#How he’d think about it in a family setting as well. He works so hard for them 🥺

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 21/34 - eggs benedict

[Read on AO3]

It’s strange, staying with Sheriff Adderly and his wife Ellen during this case in Vermont. If he had his way, he’d be checked into a motel instead of infringing on their hospitality, but he’d been given no choice. They even refused reimbursement for their troubles, which did nothing to lessen the feeling—however true or untrue it was—of him being a burden to them.

Ellen Adderly had pulled out all the stops for their guest, preparing decadent meals on fine china for every meal, claiming she’d have done it whether he was there or not. He has a hard time believing that. He can’t imagine living in such a way every day of his life. He and Scully barely manage to set out real plates to eat on when they order takeout at home, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to have a three course meal set out when he gets back from work. Besides the fact that she’s always at work with him, it’s just not something he thinks is necessary. Is that something she’d want to do? He doesn’t think so. 

The routine they have works for them, that’s all that matters.

But after getting a taste of his own personal brand of domesticity, it’s… odd… to see how others do it. He’d never have thought there were so many different ways to balance home life, much less enough that he’d start to form an opinion on them. His parents had been one way—not a particularly healthy relationship—and he and Scully are… well, they’re not really anything besides roommates, but that still counts, in his book.

Whatever they are, he likes it. Far better than this constant fussing, at least.

Mrs. Adderly must notice his discomfort, because at breakfast as she masterfully puts the finishing touches on his eggs benedict, she says “I get the feeling you're not used to anyone taking care of you,” and for some reason, that assumption grates on his nerves.

He takes a measured draw from his cup of steaming coffee, swallowing back his immediate retort.

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still comes off as rude. He has someone to take care of him, thanks very much. Just not exactly in the same way as Mrs. Adderly insists on taking care of her husband… and apparently Mulder too.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen says, realizing her statement had come out somewhat offensive. “I just mean… I didn’t see a wedding band.”

She nods at his left hand sitting atop the table, and he follows her gaze to the bare ring finger.

“Do you have a significant other, Agent Mulder?” she asks.

Significant? Yes. Very. Other? That’s a good descriptor. Single, married, other. Yeah, he’d select other, if this were a multiple choice question. Although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she meant.

“I’ve– um…” he starts, wondering how best to describe his situation to this woman. “I’ve got a wife, actually.” He pulls out the ring on its chain to show her. “It can be dangerous in my line of work to have it on display,” he explains lamely before tucking it back into his shirt.

Ellen smiles. “Ah, well that’s good. Don't miss out on home and family, Mr. Mulder. I imagine with all the things you see, you need that refuge more than most.”

Her words hang in the air, a bit of sage advice from a woman he otherwise has very little in common with. But before he really has a chance to think about what she’s said, Sheriff Adderly makes an appearance, and it’s back to business. Ellen excuses herself to go check on their daughter, leaving the two of them alone to discuss the case.

Mulder remains seated at the table, staring down the sheriff with a knowing look. He’d begun to suspect—and now his suspicions are all but confirmed—that the man had been unfaithful to his wife, and it makes him feel sick. Here this man has it all; a loving wife, a sweet baby that they didn’t have to jump through a million hoops to get, and yet he’s willing to throw it all away for some cheap thrills.

He’ll never understand it.

The man is no more forthcoming about his knowledge of the case than he had been before, so Mulder lets it slide for now. The last thing he wants to do is show all his cards too early and spook him. He gives him just enough to leave him rattled. To let him know that he knows . 

He lets the unspoken threat hang between them until the sheriff folds, squirming away to take a shower, or so he says. 

He’s still seething in bitter disgust when Ellen returns, carrying her sleepy baby in her arms. It’s a well-practiced juggling act, Mulder can tell, as she goes about fixing herself a plate of her now lukewarm breakfast. With only one arm, she clearly struggles to transfer strips of bacon out of the pan, and Mulder gets to his feet.

“Here, let me help,” he says, joining her in the kitchen. What he’d meant was that he could help assemble her plate, but as he goes to reach for the spatula, he instead finds himself being handed a baby, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, right,” he says, then plasters a forced smile on his face. Sure, this was what he’d meant to do all along. 

The little girl is heavier than he’d expected. Like a sack of flour, though with limbs jutting out everywhere. It takes him a moment to adjust, his hands holding her awkwardly beneath the armpits. 

“Hi,” he says conversationally, looking down at her like she’s a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The baby just blinks at him, a blank stare on her face. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, lifting her to his hip and returning to the table. He makes every effort to not look like this isn’t the first time he’s held a baby in—well, basically forever, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

Ellen smiles across the table at him and digs into her meal.

“Do you have children, Agent Mulder?” she asks, “You and your wife?”

It still makes his heart flutter to hear someone refer to Scully as such, but he supposes that to Ellen, it really is that simple. Scully is his wife, that’s all she knows.

He’d always thought conversations like this to be so dull. ‘So, Dave, how’s the ol’ ball and chain? Kids staying out of trouble?’  But, now… 

Well, it’s different now that he actually has something to contribute to the discussion.

“Yeah, actually, one on the way,” he says, giving a self-conscious little smile. 

He’s never told anybody about this other than Skinner, but he supposes there’s no harm in telling this random woman in Vermont. It almost makes him feel… normal. Like he can relate to other people over the simple fact of his impending fatherhood. A shared human experience. A milestone in his life that doesn’t involve aliens, ghosts, ghouls, or any manner of cryptozoological entity.

“We’re adopting,” he further explains. “Only a couple months left till the birth mother’s due date.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ellen exclaims, smiling up at him over her bowl of fresh fruit. “You must be so excited!”

“Very,” he says, looking down at the drooling baby on his lap. “We never really thought it was possible. That we’d ever—” 

He pauses, the shrill tone of his cell phone breaking into their conversation.

“Speaking of my wife,” he says, flipping open the device. “Hey, Scully. How’s the stakeout going?”

Her voice crackles over the other side of the line, drawing a genuine smile out of him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, Mulder, so that I can give you the good news I just received.”

His stomach does a flip. “Good news?”

He pictures her nodding, sitting in that grimy, cold room surrounded by surveillance equipment, somehow brightening it with her smile. “Krista called and we had a little chat.”

Mulder looks up at Ellen from across the table, where she’s watching him with a knowing smile. “Oh?” he says.

“Mm-hmm. And you know what she told me?”

Scully is extra cheeky this morning, huh? He misses her horribly. This is the last time he’s letting Skinner split them up for a case. After this, no more. He’s putting his foot down. What are they going to do, fire him?

“What did she tell you?” he asks, turning to instead stare at the floorboards, giving himself the illusion of privacy despite the constant watch of Mrs. Adderly.

“She told me the sex of the baby. Would you like to know?”

His heart thumps in his chest suddenly, its rhythm erratic. This, he hadn’t expected first thing in the morning. He hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet.

“She finally found out?”

“Yeah, Krista said she was a lot more cooperative at this appointment than the last one,” Scully explains.

Mulder freezes.

“She?” he says, his voice raspy with awe. “It’s a girl?”

He hears Scully release a shuddering breath before her voice comes back, with all the telltale signs of happy tears that he’s come to recognize in the last few months.

“It’s a girl,” she confirms.

It’s a girl. He’s gonna have a baby girl.

“That’s– that’s amazing, Scully! That’s… wow!”

“I know,” she says. “I’m– You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Why would I be disappointed?” 

Disappointed is the absolute last thing he’d be feeling right now. Elated is a better word. Maybe a little scared, but he’ll get over it.

“I don’t know, I just thought… You know, you talked about coaching little league, and I’m sure you want someone to watch basketball with you…”

He laughs. He can’t help but laugh. “Just because you don’t like basketball doesn’t mean other girls don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “And have you seen girls softball teams, Scully? They’re brutal. You try getting hit by one of those giant neon yellow ostrich eggs at 50 miles an hour. I volunteered to practice with the girls once in high school. Almost lost an eye.”

“But what if she doesn’t like sports at all?” Scully asks, and he’d bet good money that she’s chewing on her lip right now, the way she does when she’s worried. “What if she’s on the chess team or plays the violin or the piano?”

Oh, Scully.

“Then I’ll learn all the names of her concertos and cheer her on at every chess tournament,” he answers simply. “Look, Scully, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and I are both gigantic nerds. I think we’ll be prepared for whatever she’s interested in when she gets older.”

She . They can finally stop talking about her in abstract terms. A girl. A daughter.

“Your mom’s gonna flip,” he says when she doesn’t respond. Margaret Scully has a grandson, but no granddaughter. He can just see the little plaid dresses, frilly socks, Mary Jane shoes, and giant velvet bows in their future. She’ll be spoiled rotten.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Scully says, sounding wistful. 

“Me too,” he agrees. “When I get back, we’re going out shopping again. I think maybe this time I’ll be able to hold it together in the clothes section.”

That earns him a laugh.

“I’m willing to bet it will go the same way as last time,” she teases back, and she’s probably not wrong. Just picturing this baby, a little girl like the one he’s holding now, has him emotionally on edge.

“I– I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, glancing up at the clock. “Let the thought of warm baby snuggles keep you from freezing your butt off.”

She sighs, the annoyance of her less than ideal assignment returning. “Thanks for reminding me, ” she intones.

They stay on the line a moment more, waiting to see who will be the one to hang up. Eventually he hears a soft click, and he smiles down at the phone in his hand. Goodbyes have never been necessary between them. Maybe that’s just another way they’re weird, but he likes it.

The baby in his lap gurgles, and he sets his phone on the table to turn his attention back to her. He sees her differently now, with the knowledge that he has a little girl on the way too.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Ellen says, eyes shining as she watches him.

Mulder feels his cheeks beginning to burn. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No, really,” she says more insistently. “You seem to care a lot already. And wanting to be involved… Well, that’s everything. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, and he truly believes it.

