be crazy if I didn't get just as excited as you do when the mail call comes through.
I wish I knew you before the war. I wish you knew me before the war, I fear I might not be the John that came to England. I don't even know if I'm the John that start writing you all those months ago. I'm just sort of hoping you won't give up on me anyway even if my letters ain't always sunshine.
And I'm glad darling, I'm so god damn glad that waiting on my letters is the most stressful part of your day. Reminds me why we're doing this, what we're over here for. To keep you all safe at that side.
I suppose I can give you cats and dogs though. I wouldn't want to pick either if we really had to come down to it. My girls smart though huh? Making those planes for us to fly? I gotta say the idea of that does something to me and my bad mood in a good way.
What I wouldn't give to be home with you right now and I never even met you.
My longing, wishing and steady adoration
John Egan
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Dear John
You can write to me, come rain or shine, bad moods or good. I don't want to just be here for the fun parts Major. I may not have known you before the war, and I may only just be learning who you are now but I don't doubt for a second, every part of you is worth knowing so tell Buck that I'll take it all and he can keep his opinions to himself.
I'm sorry, it was thoughtless of me to say writing letters were stressful when you're over there doing what needs to be done. More news keeps reaching us and each day I am terrified that your name is going to appear on a list somewhere.
I know that you can't be here, and I can't be there, but I wanted you to have some small piece of me with you so I sent you something with this letter. Keep smiling with me John, through the good and the bad, just keep smiling if you can.
I hope to see you so soon.
All my determination, strength and adoration
Darling x
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Dear Darling,
Buck said he's sorry. He won't ever doubt you again. I think you two would really like each other you know.
He's my voice of reason these days, or rather he always has been. One of my two favorite people, him here, and you all the way over there. How is home? Does it still smell as sweet as I remember it?
I'm a little convinced that you're too good to be true darling. Your picture caused more whistles and taunts that I've seen from the boys in forever and I would have knocked them all on their ass if Buck didn't strike and tell me to sit down again. How do you not have a solider of your own to be writing too?
Sometimes when I get down time. I like to day dream about what you're up to over there. How many planes you fixed up for us, imagine taking you dancing on a Friday night, do you have siblings? Your folks still around? I've been trying to picture it all.
I dream of that soon more than I care to admit.
With all my promises, thoughts and adoration
John Egan
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Dear John,
I'm glad you have a voice of reason. We wouldn't want you getting up to any trouble now would we? Are you the sort to be in trouble a lot? I get the impression you could be Major Egan.
How are your moods holding up these days? I can't help but worry about you over here even when I'm meant to be busy.
If you could see the blush that you have all caused you would all be ashamed of yourself. I promise I'm real. I tried to get my friend Meg to let me send a picture of her but she claimed you were really going to show up here one day and then you'd be looking for the wrong girl.
I like the idea of you imagining things. It means I'm not the only one. I do have siblings, an older sister who works in the factories with me, and a little brother who is out fighting with you somewhere but his own girl writes him. My folks are both still here with me too. What's your family like?
I do have a solider of my own to be writing John, I have you.
Tell me a secret if you can?
Your darling x
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Dear Darling,
Forgive me because this letter will be short, but I needed to send it out before we move. If you don't hear from me in a while, don't worry, I'll write back as soon as I'm able. I want that name, I want the dancing, I want you to meet my mom when I'm back.
You want to know a secret darling? I think it's taken me ten letters to fall in love with you after all you've given me.
With my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration
John Egan
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Dear John,
I'm writing even if you might not get this because I refuse to believe anything else other than you're busy for a while. I'll be over here waiting for you remember. I'm with you even when I'm not.
I have so much more to tell you and things I want to learn before I am satisfied.
In fact, no I may never be satisfied and then I never have to let you go.
You'll be in each of my thoughts till I hear from you again John, I think loving you took me one letter.
With all my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration
Your darling x
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Dear John
I don't think I've taken a real breath in weeks. I figured I would write you again, just in case the first one didn't reach you and you thought I hadn't wrote back.
Your name hasn't appeared on any lists so I refuse to believe that you're not still out there waiting to come home to me.
In case you missed it in the first letter, I love you too.
I am still expecting you home John Egan, I'd be with you till you were. That was the deal right?
With all my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration
Your darling x
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Dear John
If my letters and love don't reach you where do they go?
Tell me more secrets please? Tell me anything? Tell me you'll sing for me like I asked? What do I do if I never get to meet you?
I've checked each list I've found twice every day for months now. Meg said I'm a mess but I don't really care, I just want to know that you're alright. Even if you're not coming here. Please just tell me you're safe John.
With all my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration
Your darling x
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Dear Darling,
Sorry, I didn't think a little while would be that long but I've thought of you every damn day I couldn't write to you. I got your letters, all three of them made it to my base some how.
I'm hoping I beat this letter home so that I can tell you in person that I love you.
I hope you like what arrives in Washington darling, but please bare with me if it takes me a second to adjust. I'll tell you everything, all of it, anything you want to know about me. I feel like I have very little to offer you but it's all for you now. I'll be home so soon.
With all my heart, my love and my unfiltered adoration
Yours,
John Egan
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