He’s the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

~~~

wife guy / girl dad mulder says you get another chapter :)

Chapter 22/34 - pizza boxes

The sound of keyboards clacking fills the dimly-lit room. A greasy bag that once held at least a dozen cheap tacos from the place across town sits atop a stack of empty pizza boxes, not that the inhabitants of this particular abode pay much attention to that kind of thing. 

“Hey, here's something weird,” Langly says, looking up from the computer monitor, the unnatural light of it reflecting off his glasses.

“What? Is it Krycek again?” Frohike asks, crossing the short distance to lean over the other man’s shoulder. “What’s that little rat up to now?”

Langly adjusts the bright, warm-toned desk lamp to minimize the glare on the screen.

“No, just something strange in my sweep of government records,” he says.

“Mention of a virus? Shadow government stuff?”

Langly shakes his head. “It flagged a document mentioning Mulder and Scully's names.”

This bit of information piques Byers’ interest from across the room. “What agency? Homeland? DoD?” he asks, joining the other two at Langly’s computer.

“County court in Annapolis, Maryland,” Langly reads off the screen. “Dated December 24, 1999.”

“Open it!” Frohike demands impatiently.

It takes only a few seconds to hack the database, which is a little alarming. What would the public think if they knew how insecure county records are? But that’s a concern for another day. 

The document slowly appears on screen, and three pairs of eyes take in the information all at once.

“That's… unexpected,” Byers says.

“Married? Since when?” Frohike exclaims.

Langly looks up at him with a condescending glare and smacks the older man in the stomach. “Since Christmas, idiot, haven't you been paying attention?”

“Not that, stupid,” Frohike says, quick to respond with a slap to the back of the blond man’s shaggy head. “Since when are they an item? Did I miss something?”

“You seen a rock on her finger lately? I haven't,” Langly comments.

“Get Mulder on the phone, that little sneak owes us an explanation!” Frohike snaps, pointing a finger at Byers.

The phone rings a few times before it connects, the voice of their friend coming through on speakerphone.

“Now's not a good time, boys,” he says. There's some kind of noise in the background, someone speaking, but they can’t make out who it is. It doesn’t sound like anyone they know. 

“Mulder!” Frohike yells into the phone. “What gives, man?!”

“Yeah, bro, we'd have thrown you a bachelor party if we'd known,” Langly adds.

A sigh crackles through on the other end of the line, and Mulder murmurs something indistinguishable to someone before finding somewhere quieter to talk.

“How'd you find out?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“Your marriage license record came up in one of our regular sweeps. No other threats, by the way,” Byers answers.

“Except maybe Frohike,” Langly jokes. “He might want to challenge you for her hand.”

Byers snickers.

“Shut up! I'm happy for them,” Frohike says, glaring at his friends.

Langly rolls his eyes. “You never stood a chance.”

“There's an explanation for this, I swear, now's just really not a good time,” Mulder says, insistent.

“What's there to explain?” Frohike asks. “You guys fell in love and got married without telling your best friends. No big deal.”

He’s not genuinely trying to guilt trip Mulder, but it does sting a little that they hadn’t said anything to them. Maybe just a little tiny guilt trip. A guilt excursion, if you will.

“It's not… really that simple,” Mulder says, his words hesitant.

“What do you mean?” Byers asks.

“I know you didn't knock her up, obviously, so what more is there?” Langly says, as delicate as a brick to the face.

“Well,” Mulder says, “I kind of did, in a manner of speaking.”

“Scully's pregnant?” Byers asks. This is shocking news. It should be impossible! “But—”

“No, Scully's not pregnant,” Mulder quickly corrects before the conversation can spiral out of control more than it already has. “But… we are expecting, actually. Hopefully.”

“IVF?” Byers asks.

“Not IVF. We tried that last year though, you're a little late to the party.”

Jeez, what haven’t they missed? Maybe the real conspiracy is whatever the heck is going on with Mulder and Scully.

“Then, what—?”

“We're adopting,” he says, interrupting them. They can almost hear his smile over the phone, all goofy and care-free. “There's a woman that selected us to adopt her baby when she’s born, so… I'm actually at this class for new parents with Scully right now. I should probably be getting back. Don't want the teacher to flunk me.”

“Wait wait wait,” Frohike says. “Adopting? How long have you guys been… you know?”

“Well we only started talking about it back in November. It's honestly moving pretty fast, but we're excited.”

“Not that,” Frohike says, waving his hands in the air. “You and Scully!”

“Oh,” Mulder says awkwardly. “Um, we actually aren't. A couple, I mean. If that's what you're asking.”

Frohike’s jaw drops. “You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not.”

“But you're married!” Langly insists.

“A formality.”

“The IVF!”

“Favor for a friend.”

“Yeah, right!” Frohike says with a laugh, sharing a disbelieving look with the other Gunmen.

“You love her, don't you?” Byers asks, sincerity breaking through his friends’ incredulity.

“If you're just gonna harass me, I'm going to hang up.”

Okay, so he’s done sharing for now. They’ll just have to try to get more out of him later.

“Mulder… what are we going to do with you?” Frohike asks, shaking his head.

“Listen, guys, I've got to go. We're learning how to change a diaper and I'd really like to not make a fool of myself, if at all possible.”

“Wait,” Frohike says. “Tell Scully congrats for us. We're happy for you, Mulder.”

“Yeah, we just think you're a complete idiot too,” Langly adds bluntly.

“Thanks, guys. We're really happy. Sorry I haven't been around, it's been crazy.”

Well, now at least they know why Mulder has been missing their poker nights and D&D lately.

“Don't worry about it, Mulder. Just—maybe tell us what's going on next time?” Byers suggests.

Mulder puffs out a laugh. “Sure, next time I marry my partner with the purpose of adopting a child, I'll let you know.”

Frohike points seriously at the phone, despite the fact that Mulder can’t see it. “Watch it, buddy, you're already on thin ice.”

“I'll talk to you guys soon,” Mulder says. “Oh, and if you're ever looking for me, I'm staying at Scully’s apartment now, by the way. I gave up my apartment.”

“Dude…” Langly says. There's something seriously wrong with those two.

“Alright, I gotta go. I'll tell Scully you say hi.” And with that, he hangs up, leaving the three amigos to take in everything they’d just learned.

“Aren't a couple…” Frohike grumbles, repeating his words. “They're a couple of idiots, I'll tell you that.”

Byers nods his agreement, and Langly shrugs. 

“Lucky kid, though.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

#Chilchuck tims #dungeon meshi #analysis #HAPPY CHILCHUCK DAY #You know what yeah understandable have a good day #Alcohol be a ticket straight to chilling out town I suppose #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Thinking on if I should split my family masterpost into diff posts for max reach hmm #Anyways I’m def editing in the second page into that post that “I’ve got three people to think of here” sounds sooo much like that’s #How he’d think about it in a family setting as well. He works so hard for them 🥺 #I could have put 100 pics on this post to justify everything I mentioned but this is a speedrun for a reason. I’m planning so many #Compilations rn i need a break from rereading lol #He’s just here to do his work!! He just wanna do his work!!! #I’m always rotating him in my brain like rotisserie chicken :( Hopefully this doesn’t sound disjointed or insane to average readers #He’s always on his guard so he has a short fuse and his type of humor & liking for snarky remarks doesn’t help #Also bc he knows nothing lasts he has a very work hard play hard mentality where ‘dying doing something you love. Like drinking’ #Is nice in his opinion #This post makes it all sound so dry. Chilchuck is so messy thinking about him is thrilling I swear. This is concise but at what cost… #OH ALSO he has weird self-hate issues where he really values his skills but devalues himself on a personal level. #‘I am a coward. I only care about myself. I cheated on my wife (lying for no reason)’ etc etc #Can’t disappoint people and make them leave you if they already have no expectations and esteem of you 😏💡

[devourable]

your first time • yanderes x reader, part one

nsfw, minors and ageless dni ;; smut (duh), virgin top x bottom gn reader, various kinks that will be tagged per character.

ft. abraham (yandere church boy), sterling (yandere prodigy), gene (yandere hacker), tobias and sebastian (yandere best friends), and mykolas (yandere monster)

this part will just be the guys (excluding the delinquents)! i wanted to put most of my polyamorous groups as well as the girls and enbies in part two. decided last minute to change it a bit and make it sort of ambiguous as to if the reader is a virgin or not. regardless!

thanks again for 2k 🫶

the church boy — abraham atkins ;; dacryphilia, elements of sizeplay, mentions of religion

abraham thought his first time would be well into the future, after he’d gotten married at his church and whisked off to start his own family like his father before him. it was just a part of life to him, not something to really care about or look forward to; but it was supposed to happen that way. but abe… he just couldn’t resist you!

he knew he shouldve stopped you the moment you had found yourself on his lap, pinning him to his bed after what was supposed to be an sleepover had gone completely off course. and he should’ve stopped you when you got your tongue in his mouth, grinded on him, getting him hard for practically the first time in his life. he should’ve stopped things before they went too far — but he couldn’t stop you. or himself, after he started to clumsily hump you back, his hands finding and delicately groping your ass in an attempt to figure out how he could fit against you best. abe has such an innocent hunger about him, he so desperately wants more — more what, exactly? he doesn't really know. you definitely end up having to take lead because he wholeheartedly doesn't know what he's doing.

but once you coax him out of his nerves and a bit of trial and error (he absolutely wouldn't have fit in you dry; and even after you taught him how to work you open and got his dick wet enough, it was still a tight fit!), you finally, finally get him inside you. and abe, poor abe didn't even know what hit him. despite the tears tumbling down his face purely from how good you felt around him, despite the deep rooted guilt of committing such a sin with the one he loved clawing at his chest, he couldn’t help how brutally he ended up fucking you. he’d pour out all of his pent up desire into you in one night, fucking you through climax after climax till you were seeing stars too.

the prodigy — sterling cygnus ;; overstimulation, risky(ish) setting/exhibitionism

it must all be a game to you, his feelings and this weird dynamic in your relationship. even when the two of you actually start dating (…sorta), he still had it in his head that you were just trying to fuck with him. what other reason could there be to explain how he felt aside from it being your fault?

it was when the two of you were in his dorm that he actually decided to push your boundaries, see what you would let him do before your ‘facade’ finally cracked. but you didn’t stop him when he pinned you against your bed, or when he started kissing you, or when the kiss transformed into an unintentionally heated makeout session. it wasn’t until you had started to pull off your shirt and palm at him through his pants that he started to think that you might’ve actually wanted him.

sterling didn’t really know how it went so far, but he stopped caring when the absolute carnal need to just feel you took over his brain. you must’ve assumed that he didn’t know how to make you feel good because he’s inexperienced, right? no? well, he doesn’t believe you. and to ensure you do, you’re not getting out of that dorm until he’s made you cum on him again, and again, and again. you’d have to think he’s playing with you at some point with how often he switches between fucking you and fingering you — he insists on making you cum both ways as many times as you can handle. he’s rattling the walls and got you sobbing his name so loud that no doubt the entire dorm can hear you (the walls were never that thick to begin with anyway). he relishes in not only knowing he’s completely claimed you, but now all of your colleagues will know too. he doesn’t care how much of a mess he’s making with your insides or how much of him spills out of you, nor does he care if you’re exhausted and sore from the waist down. you’re not done until he’s done with you — and being the overachiever he is, who knows when that’ll be? he’d hate to leave you thinking he’s anything but your number one.

the hacker — gene eliades ;; a lil dubcon-y, filming w/o reader’s knowledge

gene had waited for you to make a move on him first, he really did. he even tried enticing you in his own way, always sitting with his legs open so you could see the very clear outline of his dick through his pants, sitting you on his lap when he was working and keeping a hand on your body at all times. he’d kiss you, tell you how crazy you drove him, anything to give you an idea of what he wanted. but you never took that extra step and it left him wondering if it was because you were toying with him or if you really were that dense. either way, he had had enough, and after one particular day where the need burning in the pit of his stomach just wouldn’t go away, he decided that he wouldn’t wait anymore.

when you tried to slip off of his leg to do something, his arm curled around your waist and pulled you square into his lap, making sure you felt every inch of his erection against your ass. you were so irresponsible, constantly getting him riled up and never doing anything about it. did you even like him at all? regardless of your answer he was already sliding his hands under your clothes, groping your chest with one and working your bottoms down with the other.

it was unceremonious, the way gene bent you over his desk and buried himself up to the hilt in you before you could even voice any potential protests. but the feeling of him hitting all the right spots in you made your mind go blank, unable to do anything but moan his name every time he pulled you back against him. god, he loved hearing the way you whimpered for him, feeling you stretch around him when he fucked you just a bit too hard, the way your hips fit so nicely in his hands.

it was a good thing you were too fucked out to notice the little light next to his webcam aimed down at you. you wouldn’t mind if you did, he assumed — there was nothing wrong with wanting to remember this moment later, was there?

the boys next door — tobias & sebastian ;; double penetration, threesome

the pair had fantasized about losing their virginity to you years before it actually happened. the amount of times they’d gotten each other off with your name falling from their lips was too many to count, but god knows it just wasn’t enough for the two. but they never acted on those feelings, not until they had planned out the day to ensure it would be perfect.

you did find it a bit suspicious that the first time you were all free for the weekend at the same time was on the night that toby’s parents went out for an unplanned vacation, but you easily overlooked it when the pair offered you a sleepover (for old time’s sake!), bribed with promises of your favorite snacks and whatever movies you wanted to watch. you were sandwiched between the two in your best friend’s room, oh so aware of the growing tension but unsure where it was leading to — but then toby suddenly asked to kiss you. and what you assumed would be a playful peck ended with you pinned to the bed with tobias holding your wrists while sebastian made himself comfortable between your legs.

they really like you, and they know you like them too — you wanna be their first, don’t you? be their special someone? that’s what toby’s asking between kisses while seb’s lifting your shirt and sliding a hand down the front of your pants. it wasn’t until you finally gave them the permission they’d waited so long for that the pair allowed themself to really get the night started.

toby was the first to break you in while seb held you in his lap. it was a shame the pair didn’t think to record the moment… the face you made when toby fucked into you was so cute! and the noise you made when seb slid under you to try and squeeze into you alongside toby would play in their minds over and over again. they might’ve pushed you a bit too hard, stretching you well beyond your limit without even letting you catch your breath. they just couldn’t resist! you were clamping down on them, sucking them both in like you didn’t wanna let them go. it felt so good to make you cum.

the two were still up long after you had passed out, ogling your ruined state with an undeniable urge to fuck you up even more. they saw it like a badge of honor, proof that you’d always be theirs. the two would let you rest for the time being, but don’t worry — they still had an entire weekend with you ahead, and they didn’t plan on letting you step foot outside that house till their time was up.

the beast — mykolas ;; teratophilia (duh), size difference, outercourse/thighfucking

mykolas really, really didn’t want to hurt you. he was well aware of how big he was, especially compared to you — if you got hurt because he couldn’t control himself, he wouldn’t know what to do!

all of those thoughts were completely disregarded when he started rutting, though. the poor monster couldn’t think straight with his hormones running amok, and you being you — so soft, so small, so vulnerable, it was like you were designed to torture him through the season. you’d very quickly catch on to what was happening to your monstrous partner, considering you’d often be woken up by him grinding up against your back or stomach in a desperate bid to try and relieve the borderline painfully throbbing cock that was bothering him more and more these days. and though he’d never make his needs known vocally, you could just tell — that sad, pleading look he’d give you every time you looked at his pitiful form was just begging you to take care of him.

you knew for certain that you couldn’t just fuck him in his current state. his cock practically matched the length of your torso! and with how reckless his hormones were making him, the possibility of him ‘accidentally’ making you take more than you could handle was too high, even if you did try to take control. so to work around this problem, you opted to get a bit creative with your methods.

mykolas didn’t quite understand what was going on at first when you bent over in front of him, pants pulled down to your knees. but when you guided him between your legs and clamped your thighs around his length, you could tell the switch in his brain had flipped and he completely allowed instinct to take over. you had no clue just how good it’d feel when mykolas’s hard, wet cock rutted against you relentlessly until he was gripping your waist and pulling you against him, fucking your thighs like you were his living fleshlight. but fuck, the way he managed to slide against every sensitive spot he had access to despite his carnal state was nearly driving you insane. and mykolas delighted in the way you clawed at the ground and mewled for him, your voice so pretty when you stammered out his name. it didn’t take long for either of you to cum at that rate.

despite the mess mykolas made of your thighs and stomach, though, he wouldn’t let you get off him. he’d been pent up for so long, repressing his desire to mate with you, he couldn’t just stop there! so he went again, and again, humping you in any position he could think of, pinning you down, thoroughly wrecking you as best as he could. you were gonna be in for a rough mating season now that mykie knew how to relieve himself with you — but you didn’t mind, he assumed. you were the one that showed him how to feel better, after all.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x oc #yandere boy #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yancore #yandere monster #yandere male x reader #male yandere #yandere smut #yandere nsft #yandere x reader smut #yandere smut imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #gn reader #gender neutral reader #xv ;; the devil — my writing #⛪️ abraham a. ;; the church boy #🪶 sterling c. ;; the prodigy #🖥️ gene e. ;; the hacker #🍀 tobias l. & sebastian l. ;; the neighbors #🌲 mykolas ;; the beast

[oldbookist]

I was working on a history paper today and found a book from 1826 that seemed promising (though dull) for my topic, on an English Catholic family’s experience moving to France.

And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.

Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.

When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.

And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.

And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.

Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.

I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.

Anyway, that’s why I’m crying today.

#history

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

#the incredibles #pixar #disney #mr incredible #elastigirl #bob parr #helen parr #edna mode #syndrome #buddy pine #kronos #kronos unveiled #cinema

[glorysbox]

breeding w di Leon ??????????😩😩

leon x afab!reader

wc: 1.8k

tags: explicitly 18+, breeding obvs, pregnancy mention, reader has breasts

“I’m getting old.” Leon mutters, pausing momentarily to sip at his mug full of coffee that you’d brewed for him a few moments earlier. You raise an eyebrow at this; head turning ever so slightly to meet his gaze. It’s been a few weeks since he’d been on the mission to Alcatraz. There’s been a personality shift that’s come over him in this time—at first, you just chalked it up to self-reflection from a near death experience.

Maybe there’s something else to it.

“You keep saying that,” you note, attention back on the kitchen counter as you prepare breakfast for the both of you. “You’re not.”

“I am. You can’t deny it. And you know, well…” he sighs, setting the mug down. “I’ve been thinking about some things. About us.”

This gets your attention. You turn fully to face him now.

He stands, advancing towards you, trapping you in between his body and the counter behind you. Leon’s lips are on yours nearly immediately—and while you appreciate the gesture and the taste of hazelnut coffee creamer that lingers in his mouth, you’re feeling a bit…

Nervous.

Your nerves quickly shift into a feeling of something else, the sensation of Leon’s hands squeezing on your waist quickening your heartbeat—that familiar aching between your thighs reddening your face at his touch. His eyes are on you as you part, examining the pretty slopes and curves of your face—but your nerves quickly shift back to that feeling of uncertainty.

“I love you,” he starts, hands furthering up your torso. One hand runs over the curve of your stomach, shifting back to the fat of your hip. “And I’ve been thinking about just how good you’d look pregnant.”

Your breath comes out in slight pants at the feeling of his hands tracing over the contour of your body. Leon leans in, placing feather-light kisses over the soft skin of your neck—the feeling of his lips and the prickle of his stubble admittedly making your knees weak. He smells good, like home; like aftershave and cologne from the night before when he’d fallen asleep with his arms around you.

His hands snake up the long shirt that you’re wearing—one of his that you’d fished from his dresser ages ago—traveling from your waist up to cup your breasts. His tongue runs over the shell of your ear, warm breath fanning over the sensitive feel of your skin. You shudder.

“Think about it. Me, you, a family…” Leon’s tone is hushed as he speaks in your ear, thumb toying at the sensitive peaks of your nipple. You feel him smile as he places a kiss on your temple, something you can hardly focus on from the feel of his hand caressing your breasts. “Don’t you want that?”

“I—” Your breath hitches at the feeling of deft fingertips running along the now sodden cotton of your panties, thighs shifting and molding around the shape of his hand between your thighs. “I… yes, of course. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but…”

“But?” He questions, tugging the wet fabric aside enough for his fingers to drag along your sticky folds. Leon’s breath fans on your neck, his cock stiff against the inside of your thigh. It’s thick and hard and throbbing and has your walls clenching around nothing—needy from just the idea of him being inside of you.

“But…” Your voice is low, teetering out pathetically at the feeling of the pad of his thumb toying with your clit. His movements are slow and methodical, circling—almost too much while simultaneously being not enough. “Your job, and…”

The way your bottom lip catches in your teeth makes him want to kiss you—and fill you with his cum—all the more. It’s been plaguing his thoughts ever since Alcatraz.

“We can work that out,” he mumbles, finger hovering around your entrance, collecting the arousal that seeps from you in anticipation. Your nails dig into the muscle of his forearm, head hanging low at the feeling of the digit threatening to breach inside of you. It’s too much. But not enough. “Work’s been slowing down. Doubt that they’d want to keep an old man like me out on the field too long anyway.”

You go to speak—you want to scold him for calling himself old, even though it’s undeniably true—but you’re cut off by the sound of your own whine at the feeling of his finger pushing its way inside of you.

He only goes as far as the first knuckle… but the gasp that falls from your lips coupled with a low moan has him a bit too eager to hear more from you. Leon inserts a second finger, the pad of his thumb pressing a fleeting amount of pressure on the sensitive bud of your clit. He’s patient as he finger-fucks you, scissoring you open with methodical movements that have your knees weak and your face hot.

You’re too busy whining his name to realize the way he’s looking at you.

Too needy to notice the way his cock throbs at the feeling of your wetness around his fingers; too drunk on his touch to see the way that his blue eyes are trained so intently on the sight of his fingers slipping out of you and pushing their way back inside. He slides his fingers out of you, marveling at the strings of sticky arousal that cling to them.

“So,” he pauses momentarily—brings his fingers to his tongue—and wraps his lips around them. “Did I convince you?”

You nod.

It’s not long before you feel the coldness of his fingers—wet from you and from his own mouth—hooking along the lace hem of your underwear to tug them down. The cotton pools at your ankles.

“You’re fucking me on the counter?” The question falls from your lips breathlessly; the feeling of his hand squeezing at the fat of your ass eliciting more noise from you than you’d be willing to admit.

“Sure am,” he mutters, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he pulls the fabric of his pants down just enough to free his cock. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to make up for this. I intend on—“

He hoists you up properly, arm keeping you suspended in the air, eyes on the slick sticky mess that’s littered your thighs. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist. The head of his cock prods at your entrance—leaking precum enough to leave you wondering if he’d left a sticky stain on the cotton of his gray boxers.

“—stuffing you full of cum everyday until I see a positive test.”

Something tells you that he plans to make good on his promise.

He slides into you slowly; the pace agonizing as his cock stretches and splits you open—your walls shaping around his size, nails digging further into the skin of his arm. You shudder at the sound of his voice in your ear; low and needy and whiny for the feeling of the warmth of your walls instinctively gripping around his shaft.

“Leon,” he audibly groans at the sound of his name from your lips—how breathless and pretty and needy you sound for him. “Please, I—“

His fingers leave indents in the skin of your ass, his hips pressing into you so agonizingly slow to the point where you’re beginning to ache from the feeling of needing him so desperately.

“Come on,” Leon buries himself to the hilt—reveling at the feeling of the softness of your body against his. The granite edge of the counter digs at your back; a non-issue considering the fact that you’re struggling to keep your composure at the feeling of Leon balls deep inside of you. “You can take it.”

You nod.

Crescent moon shaped indentations are left on the muscle of his back, red and angry—unnoticed by the feeling of him plunging into you; his hips flush against yours with each slip of his cock inside of you. Sticky strings of arousal begin to line down his thighs—the creamy ring pooling at the base of his cock fueling the pathetic whimpers that slip from your and his lips.

Leon roughly fucks into you, pace unforgiving as your insides uncontrollably quiver and squeeze around him. You pray that no one can hear the both of you through the opened window of your kitchen—the sound of his balls slapping against your skin entirely too loud—coupled with the noisy moans that seep from your lips and the low grunts that seep from his. You can hardly tell the color of his eyes; his pupils blown so wide that you’d mistake them for brown if you weren’t aware they were blue.

He leans forward—hips still snapping against your own—and presses his lips against your own. It’s uncoordinated. It’s needy. It’s wet and sloppy as he struggles to focus on the fact that he’s supposed to be kissing you when you feel so good and tight and wet and warm around him.

He greedily tongues at your lips and greedily ruts into your pussy, movements bordering on feral at the feeling of you and the thought of stuffing you with his cum. The pretty noises that fall from your mouth drive him forward, lips still on your own as he swallows every semblance of a mewl that you make from the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.

Leon pulls away for a moment—lips reattaching to your neck, trailing to your throat, savoring the taste of your skin. He’s losing himself. Losing himself to the overwhelming urge to put a baby in you; to the idea of your body softening and breasts swelling and hips widening—to the idea of just how perfect you’d look with his kid in you.

You squeal at the feeling of the pad of his thumb on your clit, thighs clenching and trembling and shaking around his waist—nails digging further into the meat of his back as his relentless pace falters and rhythm stutters towards sloppiness. Leon coaxes you further towards your orgasm, motion of his thumbs pulling an orgasm from your swollen, throbbing clit; the pulsating of your walls pulling him deeper into you and effectively milking his cock.

The sight of you—back arching, legs trembling, jaw slack, body spasming—it’s too much. His cock twitches, his hips sputter; his grip on you borders on pain—and you can’t do anything but take it. You feel it before you realize it. You feel the slight quiver of his body against yours. You feel his lips on your throat, tongue pressing on the rapid pulsing of the vein on your neck. You feel the warm, sticky ropes of his cum that he’d stuffed in you with no shame.

He places slow kisses along your jawline—cock still stuffed in you, plugging his cum inside—and again, you feel the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Mm.” Leon’s voice is barely audible as he mutters in your ear. “S’ not enough. Let me give you some more.”

#i hate this so much i didnt even wanna burden my beta reader with checking it #nsydfw #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #get this fic out of my sight pls.

[hairyjocktf]

Building a New Life

Justin was the star wrestler at his high school. He had won regional titles and the adoration of all the local families for years, and was ready to head to college to continue his streak. Senior year he was at his peak, winning matches left and right. All he had to do was wait for those recruitment offers to roll in. He waited and waited, still kicking ass in his wrestling, but while everyone around him was committing and getting accepted, there were no letters to him. To his dismay, one never came. His plans for the future were shattered, what was he supposed to do now? The wrestling scholarship was his only shot for college.

With the year ending and not many options, Justin started looking for entry level jobs that would take him. He lived in a fairly rural area so most of what he found was either farm work or construction, and the latter paid better. He called one of them up and they told him to swing by the site a few days later. He drove out to the construction site later that week and walked into the mobile office they had there. The manager came out to greet him. He was a rugged man in his late 40’s, with a stocky build and thick stubble. He’d clearly been in the business for years and it showed through his worn hands and gruff voice from yelling orders at his lackeys. The man looked Justin up and down.

“A little scrawny but I can work with it,” he said after a few seconds.

“I was a top wrestler in the region!” Justin protested. 

“Doesn’t matter in this industry,” the man said flatly. “Can you handle heavy loads and equipment? Can you deal with being outside most of the day in rough weather?”

Justin was caught off guard, usually people were much nicer to him. “Of course I can! I can handle whatever you throw at me,” he assured.

“Well alright, If you think you can handle it let’s see how you do here,” the manager said, handing a pile of clothes to Justin. “Here’s your safety and HiVis gear, make sure it fits and then we’ll get you set up outside.”

Justin took his uniform to the bathroom to try it on real quick. It included a hard hat that was adjustable, which he fit to his head, a bright orange and yellow HiVis vest, and a couple other things. He put it all on and stepped back into the office. 

“Alright follow me, Justin was it?” the manager gestured towards the door.

“Yes sir,” Justin responded uncharacteristically.

“Name’s Blaine, the manager revealed, “Around here we usually work on residential projects, we’re currently assisting on a development outside of town.” He led them away from the office around the immediate site, which currently seemed to be mostly used as storage for equipment and materials. “Since you’ve got no experience you’ll start by shadowing some of our guys for a few weeks and handling more basic tasks til you’re ready for more,” he continued. “You can head back to the office and they'll take care of the nitty gritty for ya. I’m expecting great things from you, wrestler,” Blaine laughed as he left Justin and headed out towards the development. Justin heard his gruff voice booming in the distance as he barked orders to the workers.

Justin was unsure about all of this, but he didn’t really have a better option at the moment. He felt out of place in his new safety gear, and he was younger than nearly everyone he saw working. He took care of the paperwork and headed home for the day; they'd hired him on the spot to start the next morning. With considerable unease, he went to bed, closing one chapter of his life for the next. 

As the weeks went by Justin began acclimating to this new job fairly well. He got to know the guys he worked with, learned how to use the equipment, and began to feel comfortable on the site. He even felt like he had put on some mass to better handle all the physical work he was doing. His rock solid abs were a little less visible than they had been but for some reason that didn’t bother him. He was already starting to forget the sting of not being recruited for wrestling. Every day he came into work those past dreams seemed to fade a little more, replaced by his new life. His coworkers had made fun of him for having such a baby face at the beginning, but now he was starting to sport a little bit of stubble. Justin was slowly starting to blend in more with his new crowd.

The months continued to pass, with Justin becoming more and more entrenched in his new construction life. It was getting colder outside, and his body began to adjust without him even noticing. His stubble grew out into a real beard, short and dense. He began packing on more body fat as he spent less and less time at the gym and more and more working and drinking with his new bros. His voice began to sound a little deeper and rougher, matching those around him. The hard hat really suited him now with his more rugged looks. He had never been a good student in school but he seemed to really be taking to this new job, completely forgetting about his old goals. The occassional approving nod from Blaine was driving him forward. He was thriving in this new position, but the job wasn’t done with him yet.

Unbeknownst to Justin, under his thick winter clothes things were changing. His previously toned body, while still fairly muscular, was steadily becoming thicker with fat. Not only that, but he’d always been near perfectly smooth and that too was slowly changing. It had started with his chest, where on the previously bare skin thin wispy hairs had started to poke out. That didn’t last long though, as they were quickly overrun with thicker, darker hairs that began sprouting in between his pecs. They grew curly as they spread out, covering his entire chest in hair, spreading up across his collarbone and down across his slowly growing stomach. The new hairy coat was just another part of his insulation against the harsh winter weather. But the hairs didn’t stop there either. His pits erupted with thick wiry hairs, coating his underarms in curly hairs that trapped both heat and sweat. The hairs pushed out, tangling together as they formed a thick tuft of hair under each arm, even spreading out to connect with the rug on his chest. After each day of hard work he’d come home stinking like the other men he worked with, and over time he started to enjoy the musk he produced.

Of course he wasn’t done filling out his uniform quite yet. His formerly modest bush began growing with no end in sight, engulfing his groin in thick, wiry brown hairs that radiated out from his lengthening cock. Sometimes while on the site Justin would instinctively reach down in his pants to itch the growing bush, the feeling and texture of it driving him wild. With pubes erupting day and night his musk only grew stronger, as Justin began to truly have a manly aura around him that he’d never had before. It seemed to help him bond with the other guys more, as they welcomed him into their groups and invited him out more and more frequently. Underneath his work pants his legs bulked up considerably from carrying all sorts of materials around, followed closely by the same dark fur. It raced down his legs and coated them with curly hairs that rubbed against the inside of his increasingly tight jeans as he walked around, an almost arousing feeling. Within the first year of working Justin had gone up four sizes in his work boots, as his feet grew and widened to match the rest of him. The massive steel-toed boots hid how hairy his feet had gotten, with dark hairs covering the tops and toes.

The next year was largely the same. Justin continued slowly changing to better fit his new job. He was really beginning to excel at it, and he’d attained a close friendship with many of the men he worked with. It almost seemed as if he’d aged ten years over the last one, he certainly looked it at this point. His fur coat only thickened, growing even denser across his chest and stomach to the point you could barely see the skin beneath the hairs. Hair had also spread up and onto his shoulders before enveloping his massive back. The hairs gushed out across his shoulder blades before shooting down his spine and spreading out wide. The heavy coating slowly grew thicker and spread out further as time went on, reaching down to his ass. It too became covered with thick, dark hairs as it inflated to a truly massive size. During the warmer months sometimes he just wore his vest and hard hat, his incredibly thick hair covering the rest of him and sticking through his vest.

Justin earned the nickname ‘Grizzly’ from his coworkers after they saw how hairy he’d gotten, and his body had put on the size to match. Gone was the small but toned body of a wrestler, replaced by a thick, hairy, and sturdy body of a weathered construction worker. He oozed masculinity from not only his stained and dirty work clothes, but from the thick chest hair that he left his shirt open to show off. His entire body was now coated with a dense coat of hair and he liked to make that known, as long as he wasn’t caught against safety regulations at least. He never questioned why he’d changed so much in such a short span, it never even occurred to him, and honestly he liked his new life. He was just one of the guys working on the site now. The hair felt as natural to him as anything else, and the other guys seemed to like it even if they made fun of him once in a while. Occasionally when they went out drinking some of the guys would have too many beers and start rubbing their hands through his thick fur, but he didn’t mind at all. It felt good to be masculine, and to be appreciated for it by other guys. Months continued to pass though no one could really remember how long Justin had been working there at this point, but they were all glad he was there. He was the best construction worker on their team.

#male tf #hairy tf #bear tf #hairy #hairy chest #hairy pits #beard #hairy back #hair growth #my writing

[celtic-crossbow]

Since you said you were looking at requests could you please do something with Dom Daryl with overstimulation, breeding, and cockwarming? Maybe after the savior war trying to get pregnant or any later seasons Daryl? It’s almost 6:30 in the morning so those are just the prompts that came to me first, anything you write with them will be wonderful, thank you 🩷

If I get a Little Prettier, Can I be Your Baby?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (post Savior's War)

Warnings: Poorly written smut; p in v; cockwarming; forced orgasms; overstimulation; a hint of breeding, I guess? A/N: This request has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. Gods, I am so sorry for making you wait! I'm even more sorry that I was all over the place with this so I hope it's just good at all. I tried, Anon! I promise!

“S’the matter? Thought ya wanted this?” 

Daryl was sitting against the headboard, just as bare as you. You straddled his hips, stretched around his cock and had been for—well, you weren’t sure. He had kept you there, softening slightly every once in a while only to press a thumb against your swollen clit to quickly bring you to orgasm. Your convulsing walls brought him to fully hard within seconds. You’d lost count of how many times he’d done it, sometimes not even needing the stimulation. He would be throbbing with just as much need inside of you and still worked at you until you came, shuddering and whimpering his name like a mantra. 

“Please, Daryl, I need—”

“Ya need to sit there ‘til I say diff’rent.” His voice was low, gravelly. Stern, even. You felt your cunt clench and his hips jerk. You were so sensitive, yet still craving him. He could work miracles with those fingers but being so full and stretched without feeling him drag along your inner walls was torture. He wasn’t cruel, never. There was a safe word in place, always, no matter who held the reins. Whether out of sheer stubbornness or overwhelming desire, neither of you had ever used it.

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. Your fingers were splayed over his stomach, his muscles twitching with each miniscule movement you made, though you tried to sit stone still. 

The battle with the Saviors had been won. Negan was imprisoned. Alexandria was being rebuilt. Everyone was working together and there was, for at least the time being, a feeling of relative peace and safety. While you had never officially married, you had become Mrs. Dixon in every way except on paper, and that didn’t seem to matter much in those days. You and Daryl had talked about a family before, but always seemed to find some reason to deny yourselves. His worries of becoming his father, Wolves, Saviors, and of course, the dead. There was always something. 

It wasn’t until Daryl had been locked in Negan’s cell that he came to realize that waiting was futile. The world would never be safe. If you wanted to have children with him, he loved you enough to travel that road with you. He’d love his children because they were a part of both of you.

This? This was the first session in what would be many “practice runs.” Or maybe one time would be all it would take. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl. Wanna cum for me again?” He smirked, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting that finger carve a trail down over your collarbone, circling your left breast before he pinched and rolled your nipple. You gasped and arched your chest toward him, making him hiss when your hips shifted. 

“S—sorry, sir.” You gasped, breathing heavily from just that slight stimulation. If he fucked you now, you feared you’d cum so quickly that it’d be embarrassing. From the twinkle in his eye, it didn’t seem like you were going to have a choice. You let out a squeak as he flipped you to your back, never separating from you but punching a moan from you both with the slight friction. 

“Think I’ve had enough’a toyin’ around. How ‘bout we get to work on puttin’ a baby in that belly?” Pressing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth, he hooked the back of your right knee over the crook of his elbow and rolled his hips. You pulled back from him, lest you bite his lip, which he’d honestly probably rather enjoy. Another deep thrust saw your hips rising to meet his. He didn’t stop you or reprimand you, so it was safe to say this was all about the endgame.

“Fuck, you feel good.” You whined with your nails scratching over his shoulders, red marks all the way to where you settled your hands on his ribs.

“Yeah?” He knew the answer, even if he did make the next snap of his hips a little rougher. Raising your head, you nuzzled your cheek against his and placed your mouth against his ear.

“Don’t hold back.” You whispered, licking the lobe and then the spot where his pulse raced. Daryl growled, letting your leg drop. When he reached up to grab the top of the headboard with one hand and then the other, you knew you were about to get absolutely ruined.

And couldn’t have been more turned on by the thought.

With a smirk of your own, you chose to let your legs fall open as wide as they could, almost to the point of painful. You were soon digging your nails right into his buttocks. It started with a cadence of rough snaps, his pelvic bone and the coarse hair above his cock slapping against your oversensitive clit. He chuckled above you, knowing exactly why you were making those sinful little noises. Your humiliatingly slick cunt squelched with each push and pull of his cock, only adding to the debauchery that could potentially be heard by the others in the house.

You only dug your fingers in harder, drawing up your knees but keeping your legs wide open. “Come on, Dixon.” You panted, biting back a cry when the next thrust made you see stars. “I thought you wanted to fuck a baby into me. Put in a little effort.”

It was that moment, you knew you had fucked up. 

Daryl went motionless, looking down at you through that curtain of sweaty, dark hair. He had one brow arched. He never let go of the headboard but leaned down between his arms until he was nose to nose with you, the most deliciously wicked smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. 

“Ya better hold on tight, Sunshine.”

The first thrust shunted you straight up to the headboard, one hand releasing its hold on his ass to slap palm down against the wood and protect the top of your head. And then he was absolutely ruthless. Fucking feral. He used his hold on the headboard as leverage and fucked you at a pace you’d never experienced. Soon, you had let go of him altogether, both palms planted firmly against the smooth surface above you. You couldn’t stop shouting long enough to even let him know you were cumming. Once, twice. A third sparking to life low in your belly. His grunts and groans above you were just fucking delectable and you distantly wished you could focus on the sounds your pussy was coaxing out of him but the feeling of him just absolutely splitting you in two took precedence. 

“‘Nough effort for ya?” He panted, slowing only slightly, just enough for you to see him scanning you for any signs that you wanted to stop, that you needed to use the safeword. You scoffed at him. However, you couldn’t seem to speak, so close to yet another orgasm. You saw his grip loosen, knew he was getting concerned, so you communicated your consent by flattening your feet on the mattress and rolling your hips up to take him deeper, both of you groaning. He worked his way back to the same brutal pace, his cock swelling and twitching inside of you. He was close.

You were closer.

Drawing in enough breath, somehow assembling enough presence of mind, you moaned out “I’m—I’m close—Please—”

Daryl grunted, dropping down from the headboard with a hand on either side of your head. “Let go, Sunshine.” He commanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck, m’gonna cum.” You had just felt the first tendrils of pleasure rip from your core when he thrust twice more, stilling against you and holding himself deep with a guttural moan, his muscles spasming and body trembling. “Fuck!” You were too lost on whatever cloud he’d sent you to, your eyes rolled back and mouth agape. Your chest was arched into him until you felt the burn in your muscles suddenly dissipate and you collapsed to the mattress, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. 

Daryl was still thrusting into you lazily, dragging out both of your orgasms until you just couldn’t take anymore and twisted your hips to the side with a whine. He let you lie down flat again before gently, slowly pulling out of you, barely moving himself over before he collapsed into a trembling heap. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, burning as it slid across the flesh of your abused cunt.

It never failed that no matter how fucked out he was himself, your well-being came first. Rolling his head toward you, he gave you a once over. “Y’alright? Did I hurtcha? Ya didn’t say—”

“I’m so good that I don’t think I’m ever coming back down to earth, thanks.” You blinked lazily at the ceiling before turning your head, letting it lull toward him to meet his eyes with a lopsided smile. “My god, Daryl Dixon, you just rocked my world.” 

God, you loved it when he blushed. He could be an absolute beast in bed—as he had just proven—and then go red as a tomato—as he currently was. Licking his lips slowly, he turned to admire the ceiling at the same time you did. 

“I’ll get up in a minute an’ get us cleaned up.” He was finally starting to sound like he had found his lungs and put them back in their rightful place. You lazily waved a hand. “Are ya really alright?”

You nodded, smiling stupidly once again. “I may not walk right for a few days.” You moved with a wince. “In fact, when you get up to get that towel, can you grab me a wheelchair? I think you dislocated my vagina.”

Daryl, of course, looked mortified. “Oh, come on. I’m fine. Just a little sore.” Propping up on your elbows, you grinned at him. “Besides, payback’s a bitch and next time, it’s my turn.” He mumbled christ under his breath and rolled off the bed, staggering toward the bathroom while you stared intently at the perfect round of his ass. “I’ll find the blindfold and handcuffs tomorrow!”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon request #anon request #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader

[bangtanflirt]

(Un)natural Instincts (Part 12)

*Series taglist is closed.

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7 > Part 8 > Part 9 > Part 10 > Part 11 > Part 12

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, drugs, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: discussions around SA triggers (mainly boundary setting, not angsty), one brief mention of a gunshot, gunshot wound, fear of punishments, hints to street crime violence, vague hints to smut

____

Hoseok watches as Taehyung gets lost in the painting, fascinated by how he repeatedly goes back and fixes each detail. It’s endearing, watching him bite his bottom lip in concentration.

“What’s that stuff you’re adding to the paint?”

“Poppyseed oil. It makes the paint dry slower.”

“You want it to dry slower?”

The younger one nods, “This way I can retouch whatever needs to be fixed without worrying about it drying.”

He hands his hyung the brush in his hand, which Hoseok swirls into the paint thinner before handing back clean.

“I didn’t know you could add stuff to the paint like that.”

“They’re called mediums. There's fast-drying ones too, which I’ll be using for the clothes and hair since I want to work in lots of separate layers for those.”

“This is already all too complicated for me.” Hoseok laughs, preferring to mindlessly watch the paint go down than think about drying times and layers.

Taehyung laughs, leaning in to give his hyung a peck on the cheek.

Jimin walks in at the exact time, smiling fondly at the scene. He brings in a platter of freshly cut fruit, most of which are Taehyung’s favorites.

“Fruit delivery!”

Hoseok brings the boy close, holding him by the waist as he opens his mouth for a piece. Taehyung follows, stopping his brushwork to be fed.

“How much longer until the painting’s done?” Jimin asks while popping a cut strawberry into the younger wolf’s mouth.

Taehyung holds up three fingers, mouth too distracted by the sweet fruit to speak.

“Three days?”

He nods.

“So three more days until you stop cooping up in here and pay more attention to me,” Jimin pouts.

“Are you actually getting jealous of Y/N’s late grandmother?” Taehyung teases, causing Hoseok to almost choke on a grape laughing.

It’s the sound again. The sound of Hoseok laughing. He seems completely oblivious as to how much it affects his packmates—how much love it fills in their hearts.

___

Jin reaches for Namjoon’s hand, attempting to soothe the worried wolf as they both wait for Jungkook to come out from his bath.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Joon says with furrowed brows alone.

He’s going to hate this.

Jin agrees with a light squeeze to his packmate’s fingers.

It wouldn’t be hard to convince an outsider that Jin and Namjoon can, in fact, read each other’s minds. Wouldn’t take much convincing at all, with how well the two communicate with just looks. But there’s no mind-reading abilities at play, just years of understanding each other.

They were the first two members of the pack, after all.

Namjoon still remembers the goosebumps on his arms when he first met Jin—it was the first time he’d ever felt the pull of a pack bond. A rush of adrenaline, serotonin, and dopamine all creating a buzzing cocktail in his body when the older wolf smiled his way.

Jin wasn’t innocent either, he knew he was riling the usually-poised Alpha up the second he looked at him. It was a fun game, teasing and taunting the big bad wolf until he was taught a lesson behind some shabby hybrid bar neither of them remember the name of anymore.

Namjoon's mind wanders back to that night, amused at the idea of telling his younger self that he’d be starting his forever family with that gorgeous man he met in a rundown dive bar—that four more wonderful hybrids would walk into their life and make them complete.

He doesn’t think he’d tell his younger version about the lab. He wouldn’t want to know.

The bathroom door opens, and both pairs of wolf eyes focus in on the youngest.

“Hey Koo” Jin says in his sweetest tone.

Jungkook flashes a toothy grin to his packmates, shuffling over to give both a chaste kiss on the lips.

“We were actually waiting for you pup, wanted to talk to you about something.”

Namjoon’s solemn tone isn’t lost on the wolf, putting him on edge as he takes his place opposite them on the bed.

“Is something wrong?” His eyes nervously dart between the two older ones.

Jin decides to take the lead, going in with as much tact as possible.

“First of all, we just want to say how happy we are that the hormones effects are wearing off on you. It’s great seeing you be yourself again...”

Namjoon jumps in, feeling Jin’s nervousness take over, “…but we do have to be mindful of our situation pup. Pushing away y/n isn’t going to do us any favors here.”

“Or Yoongi.” Jin adds.

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes, but he manages to hold back.

“I’ll behave.” He grits out halfheartedly.

“I’m going to need you to be more convincing than that Koo.”

The wolf glares at his Alpha, a sign of defiance Namjoon is not in the mood to entertain.

“Stop being bratty before I spank it out of you pup.”

Jungkook’s gaze changes in an instant. The challenging glint in his eyes is replaced with something far more devastating—hurt. Jin’s hands reach for Namjoon’s shoulder, pulling him back before the situation escalates even more.

“Why stop at a spanking? Might as well put the Obedience collar back on so you can have the docile and well behaved pup you want so badly.”

He doesn’t wait to be dismissed, almost running out of the room before the other two can see his glossy eyes.

Jin lets out a dejected sigh, “You shouldn’t have brought up punishment baby.”

Namjoon knew it was a mistake the second the words left his mouth, but it was already too late then.

“I-I know…it was just instinct.” Guilt overtakes his features, regretting not thinking twice before speaking.

The moment Jungkook looked at him with that defiant stare, he couldn’t help but respond in the way he had a thousand times before the lab. Back when punishments were just a tool for an Alpha to reign in a bratty wolf—not synonymous with physical and psychological torture.

He knows he can’t discipline his pack the way other Alphas do anymore, not when they’ve had enough punishments to last three lifetimes.

Jin tugs on the younger wolf’s sleeve, pulling him back to Earth, “Go apologize and make it up to him.”

“What if he wants space from me?”

“We’re talking about Jungkook here, your clingiest pup.”

Jin isn’t wrong. Jungkook isn’t the type to want to be left alone when he’s upset.

Namjoon follows the scent trail carefully, grimacing at the smell of salt mixed into Jungkook’s signature vanilla. Salt meant tears, and tears meant his pup was cooping himself up in some corner and sobbing. It doesn’t take the Alpha long to find which corner exactly, as the not-so-small wolf can’t exactly hide behind a dresser the way he thinks he can. But that doesn’t stop him from trying—bundled up with his knees to his chest in one of the spare bedrooms.

“Koo, sweetheart…” He keeps his voice soft.

Jungkook simply sniffles in response, not daring to look up with the wet streaks on his face. If this was Taehyung or Jimin, he’d have heard a “go away” by now. But not his Koo. Despite his willful attitude, there’s nothing Jungkook wants more than to be babied when he’s crying.

Namjoon cautiously sits in front of the boy, leaving space to keep their bodies from touching.

“Hey pup, can you look at me please.”

With his face still buried in his knees, the wolf simply shakes his head in refusal.

“I’m sorry about what I said Koo. I shouldn’t have brought up punishment…and the last thing I want is for you—or anyone—to be on those drugs again.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook finally raises his head, eyes watery and puffy, “I was easier to deal with when I had the collar on. I know it. You know it. Everybody knows it. Hell, even I wish I could turn off all these thoughts and just behave. But I can’t…that’s not me.” His voice breaks towards the end, sobs threatening to spill from his throat.

Panic flashes on Namjoon’s face, composed demeanor becoming harder to maintain as Jungkook lays all his insecurities bare. There’s a quiet rage bubbling in his stomach—pointed a little at Kang but mainly at himself. Rage for letting Jungkook’s self esteem get to this point.

He knew from the day that Jungkook came into their lives that he’d need to be extra careful with him. Unlike the others, who jumped eagerly into his arms at the promise of a pack bond, his youngest pup was nothing but stand offish and distrustful for months.

It’s not hard to see how little love Jungkook has known prior to the pack, but things aren’t supposed to be like that anymore. Namjoon knows it’s naïve to think that all of Jungkook’s scars would be healed by now—knowing just how many he has—but wishful thinking got the better of him.

The boy in front of him looks just as insecure as he did when they first met. Except he’s not hiding it with sarcastic remarks and cold stares anymore…at least not to his packmates.

Namjoon makes sure to not let his frustration show in his words, needing to be as calm as possible to not spook the distressed boy.

“But this you is the one we fell in love with baby, how could we ever prefer any other version over it? I’ll admit you’re not the easiest pup from time to time, but I’d rather you be the most difficult wolf in the world than put that collar back on you.”

“Then why do you keep taking y/n’s side? She wants me back on the collar. I can tell. Wants me to be the sweet sweet angel they brainwashed me into being.”

“She doesn’t want you on the collar either Koo, she just doesn’t know this version of you…and you aren’t exactly letting her in either—which I know is hard for you, I understand it’s asking a lot, but I’m not doing this because I’m taking her side. I just think we have an actual shot of being happy here. You trust me, don’t you baby?”

Jungkook nods. No matter how upset he is, it’s instinct to nod when Namjoon asks that question. Of course he trusts his Alpha. He’d follow Namjoon to the ends of the world if he asked him to.

“I…I’ll try. But please…d-don’t punish me if I c-can’t.” The last part is whispered, as if it’s a shameful declaration. It is, to some extent, shameful for Jungkook to admit—that he shivers at the mention of the tamest punishments now.

Namjoon’s heart drops to his stomach at the helpless bundle of nerves in front of him.

“I won’t baby. I promise. Will you please come to me?”

Jungkook doesn’t waste time to scoot his way over, making himself small as he seeks safety in Namjoon’s embrace. Namjoon breathes a bit lighter, relieved at Jungkook’s lack of hesitation—the last thing he wants is his pup to be wary of him.

___

Hoseok looks over from one brunette to the other, both fidgeting as they try to find their words.

“What is it pups?”

Jimin clears his throat, tightening his hold on Taehyung’s arm before speaking up.

“Um..we just wanted to ask…” no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the words out, “it’s nothing hyung! Forget about it.”  

Taehyung, although disappointed, follows in understanding. The two are ready to retreat, but their hyung isn’t having any of that.

“Wait!” their hyung pouts, not wanting to be left out, “whatever it is, you can ask me.”

“It’s selfish” Taehyung takes the words out of Jimin’s mouth.

Hoseok raises a brow, waiting for further explanation only to be met with an awkward silence.

“Since when have you two ever thought twice before asking me for things?”

It’s true. They normally didn’t hesitate to ask their Hobi hyung for whatever they wanted. Why would they? He was their hyung and they were his precious pups to spoil.

But this wasn’t a normal situation.

“Whatever it is, I won’t get mad. You know I never get mad at you guys.”

Jimin wishes Hobi didn’t add that part, as it only makes him feel more gross in the moment,

“Fuck, I can’t do it. Please, let’s all drop this.”

Hoseok, however, isn’t ready to drop the subject.

“What could it possibly be that you’re so scare—” he stops as soon as the realization hits.

Truthfully, he’s been preparing for this conversation. With everyone else going back to normal, Hoseok knew it was just a matter of time before intimacy would come back into the equation for the rest of them.

“Oh pups, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine, really.”

Jimin raises a brow, wanting to make sure everyone’s on the same page. Hoseok continues on, assuring them that he isn’t misunderstanding the situation.

“If we’re being completely honest, I’m still not comfortable with the topic. There’s still a lot I need to work through to handle triggers around it, but whatever anyone else does is fine as long as I’m not asked to be part of it.”

“A-are you sure? With you tuning into your hybrid he—”

“I don’t tune in to anything in the house. Really guys, it’s fine! The only thing that’ll make me feel bad is if you hold yourselves back because of me.”

“We don’t want you just saying that for our sake hyung.”

Hoseok shakes his head with surety, “I’m not. As long as it’s away from me, I don’t mind.”

He punctuates with a smile, ruffling Tae’s hair to lighten the mood. It works on Taehyung, but Jimin’s brows are still furrowed.

“What about during our heats? Will you be okay next month?”

“I’ve talked to Y/N and Yoongi about it already. I’ll be staying with them at Yoongi’s place, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, I’m telling you that I’m more than okay. Please don’t walk on eggshells around me.”

Jimin nods, deciding it best to trust his hyung’s judgement. Hoseok knows what’s best for himself, and it’s not Jimin’s place to decide what should and shouldn’t bother the older wolf.

___

You take a step back, huffing at your sixth failed attempt before diving back in.

You’re Shin Y/N.

You’ve made businessmen shake in their boots at the sound of your heels clicking. You’ve revived dying companies with one meeting. So why can’t you move this pesky little bookshelf to the other side of your office?

It’s been over fifteen minutes, and you can’t get the thing to budge at all. However, if it’s one thing you are, it’s stubborn. So you close your eyes and focus all your energy on pushing. To your surprise, the wooden shelf actually starts sliding this time. Ecstatic, you open your eyes to navigate the room--only to be met with the last sight you’re expecting to see.

It’s Jungkook, covered head to toe in black, with a detached expression you can’t quite read. He nonchalantly drags the piece of furniture, waiting for you to tell him where to stop.

“Right there is fine.”

He props it next to the standing lamp, making sure it’s flush against the wall before letting go.

“Thank you.” You want to say more, but you’re afraid of saying something wrong.

“Whatever.” He stuffs his fists in his hoodie before heading towards the door.

“Wait!” You panic, realizing you said that out loud. You don’t want him to leave but have no clue what to say next. Instinctively, you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“You’ve been wearing that hoodie a lot…I can buy you more if you like—”

“No thank you.”

Your shoulders shrink. You know it’s not right, but throwing money at your problems has worked out pretty well for you thus far. Not to mention, it’s a lot easier than being emotionally vulnerable. But if money wasn’t going to solve this, your hand’s been forced to try the other way.

“I miss you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, with your fear of being rejected growing by the minute.

The wolf simply scoffs.

“Miss me? You mean you miss having a little pet following all your commands.”

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of Namjoon’s words to keep composure.

Relax. Jungkook’s a bit difficult to win over, but it’s not impossible. He’s still a sweetheart once he lets you in—really lets you in, without the drugs making him.

Drugs or no drugs, you’ve seen the way he looks at his Alpha with stars in his eyes, or the way he pouts to his Jin hyung when he wants something. Despite the cold front he’s put up with you, he’s as warm as ever to his packmates. There’s still hope as long as you keep trying.

“That’s not true, Jungkook. You can’t just decide what I’ve been feeling and make your judgements based on that. It’s not fair.”

He narrows his eyes, bringing his arms up across his chest in a defensive stance.

“You can’t miss what you’ve never known.”

“I miss you telling me your favorite parts of the shows you’ve watched…or ranking the snacks in the pantry…or just coming by to tell me about your day. Was all of that really just the drugs? Would the real you really be so miserable hanging out with me? Do you hate me that much?”

You try to hold it back, but your eyes start watering right as you say the last sentence. Luckily, no tears spill.

Jungkook is taken aback nonetheless, not expecting the answer he got. His eyes soften up ever so slightly, but not enough to douse the fire of unease you’re burning under.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffs, playing with where his hands meet inside the hoodie instead of meeting your gaze, “and I like living here. But I’m not going to wait for you at the door like a little puppy anymore. And I’m not going to expect you to treat me like my packmates do. You’re not a part of our pack.”

He’s not giving you a lot, but you’re grasping tight at the little assurance he does give. For now, a “I don’t hate you” seems like the best thing you’re going to get from him—and you’re not in any position to complain.

“I understand!” This time, you seem like the lost little puppy, wagging your tail for any approval you can get, “I’m not trying to impose on your pack. I know it’s not my place. I just…want to be friends? Whenever you’re ready to consider me one, I’ll be here.”

You don’t give him any time to respond, as the tears threatening to spill down have you brushing past before the hybrid fully processes what just happened.

Friend.

Somewhere between packmate and total stranger.

Jungkook’s never had a real one before.

He’d never had friends or family before the pack. Just an abandoned stray moving from one back alley to the next. The last time someone asked him to be “friends” was a couple months after he’d just turned eighteen—a wealthy Alpha looking for a fighter to make money off of. He’d agreed, desperate to get off the streets. It wasn’t a bad gig, but it didn’t exactly leave him feeling good either.

Days of nonstop practicing, and nights of nonstop fighting, all so his “friend” could squeeze every last dollar from the matches.

The other fighters didn’t want anything to do with him, with his constant wins getting on everyone else’s nerves. And everyone else in town didn’t want anything to do with him either, with his bloodied and bruised appearance not doing any favors. He got used to the routine—accepted that real friends weren’t in his cards, and that there was probably no pack waiting for him. A true lone wolf.

And he would’ve lived his entire life that way if his last opponent wasn’t such a sore loser. Well, specifically, if his sponsor wasn’t such a sore loser. He still flinches at the memory of being chased down those alleys, hearing gunshots followed by car alarms and shattering glass. It was ten on one, with half of them being wolves he’d defeated in the ring—all working to get their sponsor his money back.

He’d barely managed to escape, gripping where a bullet wound grazed his bloody leg, as he ran without looking back. He only stopped running when the adrenaline couldn’t keep him going any longer, finding himself lost in a neighboring town when his knees finally gave in.

That’s the first time he met Jimin and Taehyung, fingers interlocked and lost in each other’s company. They would’ve missed him if the streetlamp had fully gone out, but thankfully, the little flicker in the night was enough for Jimin’s eyes to meet that of the injured wolf.

If he wasn’t in searing pain, he would’ve felt the pull of the pack bond right when the other two did. But he couldn’t feel anything other than where the bullet ever-so-slightly missed, causing him to kick and scream the entire time the wolves tried to help.

“Relax, please relax. We need to stop the bleeding. What’s your name?”

“Get the fuck away from me. I swear to God I’ll break your bones if you keep touching me.”

Saying he was difficult is an understatement, but the two managed to pin him down just long enough to give emergency first aid.

That was the beginning of the long and messy road to adjusting Jungkook to the pack, navigating his hot temper and short fuse as the rest assured him the pull wasn’t temporary—that this pack, this family, would embrace him with enough love and tenderness to make up for all the years he’d been alone.

To you, to everyone outside, this Jungkook might seem difficult…but only he and his pack know just how gentle he is compared to his old self.

But the idea of this not being enough—of having to compete with the docile imitation of himself that the hormones made him—it was terrifying.

You said you wanted to be friends, but could anyone not bound by a pack bond truly accept Jungkook for the way he is? When there’s really nothing in it for them?

That’s never happened before.

____

A/N: It's good to be back!!!

Permanent Taglist: @skyys-universee @morelovefortn @seagulljk @shadowyjellyfishfest @m4gg13-g @wittyreader

Series Taglist [CLOSED]: @welcometomyworld13 @kalala22 @fxirytaetae @btsfluffsworld @belikejk @shycreationdreamland @danielle143 @singukieee @blackrockshooter780 @g-b-artist @i-have-no-life-charlie @sopemee @no-regrets-just-confusion @acciocriativity @ldysmfrst @amara-mars @caelumwrites @estrellaburnxd @borahaetelevision @on-1ce @fuckthinking @jaiele

#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #bts ot7 poly #ot7 x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #hurt/comfort

[lexsssu]

Odd (Hiroki Dan)

TAGS: Dan/F!reader, yandere, possessiveness, obsession, breeding, impregnation, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

Dan was always…odd.

Even when you were both still young preteens fumbling their way through puberty and middle school, there was always something about him that stood out from the rest of the student body.

Sure, he was smart, handsome, and came from a good family especially with his father being the current superintendent general at the police force. He had all the qualities that ensured his constant popularity, but despite how amicable he was towards your peers he always retreated back into himself.

.

.

.

At least, that was when it came to everyone else that is.

Because the biggest oddity you could find in him is his blatant need to ALWAYS be around you.

Whether he was merely within your immediate vicinity or engaging with you in some way, the dark-haired male was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The eyes are the windows to the soul and for someone like him who was a master at molding his expressions in whatever face he needed at the moment, his eyes clearly revealed how genuine he was towards you.

Perhaps you should be scared, especially when his expressive eyes widen and dilate whenever your eyes meet with him for even a second. How it seems as if he’d been staring at you for long periods of time without you even noticing how heated his gaze was, but…

Was it bad that you found his attention…endearing? 

Flattering even that such an eligible man such as him only had you in his eyes?

Dan never did anything that made you feel uncomfortable, but rather knowing that you had his eternal attention almost felt like a safety blanket was wrapped around you and that there was never really anything for you to fear. He is a gentleman first and foremost, but the longing within his eyes are unmistakable and the genuine smiles he bestows upon you wear down the walls you’ve placed around your heart little by little.

That is why is there really any surprise that you’re wedded beneath the sakura blossoms as soon as you’ve both graduated highschool? 

To most people, marrying so early seemed like such an archaic practice or that you were both throwing your lives away so early. 

Such a thought never passed through your mind however and much less your husband for that matter. If anything, both his family and yours were very supportive of your decision as they had all been witness to the love you both shared for one another through all these years. Plus, it also helps that his family was well-off enough and Dan himself driven enough that your father had no qualms handing you over to his new son-in-law because he knew that you’d certainly be taken care of and cherished.

However, as much as you were grateful to the family and friends that celebrated your union, nothing could still overcome the happiness that overflowed from your heart as you met this man at the altar and exchanged vows and a kiss to seal your everlasting love to one another.

Dan was certainly odd…but you loved him all the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The doctor said that this is the best position to allow my seed to reach your womb and we’d be remiss if we didn’t follow her instructions. Besides, Masahiro deserves a new sibling, don’t you think so? I long to see you again growing ripe with my child…your breasts filling up with such fine drink that I’m already salivating just thinking about it…”

You don’t know what happened during work to set him off like this, but you weren’t complaining as Dan did his utmost best to practically rearrange your guts with how hard he was bearing down on you. The pillow he’d slipped beneath your hips just moments ago certainly helped as skin smacked against skin and bodily fluids dripped and stained the once pristine bedsheets.

The handsome investigator’s usually combed dark hair was in disarray as strands clung to his sweat-stained face, his movements & expression reeking of desperation and overflowing affection as he sought to get his cock as deep into you as he could. With luscious thighs wrapped around his narrow waist, hands raking against his strong back leaving faint red lines, and your lips kissed and bitten until it shone a bright reddish color, Hiroki knew that this might as well have been heaven.

For it is everything he wanted and dreamed of.

A precious young son sleeping in his own room, and the love of his life: his sweet little wife who still cared for him in spite of his need to ‘commit good deeds.’

And now that the newest member of your family was actively being made, Hiroki would make sure to continue his mission to cleanse the world of the filth that dared taint its goodness.

“ Leave it to me, darling. I’ll rack up enough ‘good deeds’ for you and all our future children so that you may all live without fears or worries… ”

With your face buried in the crook of his neck as you slept on top of him, his cock still stuffed inside your sopping cunt in order to prevent any of his seed from slipping out, the man smiled and closed his eyes and followed you into the land of dreams.

#lexsssu writes #Brutal Satsujin Keisatsukan no Kokuhaku #hiroki dan #hiroki dan x reader #hiroki dan x you #hiroki dan x y/n #yandere x reader #crossposted on ao3

[dyaz-stories]

don't get cut on my edges || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Gojo is easily bored, you're the latest enigma that's caught his interest. He sets off in trying to figure you out. Lucky for him, you're coming on the week-end trip Shoko's planned for the week-end.

“Was I off script?”

You look up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

word count: 5.4k

genre: college!AU, fluff, slice of life

cw: unresolved sexual and romantic tension, reader has anxiety and is socially awkward, she/her is used for the reader, a little suggestive, overall very sweet and fluffy

a/n: this was fun to write! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy my writing here :)

soundtrack

Gojo knows that people talk, knows that they talk shit, knows that there isn’t a soul on campus that doesn’t have an opinion on him. He can tell that eyes follow him around when he walks into a room, that his presence is enough to shift the atmosphere at a gathering, that some people roll their eyes at him while others try their best to catch his attention. It’s a lot to take in, for just one person.

Fortunately, he’s proved to be incredibly gifted in the art of not giving a fuck.

Then again, he’s incredibly gifted in most areas of life. Truth be told, he thinks people aren’t giving him enough credit for that. Sure, they tend to know that he’s a physics major, but that’s just tangential to what they know about the rest of him. He’s not just kinda good at physics, not some dude that goes to college mostly for the parties and then get a meaningless job at daddy’s company, no, he’s the fucking best, and he works fucking hard to be able to claim that title.

But that doesn’t really fit in with the rest of him, and at the end of the day, who cares? He certainly doesn’t.

With all that, it’s not statistically unlikely for him to catch people talking about him.

Well, he’d have to conduct a detailed study to calculate the exact odds, but with how much alcohol is in his blood at this very moment, it makes sense to him that it would happen.

Still, for people to be talking about him at a party he is at, in front of an open window, you’d think they would have some sense of shame. Not that he has any room to talk, because shame is not part of his vocabulary, but like. Come on.

“Gojo really can’t take not being in the spotlight for more than ten seconds, huh?”

That voice, he’s quick to identify, even if he can’t see her face from where’s he’s standing under the porch, belongs to Mei Mei. Aw. Bummer. They’d spent quite a lot of time around each other, have friends in common, slept— Wait, have they slept together? He can’t say for sure anymore. It seems to have slipped from his mind. Oops. Maybe that’s why he’s getting that treatment. Maybe he deserves it.

There’s a scoff, and really, the acoustic of this place are impressive. It feels like he’s straight in the room with those people.

“What else do you expect from someone who’s always had everything served to him on a silver platter?”

And that would be Noritoshi Kamo. Man. That was one of the few kids in the families his parents insisted on frequenting. They used to be sat next to each other at the kiddie table while the adults talked about the important stuff. They never had much in common — not then, not now. And, after all, maybe Noritoshi has a point, after all. His mother wasn’t a mistress, wasn’t turned into an outcast, and he’s never had to pretend he didn’t hear the loud whispers that tarnished her name. Yeah. Sounds like these two aren’t saying anything new after all. Not that he’s gonna change, y’know, but he already knows who he is, and he is all that.

“That seems like a very mean thing to say about a friend,” a quiet voice comments.

The world freezes.

A silhouette appears to go along with the voice, then a blurry face, then the picture becomes clearer. A figure sitting next to Shoko, giving him sweet, polite smiles when he approaches. Not chatty, kinda shy, pretty cute. Would get quiet when he was near, though, so he hadn’t paid a ton of attention. He’s used to giving it to people who asked for it, who wanted it.

You’d never asked.

But you’re… not wrong. He’s not sure why he hadn’t picked up on it himself. It is a mean thing to say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mei Mei protests, “I love Gojo, but you know I’m right about this.”

“Yeah, and I’ve known him my whole life,” Kamo adds. “It’s just a fact, we’re not talking shit.”

There’s a silence. Gojo’s invested now.

“I don’t know him that well,” you say. “Like I said. It’s just a mean thing to say about someone you hang out with every day.”

“Come on, don’t act like—”

“I think I’m going to go, actually,” you say. “This feels super shitty.”

“What the fuck was that?” Mei Mei laughs, just a second later — presumably after you’ve left the room.

“She wants to fuck him, I guess,” Kamo says.

Well, you’re making one hell of a headway then, because he’d do you so hard after that.

When he walks back in, you’re chatting with Shoko. You give him your usual, close-lipped smile, don’t quite make eye-contact. If you’re trying to get in his pants, you have a very original way of getting it done.

“Who was your friend again?” he asks Shoko, later that night. She answers without looking up from her phone.

“She doesn’t talk much when there are new people around,” she warns him. “Leave her alone.”

“When have I ever bothered anyone—”

She reaches to smack the back of his head, misses and gets the nape of his neck — that’s the downside about being so tall, there’s just a lot of him to hit.

“Don’t make her uncomfortable. That’s all I’m asking.”

He wasn’t planning on that. He’s just— curious. Intrigued.

It’s unlikely to last, though. He’s been known to get bored easily.

You’re already in the car when he gets in. Well, okay, when he gets shoved inside by Todo, despite his protests that his legs are too long for the backseat. You’ve squeezed yourself in the middle seat, with Shoko on one side, and him on the other now. There’s a bag of snacks in your lap, yet you still try to shift yourself to give him a little more room. It doesn’t help at all, but in your defense, the only thing that could help would be to buy a new car.

“Is everyone ready?” Suguru asks as he adjusts the rearview mirror.

“Sure,” Shoko says.

“Let’s go!” Todo shouts.

“No,” Gojo whines.

“Yeah,” you say, completely drowned out under the rest.

“Good,” Suguru hums as he starts the engine.

Gojo pouts, but he doesn’t insist. Well, he doesn’t make any more of a scene than he already has. Truth be told, he could have taken Todo — dude might be all brute force, but Gojo has brains and brawns, thank you very much.

But he’s curious, still, and he hasn’t been given enough information to quite satiate his curiosity. Everything he’s gathered about you says that you mind your business and keep to your corner.

So why did you say that to Mei Mei and Kamo? It makes no sense, but Gojo’s never met an equation he couldn’t solve.

That’s an overstatement. Obviously there are equations he can’t solve. Yet. He’s sure he’d figure it out eventually. Like he’ll figure you out. See? That metaphor does make sense.

Suguru’s music is playing in the car. The sun is still low in the sky, the day is quickly getting warmer, and the phone says that they’ll be at the beach in two hours.

Satoru closes his eyes. Fun fact about him? He can fall asleep anywhere he wants to.

He wakes up with his face smooshed against the window, a hand tapping his shoulder carefully.

“We’re here,” you say, giving him a smile and then shuffling to leave the car from the other side.

Todo’s already running towards the beach, while Suguru and Shoko are getting the bags out of the trunk. Somehow, Shoko manages to sling a bag over his shoulder, but he takes off before she can stuff the cool box containing all the drinks in his arms.

He then lies to Todo to get him back to the car, so that he can carry the damn thing. Shoko better thank him later for that.

He catches up with you, and he sees your eyes widen a little when he approaches, as you visibly search for something to say. He can’t resist the temptation to shoot you a grin. There’s a light breeze in the air, but he won’t be fooled that easily — with his skin, he’s going to need an insane amount of sunscreen, if he wants to survive the day. Which makes him think, actually—

“Wanna help me apply sunscreen?” he asks.

“Huh?” you say.

He leans towards you, looks into your eyes from over his sunglasses. You appear to be fully frozen in place, only swallowing once as he gets closer. His grin gets wider as he takes in all of you, and he’s once more fascinated by the idea that you had been able to say something to Mei Mei and Kamo but you can barely face him.

His gaze drops to your parted lips.

Then the bottle of sunscreen smashes against his cheek with impressive precision.

“Todo can help you put that on!” Shoko offers as Suguru starts setting up a parasol. “Right, Todo?”

“Of course I will, my brother,” Todo say as he appears, but by then, Satoru has already started running for his life.

“Just kick him in the balls if he pulls something like that again,” Shoko says.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you reply, shaking your head in mild horror. “I just— I don’t— know— how to react sometimes. But he doesn’t bother me.”

That statement has her raising an eyebrow at you, filled with doubt, but she doesn’t insist.

“Play nice,” she does warn Satoru once more, later on. “Don’t push it too much.”

“Aw, Shoko, are you saying you wouldn’t approve of me?”

“Do whatever you want to,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “but give her more space. She’s not used to you being… you.”

Satoru rests his chin on his knee. He’s taking refuge under the parasol for now, and you’re already in the waves with Todo and Suguru. You seem comfortable with Todo, laughing at something he said, less so with Suguru. It all looks like a lot of work, all to satiate his curiosity. He’s all about committing to the bit but— he doesn’t know about that one.

This, too, all this thinking and questioning, is a lot of work, though, so he ends up shrugging it off.

“Are we getting in or what?”

“Absolutely not. No— Gojo— Don’t you fucking dare— Gojo!”

Shoko’s full-on shrieking by the time he throws her in the water. You burst out laughing. She comes out screaming for revenge, and Gojo starts scampering around to try and avoid her.

The sun is high in the sky, there’s a light breeze.

The time is good.

“Satoru!” Suguru calls when the watch on his wrist starts beeping, “it’s been two hours!”

It takes a second for the information to reach his brain, but the second he understands it, Gojo’s sprinting back towards the parasol at full speed. You look up, surprised, from the towel on which you’re lying with a book. Shoko doesn’t even bother with lifting an eyelid to see what’s going on.

“You okay?” you ask.

Ah, so she does speak.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, ruffling through a bag. “Just need to reapply some sunscreen. I’m not trying to look like a lobster.”

“Oh,” you say, “so, did you want me to help you with that?”

His fingers finally close around the bottle, and he stills to look at you. Shit. He’s curious again. Shoko’s words are swirling around in his mind, though, and he has no interest in forcing your hand.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to do that,” he says with uncharacteristic caution.

You roll your lips together, glance away from him, and your hand curls into a fist in the sand.

“No, it’s just— Um, I’m sorry about earlier. You— caught me off guard, I guess. I couldn’t figure out what to answer.”

“I usually just go with whatever appears through my head first,” he shrugs as he comes to crouch in front of you — you in the sun, him in the shade.

You laugh softly, but you avert your eyes, focusing on the sand as you trace patterns in it.

“Yeah, I think that’s the preferred method, but it— doesn’t— really work for me. So I have— I have a script, kind of, for interactions.”

“And I was off script?”

You glance back up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

For a moment, he just looks into your eyes, and you look back without any of that earlier nervousness. Then you shrink back into yourself, and the smile that so rarely leaves your lips reappears, like a shield that comes back up.

“Sorry. I know— I know how silly this sounds. I also wish I didn’t feel the need to do that, I just, um—”

“All good,” he replies with a shrug. “Sure. Help me with that.”

He throws you the bottle and you miss it, and he can feel you eyerolling at his back without needing to turn around, but when he shoots you a grin from over his shoulder, he can see how your breath catches in your throat.

Softly, your hand goes over his back, your touch gentle and cautious. It feels quite nice, actually, especially when your nails brush over his skin.

“It’s not too cold?” you ask.

“All good,” he repeats.

Shit. He’s invested again.

“Okay, we have the tickets, we have the water bottles, we have the hats, we have flat shoes, we have Gojo, we have the car keys—”

“I’m sorry, why was I just in the middle of a list of belongings?”

“We have cellphones and portable batteries… I think we’re good,” Shoko concludes, fully ignoring him.

“You don’t think we’re just a touch overprepared?” Suguru asks.

“You can never overprepare, my brother,” Todo says, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “If you want to triumph in the face of adversity, you need to know everything about the enemy.”

Suguru opens his mouth, closes it again. He knows how to pick his battles.

Gojo doesn’t.

“We’re going to a festival, not trying to breech the Pentagon,” he deadpans, and then, from the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you’re laughing. He delights in how you lower your head and try to keep it discreet.

“You never know what—”

“If I have to hear a second more of this nonsense, I swear to God I’ll kill someone here,” Shoko announces cheerfully. “Let’s move.”

Finally, after a good fifteen minutes by the door of the Airbnb you’ve all spent the night in, you start moving.

The good news is that you don’t have to get in the car, in the smothering heat, to get on the overcrowded streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. The bad news is that you have to walk there, in the smothering heat, near the streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. Suguru’s in charge of the map, which everyone seems happy with. Gojo had offered to do it, too, and there’s not a shred of doubt that he’d be able to read it competently, but Shoko had insisted the risk of him taking everyone to the wrong place ‘just because it would be funny’ was too high.

She’d been right but like, that was still rude.

The march in the heat and the waiting in line, while painful and unpleasant, as Gojo makes sure everyone around him is well aware of, go pretty smooth. Everything is planned and accounted for. There’s a game plan once they make it into the festival, too, because of course there is, but that’s when things start going south. First, Todo tries to go rogue when he spots someone wearing Takada merch. She’s not performing here, but he’s heard rumors that there would be a stand for her, and he lurches towards the woman. He’d get lost in the crowd immediately if not for Gojo’s lightning fast reflexes.

Unfortunately, soon enough it’s Gojo’s turn to get distracted. What can he say, there’s the smell of sugar in the air, and he needs to know where it’s coming from. Suguru’s the one to get him back on track, as they all head towards the main stage. Because that’s what Shoko’s grand plan leads to: sweet, sweet, close-up spots to watch the Sorcerers, headliners for the festival and also unarguably greatest band of all times, with minimum wait before their show.

There are a couple other close calls, but the group manages to get close enough to the stage. There are people here already, but they’re here for other artists mostly, and they’ll no doubt move quite a bit before the start of the real show. From where they are, even you and Shoko will be able to— Wait a minute.

“Huh,” Gojo say. “Hey, Shoko, do you happen to see (y/n) around?”

“If you can’t see her from up there, why would you think I— Fuck.”

“A fallen soldier,” Todo sighs somberly. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for—"

“We should go get her,” Shoko interrupts him. She’s biting her lower lip, staring at her phone. She looks quite worried, Gojo notices as he stares at her.

“Why isn’t it enough to just text her?” Gojo asks. It’s not ideal, and it won’t be easy to find the group in the middle of this sea of people, but it’s not impossible.

“I just— I don’t know if she’ll want to deal with all that” she gestures at the crowd “alone. I’m afraid she’ll say she doesn’t mind and then she won’t have a good time.”

Gojo tilts his head. It wouldn’t cross his mind to say something he doesn’t mean. It’s an incredibly weird thought, actually. But Shoko’s better than him at, well, people, and she might have a point. He also doesn’t want you to have a bad time, after all. With one last glance at the stage, he nods at her.

“I’ll go get her.”

“Are you sure?” Suguru asks. “I can go, if you want me to. It’s your band.”

As if it isn’t his, too. But Gojo shrugs. His attention span is fleeting, and he’s got his sights on something else right now.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll make it back.”

“Thanks,” Shoko says sincerely.

He waves vaguely at her before making his way back through the crowd, earning his fair share of nasty glances. He still doesn’t care.

A few minutes later, he receives a text from Shoko with a screengrab where you say you’re getting something to eat. Sure enough, he has no trouble finding you waiting in line. You’re typing on your phone, not paying attention to your surroundings, and he’s grinning already. He lets himself half fall on you, arm wrapping around your body as he drops his chin onto your shoulder. You jump, glancing back bewildered, but you don’t stay tense long once you see it’s him.

Which makes him feel things, actually, but he’ll unpack that later.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, brow furrowing. “I thought you guys would be in front of the stage by now.”

“I came to rescue the princess, obviously,” he says, and you laugh. You laugh a lot when he talks, instead of rolling your eyes like people usually do.

Maybe you’re a bit too good of an audience.

“I don’t need rescuing, Gojo,” you answer, and it’s interesting how calm your voice is. “It’s packed too tight for me in here. I told Shoko but…” You shrug. “It’s not always easy to understand how it is. For me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t get it at all.”

Your shoulder’s pretty comfortable, though. And you haven’t tried to get him off of you yet.

“Do you want to order something, too?” you ask, pointing at the food stand. They sell waffles, and just the smell has his mouth watering. “Strawberries and whipped cream, right?”

Gojo pauses.

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it. A few times, actually.”

He’s sure he has, but—

“You were listening to that?”

You blink at him. He realizes how close your face is, with his head on your shoulder.

“Of course I was. You were talking.”

“Shoko didn’t tell you? It’s like, rule number one of being around me, don’t listen to the stuff I say. There’s a lot of dumb shit in there.”

You tilt your head, looking kind of confused.

“I still want to hear what you’re saying.”

Something inside him feels warm all of a sudden. Very warm.

“Yeah,” he says, but his throat is tight. “Strawberries and whipped cream.”

When you step forward to they can take your order, he begrudgingly gets off your shoulder, which allows him to swipe his card before you can get to it.

“I had that,” you protest while he bites into the insane amount of whipped cream in his waffle — he asked for more until the guy behind the counter looked like he was going to murder him.

“I had it first,” he says, and then he sticks his tongue out at you. He anticipates your laugh this time, finds himself waiting on it. When it comes, it sounds just like he wanted it to.

For a while, the two of you sit on a fence. You hand him a water bottle, say that he needs to stay hydrated. With no one else around, you don’t seem to have such a hard time speaking. You’re so quiet when everyone’s there and, well, him and Todo take up a lot of space, when it comes to conversation. Neither Suguru nor Shoko struggle with making their voices heard either, and in the middle of all that, you tend to stay silent. Apparently, that doesn’t stop you from listening.

“Shouldn’t you be going back?” you ask, after a while.

Gojo tilts his head as he thinks about it.

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s find some place where you can enjoy the show.”

“You don’t have to—”

A grin, and then he’s jumping from the fence to come stand in front of you. Even like that, he doesn’t have to look up to meet your eyes.

“And how d’you plan on stopping me?”

Your eyes go wide. He can almost hear your heart racing, and he thinks he’s starting to get a little too high on that feeling. It’s just so easy, so fun, so delicious.

“Okay,” you squeak, averting your eyes and jumping down after him, clearly trying to hide your reaction. “Okay, I’m coming.”

When you start walking by his side, grabbing your hand is just too easy not to do it.

“Wouldn’t want you to run away again,” is what he says as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

You still refuse to look at him, but there is no actual discomfort in your reaction, just what he thinks is uncertainty about how you’re supposed to behave now.

“Have I gone off script again?” he practically purrs.

You glance up, a flash of amusement on your face. Lots of fondness, too, and this time he’s the one who gets caught up in it.

“You haven’t been on script once today.”

“Good,” he says, managing to pass off the emotion that just choked him for a second there as impatience. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“I’m always on my toes,” you mumble behind him, but you can’t explain to him what anxiety feels like, so you just let him drag you away. His fingers are long, his hand engulfs yours easily. You like the feeling of it more than you should.

Your eyes are on Gojo’s broad back as he pulls you through the crowd, which parts effortlessly for him. You’re enjoying this.

You don’t think it’s going to last.

Gojo doesn’t think about that though, just like he rarely thinks about tomorrows. What he’s thinking about, as he keeps far, far away from the stage, is how to find a place with enough air around for the two of you. It’s easy for him to get a good look at the stage, and he earns his fair share of pissed off glares — “Seriously, it should be illegal to come to an open-air stage when you’re that tall” — but it takes more work to get the perfect space for you. Finally, his eagle eyes figure out some place that’s just perfect, and he beelines for it with you in tow.

“There,” he says, pulling you in front of him and putting his head on top of yours, just to check that the line of sight is good enough.

Ha. He nailed it.

“Thanks,” you say. There’s surprise in your tone.

“Is this a good spot for you?” he checks, but really, he just wants to hear you praise him?

“It is, but— I thought you said you didn’t get it? My—” You gesture vaguely. “—struggle. With all that stuff.”

Oh right. You actually listen to what he says. He needs to keep that in mind for the future.

“Does it matter?” he asks with a shrug.

You stare. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, and then the crowd starts absolutely howling and you spin around to see the Sorcerersget on the stage. Whatever moment there was there, is forgotten right away. He sees you fish in your bag for your phone, then raise it over your head and tiptoe around, trying to get a good photo.

It’s cute, it’s adorable even, but it’s not very efficient.

“Do you want some help here?” he asks, leaning close to your ear so you can hear him over all the noise.

Your body shivers into him, and he files that away for later.

“Um, yeah,” you shout over the noise. “Here, could you—”

But he pays no attention to the way you offer him your cellphone, and instead he’s bending down, and ignoring your surprised protest as he pushes his head between your legs.

He bench presses a hell of a lot more than he looks like he does, for the record.

With a grunt, he manages to get you up on his shoulders, and some people behind him complain loudly, but whatever, they can wait for you to get the perfect picture. You struggle to stabilize yourself for a dangerous second, and then you stop moving around for a second. Your thighs are supple and warm under his hands and around his head.

One more thing to remember.

“I’m good, I’m good, get me down,” you say quickly, just as he’s storing the thought away.

You seem relieved when your feet get back on the ground, and Satoru lets his hands linger on your waist.

“Was it a nice pic?” he asks. He knows he’s all red in the face, but he’s grinning so wide it almost hurts, actually.

“Perfect,” you squeak. “Thank you. Again.”

Aw. He’s going to get used to that word real quick.

A familiar guitar riff comes from the stage, and you turn away from him once more, but his hands are still on your waist. He uses that to pull you against him and this time, you don’t hesitate to let yourself lean back against him as the two of you move in rhythm with the music.

The concert is a blur after that. There’s a lot of singing, a lot of screaming, basically no time to catch a breath, because the Sorcerers are fucking beasts that don’t let up, not even for a second. At some point, you tell him something, but he can’t really hear, so you crane your neck back and he lowers his head. Your lips brush against his neck, an accident really, but it sends such a jolt of electricity through him, he thinks he’ll go into full overdrive.

The only thing that stops him from chasing after your lips immediately after that is Shoko’s voice, going around in his mind. ‘Don’t push it.’ What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

You move away, and he still has no clue what you were saying. If after that, his hands hold your hips a little tighter, if he pulls you a little closer, he can’t be blamed. If, during one of the more sulfurous song of the show, as you’re swaying against him, humming along to the song, his lips find your neck, he doesn’t want to hear about it.

When he presses a kiss right by your jaw, you turn to look at him. You’re pretty. He’s always thought you were pretty.

Fuck Shoko, he thinks, and he’s ready to put his mouth on yours, to slide his tongue between your parted lips that have looked so inviting this entire week-end, when the riff of the band’s most popular song starts playing, and he loses you attention once more.

Cock-blocked by his favorite band. Fuck his life.

When the song ends, there’s movement in the crowd as the band gets off the stage and people start chanting for an encore. In Shoko’s fool proof, perfect plan, this is when you’re supposed to start leaving. Gojo doesn’t want to — how is he supposed to do anything about how much he wants his mouth on you once you’re back with the other — but this time you grab his hand and pull him away from the stage and he has even less of a clue of what he’s supposed to do about that.

You get to the meeting point before Shoko, Todo and Suguru, which makes sense, considering you were much further from the stage than them. It’s a specific pole that Shoko had pointed to as you were first getting in, and the urge to push you against it and to taste your lips is strong. Gojo isn’t typically one to ignore that kind of feeling. He just goes for it, doesn’t let his brain get in the way too much. He’s not sure what it is with you and your doe eyes and your sweet smile that makes him act different.

Whatever it is, it makes him ask “Did you have a good time?” instead of kissing you senseless behind the pole while watching to make sure Shoko doesn’t catch him in the act.

“It was amazing,” you say. “I don’t think— I don’t think I’d have gotten that close without you.”

“Did I force your hand?” he asks, frowning.

“No, no, that was great, actually.” And there it comes, his favorite words, and then he’ll kiss you. “Thank—”

“There you guys are!”

You have got to be kidding him. The Gods of timing are so set against him, he must have done something to piss them off badly in another life.

“Okay, we should start heading towards the exit,” Shoko announces.

“Nah, we ‘re staying until the end,” Gojo says, burying his hands, balled into fists, in his pockets. He’s being needlessly belligerent, but whatever, she deserves it, whether she knows it or not.

“Don’t be a dick,” she glares.

He smiles at her. And he doesn’t budge.

“We’ll run,” you say, stepping in. “I’m sure we can still beat the crowd if we run.”

She narrows her eyes at you, then at Gojo.

“You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

So many delicious thoughts coming to him, and he can’t do anything about it. Damn it all.

Of course, it ends with the five of you sprinting on the lawn and all the way back to the house. Of course, he doesn’t catch five seconds with you after that. Of course, your face is on his mind the whole night.

Of course, because it’s just his luck, isn’t it, in the morning, Shoko tells him you had to catch a flight early in the morning.

“I told you, don’t you remember? She’s going back to her family for the summer.”

Of course, he doesn’t.

Ah, whatever. It bothers him for a minute, but then the day continues unfolding, and the sun’s warm, it’s the peak of summer, and he only really knew you for a couple of days. He’ll see how he feels about it when college starts up again in the fall. He’s not known for sticking with things, anyway. He’ll probably forget; you probably won’t capture him again like you did; it was probably a fluke.

That, or these will become famous last words.

sequel

thank you so much for reading! i had a ton of fun writing gojo's pov and i hope you enjoyed it too, even if i'm still finding his voice :) please reblog or comment if you've enjoyed this, i'd love to hear from you! getting readers' feedback on my writing is what keeps me motivated to write so if you'd like to read more from me, that's the way to do it!

tagging the people who expressed interest in this: @elidebrey @xstom @chosospookiebear @xmysticredx

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #my writing #gojo imagine #jjk imagine #jjk x y/n

[nkplanet]

WHICH TROPE ARE YOU?

PAIRING: enhypen x gn!reader SUMMARY: what trope do you and the enhypen members share? WARNINGS: a smidge of angst in jungwon + heeseung’s, all set in high school apart from jay + heeseung’s, implied toxic parents in jungwon’s, written on my phone so the formatting might be weird

NOTE: thank u sm for all the love on my last post and 155 followers!! i rlly appreciate you guys 🫶🫶 also i’m definitely gonna rewrite some of these as actual fics bc i love them (looking at u jungwon and niki)

— HEESEUNG 희승 — second chance romance personally i’m not a big fan of this trope but it just fits heeseung so well like ??? hello yes i would give u a second chance. there’s no doubt in my mind that cheating would not be involved, instead it was something that happened when you two were young and immature, but when you meet again you’ve grown and can continue to do so together

it had ended awfully the first time. neither of you were particularly mature, and a heated argument had caused your entire relationship had come crashing down. sixteen year old you would always regret the way you gave heeseung the cold shoulder for a reason you couldn’t even remember, and the way you had both yelled and screamed at each other. you hadn’t spoken for years when, all of a sudden, you bumped into him in a cafe. then at work. in the park. after six years of no contact, he was everywhere. it was like the universe was telling you to give him another chance. eventually, your walls crumbled, and heeseung made his way back into your heart. the two of you had never been happier.

others under the cut!

— JAY 제이 — fake dating jay is perfect for this trope imo, especially when it comes to fake dating at a wedding. put me in a psych ward bc whenever i think abt him in a suit i go insane. also your whole family would love him because he’s such a gentleman. he’s so perfect

it was your aunts wedding, and all of your siblings were bringing their significant others as plus ones. your brother had joked about how you’d be the only single one in the wedding party and, rather than face the humiliation, you lied and told him you did in fact have a boyfriend. it was a lie you forgot about until two weeks before the wedding, when your aunt mentioned being excited to meet the mysterious man. you panicked, running to tell jay about your issue. while you were contemplating telling your family that the mysterious man had broken up with you, jay said “why don’t i pretend to be your boyfriend? just for the day?” except, his fake boyfriend touches didn’t feel very fake. your aunt remarked that the two of you reminded her of herself and your new uncle when they were young. by the end of the night, you and jay were sharing kisses outside the reception. yeah, fake boyfriend my ass.

— JAKE 제이크 — you fell first, he fell harder jake seems like such a loser (affectionately) that he’d be the one to fall first, but just imagine that he doesn’t realise his feelings are romantic. he just thinks everyone sees their best friends that way and when he finds out otherwise? oh he’s head over heels in love with you. such a loser. i love him

the way you and jake interact is far from platonic. you had developed a crush on him when you were just fifteen, and since then you'd been trying to drop hints. when he started reciprocating your admittedly flirtatious gestures, you thought you had a chance, but he never made a move. in fact, jake never realised that he shared those feelings until one of his friends pointed out that the two of you were incredibly flirty with each other. he thought everyone saw their best friends as gorgeous, as an angel sent from above, as someone who they'd willingly spend the rest of their life with. after that it was hard for him to see you in any light other than romantic. when you asked him out he practically screamed yes. he is absolutely head over heels in love

— SUNGHOON 성훈 — opposites attract i was gonna pick grumpy x sunshine for him but he’s not exactly grumpy so opposites attract it is!! he’s reserved and only really lets loose around those he considers close, whereas you’re loud and bubbly with lots of friends. one of my fav tropes for a reason

sunghoon’s attention was brought to you via your laughter. it was loud and bright, and he’d never heard anything like it. since then, he’d yearned for the sound. though he lacked the confidence to actually ask you out, he began seeking your company. he’d study with you in the library, would offer to walk you home. things that friends do. you, on the other hand, were absolutely smitten. sunghoon was quiet and a little mysterious. you could never read him, and yet you were absolutely entranced by him. you thought he was absolutely gorgeous, perhaps one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. one day, while sunghoon was walking you home in the rain, you’d stopped and turned to face him. “what are we?” you’d asked. sunghoon remembers blanking immediately, not knowing how to reply. instead of words, he answered you with a kiss.

— SUNOO 선우 — best friend’s brother okay but imagine: you go over to ur best friends house and end up gossiping with their brother and all of a sudden,, he’s soooo attractive? and then he starts developing this crush but he can’t date you because you’re his siblings best friend. there’s probably be some secret dating involved (which i’m also a sucker for tbh)

you'd been harbouring a crush on sunoo for a while now, never acting on it because he was your best friend's brother. you looked forward to the weekly gossip sessions that the two of you shared when your friend left you together arguably more than you looked forward to seeing your friend (but don't tell her that). little did you know, sunoo felt the same. fleeting glances and not-so-platonic touches began growing between you two. eventually, sunoo asked you out. you wanted to say yes so badly but couldn't betray your friend like that. instead, you began dating in secret. it was only two months of sneaking around, 'jokingly' flirting, and kissing in places where she wouldn't see before she finally exploded, yelling that you two were gross but had her blessing. going public only increased the pda by tenfold, and people quickly grew sick of your sappy conversations. not that either of you cared, of course.

— JUNGWON 정원 — academic rivals turned lovers [full fic!] ACADEMIC RIVALS TURNED LOVERS!!!!! i love this trope sm and i think it fits won so well. i was gonna originally give this to niki but he wasn’t rlly in school. so. jungwon it is!! i can see you two as the top two in your year and always competing when one day it all comes crashing down for you. jungwon is suddenly? nice? and we go from there 🤭🤭

yang jungwon had never been the nicest person to you. sure, he was never really mean per-se, but the two of you were so competitive that nothing said was particularly nice. you and jungwon seemed to constantly be on par with each other academically, consistently being the top two students in your year. in english and sciences, you usually pulled ahead, while jungwon excelled in maths and other subjects. the rivalry between you was so tense that even the teachers tried to calm it down but to no avail. the reason behind your competitiveness was your parents. the pressure they put on you was immense, and one day you just broke. you’d had a fight with them, and the next day flunked a biology test. your grades began slipping from then on, and jungwon began to take notice. he stopped making quips, instead resorting to leaving some snacks or study tips on your desk when he thought you weren’t looking. he began giving you sympathetic looks until you eventually confronted him, telling him you didn’t want his pity. it wasn’t pity, though, it was worry. your relationship changed after that, no longer rivals but a little more than friends.

— NI-KI 니키 — childhood friends to lovers/first love OKAY HEAR ME OUT. u were childhood friends. niki realises his feelings and he’s all like oh no i can’t feel this way abt my bff :( and tried to pull away from u but ur like ??? yes tf and that’s how u become lovers

niki had been your closest friend for longer than you could remember. in both of your houses there sat baby pictures of the two of you together. you’d grown up together, going to all the same schools and most of the same clubs. in highschool, you were known as inseparable - if someone wanted one of you, they got both. but one day, niki started pulling away. it was fine, you told yourself, he was just growing up. you both were. but when he stopped answering your calls and texts and started actively avoiding you, you were hurt. you’d been by each others sides for so long that you didn’t really know how to live without him. the truth was, he’d discovered feelings that he’d never felt about anyone before. he knew he shouldn’t feel like this about his best friend, but he couldn’t help it. he was miserable without you, so much so that his friends were telling him to just ask you out. they told him that you definitely felt the same, so he took the leap. and thank god he did. you’re his first love, his everything.

#nkplanet 🪐 #nkplanet’s fics 🪐 #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fluff #enhypen comfort #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sim jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #ni ki x reader

[leighsartworks216]

Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out 😭😭😭

Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

Word Count: 1,041

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.

Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.

It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.

He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.

(“Distracted, are we?”

“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”

“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)

So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.

You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.

Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.

He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.

It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.

And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.

When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.

He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”

He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.

Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”

“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”

A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.

“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”

You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“But a nice bastard.”

“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”

And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.

---

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[viperrot]

⇁slasher season | leon kennedy | pt. 1

re4 remake ghostface!leon kennedy x fem!reader NSFW 18+

MINORS DNI: BEWARE OF THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

a few days have passed since you gave leon permission to be a lil creeper. the stage is set, and you thought you were ready, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

series content warnings: porn with little plot, cnc/dubcon, depictions of chase, stalking, knifeplay, size difference, and possibly more to be added

content contains: stalking, verbal and physical threats (threatens to unalive you), knifeplay, oral (fem-receiving), p in v, cnc, leon is trying to be mean, size difference, voyeurism, masturabation, degradation (use of “slut” and “bitch”), cervix kissing, unprotected sex, implied aftercare

not proofread i am going beddie bye time

????words

song rec: “voulez-vous” by johnny goth

i’m back from the grave. also 300+ FOLLOWS WHAT WHAT I LOVE YOU BIRDIES SO MUCH!! IM SO SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG T^T IVE HAD A HORRIBLE SUMMER BREAK.

You always felt a sense of shame when you tell your classmates that you don’t work often. At minimum, you work twelves hours a week, and it isn’t for college but more for yourself. It was hard to admit you hail from a well-off family, your rich aunties and uncles all pitching in for your college funding and your quaint apartment, so you never talked about your riches with your friends no matter how close, not wanting to make them feel less-than in anyway.

Time and time again, you’ve offered Leon help with his tuition and summer-class prices, and he always denied it, saying something gruff and mildly misogynistic like, “I don’t need a lady’s money” with a dumb expression. Instead of arguing, you put your extra coffee-shop money into food, clothes, and other gifts for your dear boyfriend, who works far more than you do.

And work means he’s not always around.

In the summer, he’s kicking around in a pool with a handful of little ones, teaching them how to swim “like a better Michael Phelps” as he’d stay at the pool for nearly twelve hours a day. When pool season is over, he's working at the bakery near downtown part-time or focusing on school. Despite the busy schedule year-round, Leon always found time for you, never passing an opportunity to snuggle in the nearly eight months of you dating.

You lazed away on your bed, the summer heat missing as a result of your precious air-con working its ass off in this weather. The bedroom was lit only by the afternoon sun which sparkled in from your balcony a few feet away from your queen-sized bed. You watched the clothes you hung up to dry sway in the gentle breeze as you laid on your side, hands tucked beneath your head as you dozed off.

Rrrrring! Rrrrring!

The sound of your phone going off catches you off guard, the call practically vibrating your entire bed. You sigh heavily and snatch the device from the cotton abyss of your duvet, the screen's brightness slightly stinging your corneas as you squint at it confused.

"Unknown Caller?" You mumble, trying to think of anyone that could be calling you at this time. "Maybe its something about college..." You swipe the screen to the right with your thumb, sitting up and bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" You greet questioningly, eyebrows furrowing together as your free hand comes down to fiddle with the hem of your oversized jumper.

"Hello?" A man's voice responds, deep with a slight rasp. Your confusion worsens.

"Can I help you...?"

"Who is this?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)," you respond curtly. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," they reply. Your lips tug into a slight frown.

"I think you have the wrong number, then. Have a good day!" With a feigned happiness, you quickly ended the phone call and slumped back down into your bed, the springs creaking as your weight pressed into the plush mattress. Your eyes begin to droop once more, breathing slow as you succumb to sleep.

Until the phone rings again.

You grunt and claw around for your cellular device once more, checking the screen to see it was from the same unknown caller. Your eyebrows knit together. Who is this?

“Hello..?”

“Hang up one more time, and I’ll fuckin’ slit your throat,” the mysterious man threatens, his words voiced through gritted teeth and a clenched throat. At that moment, everything clicks.

It’s Leon, your sweet and harmless boyfriend. Leon Scott Kennedy, a man who’s like a giant puppy, is threatening to kill you.

Your mouth grows dry as you ponder on what to say, eyes wide as your hand grips the phone to your ear tightly.

“I-I’m sorry…” You stammer, somehow terrified despite knowing exactly who was on the other end of the line.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart…” you can hear the slight apologetic tone through Leon’s voice changer, and it makes your heart flutter ever so slightly. Even so, he continues this cruel act of his. “I’ll spare you—for now, at least. How about you tell me a little about yourself, hm?” His honeyed voice made your thighs clench together.

“W-what do you… want to know…?” You swallow dryly, tongue pushing out to lick your chapped lips. You hear Leon hum in thought, and you can’t help but imagine him tapping his index finger against his chin.

“Mmm… you gotta boyfriend?” He coos.

“Y-yeah. He’s uhm… very sweet,” you respond shakily, breath hitching in your throat. “I-I’m waiting for him to come home n-n-now, actually!” you hear Leon chuckle at this.

“Really now? Is he making you wait long?” you notice a bit of background noise come through as he speaks, like foliage rustling in the wind. You make a noise signifying your agreement.

“A little, yeah… he works a lot, but I try not to make a big deal out of it,” you clear your throat.

“He leaves a pretty thing like you alone? How cruel,” the “stranger” notes, a teasing tone dripping from his tongue. “A girl with a body like that, I’d do anything in my power to be with you all the time, sweetheart,” your heart beats against your ribcage as you try to figure out what to say.

“How do you know what I look like?!” you sputter out, hoping he can’t somehow hear your blush through the phone. Leon lets out a soft snicker.

“You tend to leave your curtains drawn, bug,” you nearly laugh at his small slip-up, and you’re sure that he realized it too. Even then, you fake your distress, jumping out of your bed in a flurry to stumble into the living room of your quaint apartment. It was true—your curtains were pulled back to let in the golden light of the setting sun, blinds drawn up completely. You fumble with the strings and fabric, nearly falling as you shoo away the natural light from your home.

“You creep! I’ll call the cops-“

“And what? You think they’ll find me?”

“Th-they’ll keep watch of my neighbourhood, an-and-“

“Well, let’s hope they can keep watch of your actual apartment, cuz I’m already here, sweetheart,” Leon’s smirk is evident in his voice, and before you can say anything in rebuttal, you hear a door slide open with a heavy thud coming from your room. Your heart skips a beat as you stumble backwards slightly, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

“Th-this isn’t fucking funny!” You yelp, oddly afraid.

“‘Not funny’? Baby, I never said this was a comedy show,” he chuckles. “You gunna call the cops now? They won’t get here on time, and you know that,” you supposed he could hear you fumbling with your phone, getting ready to dial the police department. Shakily, you begin to bound towards your bedroom, pushing the door open with your hip seeing as it was slightly open. The door to the balcony was wide open, the breeze that dried your hung clothes blowing in gently and causing your curtains to billow in the wind. Apart from the soft drawl of the summer currents, the room was deathly silently. You stood in front of your bed, legs threatening to give out beneath you as your eyes scanned every corner of your room.

“I-I’m not afraid of you!” you call out, phone about to break under the force of your grip.

“Not afraid, huh? We’ll see about that,” the line cuts, and you realize the call has ended. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and yet you’re completely unaware of the presence behind you. Suddenly, a hand presses against your mouth to muffle you as the other wraps under your arm to detain you, a sharp edge pressing into your throat which bobbed in discomfort. Your yelp is bitten back as you teeth at the leather against your lips, trying to bite the hand that kept your pressed against the strangers body. Your eyes as wide as dimes, you decide not to struggle against your attacker, fearing that the blade will slit your throat as he has promised only a few minutes ago.

“You seem pretty scared now, bunny,” he whispers, a shiver running down your spine as a result. His voice is muffled by something, and you realize he’s wearing a flimsy white mask of the iconic Ghostface. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, baby. Otherwise, you’ll find big scary men like me sneakin’ around,” the man digs the blade a little deeper, and you’re thankful that the knife is a bit dull—had it been a sharper blade, you would be bleeding by now.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart… calm down for me. I don’t wanna- ruin this pretty little body of yours,” you can tell he nearly breaks character, his softer side trying to fight for control, but he continues his aggressive front. Your body is practically pudding in his muscular arms, knees nearly giving out beneath you. Your cries are stifled by his gloved fingers as he begins to drag the Buck 120 knife down the length of your neck and against your collarbones. Your attacker pays no mind to the weak punches you throw against his side, barely faltering at the contact and simply holds you tighter against his toned chest.

“So fuckin’ pretty, bunny,” he whispers, admiring the glint of his weapon against your skin. “All for me, too~ You know how crazy it drives me seeing you change in front of that damn balcony door? Sometimes I think you’re begging for me to see this slutty body all the time,” the vulgar languages catches you by surprise, but it quickly leaves when you feel the knife catch between a button of your Leon’s shirt. It tugs upward and snags the thread, popping open the shirt one button at a time, exposing your breasts and baby blue panties to him. He lets out a low laugh, vibrating from his chest.

“My favourite colour, too? Baby, were you expecting me?” His hand drops from your mouth, allowing you to breathe evenly. His free hand immediately finds your breast and gives it a tight squeeze, pinching the perky little bud harshly. “Of course whores like you would welcome a guy like me, hm? You like this, sweetheart?”

“Y-you’re sick…!” you cry, moaning slightly at the pain he inflicted onto your sensitive chest. You feel the blunt end of the knife’s handle push just above your v-line, harsh and brutal as it digs into your body.

“Don’t fuckin’ act innocent with me,” the masked man hisses. “I know exactly what girls like you want—you put up this sweet act around your friends at school so they don’t know you like getting fucked like a toy.”

“Th-that isn’t tru-“ before you finish your sentence, he slams your body into the bed, front pressed into the plush duvet. He leaves his knife laying next to you, taking one hand to keep both of yours behind your back while his other reaches down to paw at the gusset of your underwear.

“‘Not true’? Then explain why it’s practically dripping down here,” the slick gathers on the black leather of his gloves, and you whine as his fingers press against your clothed slit. “Admit it—tell me you love to be used like a little fleshlight,” his voice is rough beneath his mask, and you try to look at him over your shoulder as you struggle against his tight grip. You take note of his outfit consisting of black cargos, an ebony, long-sleeved compression shirt, his leather gloves, and the mask. Its inky black eyes stared back at you as you wiggled beneath him.

“I-I’m not…! I don’t like being-“ you gasp when you feel a sudden intrusion, rendering you speechless. Slick, leathered fingers force their way between your folds and into your hole, scissoring slightly in attempt to stretch you open. He hisses at the feeling of your walls squeezing against his middle and ring finger.

“Christ—Bunny, does your boyfriend not fuck you hard enough? I swear-“ his breathing grows heavy as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your cunt. “You’re tighter than a virgin-“ your thighs clench against his hand as you babble for him to stop.

“P-please… st-stop touching mme,” you hiccup, trying your best to hate the fluttering feeling he was giving you. The man’s fingers curl against your inner walls, pressing deeper and harder into your most pleasurable spots.

“Aww, you want me to stop? But why? You look like you’re having so much fun, baby~” His grip around your wrists grow tighter as he begins to thrust his fingers a little faster. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you moan at the pleasure. The knot in your stomach begins to tighten you grow closer to your release, the wet sound of your arousal echoing through your room. Just as you feel as though you’ll explode, the man pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you breathless.

“N-no, please!” you cry, squirming beneath him. He makes no sound, instead releasing your arms and flipping you to lay on your back. You watch him get on his knees before grabbing the discarded blade next to you, making quick work of your delicate pair of lace panties. The fabrics tears as he pulls the knife through it, throwing the bits of it to the floor as well as his blade before pulling up his mask. It drops to the ground, too, laying next to the tattered blue fabric before he looks up at you between your legs. Your boyfriend’s attacker’s hands grip the fat of your thighs tight as he gives you a coy smirk.

“What was that, bunny? ‘Yes, please’? Well, don’t mind if I do,” Leon licks his slightly chapped lips before dipping his head down, blonde hair shielding his eyes as his tongue presses against your sensitive clit. Your fingers tangle into his thin tresses of hair, eyes rolling back as you feel his tongue bully itself into your pussy. Leon grunts when your thighs squeeze his head, only urging him to tongue-fuck you deeper.

“St-stop it-“

“You keep telling me to stop, yet you keep pressing your pussy into my mouth like you’re forcing me to eat it,” he says, mumbling onto your cunt casually. “I should punish you for lying to me, but I’m feeling generous tonight. Just take this like a good little bitch and we won’t have any problems.”

Leon continues his work on you, his skilled tongue having its way inside of your tight little hole as his thumb presses against your clit. You beg for him to stop, trying to push his head out from between your thighs, but he makes no effort of moving, continuing his assault on your poor pussy. He devoured you like it was his first meal in weeks, drinking up every drop of your slick like he wouldn’t eat ever again. You grew embarrassed at the sound of your moans mixing with the wet squelches of your juices. Leon could only laugh as he takes quick peeks at your dazed expression, lapping up at the arousal that practically leaked out of your body. Before you could cum, he pulls back, forcing himself out from between your thighs.

“How ‘bout we get to the good part,” the blonde smirks, picking up his Buck 120 before standing at his full height. You watch him unbuckle his belt, the gentle clanging of metal reaching your ears as he then reaches to unzip his cargo pants. Your body stiffens as you take in the sight of his bulge, threatening to burst from the confines of his black cotton briefs.

“N-no way—you c-cant-!”

“Can’t what? I can’t fuck you?” his brow quirks up.

“M-my boyfriend’ll-“ He rolls his blue eyes, annoyed at the mentioning of himself your partner.

“Fine, we’ll play it your way, bunny,” he shakes his head, picking up one of your legs with his free hand. “Don’t squirm, got it? You may be acting like a bitch right now, but I really don’t wanna nick you, sweetheart,” he grunts, setting your knee over his shoulder. You lay there, wondering what he’s planning, and your eyes widen when you see him hold the knife by its blade, the shiny silver in the palm of his gloved hand as he positions the hilt just before the entrance of your cunt.

“W-wait- don’t-“ Leon pays no mind to your pleas, pressing the blunt handle into your pussy. You clench and cry out, the cold material surprising you as well as the sudden stretch. He clicks his tongue is disproval as you whimper beneath him, thrusting the handle in and out of you.

“You’re so fuckin’ worried about your boyfriend, sweetheart. Why can’t you just admit he can’t fuck you right?” Leon fakes his concern. “You know you love this—You just don’t wanna admit that your stalker’s foreplay is better than your own boyfriend’s dick.”

“S-s’not true! Nngh, it’s nn-not truue~!” you claw at the hand that was squeezing your thigh, silently begging for Leon to stop. Even then, your body betrayed you. Your cunt spasmed around the smooth handle, giving Leon a bit of a struggle as he continued to thrust the weapon in and out of you.

“What a fuckin’ slut…” he smirks. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but your pussy is so goddamn wet,” he pulls the handle out of you, and you cry, babbling for him to put it back in. He only chuckles lowly before taking his cock out of the confines of his underwear. It springs out at a nice six inches, thick and cut with a vein trailing up the side. The Buck 120 is left to be forgotten once more.

“You’re taking this—whether you like it or not,” Leon takes your other leg and throws it over his free shoulder before dragging the head of his cock against your wet slit. Your hands pathetically reach for him.

“P-please…” you hiccup. Leon hums, a teasing expression painting his face.

“What’s that, bunny? Oh, you wanna be fucked like a bitch in heat? Well, if you insist…” with a sudden force, he shoves himself into you with one smooth thrust, splitting you open with ease. You cry out, the back of your head craning into the mattress as you begged for your stalker to pull out.

“O-out~! P-please, nno more~!” you sob, tears flowing from your eyes as he pulls out enough to just leave the tip in. With a grunt, his hips slam back into yours, the full length of him back inside of your tight cunt. Leon lets out a slight moan as he begins to jackhammer himself into you, seemingly not having a care in the world for your comfort as he grips onto your hips and folds you in half onto the bed.

“So tight, baby- fuck! This pussy was made for me,” Leon’s eyes squeeze shut as he fucks into you, relishing in the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his thick cock. “You love this, I fuckin’ know you do. You love being my free-use slut, bunny—tell me you love it when I fuck you like my personal- toy!” he chokes on his words, clearly lost in the pleasure.

“L-love it so much~! M-mmore, more pl-plleaase~” you babble, fingers threading into the man’s hair. Your noses graze each as he bucks up further into you.

“Drives me fuckin’ crazy watching you from your damn balcony, sweetheart,” Leon pants, beginning to break his persona. “Watching you hump your pillows, moaning my name—I couldn’t keep waiting. I was pl-planning- f-fuck, you’re so tight, baby-! Trying to…! To creep on you for a week, b-but you’re just so gorgeous…!” His hands grip harder on your hips, bruising them as he pounds his cock harder and harder into your abused cunt.

“You looked so desperate trying to fuck that stupid pillow of yours—I can’t tell you how much I wanted to just jump into your room and take you then and there, bunny,” his breath tickles against your lips as he speaks, and you can only moan and squirm in response, barely able to form words with how good he made you felt. Your fingers weakly tug at the base of his hair as his hips roll into you, and you swear you can feel the head of his cock trying to push past your poor cervix.

“L-Leon-!” You cry, your legs applying pressure to either side of his head as you feel the knot in the pit of your belly begin to unravel. Leon’s grip on your sides becomes rougher, bruises blossoming in deep purples and reds against your skinz

“Cum for me, bunny—please…!” your lover drops the harsh act, fully embracing his typical nature of sweet boyfriend despite his white-knuckled grip on you. A near-scream erupts from your throat as you finally release, your cunt spasming around Leon’s cock. With gritted teeth, he pulls out and releases onto your stomach, the sticky substance staining the wrinkled white button-up and the soft skin of your belly.

Heavy, hot pants filled the room as you and Leon took a moment to pull yourselves together, his lips pressing soft kisses onto your calves and ankle as he gently leaned back to remove you from your folded state.

“You alright, bug? I-“ he gulps, catching his breath. “I didn’t get too rough, did I?” the worry is apparent in Leon’s voice as his gentle blue orbs gaze into yours. You feel his hands gently caress the bruises he left on your skin.

“M’okay, Lee,” you assure him, chest heaving up and down. You watch his eyes trail down to admire the mess he made on your stomach.

“You look good like this,” the blonde comments, picking up a little glob of his seed between gloved fingers. “We should do this more often, bunny,” he teases, pulling away from you and allowing your legs to fall limp. You were about to protest until Leon moved to pick you up bridal style, carrying you towards the bathroom that was just outside in the hall.

“Let’s get cleaned up, though. I’ve got a feeling you’re ready for a good sleep and some cuddling, yeah?” Leon coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You can only hum in agreement, nuzzling your face into his neck as he carries you to the tub.

hi. lol. idk how i’m still alive. i’m being worked to the bone. i hope everyone is well.

#resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil/biohazard #resident evil 4 remake #biohazard #fanfic #>>lsk: the slasher series.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 14

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.” 

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.   

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening. 

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’ve known him long enough to know when he’s hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.” 

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle. 

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

Your lips pursed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay, listen,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.” 

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.    

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.  

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.” 

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!” 

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either. 

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

 You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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#Message In a Bottle #Smoke Eater #Part 14 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #benny lafitte #gordon walker #jack kline #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #john winchester #castiel #zepskies writes

[newtonsheffield]

Molly, just look at how close they are holding each other compared to the other couples in the background. And Anthony looks like he's still in awe of her a year later.

The hilarious thing is Anthony has always been about maintaining no his family’s image in society. Season 1, that was his mission in life. Same to some extent in Season 2. He wanted to find a wife who would uphold the Bridgerton family name respectfully.

Now here he is, inviting His Beautiful Wife to do the regency equivalent of grinding followed by a slut drop.

Anthony, my man, no one’s going to take her off you again. I just know that this man has bodily stepped in front of other men talking to his wife in case it leads to a dance. And Kate probably lets him because he has a charming twinkle in his eye and she actually loves dancing with him. She kind of loves that while so many women’s husbands retire to drink brandy and gamble away the moment that should be set aside for their children if they even attend at all her husband is not.

Her husband has been kind to his sisters, commiserating that they don’t want to dance with foolish gentlemen and then he seeks her out. He finds time for her in his evening. She doesn’t even have to beg him to dance with her. It’s always his idea and the way he holds her still leaves her a little breathless, even a year into their marriage. He deposits her back with his mother or his brothers or sisters before he leans in and lets his lips brush her cheek before he murmurs in her ear.

“I’ll get you something to drink, Love. You look awfully flushed.”

There’s that annoying, cheeky, twinkle in his eyes when he pulls back, the same charming smile that slides right off his face when Benedict smirks,

“Can I have a drink, brother?”

Anthony blinked at him, “Of course you can. Fortunately, you’ve been blessed with two legs and two arms to fetch it yourself with.” He turned to the other ladies present. “Mother, Lady Danbury? Could Benedict and I fetch you a drink as well?”

Benedict grumbled something about being treated like a pack horse as Anthony tugged him away and the way Anthony winked at her before he left made her cheeks flush stupidly again. And it’s not long until the other ladies of the ton descend.

“Lady Bridgerton, we’ve not seen you since the wedding. The viscount seems… awfully enamored. Whatever is your trick?”

Kate laughed, feeling a little sad for these women who were never lucky enough to find the person who felt like their other half. She wouldn’t have done either were it not for a twist of fate. “There’s not any trick. He and I simply… enjoy one another’s company.”

“Lord, but isn’t it awfully hard work having him around all the time? Send him back to the country if you need a break.”

Kate bit off a surprised chuckle, “I must confess I’m yet to grow tired of him. Even when he’s a little grumpy he’s awfully amusing.”

“Ahh Ladies!” Anthony said as though having to fight through the crowd of women to get back to his wife was something that delighted him rather than annoyed him. “My dear brother was just saying how little he’d had to fortune to dance this evening. Perhaps you’ve your dance cards at the ready for him.”

Benedict looked as though he’d murder Anthony the next time they were alone and Kate didn’t bother to bite back her smile as Anthony giggled. The noise several years younger than he was. As though in this he was still the cheeky boy who’d helped his father put glue in Benedict’s shoes.

“And you? My Lord?”

Anthony sighed disappointedly, “I’m sorry to say that Lady Bridgerton has claimed all of my dances this evening.” He turned to Kate, grinning wickedly, “Love, you’re still looking flushed. Perhaps you should drink your lemonade in the fresh air.”

Kate nodded, “I think so, Darling.”

He tucked her hand into his arm, one hand still holding her glass and swept her away towards the garden without another word.

“Benedict is going to be cross with you.”

Anthony giggled again, “yes, he is. Especially because the actual conversation we had involved him asking you to dance to avoid those very women.”

“You’re feeling very cheeky tonight.”

Anthony let out a faux gasp. “Nonsense… I simply thought you might prefer to… inspect the maze in Lady Trowbridge’s garden. There’s some very… dark parts to it. I might need help noticing the flowers.”

“Yes, I suppose you will. You best show me then.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Anthony picked her up and ran into the maze.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers