#sneaking this in under the wire

[ichxgo]

He sighs again, tired. “Think they settled on pit fighting in Ghana. Assholes. It never would’ve took.” Said with the driest, least amused voice he’s got. And he could be wrong, he got so many different pieces of that conversation. He might’ve ended up as spare parts just as easily.

That has him frowning again, more thoughtfully this time. He wants to find those people. There were kids. He's also betting that's not what Shiro wants him to do just yet. His eyes track to his own body. Even if he found them, he isn’t sure he could do much but go off to die again. He’d have to send someone else. Kisuke would know who. 

But that next wording pulls a smile from him. He even rolls his eyes with a snort. “Right. And since I’m not making a living I’ll just crash here, eat all your food, and wait in your bed for sex all day long.” As if. Sounds like a wet dream Shiro might come up with. Actually, he wouldn’t mind any of that except for the part where he becomes a lifelong sponge. And he still has a day job, which he does like. “You should quit your job, and stay in my bed instead.” He sobers though, pushing his glass back toward Shiro. Eager to dull… everything. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. People don’t die conveniently when they’re ready, unless it’s by their own hand. One of us will bury the other. That’s all relationships. Not just the dangerous ones.” But… He swallows, and does offer, “I’ll try harder to stay alive. I’ll try to make sure it isn’t you.” 

He hates it. He wants Shiro to keep living. That’s never seemed to be what was most important to Shiro though. And he knows he hurt Shiro as bad as he could’ve this time. Quieter, “I know you hate being alone.”

When Shiro hands over his personal phone, Ichigo freezes hard enough he doesn’t even reach for it. He never touches Shiro’s phone. Maybe he handed it to him once. But there’s a boundary there and Shiro just flew across it so easily, it leaves Ichigo stunned as he finally lifts a hand to take it. His breath comes out all at once in something almost amused if it wasn’t so breathless. “I didn’t mean yours.” He gave him a ring, and Shiro gave him his phone. He thinks the phone is more impressive. But he doesn’t dwell, he dials the number. “They should be in the south by now. With my dad’s side of the family. I wanted to stay and make sure they got there, but...” There wasn’t time.

It all crashes in on him at once. The anxiety he hadn’t even realized was waiting on the edges. What if there’s no answer? What if someone found them? What if they’re already dead? He might be sick. His fucking fingers are shaking. He didn’t have time for more. He gave them as much money as he could get his hands on and shoved them onto a train. 

"Better than whatever was about to happen to you ." It's kind of grumbled.

Somehow he's not surprised that among Ichigo's first thoughts is the fate of whoever was there with him. It's honestly a good thing those others were gone, because Ichigo would have wanted to save them too and Shiro probably wouldn't have bothered, at least not if he was being pressed. Ichigo would have been his priority, not random strangers. "I'm not surprised. It's hard to hide a group of people if you stay in the same place too long."

He would have settled for a generic answer like i'll so my best or even a lie, but of course Ichigo has to be too honest. He'd hate it if Ichigo lied anyway. Dammit. He sighs. "You don't even have to work, you know. You don't have to be doing dangerous shit at all." He knows Ichigo will never agree to that. The work he does is only partly about the money.

Tugging his phone out of his back pocket, he hands it over for Ichigo to use. It's the same number he's always had, so he assumes which ever twin Ichigo calls will pick up, assuming they still recognize his number. He should have thought of Ichigo's sisters. He should have known that would be a top priority for Ichigo. He hadn't even considered it. He shakes his head. "No, I didn't. I was focused on getting you fixed up."

[sammaggs]

4x02 Easy Money // 3x01 Burning Down the House // 3x02 Eclipse | Rift

Something that always strikes me about Ray's moment of reconciliation with his father (in a show that might as well be subtitled Fathers Kinda Suck Huh???????) is the way this scene in particular is shot.

They focus especially on Ray's bracelet as he extends his hand:

Which isn't the only time they've focused on Ray's bracelet during Important Character Building. There's of course, his intro in Burning Down the House,

The close-up on the similarity with Marcus Ellory's bracelet in Eclipse,

And a bunch of other moments over seasons 3 and 4 that basically use the bracelet as a quick visual stand-in for "Ray Kowalski's a little bit different."

It’s something Ray Vecchio would never wear; hell, it's something most cops would never wear. It's a little bit, as Ray Kowalski would say, queer.

And so is Ray Kowalski.

The decision to focus on this bracelet during the exact moment he offers his hand to Damian as a peace offering is therefore, to me, worth considering. I personally read this as an indicator that part of the reason for Ray's rift with his father was his queerness.

And the first thing Damian says to Ray after they shake hands?

He compliments Ray’s experimental hair! He mentions another “queer” element of Ray’s physical appearance—one his father has likely given him a lot of grief for—and accepts it. Metaphor!!

It is, of course, understandable that Damian would have wanted better for his son than to be a cop, and this isn't to say that there isn't a world where that might have been enough to cause Damian to lose meaningful touch with his son for a decade. It certainly made sense for Ray Vecchio's father, who was likely involved with low-level mob business. But it does seem pretty extreme for Damian!

There's also the beautiful scene where Ray tells Fraser about his family in the precinct mess. At the very end, it really does look like he has something else he wants to say... but then Huey interrupts.

Now I am, of course, aware that Ray was dating or engaged to Stella at the time he graduated Academy. So what could his queerness possibly have to do with anything?

Well, as much as many of us wish it would, your queerness does not disappear when you enter a straight-passing relationship. I've even seen interesting ruminations in fic that some of the early hardship in Ray and Stella's relationship—remember, they broke up for a while during her college tenure—might have been due to the fact that Ray was interested in (or even caught) experimenting with men.

A personal anecdote, if you'll indulge me: I was in my mid-twenties, four years into a relationship with a man I thought I was going to marry, and tormented constantly by the idea that I was, probably, queer. I had no way of finding out while I was in a committed monogamous relationship. When I told my own mother that I thought I was bisexual, she told me it was all right—but also to never, ever tell my father. Even though I was in a relationship with a man, the knowledge of my queerness would have been enough to potentially cause a rift between my father and I that I don't know if we ever could have repaired. [editor's note: i'm a lesbian now and my dad and I have a stellar relationship ftr but i did have to marry a whole man first so] [editor's note: i am also the editor]

Ray gets caught with a man while Stella is in college? Or Stella knows and tells Ray's mother while they're drunk on wine one night? Or Ray's parents find a magazine... or a photo... or a stamp from the wrong club... anything. There's a million reasons why Ray's queerness could and may have come up even while he was with Stella, even while he was monogamous. Because he was still queer.

I know there's a certain element of "sometimes the curtains are just blue, dude, chill” to all of my meta, but when it comes to this show in particular I very much operate in my analyses from a place of "everything is intentional." Small details really do matter; the way scenes are shot matter, the words that are used matter, there's intentionality behind it all. We can't know or understand authorial intent, of course, but we can read our own interpretation of that intent into it. (The author is dead but Paul Gross thought Callum Keith Rennie was hot, so)

This is, after all, another episode directed by George Bloomfield, who also did Burning Down the House and is responsible for that "love at first sight" moment in Say Amen, so the direction here is in the hands of someone who is clearly in lock-step with Gross around the inclusion of queerness in the latter seasons of the show.

This moment is interesting to me in particular when considering intent because I actually would prefer to see Ray and Damian's faces in this moment! I want to know what Damian is thinking, or if he frowns. I want to know if Ray looks nervous or concerned. We don't see that at all.

Instead of seeing them over the GTO, we get the close-up on the hands and the bracelet over the rebuilt engine.

Rebuilding!! They're doing it.

And that makes my little queer heart pretty happy.

[godsoflightmusic]

@svtsource carat revival '24: Picking Favorites

Now Presenting... JEON WONWOO (ft. MF DOOM)

[spotsupstuff]

How/Who is Capers next mechanic after Sparrows? Did Sparrow leave anything behind for the next mechanic?

probably some poor ass higher circle twink that has No fuckin idea why this supposedly cheery happy-go-lucky Iterator is so dark and brooding and depressed. and (after Sparrows dies, cuz the 3rd would come in Ways before that) why is the energy constantly FUCKIN fluctuating, this instability is HARDLY fuckin HEALTHY what the HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE

he would have some meetings with Sparrows so she could give him some pointers, explain how certain Euros-specific things work (Euros Is build to be the Phone Operator Chief n all that so his comm systems are special), where she left off when it comes to perfecting the structure and prolly would tell him a little about who Euros as a person is as well. the meetings wouldn't be that plentiful or fruitful later down the line since she.. starts going senile and all that

Sparrows leaves behind a trainwreck of a man (physically absolutely Great condition, but oh gods the feels) so the 3rd Mechanic has to somehow deal with That all by himself. which is hard cuz Euros won't talk about it with some stranger that cannot be trusted with their secret. the 3rd is probably kind enough, genuinely worried, but still kind of a prick n not nearly as empathetic, humble and casual as Sparrows was. i imagine him with a nasal voice and a "uhhh.... actually-???" attitude most of the time

[alleyskywalker]

NEW FIC: If You Start To Doze (I'll Tuck You In) (Throbb)

Title: If You Start To Doze (I'll Tuck You In) Fandom: Game of Thrones Characters/Pairings: Theon/Robb Rating: PG Chapter: 1/3 (est.) Summary: The one in which Theon almost dies and Robb realizes some things about his own feelings. Notes: Written for Throbb Fortnight, loosely for the Day 11: Relationship with pets/animals prompt, at least for this first chapter.

Read on AO3

[lxnarphase]

want me to give you another one? ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

���₊‧⁺...ft : gojo satoru + geto suguru + fushiguro toji + ryomen sukuna

☾₊‧⁺...cw : breeding kink, praise kink, spit kink, reader gets called 'mommy', dirty talk, teasing, overstimulation, satoru goes insane from pussy, suguru wants a girl this time, toji being in love with his wife, sukuna doesn't like when people insult his soon-to-be-wife, sukuna is dating single mom!reader

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : i really wanted to do the 'our baby is so cute, i want another one' 'yeah? you want me to give you another baby?' trope so here we are ❤︎ i couldn't think if i wanted to do others but if you'd like more please let me know ! ❤︎ also, the toji one ? is actually a sneak peek of a longer fic i'm working on ehehe

✧ g. satoru : it starts off with you nuzzling in satoru's arms as he watches tv. satoru notices that you began to get clingier after you put your baby girl to bed. every night, you would press against him as if you wanted to merge with him and he couldn't help but tease you about it. so when he feels you nipping his neck and your hand running under his shirt? when he hears you oh-so sweetly whisper, "don't you want to give me another baby, satoru?" into his ear? he's eagerly nodding, ready to do whatever the mother of his first baby wants. but instead of letting him on top...you climb over him and that look in your eye tells him everything he needs to know : he's fucked.

"baby, baby, baby, please," satoru whines, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. he feels like he has no control of his hips, he's so sensitive, but he can't stop fucking up into you. not when you're like this, practically buzzing with need and crazed energy. "c'mon, s'toruuuu," you purr, hands splayed out on his chest. "cum f' me again? please, honey, you only came once, 's not enough." the room is hot, both of you covered in a sheen of sweat. how long have you both been going? he didn't remember, he lost count of how many times his hips desperately pressed up, shooting his hot load into your wet, needy pussy. but you just wouldn't stop. not that he minded, but fuck, you were making him so brainless. he can feel his thick cum gushing out of you each time you lift your hips, dripping down his cock and balls, onto the mattress. "h-hah, it's so fucking messy," he groans, unable to stop himself from cumming again. "f-fuck me, baby, t-there's so much cum, y'r pussy is so fuckin' sloppy." you just won't stop milking him, your soft and wet walls massaging him as you moan just from the feeling of being filled up again. god, you were making him insane, what got into you— his eyes snapped up to you when he felt the wet drop of one of your tears on his chest. those pretty lashes of yours were getting wet with tears as he felt your thighs starting to shake, a weak moan leaving you. "c-can't," comes a pathetic sob, your hips desperately grinding down on his cock, moaning when you feel it throb. "c-can't stop, 'toru, 's not enough, i need it, n-need it so bad!" when you finally look at him and make eye contact, he feels like he's been shocked because you look a mess... "give me another baby, 'toru, i want another one, gimme another one, please—!" with no hesitation, his feet are planted into the mattress and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he pounds into your dripping cunt, feeling himself cum just from the wail you let out into his ear. but he doesn't stop, he can't stop, not when his wife, his honey, his baby needs him to knock her up again so badly. "'m gonna give you whatever you want," he pants, his skin feeling like he was touching a live wire. "give it t'you 'til 'm empty, baby, gonna fuck you good, make sure it sticks, just like you, f-fuck, like y'want, yeah?" he feels you nod frantically against him, unable to speak from the way his cock drilled up into your pussy, tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. "y-yeah, you want that, you fuckin' want that, s-s'just take it, baby, let me give you another fuckin' baby."

✧ g. suguru : your son had just turned one so you and suguru let his nieces, nanako and mimiko, come over to have a little celebration. seeing the way you cared for the twins and your baby boy the entire day made him think. his son was still a baby and had a lot of growing, but he knew the kid would look just like him with a few of your features. he's always wanted a girl, and helping his sister take care of the twins as they grew up only made the desire stronger. the two of you mentioned having another baby at some point, but the rest of the week, all he could think about was trying to get you pregnant again, maybe give you a girl this time...who knows, maybe he could fuck you so good you'd have twins.

"aww...i know, i know," suguru coos, his hand pressing into your tummy. that condescending smile on his face just makes you melt under him. he's slow and methodical with how he fucks you, like he wants you to remember every vein of his cock, how it curves up just perfectly that it nudges that spot where his hand is pressing down and makes you keen. his smile morphs into a knowing smirk, his free hand rubbing your thigh. "you're such a pretty mommy, princess. do you know that?" suguru's so sweet, he's so soft, he's treating you like your the most fragile thing on the planet. he sooo slowly grinds himself into you, his hand giving another little push down on your tummy. he's so sweet to you, such a loving husband... but you know. you can see it in his eyes, the hunger and deviance swirling around in those purple irises. he's getting you soft and pliant, melting into the bed as he praises you where he knows your weak. "taking such good care of my baby, aren't you? ," he praises. his hand is so warm as he starts to rub up and down your stomach. "such a shame the geto genes are so strong in the men. however." your breath hitches when he pulls all the way out before shoving his cock all the way in down to the base. you can't help the soft moan of his name, watching him lean down closer so that he's right over you. "the girls in my family always look like their mommy. what do you think, pretty girl? d'you wanna try? want to see if i can give you a girl?" as soon as you nod, suguru fully leans over you, using his arms to hold himself over you and he really starts to fuck you. he's merciless, managing to keep that stupid fucking smile on his face as his balls slap against your ass. "she'll be so pretty, just like her mommy, so so so fucking pretty," he coos as if he isn't making tears drip down your face. he loves seeing his baby like this, so sweet and pretty for him. "okay, angel. 'm gonna give you another one, gonna flood this cunt alllll dayyy longgg."

✧ f. toji : toji never thought he’d get off on the idea of having another kid with you. yet here he is, dick hard in his sweatpants as he thinks about you carrying his baby again...how you'd start to fill out all over again, that cute chubbiness coming back, how he'd have an excuse to dote on you whenever you complained about the simplest of things. but god, did he find it attractive just seeing you be a mom to the kid he gave you. so when megumi tells you both what he wants for his birthday...“i want a baby sister,” he states bluntly. “but, i don’t want her to look like daddy. he’s ugly, i want her to look like mommy.” little brat. toji doesn't hesitate to let megumi have a sleepover with yuuji the next day, dragging you into the bedroom as soon as he gets back home.

“you want to give the kid a sibling, hm," he hums against your mouth, teeth tugging on your lower lip. you feel how hot the tip of his cock is as he rubs circles into your clit with it, smearing his precum all over you. "wanna have another kid with big, bad toji? tsk, poor cunt missed gettin' stuffed full of cum?"  you just hummed, a little breathless. your hand came up to cup his cheek, looking from his lips back up to his eyes. “mm, honey, you've gotta stop asking questions you know the answer to,” you cooed, guiding him down closer so you could press a kiss against the scar on his lip. “don’t you want me to make you a daddy again, toji? c'mon, knock me up, big guy.” after those words left your pretty little mouth, toji let out a laugh of disbelief, his mind instantly realizing that you, being a little minx, were 100% going to give him the worst breeding kink ever. he was going to give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. he was going to fuck you, fill you up with all his cum, and whatever leaked out? he’d make sure to push it back in, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tip of his dick.  toji easily flips you over onto all fours and lines himself up with your slit. when he finally pushes into you, he just lets out the most wrecked groan you’ve heard from him yet. god, just the thought of fucking you not just to feel good, but to fill you up, get you to take his seed deep inside to give him another kid? it messed with his head. you were almost too good to be true. each thrust he gave had you seeing stars, the thickness of his cock hitting every deep part of you. it was almost too much, but you didn’t want him to stop, especially not when toji started running his mouth. “shit, look at you, baby…takin’ it like a champ. c'mon, throw that ass back on me, mama, thaaaat’s it, good girl.” the sweet moans and adorable words of “gimme more,” “baby, please,” or “s’ too good, toj,’” only pushed him to get even deeper, to get you to cum so he could stuff you full. he coos when he sees you beginning to jolt up further on the bed, away from his relentless fucking. that's he knows that he found that sweet spot that would have you creaming in minutes. "tsk, you just never fuckin' learn, huh? 's always gonna be too much for you, isn't it," he huffs as his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging your head back to keep you from moving more. “hey. hey, nonono, don’t run away from it, lemme have it. you wanted this, you wanted your precious husband to fuck another baby into you, t'give 'gumi a little sister, s’ i’m gonna give it to you.”

✧ r. sukuna : it honestly is his fault this happened, he's being snappy with one of the parents at the birthday party of your son's friend. sukuna knew better, he should've just ignored the bitch, but the comments she's making gets under his skin. "she hasn't given you kids of your own yet? that's too bad, i would've let you do that as soon as you proposed," she tries to flirt, batting her lashes at him. it just makes him sick. did this fucker not see the way sukuna looks at you? "oh, you probably don't know if she's the one you want to mother your kids, right," the woman next to him says, putting her fucking hand on his arm and he shoots her the meanest glare. "not everyone is mother material, but i-" "hey, we're leaving," he interrupts when you walk up to him, slapping the woman's hand off him as he gently wraps his arm around your waist. "i texted yuuji, that's why he's watching our kid for the rest of the day. c'mon."

sukuna is devouring you, his mouth unforgiving as he runs his tongue up and down your pussy. he's pissed, the way his tongue laps angrily at your folds as if your pussy is the reason he's upset. "fuckin' bitch," he snarls, spitting onto your clit before sucking on it. "thinks she can talk to my wife like that." you shakily gasp when he finally, finally looks at you, the sharp anger in his eyes making you shiver. you can tell he's not upset at you, but seeing him so riled up and knowing that he's using you to get it out of his system does something to you. "you know your mine right? that you're stuck with me 'til the day we die," he asks you, his thumb replacing his mouth as he rubs firm circles into your clit. "i'm your husband. you're my wife. you are fucking mine." he's about to say something else, but he stops, letting out a heavy sigh, subtly shaking his head. you catch it though, you always do. "suku, what's wrong," you shakily ask. "y-you can...can tell me, baby, what's wrong? did something ha-" "let me get you pregnant," he says, his voice low but desperate. he's moved from between your legs to over you, and you can see he's so hard, the tip of his cock an angry reddish-purple. "don't you want to give our son a sibling?" your eyes widen, not expecting him to ask that. having a kid with him...honestly didn't sound that bad. and the way he called your son 'our'...it makes your heart flutter, and you can't help but give him a sweet smile and nod. "okay, 'kuna, we can start trying if you are sure. i'm still on birth control, but—sukunaaa!" he doesn't give it another thought, sliding all the way into you until his hips are flush against yours. he feels the way your arms wrap around him and scratch at his back, and as good as it feels, sukuna needs you to give him complete control. pulling your arms off him, he laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the mattress before rutting into you, the slap of hips against yours almost angry. "don' care about the birth control," you hear him growl, his eyes burning into yours. "'m gonna fuck you so fuckin' full of my cum that it bypasses it. it's got no fuckin' chance with how many times i'm gonna breed this cunt." the way he's talking to you, it makes your head spin and you know he feels how you clench down on him with the way he groans. "gonna fuckin' show everyone how good of a mom you are, gonna get you all swollen 'n' round with my kids," sukuna groans, feeling his tip kiss your cervix with each snap of his hips. you can't help but look at him with those big eyes, disbelief and infatuation swirling in them. he likes this look on you, you just look so fucking in love with him, and it's all for him, just for him, no one else, just fucking him. "yeah? y'like that? that i'm gonna have a lil' family with my wife? give you as many kids as you want, 'n' all y'gotta do is take my fat cock as i breed you 'til it takes."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[totalapathy]

141 x reader Fic REC | Follow the Authors!

I did not write any of these. This is a list of fanfics I really liked that include all members of the 141 x reader or poly!141 x reader. If you have a 141 fanfic you like msg me and ill add it to the list! If you are an author and do not want your fic listed msg me and ill take it down.

- Series -

Off to See the Wizard | @nerdygirlramblings

Poly!141 x Reader | Series | 9/? | 15.2k | Stuck on Reader being someone like Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds, stationed in the US under Laswell

Forever winter (If you go) | @loveindefinitely

Poly!141 x Reader | Series | 14/? | 50.1k | When your commander -- Phillip Graves -- turns against the Los Vaqueros and Task Force 141, you find yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Between your own morals, and your duty to serve the man you can no longer idolise, a choice must be made.Do you help the two operatives you know deserve to live? Or do you fight with your unit -- the men you swore to stand beside?The decision is made when you find yourself stumbling, quite literally, into one Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish; and, effectively, the 141's entire lives.

This is Going To Hurt | @moody-alcoholic

Poly!141 x Reader | Series | 5/10 | 14.8k | During a botched military convoy you're kidnapped by Al-Qatala. While the rest of 141 are on their way to find you, you're forced to endure torture and help the enemy to survive.

On a Wing and a Prayer | @moody-alcoholic

Poly!141 x Reader | Series | 11/11 | 19.2k | 141 mistaken you for the traitor. The person who leaked intel to Makarov and got Johnny shot. Now you're forced to move on without the people you love the most.

Rec Room | @void-my-warranty

Poly!141 x Reader | Series | 2/? | 3.6k | NSFW The 141 swear the clit is in the wrong spot and you show them proof. After you sneak off to the rec room to jerk off at night, but Ghost seems to have a similar idea.

Fire Watch | @auspicioustidings

Firefighter!141 x Reader | Series | 14/14 | 30k | NSFW You really should have been less stubborn and just called an electrician to do the wiring, because after your cottage had went up in a blaze the 141 had made the decision to spirit you away to their fire tower deep in the woods to take care of you.

Deity!AU | @meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender

Deity!141 x Reader | Series | 3/4 | 10k | NSFW Once upon a time, there were four gods. Together, they took turns helping the mortals. But what spirit connects them all, centering their efforts? Of what clear mission banner do they unite under? To whom is the focal point of life’s great mysteries? In other words, smut about diety! 141

Mafia AU | @peachil

Mafia!141 x Show girl/Law Student!Reader | Series | 9/? | 17.5k | You’re a law student who performs shows at night, and you catch the eyes of a group of dangerous man.

Dukedom AU | @beloveds-embrace

141 x Duchess!Reader | Series + Extras + Drabbles | Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️

Omegaverse Works | @beloveds-embrace

| Poly!141 x Designationless!Reader | Poly!141 x ES Omega!Reader Beloved's embrace's omegaverse works

Hoarfrost | @prettypinkguns

Wolf Shifter!141 x Human!Reader | Series | 1/? | 5.5k | You soon realize something wasn’t quite right about those men or the pack of wolves, with their strangely intelligent eyes, that frequented the woods surrounding your property. Curious, you're determined to get to the bottom of it. But as the saying famously went… curiosity kills the cat.

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood | @soaps-mohawk

Poly!141 x Omega!reader | Series | 46/? | 377.5k | NSFW Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it. It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks.  As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Call of Duty Omegaverse AU | sprout-fics

Poly!141 x Omega!Reader | Series | 14/? | 20.9k | NSFW You've concealed your presence as an omega for your entire military career, careening up the ranks, collecting accolades, and having the privilege to assist the notorious 141 Taskforce. Yet on a mission gone wrong, you find yourself in circumstances entirely out of your control, and the events that follow hurtle you into the path of a pack that finds out they will do anything to make you theirs.

Only Human | @diejager

Monster!141 + König & Horangi x Human!reader | Series + Extras + Drabbles | God - Laswell - blessed you with a team of strong, capable monsters.

- Shots -

Home is where you are | @1-ker0sene-1

Poly!141 x Wife!Reader | One Shot | 1.3k | It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are.

Something Bad | @loves-alibi

Dark!141 x Reader | One Shot | 1.6k | There’s something wrong with the 141…

Digital Mischief , 02 | @goatgoesmbe

Poly!141 x Reader | Double Shot | 3.8k | "In which you joined a discord server to find people to play an FPS game with, only to be welcomed by four military men."

Body Electric | @yeyinde

141 + Los Vaqueros x reader | One Shot | 8.9k | NSFW Several drinks in, Gaz turns to you and says: never have I ever... had a gangbang before, and things quickly devolved from there. (Well. You can scratch that off your bucket list.)

Afterburn | sprout-fics

141 & Los Vaqueros x reader | One Shot | 8k | NSFW Sprout-fic's take on the aftermath of Body Electric by @yeyinde

Call in Sick | @yufloria

Soft!141 x Reader | One Shot | 3.2k | After a mission gone wrong in an undisclosed location Task Force 141 is forced to stay in a safe house, a cabin, in the middle of a dense forest and high between the mountains. It is no task for the team but unfortunately for you. You were injured.  

Gangbang | @konigsblog

141 x Reader | One Shot | 6.5k | NSFW the 141 finally have their way with their teasing, disobedient recruit.

Crappy Alpha Male Bf Gets Dunked On | @charliemwrites

Poly!141 X Teammate's Gf!Reader | One Shot | 2.7k | Mr. steal your girl 141 & crappy alpha male bf

Free use Medic | @all-purpose-dish-soap

Poly!141 X Medic!Reader | One Shot | 1.1k | NSFW "You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart."

Ravenous , 02 | @tojisun

| One Shot | 7k | NSFW cant come <fuck me please <> quite forward of you. well, since you asked so nicely, we’re on our way.You had sent the message to- you had sent it to the damn group chat

Need to Listen to Me | @loveindefinitely

Poly!141 X Teammate!Reader | One Shot | 4.4k | NSFW Yeah. You don't fear many things. But Johns disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

Our Girlfriend | @vampire-matcha

141 X Kyle's Gf!Reader | One Shot | 2.2k | NSFW Everyone always talks about John “share my wife” Price but what about Kyle “our girlfriend” Garrick???

"Shared Wife" Trope | @beloveds-embrace

141 x Price's Wife!Reader | One Shot | 1.2k | It wasn’t just him anymore, though. They were always there, watching. Protecting- for you belonged to John, and so did they

Bf Simon Shares Your Nudes With the Boys | @duskier

141 x Simon's Gf!Reader | One shot | 1.2k | NSFW "Come awn, tell us about her Lt," Soap would try and goad him. They were leaned up against each other, shoulder to shoulder against the wall behind them.

Our Girlfriend , 02 , 03 | @3amfanfiction

141 x Johnny's Gf!Reader | Triple Shot | 9.5k | NSFW (unknowingly) being the team's girlfriend. Smut, fluff, & a snippet

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star | @vellichor-of-the-solivagant

Professor!141 X Student!Reader | One Shot | 5.3k | NSFW A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy.

The Prize of Prey | @quitefawnish

Knight!141 x Reader | One Shot | 3.6k | NSFW knights in the middle ages only had to court noble women, whereas any peasant woman was open to their desires, and they were in fact encouraged to do so.

Bodyguard!141 x Sick!Reader | @beloveds-embrace

| One Shot | 1.7k | while you had initially bristled at the idea of four men shadowing your every step, you’d quickly grown accustomed to their presence.It was hard not to. They made you feel protected.

Deductive Reasoning | @auspicioustidings

Merman!141 X Researcher!Reader | One Shot | 1.3k | Mermen au with mer TF141 and researcher reader trying to learn about their... biology

Saint's Story , 02 | @charliemwrites

Omega!141 x Alpha!reader | Double Shot | 3.8k | NSFW having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Yandere Hybrid team 141 | @nina-renmen

Hybrid!141 x Polarbear Hybrid!Reader | One Shot | 1.2k | 141 stumbles upon y/n. Thinking that she’s small and fragile they attempt to ‘take advantage’ of her only to figure out she’s a polar bear hybrid.

- Drabbles -

141 x Reader | Drabble | @cod-indulgences 141 finds your dildos NSFW 141 X Younger!Reader | Drabble | @loveindefinitely Uni Student!reader meets the 141 at a military bar 141 x Medic!Reader | Drabble | @goatgoesmbe there are an odd four that somehow always made your day better. Poly!141 X Puppy Girl!Reader | Drabble | @loveindefinitely 141 with a girl who acts more like a puppy than a soldier NSFW Poly!141 x Reader | Drabble | @lunarkitten97 Poly!141 x reader with an oral fixation NSFW Poly!141 x Reader | Drabble | @duskier Price holding your pussy open with his thumbs while the rest of the team looks over his shoulder NSFW Poly!141 x Reader | Drabble | @xo-cod Sharing the barracksSharing the barracks NSFW 141 x Kyle's Gf!Reader | Drabble | @all-purpose-dish-soap Poker night. But the boys know how to keep things interesting Retired!141 x Neighbor!Reader | Drabble | @burner141 they meet you. The charming new neighbor with a pretty voice and an even prettier smile. 141 x Bartender!Reader | Drabble | @devil-in-hiding The boys find out your not married Monster!141 x Owl hybrid!Reader | Drabble | @gremlingottoosilly Monster!141 turn Barn Owl!reader into their pet NSFW Monster!141 x Cat hybrid!Reader | Drabble | @gremlingottoosilly Kitten!reader gets tied up in string just as Monster!141 come back NSFW Monster!141 x Bunny Hybrid!Reader | Drabble | @gremlingottoosilly Crybaby Bunny!Reader who stumbles upon Monster!141's base NSFW Vampire!141 x Human!Reader | @beloveds-embrace they don’t tell you they are vampires and you have no reason to suspect they are Demon!141 x Reader | Drabble | @red5tars demon!141 staking claim on the poor little thing that summoned them. Dark!141 x Angel!Reader | Drabble | @goatgoesmbe GuardianAngel!Reader who was sent to 141 at their darkest time. Hybrid!141 x Human!Reader | @ cs-fox they’d be so surprised when a normal human joins their task force. Hybrid!141 x Crow Hybrid!Reader | Drabble | @ teddy-bear-baby crow hybrid!y/n joining hybrid!TF141 and just stealing random things from them Poly!141 x Beta!Reader | Drabble | @ teletubbyinlipstick okay, hear me out a/b/o tf141 universe where female betas are RARE. Poly!141 x Omega!Reader | Drabble | @ kaadaaan Soap who is sick of being the only omega in his pack so he’s digging up some dirt on another Sergeant Poly!141 x Omega!Reader | Drabble | @ kaadaaan They wind up with another omega, and find themselves more attached than they thought they would be. NSFW Poly!141 x Omega!Reader | Drabble | @ thecherubangel “Simon…f-fuck stop-“ You close your legs and try to move his hand; the others watch as you struggle in Ghosts grasp. NSFW Viking!141 x Reader | Drabble | @ nerdygirlramblings viking!141 with some historical accuracy Knight!141 x Peasant!Reader | Drabble | @ drgnflyteabox four massive armour clad knights at the door... and whaddyaknow, they're looking to stay the night NSFW Cultist!141 x Reader | Drabble | @ pricegouge Outlast2!au “Give us a baby and we’ll keep you safe.”

Last updated 03/11/25

[smutmind]

Caught Pink Handed

IVE Wonyoung X Male Reader

“Oppa?”

You froze mid-stroke, heart stalling. Her voice wasn’t surprised. Just curious. You turned slowly—hand still half-wrapped around yourself—and there she was.

Wonyoung. Nineteen. All legs, lush hair, candy-colored top riding high on her ribs. That denim skirt brushed her ankles as she stepped inside like she owned the place.

"Didn’t your mom teach you to lock doors?" she asked, one brow raised.

You fumbled for your blanket, too slow. Her eyes were already on the laptop screen—your folder open. Her photos. Her in that low-cut tank last summer, the bikini on your roof deck, the mirror selfie she’d posted and deleted in under five minutes.

“Seriously?”

She laughed. Not cruel—worse. It was soft. Disbelieving. Almost flattered.

“Holy shit,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You were actually jerking off to me.”

You couldn’t speak. She tilted her head, watching your shame crawl over you.

“That’s what you do when we hang out? Sneak photos? Save them for later?”

Her tone was sugar-laced poison. She came closer, the heat of her body brushing yours without touch.

“I come over all the time,” she whispered. “Your sister trusts me. And you’re just here, like some sad little perv, getting off in your gamer chair.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands stayed limp at your sides.

She leaned in. The scent of her was everywhere—floral shampoo, warm skin, something bubble-sweet under it all.

“Did you ever think what would happen if she found out?”

You shook your head, throat dry.

Wonyoung smiled, slow and terrible. “No, you didn’t. Because all you were thinking about was my tits, right? My ass in this skirt?”

She stepped between your knees. Her hand landed on your thigh, fingers feather-light.

“Look at you,” she said. “Still hard.”

She leaned closer until her lips hovered beside your ear.

“You don’t deserve this,” she said. “But maybe I’ll let you have it anyway.”

You stared at her, stunned. She stepped back.

“Clean up. Sit down. Don’t say a word.”

And then she curled onto your bed like it was hers, phone in hand, not even glancing at you.

The silence stretched like wire.

You knew this wasn’t over.

She lay sideways on your bed, scrolling like nothing happened. One knee bent, heel bouncing. That skirt rode up her thigh just enough to torment.

You sat in your chair, half-hard, half-humiliated.

Then came her voice. Casual. Sharp.

"Come here."

You stood, slow, still not meeting her eyes. She patted the mattress beside her.

"Closer."

You knelt on the floor. Her gaze flicked down.

“Good boy.”

Wonyoung shifted, planting both feet flat, spreading her knees just a little. The hem of her skirt drew tight. You tried not to look. Failed.

She smirked. "You really couldn’t help yourself, huh? All those times I bent over in front of you. All the outfits I wore just to mess with you…”

You blinked. “Wait—”

“Oh please,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You think I didn’t know? You’re so easy to tease, oppa. That little twitch you get when I suck on a straw? The way you stare at my legs when I kick my shoes off?”

She ran a hand down her own thigh. “You don’t hide it well.”

Then she paused. Her smile dropped, just enough.

"But this?" she said, nodding toward your desk. "This was pathetic.”

Silence.

Her voice softened. “You wanted me without asking. Like I was just a thing you could play with when you’re lonely.”

That landed hard.

She leaned forward, touched your cheek.

“I should be pissed,” she whispered. “I should tell your sister.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But I won’t.”

Relief. A breath caught in your throat.

“Not if you listen,” she added, sitting back, legs spreading wider. “Not if you do everything I say.”

You nodded. Too fast. Too eager.

She laughed.

“Strip.”

You hesitated.

“Now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You obeyed—shirt, pants, everything. She watched like it was a show she’d paid for.

Then she lifted her foot and tapped your chest with her toes. “On your back. Floor.”

Cool wood against your skin. You lay there, exposed. Waiting.

She stepped over you. That skirt hovered above your face as she straddled you, her panties damp, pressed against the fabric.

She crouched lower, letting her heat ghost over your lips.

"You want to taste what you've been jerking off to?"

You nodded.

“Then beg.”

“Please,” you breathed.

“Please what?”

“Please let me taste you, Wonyoung.”

She smiled. “No.”

She stood, turned, dropped onto all fours above you. Her ass now hovered over your chest, the cotton clinging wet between her cheeks.

“Here’s what you get,” she said, yanking her panties aside. “You make me cum. I decide if you get anything.”

You grabbed her hips. She slapped your hand.

“No touching. You work with your mouth only.”

Then she lowered herself. You moaned against her—she was soaked, warm, slick and tangy. You licked, desperate, your tongue exploring every fold, flicking her clit until she twitched.

“Fuck, oppa,” she gasped. “You eat pussy better than I thought.”

She rocked against your face. Hair fell like a curtain around your head. Her moans came sharper now, louder.

“Keep going—don’t you dare stop—"

She stiffened, thighs clamping, then shuddered hard. A whimper escaped her lips.

She didn’t move right away. Just breathed heavy, panting above you. Then she sat up and twisted to face your flushed, aching cock.

“Now you get your reward,” she said, grinning like a devil.

She straddled your thighs, hair falling around her face as she dipped her head low. Her lips found you, slow at first—tongue teasing under the crown, then sliding down, swallowing you whole with a messy, greedy hum.

You groaned, fists bunching the sheets.

She came up for air, her chin glistening. “You moan so pretty, oppa.”

Then she leaned in, her chest brushing your lips.

“You want these too?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She reached down and slapped your cock lightly.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please.”

She smirked and pulled her shirt up, baring soft, full breasts tipped in pink. You sucked one into your mouth, her skin warm and flushed, her nipple hardening instantly.

“Good boy,” she whispered, grinding down onto your cock with her soaked panties still between you.

She rocked against you like that, hips rolling, nipples in your mouth, her breath catching every time your teeth grazed. Then she lifted, reached back, tugged the fabric aside.

“Condom?”

You shook your head, dazed. She laughed.

“Course not.”

She sank onto you bare—tight, dripping, so warm it made your back arch. Her hands found your chest as she bounced in slow, deliberate thrusts.

“God,” she panted, “you’re so fucking deep—”

Your hands gripped her waist. Her tits bounced with every movement, your mouth catching them when you could. She leaned in, kissing you wet and fast, tongues tangling.

A sudden beep—she glanced at the digital clock on your shelf.

“Five minutes,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “Let’s make them count.”

She climbed off and flipped forward onto all fours, looking back over her shoulder, hair falling in waves.

“Come get what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You knelt behind her, drove into her hard. She yelped, then pushed back into you with every thrust.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back, oppa—fuck me like you mean it.”

Your hands gripped her hips. The slap of skin echoed, loud and obscene, her moans rising higher, then breaking into whimpers.

“I’m gonna cum again—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

She spasmed around you, mouth open in a silent cry as her body jerked. You barely held it together. She collapsed forward, then twisted onto her back, eyes wild.

“Finish on my face,” she demanded. “Do it now.”

You knelt over her. She opened her mouth, tongue out, eyes locked to yours.

You groaned, cock twitching, and came hard—ropes of white striping her lips, chin, cheeks, even her collarbone.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Just in time.”

She grabbed her panties from the floor and wiped her face quickly, licking her fingers clean between swipes. Then she pulled her shirt down, smoothed her skirt, and darted into the bathroom.

You barely had time to tuck yourself back in before the doorbell rang.

Wonyoung peeked out, cheeks flushed but clean.

She mouthed one word before she opened the door:

“Oppa.”

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — HE SUPPORTS YOU DURING FINALS WEEK

a/n: damn i wish i had the lads boys when i was in nursing school

ZAYNE

You wake to the smell of something warm and real.

It sneaks in under your door — butter, eggs, maybe something toasted. You’re still curled beneath the covers, limbs heavy with the weight of too little sleep and too much mental exhaustion. The world outside your blankets feels harsh, fluorescent. You reach for your phone and see the time: 7:12 a.m. Three alarms already missed. Your first final is in less than two hours.

You sigh, press the heel of your palm against your temple. Every part of you aches — not in a painful way, but in that drained, overworked, hollow kind of way. You studied until nearly 3 a.m. last night, highlighter stains on your fingers, dry-eyed and wired.

Then there's a knock. Gentle.

“Hey,” comes Zayne’s voice from the other side of the door. Deep, quiet, grounded. “Didn’t mean to wake you, but breakfast’s ready if you’re up.”

You freeze for a second, almost disbelieving — because in all the stress and blur of this week, you’d forgotten what care even feels like.

When you open the door, he’s standing there barefoot, sleeves pushed up, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His eyes scan you with that subtle, perceptive calm he always has — like he’s already done the math and knows exactly how close you are to unraveling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice still thick with sleep.

“I know.” He tilts his head, eyes soft. “But I wanted to. Come on.”

You trail after him into the kitchen where two plates are set, steam curling in the morning light. Scrambled eggs with herbs, multigrain toast with avocado, roasted sweet potatoes — a weirdly perfect balance of comfort and energy. There’s even a mug of tea waiting by your seat, your favorite kind.

He sits across from you, watching carefully, like he wants to make sure you’ll actually eat. You do. The first bite nearly makes you cry — not because it’s extravagant, but because it’s intentional. It tastes like quiet love. Like someone saw how hard you were holding yourself together and stepped in to say, “You don’t have to do it all alone.”

Zayne doesn't rush you. He eats slowly, sipping his coffee, resting his chin in one hand as he watches the sunlight move across the kitchen tile. When your fork clinks softly against the plate, he finally speaks again.

“I packed you lunch,” he says, standing to grab a container from the counter. He hands it to you with a casual kind of care, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world — to think of you when you weren’t even awake yet. “Don’t forget it. You need fuel more than flashcards.”

There’s a note tucked under the lid. You blink at his handwriting:

“Proud of you. Even on the days you forget how much you’re carrying.”

Your chest goes tight. He just knows.

“I—” you start, but your voice cracks a little. “Thank you.”

Zayne steps forward, brushing a hand down your arm before slipping his fingers through yours. “You don’t need to thank me for loving you,” he says simply.

You look up at him, eyes burning. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand, warm and slow.

“Seriously, Zayne. You didn’t need to go out of your way—”

His brow furrows. “This isn’t ‘out of the way.’ This is the way. You’re stressed. You’re exhausted. You needed help, so I did something about it. That’s love. That’s what we do.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, holding onto his hand like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Eventually, he pulls you gently into him, wrapping his arms around your waist as you rest your forehead against his chest. His hand rubs up and down your spine in slow, rhythmic motions. Steady. Calming.

“You’re gonna get through today,” he murmurs. “And tomorrow. And every other awful, brain-melting exam. And I’ll be here for all of it."

You pull back just enough to look at him, to catch the faint grin he tries to hide. “I might hold you to that.”

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek — soft, grounding. “Please do.”

The world still feels heavy, but not quite unbearable. You grab your bag, your tea, your packed lunch. And when you leave the apartment, his note still tucked safely inside your backpack, you walk out with a little more air in your lungs — because Zayne reminded you that someone is on your side.

Someone sees you.

And he loves you through it all — quietly, patiently, fully.

XAVIER

It’s past midnight again.

Your desk is a battlefield — textbooks splayed open like fallen soldiers, your notes scrawled in a frenzy of highlighter and caffeine-fueled desperation. The room smells faintly of instant ramen and stress.

You’re not sure when Xavier showed up. He has a habit of appearing quietly, as if afraid being too loud might make everything worse. Now, he’s sitting cross-legged on your bed, awkwardly holding a blanket in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

You barely glance at him over your laptop.

“You can go home, you know,” you mumble, typing furiously.

“I... could,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “but I don’t really want to.”

You glance at him again. He’s got that look — soft eyes, nervous mouth, like he’s waiting for permission to care out loud.

“Not doing much,” he adds, then frowns at himself. “I mean, I’m here if you need me. Not like need need, but — like — uh, in case you crash or something. Not that I’m saying you will. I just... y’know. I’ve got a lap.”

You stop typing.

“You’ve got a what?” you say, biting back a smile.

He goes crimson, pulling the blanket up to his chin like it’ll shield him from your teasing.

“I just meant — like — if you’re tired,” he mumbles. “You can sleep. On me. Not in a weird way.”

You chuckle, rubbing at your tired eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Thank you,” he says solemnly.

And then you’re too tired to pretend you’re not swaying in your chair. Your head is pounding, and the words on your screen are starting to blur together into alphabet soup. You don’t want to admit it, but your body’s already leaning toward him like he’s gravity.

“You serious about the lap thing?” you ask, voice small.

He blinks, like he didn’t think you’d take him up on it. Then he nods quickly, scooting back and patting his thigh. “Uh — yeah. Totally serious.”

You shuffle over, dropping your laptop on the nightstand. He opens his arms awkwardly, and you curl into his side, head finding the crook between his shoulder and chest like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

He goes still for a second, like he’s afraid to breathe. Then, slowly, his arms wrap around you — loose at first, then tighter, like he’s trying to be careful with something breakable. His fingers start moving, gently stroking your back, brushing through your hair.

Your brain is fog, but his warmth cuts through it like sunlight. Steady. Solid.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, breath warm against your hair. “Even if you don’t feel like it. I see how hard you’re trying.”

You press your face into his chest, and the stress starts to melt — just a little.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Always,” he says.

You’re already drifting when he adds, quieter this time, “I like when you rest on me.”

You smile, eyes closed.

“I know,” you whisper back.

RAFAYEL

It starts with a question that isn’t really a question.

“You okay?”

You’re standing in the kitchen, hands shaking slightly as you try to open a bag of snacks. It rips too fast, spills everywhere, and that’s the final straw. Your vision blurs with tears, your breath catches, and your shoulders go tight with the effort of holding yourself upright.

You don't answer him.

Rafayel crosses the room before the first tear even falls. You feel his presence before you hear him — warm, steady, like a storm is coming to wrap you in safety, not fury.

“Hey, hey.” His voice is low, grounding. “You don’t have to talk if you can’t. Just let me be here, okay?”

And you do. You let it go.

It hits fast — a broken sob, the kind that scrapes its way out of your chest like it’s been trapped for days. Your legs give out halfway, and he catches you without hesitation, strong arms winding around your waist as you crumble into him.

“I’m trying so hard,” you gasp against his hoodie. “But I can’t — I don’t know what day it is anymore — I keep studying and it’s like none of it sticks, and I can’t sleep and everything just hurts—”

“I know, I know.” His hand rubs gentle circles on your back. He holds you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You’ve been holding all of this in. Too much for too long.”

You grip the fabric of his sleeve, knuckles white. He lets you cry it out, lets you shudder against his chest without pulling away or trying to fix it too soon.

When your breathing finally evens, he gently guides you to the couch and sits down with you, pulling you onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair in slow, comforting motions.

“You know,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “breaking down doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re human. And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

You let out a weak laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “You’re saying that now, but I’m basically a snotty puddle on your hoodie.”

He looks down at you, eyes shining with the kind of softness that makes your heart ache.

“Then this hoodie’s exactly where it’s supposed to be,” he says simply.

You rest there, cocooned in his warmth, in the scent of his skin and the safety of his arms. He doesn’t try to distract you from your feelings or minimize them. He just lets them exist. Lets you exist — messy, tired, raw.

“You’re not a machine,” he whispers. “You’re allowed to break sometimes. I’ll be here to help you put the pieces back together.”

You pull in a shaky breath and nod against him.

“I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” you admit.

“You don’t have to,” he says, without hesitation. “I’ve got you. For however long you need.”

And in that moment, you believe him.

SYLUS

The clock ticks past 1:00 a.m. again.

Your shoulders ache. Your neck feels like it’s been fused into a single knot. Your foot’s fallen asleep from being tucked under you for too long, but you’re too buried in your notes to care.

Finals are chewing you up and spitting you out, and at this point, your body is just along for the ride.

You don’t even hear Sylus come in.

You feel him first — his fingers trailing through your hair, a teasing tug near the ends. You glance up and he’s already smirking, that slow, lazy grin that should be illegal this late at night.

“Well,” he drawls, “if it isn’t my favorite academic weapon.”

You sigh and let your head drop forward onto your textbook. “I’m dying, Sylus.”

“No,” he says. “You’re just crispy around the edges.”

His hands rest lightly on your shoulders. You expect him to tease you more, maybe nudge you about posture, but instead—

He presses down, slowly, deliberately.

You let out a sound you didn’t mean to make.

“...Oh my god.”

He chuckles behind you, voice smug and smooth. “Your tension level is catastrophic. Honestly, I’m offended you’ve been sitting here suffering without calling in your personal massage god.”

You laugh, barely — a short breath, tired but real. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” he repeats, incredulous. “Kitten, you could wake me up at 3 a.m. with a full spreadsheet of muscle complaints and I’d show up with lavender oil and hot towels.”

You shiver as his fingers work deeper into the muscle near your shoulder blades, thumbs pressing with just the right pressure.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

“Nope. Just Sylus.” He leans closer, lips grazing the top of your ear. “Though I’ll accept divine praise if you’re handing it out.”

You swat at him weakly, but he catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, kissing the inside gently before returning both hands to your shoulders. His touch is grounding — firm and slow, like he knows exactly where you’re hurting without asking.

“You’re carrying too much,” he murmurs, voice dropping softer. “Not just in your body, but in your head. I can feel it.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You don’t even try to deny it.

“Turn around,” he says.

You do, obedient and boneless, swiveling in your chair until your back meets the edge of the desk. He kneels, warm hands cradling your bare foot, thumb pressing into the arch like he’s done it a hundred times. You bite your lip.

“You know,” he muses, looking up at you from under his lashes, “if this whole college thing doesn’t work out, you could always hire me as your full-time stress reliever.”

You arch an eyebrow, flushed and dazed. “Is that your job title?”

“Officially? No. But informally?” He kisses your ankle, light and teasing. “Yeah. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

By the time he finishes — feet, shoulders, and the tension melting from your neck — your brain is soft, your body heavy in the best way. He pulls you up and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist like you’re the most important thing in the room.

And maybe you are.

“You good?” he whispers.

You nod into his chest.

“Don’t let finals take all of you,” he says. “Save some for after. For us.”

You smile, half-asleep already. “Only if you promise to keep the massages coming.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Forever.”

CALEB

Your textbook is glaring at you like it knows you’re about to give up.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for fifteen minutes, and not even the highlighter in your hand knows what it’s doing anymore. You might be physically upright, but mentally? You're flatlining.

“Okay, emergency nerd rescue incoming,” Caleb announces as he flops onto your bed, legs swinging over the edge, a granola bar between his teeth and a stack of flashcards in one hand.

You blink. “You weren’t invited.”

He gives you a mock gasp, clutching at his chest. “How dare you. I’ve come here, out of the goodness of my gorgeous, underutilized brain, to tutor you. And this is the thanks I get?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re studying to be a pilot.”

“And you’re trying to survive Psych 201. So congrats — your knight in questionable academic armor has arrived.”

You snort, but he grins and scoots in beside you on the floor, back against the wall. He bumps your shoulder lightly. “Come on. Let’s get that beautiful brain of yours working. I’ll go easy on you… maybe.”

“You literally distract me,” you mutter, but hand him the textbook anyway.

“I distract you because I’m incredibly handsome,” he replies, flipping to the chapter you’d been silently begging the universe to erase. “It’s not my fault you’re weak to charm.”

“Delusion is a full-time job for you, huh?”

He wiggles his brows. “And I’ve got great references.”

But then he actually does start helping. In between the teasing and bad jokes — “Think of the amygdala like your brain’s little drama queen” — he breaks things down in a way that makes the information stick. He quizzes you without making you panic, celebrates your correct answers like you just solved world peace, and calls wrong ones “learning plot twists.”

You’re still exhausted, still overwhelmed — but he makes it feel lighter somehow. Like you’re not drowning. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re gonna be okay.

At one point, you rub your temples and let your head drop onto his shoulder. “Why do you actually make this fun?”

“Because I’m a treasure,” he says smugly, before softening. “Also, because I hate seeing you stress so much. You’re way too cool to be crying over chapter summaries.”

You laugh softly, and he bumps your knee with his.

“Let’s finish one more section,” he says, “and then we take a snack break. Or a cuddle break. Or both. You pick.”

You give him a tired but grateful look. “Thanks for helping me.”

He winks. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not done."

You let out a groan.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Feeling me up as a pornstar dies⋆˚࿔

WARNINGS: teenage angst. underage drinking. underage smoking. underage sexual activity. smut (mdni). dry humping. coming in pants. clit stimulation. cannibalism references (barely). angst. teenagers being horny. 5.0k

The drive-in becomes something of a tradition, just like the walks.

Every Friday—with an exception here and there—you and Dean go watch a movie together.

Sam stops coming along after the night you take him to see It.

You hadn’t known about Sam’s phobia of clowns, but Dean had. He laughed his ass off when Sam’s face fell as the movie title rolled in.

“I expected this from my asshole brother, but you?”

Trust a fourteen-year-old boy to be dramatic. It takes a whole new order of marshmallow nachos and lending him your precious copy of Carrie for him to forgive you. But he still refuses to come along.

The new tradition isn’t the only change that comes from that night.

Any residual ice between you and Dean has melted away.

You hang out all the time now—after school on the empty sidewalks, at the local arcade, at Bobby’s house. Why Dean Winchester chooses to spend time with you instead of one of the pretty, normal girls from school still escapes you.

But you actually start to talk, even if sometimes it’s still too quiet for Dean to catch. You make murmured jokes, tease him under your breath, and even nudge his shoulder when you're feeling brave. You chat in philosophy class, whisper the right answers to him, and he says them out loud just to piss Richie Rich off. They even get into a fight once, after the asshole mocks Dean’s worn-out clothes.

“Does daddy not love you enough to buy you a jacket that isn’t half-ruined?”

The next day, the tires of Richie Rich’s beloved BMW convertible are found slashed in the school parking lot. There’s no proof of who did it, even if Richie keeps pointing fingers at Dean.

No one notices the knife tucked inside your boot.

You also start taking Dean along on your searches for animal bones in the forest. The two of you wander through the foggy woods of Sioux Falls—your steps quiet and doe-like, Dean’s heavy and predatory. Once, you find a small, dainty bat skull hidden beneath a bed of pine needles. You let yourself fall to the ground, knees scraping, and rinse away the remaining decay with your water bottle.

Once it’s clean, you hold it up to Dean with a grin, like a trophy. The bone gleams under the sun, and your legs and dress are now smudged with dirt. He looks at the skull with mild disgust, but then his expression shifts into something soft and fond when he sees the genuine joy on your face.

“You little freak,” he huffs, ruffling your hair. But his voice is soft, coated in affection.

You sing along to his cassettes when you hang out in his room, even buying him new ones from the town’s local thrift store. He even teaches you how to shoot, wrapping his big hands around yours to help you aim. You manage to hit five out of seven cans, and the proud smile Dean gives you keeps you walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

You get drunk for the first time with him on your seventeenth birthday. Only, Dean doesn’t know it’s your birthday. You’re not one for celebrations. At least, not when they’re about you.

You sneak one of your mother’s bottles into Bobby’s house—whiskey, because Dean once said he liked it. The first shot makes your eyes water, and Dean laughs, teasing you for endless minutes. You punch his arm, pour yourself another, and swallow it like water.

It burns with something inherited. A heirloom. A curse.

Dean seems to feel the same—judging by the way he stares at the bottle like a betrayed soldier.

Can’t escape those addiction genes, you guess.

But the burning fades about halfway through the bottle.

Then, you lose all trace of shame. The barbed wire that’s always wrapped around your throat unravels, and the ever-present tension deep in your bones evaporates, leaving only malleable, tender flesh.

Dean lies on his bed, smoking a cigarette, as you change his cassette to something you got for him. Something darker, layered, ghostly.

“That obscure indie shit you dig so much,” Dean calls it.

“Did Sam teach you that word?”

“Shut up, smartass.”

Head floaty, empty of the voices that have haunted you since birth, you twirl around the room to the soft piano of the song.

Dean watches as the golden light of the setting sun shines around you like a divine glow. The flowy skirt of your dress rises up and exposes the smooth, delicate skin of your thighs. The smoke from his cigarette curls around you like you’re calling to it—like it recognizes your mystical nature and craves wrapping around you.

Dean knows the feeling.

You twirl again, trip on one of his boots, stumble into the bed next to him, and break into a mess of giggles and rosy cheeks, nearly burning yourself with his cigarette.

Oh, you wish Dean would put it out on you.

Both of you stare at the ceiling fan for a long moment of silence after that. Your hand trails down the edge of Dean’s wooden bed frame, your fingers finding one of the many markings carved into it. A pentagram inside a sun. You wonder what it means, if it’s a band’s logo or some kind of ritualistic symbol.

Instead of asking, driven by the drunken, unstoppable need to tell the truth, you whisper:

“Today’s my birthday.”

Another moment stretches between you, smoke slowly filling your lungs as Dean blows it toward you—you asked him to, because you can’t get enough of the smell—and then he whispers back:

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The next day, Dean picks you up in the pickup truck and takes you to the drive-in, even though it isn’t Friday.

“Didn’t think you’d get away with turning seventeen and not celebrating, right?”

There’s a silly grin on his face, but something filters underneath. Something somber, blue and gray.

You don’t ask. Instead, you quickly get ready for the hangout. You decide to wear your mother’s black cowboy boots. It earns you an up-and-down look and a murmured compliment—and it makes you glow.

You settle into your usual spot at the drive-in. You buy some popcorn and finish it before the movie even starts. Dean still claims he doesn’t want any but ends up stealing a handful from you anyway. This time, you both sit closer to the middle of the bench seat, just inches apart.

The movie starts.

Slasher flick again.

Your eyes stay on the screen as a girl—topless, because they always are—gives her boyfriend a little show. They’ll both be murdered in minutes.

But Dean’s eyes aren’t on her. He doesn’t even glance her way as she removes her bra, slow and sensual in a way you’ll never be.

No, he’s looking at you.

Quiet but mesmerizing. Tragic and magical.

You’re scared, but you’re also starving.

It’s been months of staring at Dean—his pretty face, his soft freckles, his darkening hair, his darker soul—and being hungry.

You turn to meet his eyes, and something grotesque crawls inside of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush your bangs behind your ear.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. You’re not used to compliments, and you’re not used to the burning sensation in your chest—the one you know the name of, but are too scared to label.

When Dean’s eyes dart down, you know it’s coming. You have half a mind to panic because this is your first kiss. But also, there’s something animalistic clawing at your chest, something that tells you you’ll know exactly what to do.

So your lips meet—unexpectedly warm and dreamy, Dean’s calloused hand cupping your cheek—and you have to dig your nails into your own thigh to stop yourself from devouring him.

Because you want to. You want to sink your teeth into his flesh, savor it. You want to hook your fingers around his ribcage, crack it open, crawl inside, and sleep snuggly wrapped around his heart. You want to eat him down to the marrow, suck every drop of pain out of his bloodstream, press against him so close that you rot together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

But for now, you settle with engulfing his lips with yours.

Dean kisses the way he shoots. Confident, expert, hitting every target. He knows exactly where to bite, how much tongue to use, and when to bury his fingers in your hair.

You, on the other hand, are all instinct. You follow what the beast on your chest demands, for the first time in your life letting yourself take what you want. You bite his lower lip, savoring the way the soft flesh gives under the pressure of your incisors. You suck on his teeth until a small noise escapes from the back of his throat. You pull on his hair, tilt your head when he does, and lick over his lips when he breaks the kiss.

You guess you did well enough, because Dean’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of green remains. His hand tightens in your hair, enough to send a shiver down your spine but not enough to hurt.

You wish he would make it hurt.

“You fuckin’ drive me insane, sweetheart.”

“I think you were already insane,” you deflect with humor, because it’s easier than accepting that Dean Winchester might actually want you back. “But that’s okay. I am too.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head before kissing you again. This time, his hands travel to your waist, slowly pushing you backward.

Someone in the background screams just as your back hits the leather seat. Suspense music plays—slow and haunting—right when Dean hovers over you, arms on each side of your head, his breath fanning your face.

Tobacco, cherry pie, and a hint of mint.

“We don’t have to, if you—”

You tangle your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and yank him down.

“I want to,” you murmur against his lips, barely keeping your voice from trembling.

Please.

Your teeth clash, and your tongues collide. This time, the kiss is violent. Lips bruising, hands groping, nails scratching. Dean shrugs off his jacket before he starts to kiss your neck. The heat that floods through your body is something you’ve never felt before. His teeth graze your pulse, and then he sucks, trapping the flesh between his teeth and licking.

The sound that escapes your throat is obscene, your back arching off the car seat, moving closer to him. Your eyes slam shut, and your hands clutch his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt

“Dean—”

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs against your neck, his warm breath over the new bruise making your breath falter.

He continues to kiss down your throat, around your collarbones, and lower. His mouth is desperate, possessive, leaving marks wherever it latches onto. You pull on his hair, nails running down his back over the thin fabric of his shirt. It makes him moan.

You shift under him, your legs spreading, making room for him. He fits perfectly in between them, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching the tender skin of your bare thighs, his lips finding yours again.

He presses you down against the car seat, hand on your hip, his whole body weight on top of you, grounding and maddening. His large, calloused hand glides over your thigh and makes its way under your skirt, where there’s already a wet patch on the front of your cotton panties.

His thumb brushes over the damp fabric, and you gasp. Your back arches, the touch so different from your own. Your hips buck, simultaneously trying to pull closer and away from his hand.

His grasp on your hip tightens, holding you in place as his thumb rubs slow circles over your clothed core, drawing a sweet little whimper from you.

“You’re so damn wet.” His voice is low, almost a growl, as his finger presses harder against you, sliding between your lips and finding that little bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you whisper, still conscious of the fact that the pickup truck has no side windows, and anyone walking by could hear you.

You’re dripping by this point, pupils blown and thighs twitching. You feel Dean’s fingers making their way to the side of your underwear, and panic rises in you for a second. 

Someone in the movie dies screaming, probably the love interest.

You grab Dean’s wrist, stopping him from moving further. But before he can question you and the moment gets ruined, you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him closer, until his clothed cock is pressed against your core.

That’s safer. That you are ready for.

Dean doesn’t seem deterred by the change of plans. He simply groans when he feels the heat of you through the layers of clothing. He leans down for another hungry kiss, grunting against your lips as he rocks his hips, grinding his hard-on against you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, husky and rough.

“It—it’s good,” you whimper, your hips jerking up when the outline of his dick hits your swollen clit dead-on, sending electricity down your spine.

Dean moans into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip as your movement gives him a new angle of friction between the two of you.

You feel so sensitive, raw, and exposed. You’ve never felt this good, this heavenly, this sinful—like divinity is just on the tip of your fingers, but you’re falling straight down into the burning pits of hell.

The rough texture of denim should hurt against you, but it burns just right. The wetness dripping from you soaks through your panties, staining Dean’s jeans. Marking him, claiming him.

Dean’s hands move, cupping your breasts and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric of your top. It draws a needy, strangled sound from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” His hips start to move more frantically, rubbing over your clit again and again. “Wanna ruin you.”

Yes, please. Ruin me for anyone else, turn me into something only you can touch.

You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands finally landing on his chest.

You let them roam, exploring the sun-kissed skin you’ve been craving for so long. Your fingers slip under his shirt, pressing against lean muscle and scratching down his abdomen when his cock brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. The red lines you know will mark his skin make the beast inside you howl, satisfied and territorial.

Mine. All mine.

Even though he isn’t.

Dean groans, guttural and wild, his thrusts growing desperate, feral—almost like he’s actually fucking you. It feels too good, almost too much. A bitter reminder that this probably isn’t the first time Dean’s done this, that he’s been in this exact position with other girls, maybe even some from school.

But any sour thoughts leave your mind when he moans your name, low, urgent, strained. You’ve read enough books to know he’s close, that you’re about to make Dean Winchester come. Just from some over-the-clothes friction.

Your hand tentatively travels down his body, cupping his cock over his jeans.

Fuck, he’s big.

You squeeze, hard but not enough to hurt. Or so you hope.

Apparently, that’s the right thing to do, because Dean’s eyes snap shut, his hips buck uncontrollably, and he comes in his jeans. His breath is ragged, his hands gripping you, and his hips press further into your hand.

He pants your name over and over again, like a prayer. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his jeans ruined, and he looks fucking beautiful.

He rests his head against your chest, right between the valley of your breasts, as he comes down from his orgasm, struggling to catch his breath.

You run a hand through his hair gently, admiring the portrait-worthy sight of Dean Winchester after he’s just come—skin glistening with the afterglow and warm breath all over your skin. You still haven’t climaxed, but it is okay, you’re satisfied with making Dean feel good. 

But then he lifts his head, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and his fingers find your drenched cunt over your panties. Your hips jerk, and a startled, breathy sound comes out of you. 

“Fuck, Dean—” you whine, your hands clutching his shoulders.

“Feels good, huh?” he teases, a smirk in his face. But there’s something else behind it, an edge that you had never seen before. It is primal, possessive, and it makes you feel like you’ll combust.

His fingers quickly find your sensitive little nub and rub over it. Your legs part wider, eager and pliant. Your cheeks burn with pleasure and shame and ecstasy, all at once.

Somewhere in the background, the final girl is fighting the masked killer. She runs for her life, bleeding, hurting, escaping. You ignore it all.

“Dean, please,” your voice comes out all shaky and filthy. Your thighs tremble as his thumb travels down your slit, pressing onto your entrance over the fabric before returning to your clit, your slick sticking to his skin, soaking him in your juices. 

You feel animalistic, wild, ravenous. You crave all of Dean—his flesh, his blood, his insides. You feel floaty, on fire, soft and raw at the same time. Your thighs tense, and your back arches. Your mouth is wide open, eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips bitten-red, and tongue half out.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, low and deep, his thumb working at your overstimulated, sensitive cunt. His eyes are all over you, like he is admiring his work—the way you are completely at his mercy, coming apart under his touch.

Far away, blood splashes all over the screen. You are bathed in bright, crimson light as a scream escapes your throat. Your teeth find the skin of Dean’s neck and sink in, deep enough to leave marks that make the beast in your chest wail.

All you can see is red.

Your orgasm burns over you like wildfire, every nerve in your body igniting as his finger doesn’t stop its ministrations. Wetness gushes out of you, completely ruining your panties and leaving his fingers sopping. You pant, your body still twitching, eyes wide as you ride your climax. That’s the hardest you’ve ever come. You had no idea it could feel this good.

Dean pulls his drenched hand away from your drenched pussy, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. 

You freeze, hazy mind trying to wrap around the fact that Dean just licked your slick off his fucking fingers. He hums, satisfied and a little strained, like he is holding back. 

Something deep inside of you growls, and you feel sick with desire.

“What the—” Your hips twitch against nothing, your breath rapid and your eyes still glossy. And Dean looks so fucking smug about it.

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a proud little grin. Another scream, sharp and biting.

The words make you blush, and you immediately pull Dean in for a kiss, trying to hide the way your cheeks burn.

You lick inside his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you moan. Fuck, you want Dean like this, coated in you, branded, yours. You want everyone who kisses him in the future to taste you, to know he belongs to you, even if he doesn’t.

Dean keeps you pressed against him, his hand reaching for your face, fingers gripping your chin and holding you in place so he can kiss you as much as he wants, however he wants. You let him, allowing his tongue to brush over every corner, every surface. You let him take whatever he wants from you, just hoping that he will take good care of it.

His mouth leaves yours for a second before biting down on your lower lip, almost hard enough to make it bleed. You hiss, your legs tightening around him, and your cunt somehow getting even wetter.

You bite back, teeth digging into his lower lip, leaving you with matching bruises.

Slowly, the kisses turn softer, sweeter. Both of you catch your breath, the rabid desperation quietly leaving your bodies, leaving only the tingling sensation of the afterglow as your limbs tangle together in the car seat.

Dean pulls away from your mouth, nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in. One of his hands is wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close, as if he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. He holds onto you like you’re something precious—something he doesn’t want to destroy but will inevitably crack under his touch.

And you will let him. You will let him break you, let him make you bleed until he feels better, until everything is better.

You’re glad he hasn’t pulled away, because you feel like you might die if he does.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you break apart. Dean pulls back slightly so he can look at you, his eyes holding the same intensity as before, but the sadness from earlier is creeping around them. Gloomy, almost mournful.

He kisses your cheek, then leaves a light peck on your lips.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tiny and still a little hazy. He chuckles, presses another kiss to your lips, and sits up.

Every part of your body screams at the distance, but you swallow it all down before following him, straightening up on the car seat and running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it. Thankfully, most people have left already, only a few suspiciously dark and shaky cars around you.

“Better get home quickly.” Dean turns on the engine, shifting in his seat and grimacing. “This will get really uncomfortable soon.”

Right, because he knows what to do in these situations. Because he’s done it before.

You try to get as comfortable as you can, though your underwear is clinging to your skin and your inner thighs are somehow still glistening and sticky. Dean turns on the radio, and Bon Jovi starts playing. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs, and your laugh is swept away by the wind as he starts to drive home.

Dean’s hand finds your thigh, and it stays there for the whole journey. You stare out of the window into the starry sky, your mind swirling with the night’s events.

Your insides feel melted, turned into ashes by Dean’s burning touch. You feel like you’re glowing, the memory of his rough hands on you still fresh in your mind, your body remembering him like a tattoo you know you will never get rid of.

Dean has etched himself onto your skin tonight, carved his name into your heart, and you should be ecstatic. But his shoulders are tense, his eyes unreadable as he stares at the dirt road in front of him like it might hold some kind of ancient knowledge. His fingers don’t drum along with the music, his mouth set in a thin line instead of that relaxed little smirk that is ever-present on his face. And while his hand is on you, it feels less like comfort and more like tragedy.

You make your way to your house in silence, utterly and nerve-wracking. 

“Right, I almost forgot.” Dean kills the engine and grabs a small wooden box from the glovebox. “I got you something.”

Your jaw drops a little, your eyes widen, and you hold the box like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever set your eyes on. You haven’t received a birthday gift since you were five, before your mother had found her true love in the bottles.

“You didn’t have to, Dean,” you whisper, but your fingers are already opening the box, delicately and reverently, as if it’s something holy.

“Of course I had to,” he huffs, his eyes studying your every expression.

You don’t argue. Instead, you carefully unwrap whatever’s hidden in the box. A gasp leaves your mouth, and Dean snorts when you look up at him with eyes full of wonder, starstruck and beautiful.

Inside the box, wrapped in velvety fabric, is a silver dagger. The blade is shiny and wavy, gorgeous and sharp. The handle is engraved—smooth, swooping little waves on the crossguard, words in a language you don’t recognize elegantly carved into the handle, and at the end, a metal goat skull.

You devotedly take the dagger into your hands, holding it with the love and gentleness you once only had for your oldest paperbacks, those with broken spines and yellowing pages. Your fingers run over one of the goat’s horns, admiring the cold perfection of pure silver.

“It matches with all those bones you dissect.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Articulate, not dissect.”

But the smile on your face is sweet and endeared, and your eyes swell up with tears you force yourself to hold back.

“This is too much, Dean.” But your hand is already wrapping around the handle, the weight of the blade in your palm feeling natural, like it was always supposed to be there. “Where did you even get this?”

A pure-silver dagger couldn’t be cheap anywhere.

Dean shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but his chest puffs out at the sight of you being so moved by his gift. “Bobby had it hidden around in his basement, and I thought it’d fit you better.”

That makes you giggle, eyes darting up toward him. You fight the urge to jump into his lap, to wrap yourself around him and never let him go.

“Is it real silver?” you have to ask. Dean nods once and doesn’t offer more explanation.

“You’re a decent shot, but I’ve seen you with that knife of yours,” he chuckles, his hand wrapping over yours on the handle of the dagger and squeezing. “It’s just in case you need to defend yourself.”

He whispers it like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid someone—or something—will listen.

You look back down at the dagger, at Dean’s grip around your hand, at the way it seems almost desperate, scared.

You wonder why you can’t just defend yourself with your old knife, why Dean wants you to have this one. You wonder about him learning to shoot, bow-hunt, and knife-throw. You wonder about the markings on his bed frame and the way he always stares at the shadows for just a little too long. You wonder about what the hell his dad does for work, and what has Dean so terrified.

“Why does it have to be silver?” you murmur instead, because you’re really good at looking red flags right in the eye and then completely ignoring them.

Your thumb runs back and forth over the skull, and your heart flutters at the knowledge that Dean thought about you after seeing something so beautiful. Because that is the most important thing at the moment.

Dean shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes. “I don’t know, it might be… useful.”

It doesn’t explain much, but then Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. He tastes like popcorn butter and still a little like you, and it sends every rational thought flying out of your head.

He murmurs a goodbye against your lips, and you whisper it back. You hold the wooden box against your chest with veneration as you jump off the truck, closing the door and staring at Dean through the glassless window.

You offer him a sweet, enamoured smile, but his face is twisted. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and his hands are slightly shaky where he grips the steering wheel.

You're about to ask what’s wrong when he opens his mouth, not really looking at you.

“Just—please promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

It takes you out, because it’s a weird thing to say, even for you. You know better than anyone that there are a lot of things you need to stay safe from, that they come in all shapes, from shadows following you at night to your own family, but Dean says it like it’s imminent. Like danger is coming for you, soon and fast, like he knows it, like he’s seen it.

“I—” But he looks worried, pained, sad. And you can’t handle it. So you don’t ask any questions again. “I will stay safe, I promise.”

It seems like enough for Dean, since he nods and turns on the engine again. You stare at him a little longer. At the boy you’ve been watching forever, the boy who saw you when nobody did, the boy who was the first to touch you and who you think might just be the last.

I don’t need to worry about staying safe with you by my side, boy with the gun.

You stare at him as he gets ready to drive away, and something rises from your chest. Something bitter but addictive, something disgusting and cloying and infective but oh so fucking good. You know the name, but you don’t say it. Not now, maybe someday.

“See ya,” you mutter, and Dean clenches his jaw before nodding, finally looking at you like a cult leader looks at a lamb before slashing its throat open.

“See ya, sweetheart.”

But it seems like you did need to worry, because that’s the last you see of Dean.

He doesn’t show up at school the next day, nor the next one, nor the whole week. A month goes by, and there’s no sign of the Winchester brothers. Bobby offers no explanation more than a “I’m sorry, kid.” and a head pat.

You have no number to call, no address to mail a letter to, no reason why.

All you’re left with is a silver dagger, a newfound taste for whiskey, bruises between your thighs, and a broken heart.

The Dean Winchester special.

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NOTES: Part three! I'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finals week. I will try to be as consistent as I can with the update but it might take a little while. still, I am so in love with this story and love every second of writing it. thank you so much for all the love, I don't deserve you guys. please let me know what you think, it makes my sick little brain so happy! I love you all, hope you liked it!!!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @anxiety-prime-max @southernimpala @ohmykwonsoonyoung @mimiimmii @thanosisadilf @iamaslytherin0 @youroldfashioned <3

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[ayukas]

゛7dream as your group-project mates (but they’re all secretly in love with you) ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

7dream who begged your professor to bend the rules. who whined in unison at nine in the morning, a chorus of misbehaving puppies gathered outside her office, hands clasped, eyes wide with practiced desperation, voices syrupy-sweet and way too charming to be sincere.

“technically, we’re seven,” chenle says with a hopeful smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“but spiritually, we’re eight,” haechan adds, expression dead serious.

jaemin leans against the doorframe, spinning a pen between his fingers, a practiced charm in the tilt of his grin “c’mon, prof. it’s just one more person. just her.”

because what are seven boys to do without the sun they orbit around? what is a group-project without the girl who makes even silent brainstorming sessions feel like a slow-burn romance film?

the professor sighs, defeated. then, she agrees. seven pairs of eyes light up like kids on christmas morning.

you walk in minutes later, and they all greet you at once—too brightly, too eagerly—like it was fate, and not manipulation, that brought you to them.

haechan who never actually needed help with the slides but still texted,

urgent URGENT need ur help with the slides jisung’s USELESS PLS COME PLS COME PLS COME

you arrive at the campus cafe, laptop in tow, and spot him immediately by the window—sunlight spilling over his skin like honey. you watch as he plays with the straw of his drink, black thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he huffs, a mess of black curls ruffled from waiting.

he nearly falls out of his chair when he sees you, jumping up and waving both hands like a man overboard spotting land.

“i got you your favourite,” he beams, cheeks dusted pink from excitement. “i remembered.”

and when you ask where the others are, he dodges the question entirely, tripping over his words, trying to change the topic and distracting you by pointing out every flaw in your powerpoint font choices.

eventually, you let it go, and he settles comfortably again, his hand finding yours—brushing, brushing, then finally staying, fingers laced in silent confession. he tugs on a strand of your hair absentmindedly, plays with the edge of your sweater sleeve like he’s memorising the texture.

your voice falters mid-sentence when he reaches up tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek. from the corner of your eye, you catch his boba eyes staring at you—soft, stunned, like you’re the most beautiful slide he’s ever seen.

mark & jaemin who “forgot” how to work the prototype.

can you come over to ours? prototype’s being weird. we’re stuck :/

you knock on their dorm door, expecting chaos and wires and last-minute stress. instead, you’re greeted by dimmed lights, the soft glow of their projector, and a pillow fort on the couch like something out of a sleepover movie.

the prototype’s nowhere in sight and jaemin throws a blanket over your lap before you can even start to question them. mark hands you a slice of pizza with a sheepish grin, like everything is normal, like they didn’t just lure you here under false pretenses.

“we figured it out already,” mark says, chuckling into his drink.

“but now we need help figuring out which movie to watch,” jaemin adds, head tilted as he scrolls through endless options, pretending to be focused.

you end up squished between them on the couch, warm and drowsy under the blanket. both boys leaning closer and closer everytime they laugh, their shoulders pressing against yours like clockwork.

mark sneaks glances when you’re not looking—eyes soft, almost shy. jaemin doesn’t even bother hiding it, his gaze never once leaving your face, like the movie is just background noise to the real feature.

jeno who volunteers to edit the report with you late at night, even though he has a baseball game the next morning.

he shows up at your dorm with his laptop, some study materials, and a bag of all your favourite snacks. he opens his laptop but barely uses it, too distracted by the way you chew at your pen cap when you’re thinking. the way your brows furrow when you're focused. the way you hum softly to your music as you work.

and when your mug runs empty, he refills it without you having to ask, the rim still warm from his own touch when he hands it back to you.

“how much did you get done?” you ask, stretching.

he blinks. “...one... word...?”

you burst into laughter, head thrown back, and he grins like he’s just hit a walk-off home run.

renjun who pretends to be annoyed when you make a mistake.

he sighs, dramatic and put-upon. “you’re doing it wrong,” he says, leaning over, hand over yours, voice low and slow as he guides you through the steps, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary.

he rolls his eyes when you mispronounce a theory term, but then repeats it in a tone so soft it practically melts into your skin.

he walks you home when meetings run late, pushing the rest of your friends away and pulls you away with him, muttering something about how he doesn’t trust the others with a pretty girl like you.

you thank him and he grumbles like he’s annoyed, but his scarf is already half-wrapped around your neck, and his hand is already reaching for yours.

“safety measure,” he mumbles, ears bright red as he avoids your eyes.

chenle & jisung who studies with you in the library even when they don’t want to.

chenle who groans the entire time about how unfairly high the project’s weightage is, but still shows up early with snacks he knows you like—because “someone has to make sure you’re fed.”

“you better not skip lunch again,” he warns, poking your arm with a prawn chip. his tone is teasing, but there’s concern in the crease of his brows.

jisung who doesn’t say much, but always choosing to sit beside you instead of his best friend. he opens his book to the same page you’re on and mirrors your reading pace, like working next to you helps the words make more sense.

he offers you one side of his earbuds, hand trembling slightly when your fingers brush. and when you call him cute after catching him startled at the contact, he turns red from collar to ears—denying it immediately, but unable to stop smiling for the next hour.

7dream who, when the project is submitted, are somehow outside your professor’s office again.

not for an extension, not for a grade bump, but to beg, again—politely, desperately—to stay together as a group for the next group-project too.

“we just work really well together,” mark says, a little too quickly.

“yeah,” jeno chimes in, nodding. “great chemistry.”

you glance at them, half-suspicious with the way they’re all grinning so much.

when you leave for your next class, jisung whispers, “i think i’m gonna confess to her after finals.”

“what? no way!” renjun hisses, “i was gonna ask her out!”

“over my dead body,” jaemin hums, already daydreaming about his confession strategy. should he buy you chocolates or flowers? both?

because 7dream may be your classmates, your groupmates, your friends—but they’ve also each written essays stitched onto their hearts. long, rambling, hopelessly romantic essays, each sentence spelling,

i like you, and i hope you never notice how obvious it is.

notes i know i said i was on a mini hiatus but my final-year project is Stressing me out Bad and im in a Rough patch with my groupmates (MY LEADER... BOO...) so i decided to write this to comfort myself #selfindulgent #idgaf #saveayukas did u guys miss me... i missed being on here hahahsh 😿✌️

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe @xikskrrrs

[gloomglimmer]

›        FIRST   TOUCH   PROMPTS       →     receiver   to   sender   (pt.   2)    …   espionage   /   spy   /   romance   inspired.

brushing     hair     behind     their     ear

hands     grazing     while     reaching     for     the     same     object

catching     them     by     the     waist

sliding   a   hand   over   their   holster   while   checking   for   weapons

tending   to   a   gunshot   wound   in   silence

brushing   fingers   over   their   pulse   to   check   they’re   alive

pinning   them   against   the   wall   to   keep   quiet

wiping   blood   or   sweat   from   their   brow

gripping   their   hand   tight   during   an   interrogation

pulling   them   behind   cover   with   a   firm   grasp

lifting   their   chin   to   check   for   signs   of   life

steadying   them   after   a   sudden   explosion   or   attack

wrapping   a   scarf   or   cloth   around   their   neck   for   disguise

touching   their   lips   to   silence   them

brushing   past   them   in   disguise,   pretending   not   to   know   them

adjusting   their   cufflink   or   watch   mid-mission

helping   them   out   of   a   tactical   vest

gripping   their   wrist   before   they   walk   into   danger

holding   their   face   after   a   close   call

brushing   dirt   or   ash   from   their   cheek   gently

sneaking   a   hand   under   the   table   to   reassure

linking   arms   to   pass   as   a   couple

tracing   a   fresh   scar   with   careful   fingers

pulling   them   close   while   hiding   in   shadows

fixing   their   earpiece,   lips   inches   apart

pushing   hair   away   to   whisper   a   secret

pressing   a   hand   to   their   chest   to   feel   their   heartbeat

zipping   up   their   suit   slowly,   lingering   at   the   collar

wiping   a   cut   on   their   cheek   with   a   thumb

lacing   fingers   together   before   parting   ways

touching   their   face   to   make   sure   they’re   real

grabbing   the   back   of   their   shirt   to   stop   them

brushing   a   hidden   note   into   their   hand

tapping   their   knee   under   the   table   for   reassurance

laying   a   head   on   their   shoulder   after   a   long   mission

cupping   their   jaw   while   patching   them   up

gripping   their   coat   lapel   to   make   a   point

letting   their   fingers   linger   after   handing   over   intel

holding   their   gaze   while   adjusting   their   glasses

brushing   off   shards   of   glass   from   their   back

wrapping   arms   around   them   after   a   near-death   moment

trailing   fingers   down   their   spine   to   check   for   wounds

sliding   their   hand   over   theirs   in   a   tense   car   ride

resting   a   hand   on   their   thigh   mid-interrogation

pulling   a   splinter   or   wire   from   their   skin

grazing   their   fingers   while   sharing   a   burner   phone

tilting   their   chin   up   with   two   fingers   to   meet   their   eyes

tugging   gently   on   their   jacket   to   stop   them   from   leaving

laying   a   hand   over   their   heart   after   a   confession

smoothing   their   collar   after   a   close   encounter

letting   their   fingers   linger   on   a   fresh   bruise

catching   their   wrist   as   they   reach   for   their   gun

leaning   forehead   to   forehead   behind   enemy   lines

pressing   a   palm   to   their   back   before   a   mission

brushing   off   flecks   of   blood   after   a   takedown

squeezing   their   hand   before   going   separate   ways

resting   a   palm   on   their   chest   during   a   rare   moment   of   quiet

helping   them   out   of   a   disguise,   brushing   hands   often

letting   their   hand   hover   before   finally   touching

[gyuzgrl]

sixth sense //jww//

anon req- yandere/stalker Wonwoo

summary- when watching you wasn't enough, he'd sneak into your house to get himself off. what happens when Wonwoo realizes he might be able to get something more tonight?

wc- 6k

Wonwoo swore this would be the last time. As his feet carried him further and further, across the street into private property, he promised himself that this was it.

No more.

You see, no matter how hard he tried, Wonwoo just couldn't stop watching you. Where you walked around on campus, the way you spoke to just about everyone so sweetly, how you secretly drifted off in class- he saw it all.

He'd spend hours and hours staring at your face, observing the way your features would morph into all sorts of expressions- so much so he now knows them by heart.

What started as something innocent, however, turned much darker when he realised that you lived in the house opposite his.

Night upon night, Wonwoo would sit by his window, watching, observing as you went about your life, completely unaware.

Your curtains were open- always were.

He knew when you studied, when you slept, when you touched yourself. You were so naive, so innocent, he really just couldn't help himself.

You made it so easy.

And now he's here, inside your house- with an hour to spend and a filthy, filthy imagination.

He's been here a couple of times before. Once when you'd left to go study at the library, another time when Somi and you went out for brunch, last week when your mother and you went shopping.

This time was different, though.

This time, you'd left him a little present on your bed.

As he walks into your room with practiced ease, Wonwoo's breath catches at the sight of pretty pink lingerie and a matching vibrator, laying exposed on your duvet.

'oh you have plans tonight, don't you?'

His thoughts show so clearly on his face- that signature Wonwoo smirk, corners of his lips just barely tilting up, head tipping to one side as his eyes linger over the pink lacey fabric.

Tentatively, he takes hold of the toy, clasping it in his palm, feeling the smooth, shiny plastic against his skin. Wonwoo's thoughts drift to how you'd use it in a few hours, completely unaware that he's been touching it- in turn, indirectly touching you.

'didn't know you liked this kinda stuff,'

'dirty girl'

Your room's mostly clean, usually is, save for the tangle of wires under your desk and a few odd clothes tossed at the foot of your closet. The laundry bin's full; a lid keeps it under control, but fails to hide the silky red fabric of your panties- the ones he saw you take off earlier this morning.

His eyes light up. The vibrator is long forgotten.

Time is of the essence here- there's not a lot of it left- so he grabs the red fabric in a haste and holds it to his face, inhaling deeply to take in your scent.

"fuck-" he groans softly, knees weakening at how goddamn good you smell. There's a hint of that fabric softener you use, clean and floral, but there's also the intoxicating scent of you.

The most intimate part of you.

Wonwoo settles on your duvet, nose still buried into your panties, and his eyes flutter closed as an evil hand snakes it's way into his sweatpants.

His cock jumps at the contact, and he hisses, taking his lower lip in between his teeth. Thoughts of you flood his mind, and he replays the image of you from two nights ago, with your naked body on full display as you lay in this exact spot, touching that pretty cunt of yours.

Slowly, Wonwoo begins to pump himself, squeezing hard around his girth, trying to satiate that red hot pit of desire screaming within.

He takes in a shaky breath, letting you flood his senses, and he feels himself grow in his fist, now moving faster.

Wonwoo thinks of you- of your voice, of your face, of your body. How you'd sound, whimpering, sobbing under him, how your features would settle so perfectly into utter bliss, how your skin; soft to the touch, would jump under his fingertips.

Within minutes, he feels his cock throb. It's hot and heavy in his hand, the tip burns a fiery shade of red as he works himself up to his release pumping faster as he takes you in desperately.

"f-fuck y/n" he chokes out, head falling back into your pillows.

His fist tightens around the width of his dick, trying to mimic what he thinks you'll feel like, and in seconds he tips over the edge. Hot, white ropes stream out of his cock, dribbling out of the tip, and he hunches over quickly to your nightstand to pluck out a tissue or two.

As he cleans himself off, the guilt hits, like it always does.

This is wrong, he knows it is, but he really just can't bring himself to stop. It's as though you've cast a spell on him and now he's become your very own moon- chasing after you, endlessly.

Wonwoo tidies up the bed, fixing your sheets, fluffing up your duvet, and he deposits- albeit reluctantly- your panties back to their assigned spot in the laundry bin.

15 minutes till you come back home.

He heads to your kitchen and discards his soiled tissues into the garbage shoot, destroying all the evidence that he was ever here.

There's still a bit of time left for him, so he looks through your pantry, face falling when he sees the endless sea of instant-meal cartons and ramen packets.

'you really should take better care of yourself,'

Just as he's about to close the cabinet, something catches him eye.

A hand blender- rather, the hand blender you borrowed from him last week. In a sudden burst of genius, Wonwoo comes up with a plan.

It's hasty, definitely reckless, but he has a shot at getting to touch you.

step 1- hide the blender inside the highest shelf of your pantry.

check.

step 2- head back home, shower, put on the cologne you seem you like, change into loose grey sweats and a fitted white wife beater.

check.

step 3- wait till you get home and watch as you settle into bed, ready to play.

check.

step 4- once you begin to work yourself up, almost on the verge of release, that's when he'll strike, ringing your doorbell to ask for his blender.

Wonwoo's heart thuds against his chest as he presses your doorbell. The sound echoes around in his head and he swears he can feel his heart in his throat. Scuffling footsteps draw his attention back to you, and he smirks, imaging what you look like right now; scrambling around to cover yourself up, frustrated that you've been interrupted.

The distinct slap of your house slippers against wooden floors grows louder and louder, in time with Wonwoo's speeding heart, and he feels his mouth go dry.

This is happening.

Creaking your door open, you pop your head out, eyes widening when you see Wonwoo at your doorstep.

"this a bad time?" he asks, tilting his head to the side as his eyes rake over your body, observing the loosely tied robe you've covered up with.

"uh n-no, what's up Won?"

Fuck there was that petname you used all the time. He hated petnames, hated when people called him stuff like that, but with you? God, there was something so cute about it when you said his name like that. Makes him want to push you down and fuck you senseless right here on your doorstep.

"you remember that blender you borrowed? I kinda need it right now," his voice is deep as he speaks, and you notice his apperance.

Tight white vest, baggy grey sweatpants, wet hair- fuck he's your very own wet dream, delivered right to your doorstep. A deep blush spreads across your cheeks and you wonder if he knows what you've been up to.

"y-yeah, come in I've got it around here somewhere," you stutter, stepping back to let him in. Wonwoo steps forward, his long legs closing the distance between your bodies, and you gasp, eyes flicking over to his as he towers over you, barely an inch between your frame and his.

Once again, he let's his eyes skim over you, taking note of the way your cheeks heat up under his stare.

'oh? you like this, don't you?'

There's that smirk again, the knowing twitch of his lips, the condescending look in his eye. He's assured, you're far too desperate to turn him down when he makes his move.

Despite the rambling thoughts inside him, Wonwoo appears composed. He quirks a brow at you, looking almost unimpressed, and you scramble around for words..

"you w- you walk really um, really fast,"

"you don't," he states, bemused, "I really do need that blender, though."

Embarrassed, your skin burns crimson and your lips part, forming an 'o' shape.

"o-oh uh yeah that. it should be in here," you mutter, sauntering your way over to the kitchen with him trailing right behind.

Wonwoo has to physically restrain himself from reaching out to run his palm over the curve of your ass, swaying enticingly as you walk.

'fuck you made this so hard-'

You slip behind the kitchen island, throwing a quick glance his way over your shoulder, before opening up the first cabinet- the one that originally did have Wonwoo's blender.

Clumsy hands, pat around the surface of the shelf in vain, and you turn around, pouting. Wonwoo thinks this is his breaking point (it isn't, but still).

"not here, sorry this might take a while Won"

His heart swells at the petname, and inside he's got fireworks going off. On the outside, however, he remains unmoved.

"yeah take your time, baby, I've got all evening"

You flush.

He called you baby.

Turning to face him, you offer a watery, nervous smile.

"m'sorry Wonnie"

'oh fuck me-'

You turn back around pulling open another cabinet, and then another and another. Moving from the ones at eye level, you kneel down, digging through the shelves under your counter top. The angle makes Wonwoo dizzy.

'you're doing this on purpose, I swear'

On your knees, eyes a little teary from embarrassment, you look up at him, shaking your head. This is the sixth shelf.

"sorry-"

"you're good, here- I'll help you look"

Wonwoo's voice soothes through you, it's low timbre running along your nerves like guitar strings. He steps beside you, eyes scanning over the counter top as you stand up and open your highest cabinet.

You stand on your tip toes, arm fully outstretched, and you begin to search around; this time in the right cabinet. As your fingertips glaze over something that feels like a blender, your eyes light up, and Wonwoo, standing behind you, takes notice.

"think it's here"

The only issue now, is that you can't reach it. It's too high up for you to grasp properly. You stretch as far as you can, straining your body as you try to reach the little plastic device, and before you know what's happening, you feel a presence directly behind you.

Wonwoo.

His chest pushes flush against your back as his arm extends out far beyond yours, and you let out a surprised squeak.

He grins.

The hard muscle of his torso has your mouth watering, only adding to your desperation. Sure, having your orgasm so rudely ripped away is one thing, but to have Jeon Wonwoo of all people, dressed the way he is, pushing up against you, all while you're defenseless and unable to satisfy yourself? Oh this is just pure torture.

"found it" he whispers right above your ear, his breath tickling the shell of it. You shudder.

Wonwoo brings his arm back down, setting the item down on the counter. You turn around, caged between his arms, and your knees go weak at the sight in front of you.

The thick muscles of his arms are on full display, veins jutting out deliciously right beside you. Wonwoo's eyes stay trained on your own, a dark desire, a hunger, running wild in them.

Suddenly, you realise, your little bullet vibrator won't be enough for you tonight.

You gulp noticing the proximity of your bodies, of your faces, and Wonwoo smirks.

"you're all red,"

"s-shut up"

"but you are, I mean look at these" he grins, bringing his fingers up to press your cheeks together. "so fuckin' cute when you blush,"

You're stunned into silence.

"and this-" he motions to your robe, now loose, falling apart at your cleavage, revealing the delicate pink lace of your bra, "who's this for?"

Your eyes almost double in size when you glance down, and you scramble to adjust yourself.

"it's nothing! I was just- I was just um,"

"just what?"

Your brows scrunch up as you bite your lip, suddenly conscious of your surroundings, and you avoid his gaze, opting to look down at the fabric of his vest.

"were you playing with yourself?"

You shake your head furiously, tears welling in your eyes. God, this is embarrassing but for some reason, you find yourself growing hotter, wetter by the second, with your body pressed up against his.

"dirty girl,"

Wonwoo's voice is sultry and low, he's practically purring at you, eyes glazed over with desire. The way he calls you has your cunt clenching down around empty space, and you know you need this. You need him.

"if I was t-touching myself, would you be upset?"

'hook, line, and sinker.'

"oh princess, you were just trynna feel good, of course I won't be upset" he coos, stroking your hair.

"a-and if I say that I was thinking of y-"

"hm?"

"if I say that I was thinking of you, while I was... y'know, would you be mad?"

Oh he wasn't expecting that.

Not one bit.

The stoic, unmoving persona dissipates within seconds and Wonwoo let's out a shaky breath, bringing his face closer to yours, leaving barely an inch of space.

"not at all,"

There's a short pause as you both share understanding glances- a wordless confession.

"this is my mess to fix, isn't it?" he whispers, breath fanning over your face, burning hot against your cheeks.

You nod, desperately, and he leans his forehead against yours.

"and you want me to fix it, baby?"

"please," you whimper, pressing your thighs together helplessly.

Wasting not a second more, rather, unable to wait a second more, Wonwoo pushes his lips to yours, enveloping them in a hungry, needy kiss.

Hot, wet skin greets your mouth, cradling your lower lip as he sucks feverishly at the tender flesh. Wonwoo slides a hand up to your chin, tilting your face up between his thumb and forefinger, and you gasp when he prods his tongue into your mouth.

A pathetic whimper escapes you, and you give in to his body.

"you want this?" he pants, his breath hot, meshing with your own.

"I do- fuck I really do Wonnie"

Your voice is whiny, your eyes gloss over, Wonwoo curses under his breath.

Without warning, he slides his hands under your thighs, and hoists your body up, moving you to sit on the counter. You gasp at how easily he manages to lift you- like you're a fragile little doll, completely at his mercy.

As your thighs spill out from under the robe, they make contact with the cool, hard marble below, and you jump at the sudden sensation.

The fabric of your robe rides up, giving Wonwoo access to the hem of your panties, and his eyes flick down, darkening considerably when he looks at your pink lingerie.

"oh? what's this you're wearing?" There's a smirk in his voice, plain as day. His hands smooth over the front of your thighs, stopping right at the edge of the robe.

"may I?"

His eyes draw back up to yours, and he looks at you, the question genuine in his gaze.

"yes," you breathe, swallowing at the thick lump in your throat.

Eager hands slide up, disappearing momentarily under your robe to feel you first, before pulling the loose fabric apart completely.

Wonwoo slips the silky fabric over your shoulders, letting it pool around your thighs on the counter, and it's as though life presses pause for a while.

He stares at you in awe, in wonder, eyes tracing over every curve, every contour of your body and the lace against it.

"you're so beautiful-" he shudders, unable to stop himself from looking.

"I am?"

Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

"what, you didn't know?"

"uh uh," you shake your head, staring up at him through thick lashes, "nobody's called me that before"

There's a pause. You can practically hear the gears twisting and turning in Wonwoo's head, with his brow set in a frown.

'you really didn't know'

'how do I show yo-'

His lips twitch up, revelation written all over his face.

"as much as I'd love to fuck you into this counter, there's something better in store upstairs,"

"u-upstairs? but how do-"

"shh, princess, don't bother your pretty head about silly things, hm?" he cooes, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In a swift motion, you feel the surface beneath you shift away as Wonwoo lifts you into his arms, hands hooked under the flesh of your ass.

You yelp, eyes wide with panic, but the adoring grin painted on his face calms you down. He walks up the stairs, turning to the right, unlocking your door.

"but how do you kno-"

"patience, pretty- we'll talk when I'm done with you" his voice takes on a darker tone, and you feel your arousal seep through the flimsy lace of your panties. Feeling the tip of his fingers dampen, Wonwoo smirks knowingly.

"someone's eager"

You blush, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, but Wonwoo's quick to pull you back.

"don't you dare hide from me."

The familiar, plush mattress of your bed greets your thighs as he sets you down gently, eyes practically glued to your face, scanning for discomfort.

"if you wanna stop you're gonna tell me, kay? if you can't use your words, tap twice" he says, bringing your hand to his bicep.

"uhuh" Your eyes are hazy, staring into his, as you marvel at how breathtaking he looks crouched down towards you, watching, observing.

Your hand smoothes over his muscles, dipping into the ridges, feeling how firm and strong he really is. Wonwoo shivers under your touch, revelling in how soft your fingers feel tracing over his skin.

"keep touching me and this is gonna go a lot different than how I planned,"

"oh yeah? what did you have planned?"

"you see that mirror there?" he tips his head to the side, angling it toward the mirror standing opposite your bed,

"I'm gonna make you watch."

Wonwoo crawls his way up the mattress, shifting himself to sit up against the head board. His legs are folded at the knees, spread just enough to fit you in between, and he smirks.

An arm moves to rest on his knee, and he crooks two fingers at you, a dangerous smirk playing at his lips.

"c'mere"

Wordlessly, you obey, moving shyly into his embrace, facing him so innocently, Wonwoo can barely bring himself to tell you that you need to turn around.

You shuffle onto your shins, awaiting his next command, and he sighs.

"so fuckin' eager- god I bet you're soaking"

Bashfully, you nod your head, eyes lowered.

"turn around for me, hm?" he ushers, his voice gentle yet firm, and you comply once again, turning in between his knees.

The sight before you has your face flaming. Right there on the wall sits a painting of you and Wonwoo, exposing your most intimate moments, bringing them to view. Your eyes meet in the mirror, and his own shine knowingly at the blush searing across your cheeks.

"keep your eyes on us, sweetheart" he mumbles into your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps spreading over your neck and shoulder. "don't you dare look away"

A soft whimper escapes you as Wonwoo's lips attach themselves to the skin just below your ear, kissing so gently it raises the tiny hairs on your neck. Your eyes narrow in on the spot connecting your bodies- his lips, your neck- and you feel yourself grow hotter, needier, just from the sight alone.

Leaving wet, dull red marks as he moves to the side, Wonwoo reaches a sensitive spot just above your collar bone, grinning against your skin when you gasp.

"see how pretty you look right now? all marked up for me- all mine,"

"a-all yours," you breathe, head lopping to the side, giving him better access to your neck.

His hands grasp your shoulders, smoothing down your arms slowly before settling at your stomach, essentially caging you into himself.

The sharp sting of his teeth nipping at your skin, the way he holds you so secure, how his voice- sensual and deep like the ocean- resonates deep inside you; it's simultaneously soothing and exciting.

While one part of you wants to melt into him, let yourself drown in the ebb and flow of his voice, the other part is on fire, raging within you, begging to be quenched.

"can I take this off?" he murmurs into your skin, hands grazing over the hem of your bra.

"please,"

Tantalisingly slow, Wonwoo rakes his nails lightly along the width of your bra, until they find your clasp.

Deftly, he clicks you free, ridding your body of the fitted fabric.

"oh would you just- just look at yourself, christ-"

Feverish hands slide under your arms, cupping your breasts, toying with your nipples, as your eyes remain trained on yourself and on the way he handles you.

Wonwoo kneads the flesh of your breasts, squeezing the supple flesh in his grasp, feeling how you fill up his palm so perfectly.

"Wonnie-" you whimper, watching how he manhandles your body, doing as he pleases with you.

"that's right, baby, Wonnie's right here"

His lips resume their work on your neck, pressing sloppy, heated kisses along your skin, occassionally nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot.

The hardened peaks of your breasts poke out enticingly, and Wonwoo knows it'll be criminal to leave them untouched. He pinches each one between his forefinger and thumb, rolling, tugging, squeezing the dark nubs, giving you a different kind of pleasure.

"oh my god-" you gasp, back arching when he tweaks one of your nipples with more pressure than before.

The motion sends a jolt of light all over your body, and you feel yourself yearning for more.

"didn't know you were such a dirty girl," he mumbles into your skin, "letting me touch you like this- must've needed a cock inside you really fucking bad, yeah?"

"uh uh- wanted you for so long Wonnie, just you"

Your voice is embarrassingly whiny and breathy, but Wonwoo hears you loud and clear. He looks at your reflection, meeting your eyes.

"just me, huh?"

You nod, biting your lip, suddenly embarrassed of your sudden confession-

"I- I like you,"

Wonwoo let's out a quivering breath, hands leaving your chest to pull you into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent as he leaves you with a muffled- "I like you too, god I really like you"

He sighs into your skin, relaxing as he doesn't have to hold his cards so close to his chest anymore. His feelings, your feelings, were out in the open. You feel for him the way he feels for you and that's enough.

The moment you share is almost sweet enough to let you forget the ache deep in your cunt.

Almost.

You need him.

"Wonnie,"

"yeah baby?"

"need you to touch me" Your voice is a mere whimper, you sound pathetic, but you can't bring yourself to care.

The corners of his lips turn up into a sly smirk, and you feel it against your skin. Wonwoo lifts his head, eyes finding yours, and you note a dangerous fire dancing behind his gaze.

His ankles hook over your own, trapping your legs under his as he spreads you open, completely at his mercy. You gasp, feeling your limbs move without your command, and Wonwoo mimics you, mocking your naive surprise.

"oh look at how pretty-" he mirrors your gasp, your wide-eyed expression, "all spread out for me, hm?"

For some reason, you can't bring yourself to bite back. Insults and snarky remarks flood your mind, and you chastise him internally, calling him an asshole, a cocky, arrogant idiot; but the sight in front of you brings you back to reality.

You like this- you like being mocked and ridiculed. You like being at his mercy, unable to control your body. The flush on your cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, tells you all you need to know.

Curse him in your head all you want, your body likes this.

Wonwoo let's his hand trail down, snaking past your collarbones, your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. You watch, transfixed, as his touch raises the tiny hairs on your body, creating a path of goosebumps.

A thick lump forms in your throat when he reaches where you need him most, and Wonwoo notices how your eyes are narrowed in on his hand.

"good girl, keep looking at yourself baby-" he breathes into your hair, sending a shudder down your spine.

Your heart swells at his praise, and you look at him, wide-eyed.

"hey," he warns, sliding a finger along your clothed slit before pressing down on your clit, "here. keep your eyes right here- you're gonna watch me fuck you,"

Your hips jerk up, jolting at the sudden stimulation, but his legs force you back down, pushing your body further against him.

Words escape you, your mouth feels dry, and your eyes snap back to the image of your clothed sex. The way his finger toys with your clit, teasing just enough, has you growing so desperate, you're willing to do just about anything to get him to touch you.

"Wonnie p-please," you shudder as his finger presses into you again, "please just- oh," Your voice breaks off into a broken moan when Wonwoo begins to rub firm circles into your clit.

The textured fabric of your lingerie adds an additional layer of stimulation to your nerves, sending sparks flying all over your skin like scattered fireworks.

"please?" he echoes, his tone mocking your own.

His fingers move faster, pushing down on your most sensitive spot, and you can't help but stare shamelessly at how effortlessly he plays with you.

Wonwoo reads the silent language of your body like no other, watching each crease in your forehead, each stutter of your hips to see what you need. Those long, slender fingers flick at you so easily, so deftly, it's as though he knows you better than you know yourself.

Soon enough, your clit throbs under his touch, and he knows you're close.

"oh sweetheart-" he coos, "I haven't even touched you yet-"

Your cunt clenches down at his condescending tone, anticipation building to a shocking crescendo. Just how far is he going to push you?

"m'gonna- fuck m'gonna cum-" you moan, head tipping back. Your legs twitch under his, and your thighs work tirelessly to press together, but in vain.

You're trapped.

"aw baby look," Wonwoo brings his free hand up to clasp your neck, forcibly turning your head straight. "so pretty like this- fuck you're shaking,"

Your eyes flick over your reflection, hazy as ever, and you feel your orgasm coming on. There's something so sexy about watching yourself come undone, watching Wonwoo spread you apart and use you like a little toy.

A wave of pleasure, approaching fast, washes over you as he works you up to your orgasm. The rough texture of your panties has you drooling, and soon enough, you're nerves ache from overstimulation.

"that's it, princess- so good for me,"

Wonwoo pushes the crotch of your panties aside, without warning, and dips two fingers into your cunt, pushing deep inside to collect your essence. Your body jolts in his embrace, thighs tensing with effort to squirm away from him, but again, there's no escaping.

"oh you taste like heaven," he groans, slipping his fingers into his mouth, licking up every drop he collected.

You find yourself entranced by the sight, watching him clean off his fingers, slipping his tongue so deftly between each digit, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like inside you.

Noticing the fascination with which you observe him, Wonwoo shoots you a sly smirk, letting your legs slip free.

'I know what you're thinking,'

"turn around,"

Your body moves on its own, following his voice, and you shift in his arms with your back to the mirror.

"now c'mere," he licks his lips, moving his hands to your waist, pulling you onto his thigh.

Within seconds, his lips are on yours, pressing needy, hungry kisses to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you dizzy, in dire need of more.

Air escapes you quicker than water in a broken dam, and you find yourself growing light-headed, pulling away for breath despite Wonwoo's grumbling.

When you draw back for the third time, he's beyond frustrated, groaning as his lips chase yours.

"get back here." he seethes, hands gripping the flesh of your waist, "right. fucking. now"

Your body, unfortunately, is slow to respond.

Wonwoo curses under his breath before flipping you over, arms straining as he lays you down as gently as he can.

You yelp, clutching onto his biceps like your very own safety belt, and your eyes widen at how easily he moves you.

"what are y-"

"can't have you running away," he smirks, tongue running along his lower lip.

Balancing his weight on one arm while bringing your hand to touch the other, Wonwoo repeats himself-

"if you want to stop, tell me. if that isn't possible-"

"tap twice, got it" you interrupt hastily, impatient as ever. He smiles fondly at you, a soft huff of laughter spilling past his lips.

"that's my girl,"

Your nails run over a thick vein jutting out from under his skin, and he swallows thickly, Adam's apple dipping low into his throat.

"you're really fucking distracting, y'know that?" he tuts, grabbing your hand and pinning it up above your head.

Before you can respond, Wonwoo captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue past your lips, and exploring the expanse of your mouth fervently as if he's trying to memorize the way you feel, the way you taste.

The hand on your wrist loosens its grip and Wonwoo runs his fingers down the inside of your arm- ghosting a feathery touch over the sensitive skin.

"Won-" you whimper into his mouth, desperate for air, but he doubles down, pushing his lips closer to yours. Your helpless, muffled whines fill his ears and he can't help but grin against your lips.

'you make the prettiest sounds,'

Finally showing mercy, Wonwoo lets you breathe, moving from your lips to your chest, kissing his way down to your soaked panties.

"made a mess of these-" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice and you want nothing more than to smack it off, but you know he's right.

"you'll clean me up though, won't you?"

Silence.

Wonwoo sucks in a deep, composing inhale. His eyes meet yours, and your breath hitches. There's a deep, dark desire, an untameable lust behind the browns of his eyes, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

His fingers hook into your panties, tugging them off firmly, and his jaw clenches at the sight of your bare cunt.

"fuck-"

As if under a spell, Wonwoo finds himself drawn to you, placing his lips to your sex. He sticks a kiss to your slit before running his tongue along your folds and you know you're done for when your legs begin to twitch.

"oh please-" you whimper, hips bucking up into his tongue, and his lips twitch up. He brings his tongue to your hole, prodding it inside you, flicking in and out as his hand splays over your lower belly, thumbing your puffy clit.

Your jaw falls slack, hanging open, and your head lolls over to the side in pure ecstasy.

Wonwoo moves inside you with ease, pressing into every spot you need, rubbing lazy circles into your sensitive nerves. A choked moan claws its way up your throat, flooding the room, and Wonwoo knows he's doing something right.

All those nights studying you, the way you touched yourself, the things you seemed to like- they paid off in the end.

Your breathing grows unsteady and rapid, and he moves faster, pushes deeper into you, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

"f-fu- Wonnie m'gon-" you stutter, breathlessly, and he hums an affirmation, his voice sending waves reverberating through your nerves. The added stimulation of his voice, buzzing through you, is just enough to send you over the edge, and you cum on his tongue, back arching off the bed.

Unable to control the sounds escaping you, you're a whimpering, moaning jumble of nerves.

"that's it, baby-" he soothes, easing his tongue over your cunt, lapping up the remnants of arousal as you shudder uncontrollably. "taste so fuckin' good,"

Wonwoo kisses up your torso, settling on his knees to take his clothes off.

The white tank goes first, revealing his chiseled upper body, and your jaw drops. He looks unreal. The sweatpants are next, leaving him in a pair of fitted black boxers that cling to the width of his thighs and do little to hide his size.

"you're still okay with this?" he asks one last time, fingers halting at his boxers.

Stunned by the view, you nod dumbly, lips still parted in surprise.

"baby- I need wor-"

"yes! yes- yes I'm o-okay with this" you blurt out, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"do you hav-"

"I'm on the pill" The boxers are shucked off.

Oh my God.

The mattress dips under his weight, dimples forming under his knees and elbows as he hovers over you. Wonwoo places a chaste kiss to your forehead, aligning himself with your entrance before easing into you.

"you-you're so big-" you breathe, feeling the wind knocked out of your lungs. "Wonnie- oh my god"

Your eyes widen, brows knitting together as he pushes further and further, until he bottoms out inside you.

"shi-shit that's it- takin' me so good-" he hisses, clenching his teeth.

The girth of his cock has your walls stretching wide, trying desperately to accommodate him, and your eyes roll back. Wonwoo finds himself in a bit of a dilemma, unable to figure out whether to keep his eyes on your face, contorting in undeniable pleasure, or on your cunt being stuffed full by his cock.

With each thrust of his hips, you feel him move further, reaching deeper inside you until his tip nudges your cervix, coaxing out strangled moans on your part. The thick, pulsating vein running along the underside of his cock drags against your walls, and you feel him grow inside you- getting even bigger than before.

"W-onnie-" you mewl, words cut off by sharp gasps every time he slams back into you. "too big oh my g-"

"shh, you're takin' me so good doll, doin' so fucking good for me-" His voice is tainted with effort, each consonant ringing sharp and breathy as his lips ghost over yours.

Every fiber in your body buzzes with electricity, sweat glistens off of you like gold- you're on top of the world right now. The pleasure you feel in this moment is simply unparalleled. Nobody has, or ever will, come close.

Wonwoo's motions pick up speed, as he hooks his arm under your thigh, pulling it over his back- angling himself deeper into you, reaching spots you don't even know exist.

The first thrust with this newfound angle has both of your lips parting, breathing out shaky "oh"s against each other. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head, breathing ragged and fast.

Wonwoo lets out a huff, smirking like he isn't gasping for breath the same way your are-

"that's it- I know you're close baby"

His hand leaves your thigh, rubbing zig-zag patterns into your clit, just enough to steal that orgasm out of you. The calloused pads of his fingers show no mercy, pressing directly on your nerves, and your hole spasms around him. You're certain you can feel your heartbeat where his finger presses, you can feel his too with the way his cock throbs inside you.

"so goddamn tight-" Wonwoo seethes, now feeling his own high approaching. He continues his motions on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves from left to right, until you finally give in with a sob.

"m'cumming oh fuc- oh fuck"

The muscles of your thighs tense momentarily, cunt clenching down hard around his cock, before you let go completely. A warm, prickly relaxation washes over you, and Wonwoo grunts, releasing himself inside you.

His thrusts slow to a halt, and he lets out an airy laugh, in disbelief. He stares down at your disheveled frame- flushed, sweaty skin, blown pupils, hair tangled up around your head.

"you're beautiful," he breathes, unable to hold his tongue, and you giggle, turning away bashfully.

Wonwoo tilts your chin back, pulling you to face him-

"I really like you, y/n,"

You smile, eyes shimmering up at him. "I like you more"

There's a brief pause as you gaze into each other's eyes, before you realise something.

"wait- how'd you know wh-"

"sixth sense" he grins, eyes carrying just a touch of madness. "I know everything."

[roosterforme]

You're on the Naughty List, Rooster | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knows no limits when spoiling his family, especially for his daughter's first Christmas. When he's down to the wire getting everything ready, he lands himself on the naughty list. He'll do whatever it takes to fix things, including calling on one of Santa's helpers for backup.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, smut, oral sex

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This is a The Younger Kind one-shot, but it can be read alone! Check out my masterlist for more!

"What is this?" you asked, holding up a receipt that trailed from your outstretched hand all the way to the floor. "Because I know you didn't spend eight hundred dollars on toys on your way home from work today."

"Uh," Bradley replied, brow puckered. He looked up from his spot on the living room floor next to the Christmas tree where he was putting batteries into a remote control dinosaur. "It's, uh.... well, yeah, I did stop for a few more toys on the way home, but I only spent like seven hundred and sixty bucks..."

"Daddy!" you gasped. "Noah and Noelle already have way too much stuff! And we agreed to put money aside to go to Disney World next summer!"

Bradley rolled his eyes and waved his hand casually in the air. "Don't worry about that. This is Noelle's first Christmas, and I really wanted to spoil her."

You shook your head, balled up the receipt, and threw it at his head. But you were smiling. "Where are these toys?"

"In the Bronco," he muttered. "I was going to sneak them under the tree after you went to bed and hope you didn't notice that I got a few more things."

You deadpanned. "You don't know how to wrap gifts. They would have stuck out like a sore thumb," you muttered, sliding your feet into your slippers and pulling on Bradley's discarded sweatshirt. 

Without another word, you slipped out into the crisp, cool night to retrieve everything. To your dismay, it took you several trips back to the living room before you got all of it.

"You are in so much trouble," you warned, pulling his sweatshirt off and crawling across the floor toward your husband. "You're on the naughty list."

"I'm not," he whispered. "I've been really good all year."

You pointed to the Elf on the Shelf which was perched on the windowsill next to the front door. "That's not what Skittles Junior told Santa. I saw the note he sent to the North Pole. Everyone was on the nice list except for you."

"Including Skittles Senior?" he asked, pulling you close until you were sitting halfway on his lap. The Yorkshire Terrier looked up from her napping spot under the Christmas tree, annoyed that they kept saying her name without offering a treat.

"Especially Skittles Senior," you confirmed.

Bradley wrapped his hands around your waist and whispered, "What if I bought my way onto the nice list?"

"How?" you asked, chin jutting into the air, playfully haughty.

Bradley leaned in, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. You had the softest skin, and he let himself indulge in some kisses before saying, "Maybe I already booked the trip to Disney World."

You gasped softly. "Well, this is an interesting turn of events. Did you pick a nice hotel?"

"For my family? The nicest."

"And we get to go for a week?"

"A full seven days, Princess," he rasped, brown eyes reflecting the lights on the tree as you tipped his head back to examine his face.

"Let me check with the Elf," you whispered with a wink. You turned toward the window and asked, "Hey, Skittles Junior? You think we can let the old man slide this year? He wasn't too bad."

But Bradley was already easing you onto your back, right next to the snag in the area rug, while you laughed. "I know for a fact you're on the nice list. You're so nice, in fact, I'll let you have one of your presents early," he murmured. You bit your lip as he started to tug your pajama pants over your hips. "This is something I definitely wouldn't be able to figure out how to wrap." He kissed below your belly button, tossing your pants on top of his hoodie. "But I know it's something you like."

The tip of his nose tickled the waistband of your underwear before he started to pull them down as well. Then he kissed his way along your thigh, mustache prickling you as you shivered, pussy completely bare for him. "Daddy," you moaned softly, fingers grabbing at the rug while he held tight to your thigh and dragged his index finger along your slit.

His face was handsome in the glow from the multi-colored lights, gaze fixed on where he was stroking you. "You're so fucking pretty like this," he grunted, collecting your slick and circling your clit until you whimpered. His lips found the inside of your knee before he set your legs gently on his shoulders. You watched as he licked his finger clean, eyes closed in pleasure. "You taste like a Princess."

"I am a Princess," you replied, eyes flicking to the collection of paper crowns which your son added to the Christmas tree. Then your eyes slid closed as Bradley's tongue traced you from hole to hole before his lips sealed around your clit with just the perfect pressure. 

"Oh, god," you whined as your fingers sunk into his thick hair. His broad shoulders kept you planted against the floor, pussy already fluttering with need as you tried to roll your hips for more.

"Just wait," he whispered, mustache dragging through your wetness. "Don't rush it."

"But it feels good," you whined loudly, tugging him by his hair. "More." 

That's when he lifted you slightly off the rug, his big hand landing on your butt, spanking you one time. You sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the sting as he kissed the inside of your thigh. "I said don't rush it. Want you to make a mess."

"Oh." He was going to make you squirt. That was the gift he was giving you. Even now, you weren't sure how he managed to make it happen every time he put his mind to it, but you weren't mad about it. You tried your best to keep your hips still as he worked you up while his hands made their way to your waist. 

He drew little circles against your skin where you were most self conscious after being pregnant with Noelle, but he never seemed to mind your stretch marks. He just kept at it, licking you up and down your slit with a steady pattern until you were starting to get loud. Then Bradley shoved two fingers inside and circled your clit with his thumb.

"Don't wake up the kids," he scolded playfully, guiding his body over yours while his hand worked at your pussy. The sounds were wet and indecent as he finger fucked you while you licked yourself from his lips and mustache. "God, you're so fucking sweet," he crooned, making you whine for him as he pulled away again.

As soon as his face was back between your legs, his lips took over for his thumb, and you knew you were close. His fingers felt thick and unrelenting, giving you the most delicious friction as he sucked on your clit. When his tongue swiped you, your back arched up from the rug, and your legs started to shake. When his fingers slowed, your vision blurred, creating a colorful mosaic from the Christmas lights as you clenched around him, your body trying to keep his fingers inside.

"Jesus," you gasped, riding his fingers, looking down at his face, lips still all over your pussy. "Daddy!"

You gushed on his face, and he moaned in pleasure, lapping up everything from your ass to your clit as you gasped and giggled, fingers pressed to your lips as you shakily rode out your orgasm.

"Merry Christmas, Princess," he crooned, teasing you with his fingers before removing them. He kissed your chin and your parted lips before letting you suck on his fingers while he sprawled out next to you. Your tongue cleaned him up, enjoying the taste of yourself on his rough hands before you rolled onto your side.

"You want me to wrap all of the extra toys you bought, don't you, Bradley?" you asked, voice shaky as he nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, I thought that was a given."

You laughed, but a few minutes later, you were once again dressed, wrapping presents until well after midnight. Bradley handed you the tape and scissors when you asked for them, and he made both of you mugs of hot cocoa when you needed a break. He told you his plans for the summer vacation to Florida, and you lined up the mound of toys for Noah and Noelle under the tree until you couldn't stop yawning.

"I don't know if I'm more tired from my orgasm or wrapping. Or both?" you asked, kissing him before standing. "But I'm going to bed."

"I'll be in after I put the mugs in the sink, Princess. I love you."

You stood and arched your back in the most alluring way before running your fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead. "Don't forget to move Skittles Junior to the tree for Christmas morning."

"Right. I'll take care of it," he grunted as you walked away, Skittles Senior trailing behind on her way to her puppy bed. 

After straightening up the kitchen, Bradley took the time to clean up a few wrapping paper scraps and adjust some of the ornaments. The tree looked beautiful covered in homemade art projects you and Noah crafted together. The whole house had taken on a new life since he met you, and if you wanted to go to Disney World in the summer, he was going to make it the best trip ever.

"Get over here," he told the Elf on the Shelf, picking him up and searching for a good spot on the tree to hide him. "And I better be on the nice list tomorrow, Skittles Junior. There are a lot of things I want from my wife next year, if you catch my drift, buddy."

But Bradley took a wrong step trying to avoid the huge pile of presents that he bought. His eyes went wide as he reached for the tree, somehow managing to keep it and himself upright while the presents scattered noisily across the floor. He stood there silently, trying to regroup, but then he heard footsteps in the hallway.

"Daddy, did Santa come?"

Bradley turned in time to see Noah peek into the room, his brown eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. Then he burst into tears.

"What's wrong, Bub?" Bradley asked, scrambling around the presents to get to his son.

"You touched the Elf!" he wailed, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Now Skittles Junior won't be magic anymore!"

Bradley tamped down the string of obscenities on the tip of his tongue and winced, throwing the Elf at the tree. "He's okay. See? He's in the tree now. He's just fine."

"No!" his son cried, dropping to the floor where Bradley joined him, trying to keep him quiet so he didn't wake you or Noelle. "He's not magic anymore!"

Fuck. Bradley had been setting up elaborate scenes involving the elf leaving flour footprints in the kitchen and dangling from dental floss in the bathroom for the entire month of December. He knew he wasn't allowed to get caught touching the damn thing.

"I'm pretty sure there's a way to fix his magic," he said, collecting the sobbing child against his chest.

Noah gasped for air as he said, "Someone at school told me the only way to get an elf to be magic again is if Santa sends a helper to sprinkle new magic on him. That's the only way."

Bradley tried to think of a solution to appease Noah, but he was beyond exhausted. "How about I take you back to bed, okay? Santa was clearly already here, but Mommy and Noelle are still asleep. We can open presents in a few hours-"

"No!" Noah protested, looking up at him. "I want to stay here with Skittles Junior until Santa sends a helper to give him back his magic!"

Bradley gritted his teeth. It was four in the morning. He wanted to be curled up next to your warm body in bed. He didn't know how the fuck to fix the elf as it dangled helplessly from the tree. But it was Christmas, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his son.

"Right," Bradley agreed, scooping Noah up and settling onto the couch with him as a plan started to take shape. "How about you and I wait right here? I'm sure it won't take long."

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

When you woke up, the bed was cold. You could hear Noelle starting to fuss in her crib, so you went to her room before investigating where your husband could possibly be.

"Hey, Noelle," you whispered as she giggled and reached for you when you walked to her crib. Thankfully she was finally sleeping through the night now after getting a rough start. You kissed her forehead and changed her into a fresh diaper. "Merry Christmas," you told her, tickling her tummy, making her coo. "Let's find Noah and Daddy and make breakfast."

When you walked into the living room, you froze. The wrapped presents were all over the floor, Skittles Junior was dangling from the Christmas tree, and Bradley looked miserably tired with Noah pouting on his lap.

"What's going on?" you asked, and they both turned to look at you and Noelle.

"Daddy touched Skittles Junior, and now he's not magic anymore."

Noah's lips quivered as Bradley rolled his eyes behind him. "It was an accident," Bradley replied through gritted teeth. "And Santa's helper should be here shortly to remedy things."

You looked at him like he had two heads. "What are you talking about? Santa's helper?"

"It's the only way!" Noah insisted, his little fists clenched on his lap. "It's the only way to get his magic back!"

You looked from one pair of brown eyes to the other. "I'm still confused," you whispered, but then there was a knock on the front door. "Who could that possibly be at this hour?"

Noah launched off Bradley's lap. "It has to be Santa's helper!" he exclaimed, racing for the door and opening it. You nearly choked when you saw Natasha standing there, dressed as a life-sized Elf on the Shelf with heavily rouged cheeks and her hair hidden under the pointy hat. She was also wearing oversized glasses which she pushed up her nose as Bradley stood.

"Hi! My name is Pip! I'm an elf!" she squeaked.

"Did Santa send you?" Noah asked hopefully, opening the door wider for her.

"He sure did!" she told him with a smile while you took in the events before you with Noelle in your arms. This had to be the most insane thing you'd ever witnessed as your husband's best friend walked into the living room with a canister of gold glitter in her hand.

"Did he tell you my elf lost his magic?" Noah asked, pointing at the tree.

"Oh, yes," Natasha squeaked. "He said your dad was very, very naughty." She glared at Bradley who just shook his head. "He's going directly onto the naughty list for the next decade or so. Everyone knows you aren't allowed to touch the Elf on the Shelf. Only a complete moron would-"

"Okay, Pip," Bradley barked. "Can you fix the elf or not?"

She adjusted the glasses and opened the glitter. "Of course I can. Just a little sprinkle," she said, dousing the elf and half the tree in gold dust, "and he'll be good as new."

"Yay!" Noah shouted, jumping around the room. "He's magic again! He's magic again!"

You gaped at Bradley and whispered, "Do I even want to know?"

"Absolutely not," he replied, taking Noelle and giving her a kiss while Noah plopped down to open aone of his presents like all was right in the world.

When Natasha turned to quietly sneak back out the front door, you followed her to the porch, closing the door behind you.

"What in the world is happening here? I thought you and Javy were coming over later for dinner?"

She waved her hand in the air in clear annoyance. "I don't know exactly what your husband did to fuck up enough that I got texts in the middle of the night and had to drive an hour each way to the only Walmart that opened at seven in the morning on Christmas to buy this outfit, but he owes me dearly. I'll be back at a normal hour, and you can tell him he better be ready to start kissing my ass."

The elf stormed across the yard to her SUV, tossed her hat in, and drove off. You scratched your head, still confused as you went back inside. Skittles Junior was practically dripping with gold glitter as you passed the tree to find your husband and both of your children were wearing their paper crowns.

"Mommy, put it on," Noah said, handing you the purple one as you took a seat on the area rug with them.

Bradley leaned in and kissed your cheek while Noelle reached for one of the wrapped gifts. "I'll explain everything later," he whispered. "The important thing is the elf is magical again, and everyone is happy."

You shook your head and pursed your lips. "Everyone except you. Ten years on the naughty list? You better hope Pip changes her mind before she gets back to the North Pole."

Bradley groaned and sprawled out on the floor while the kids opened their presents, but there was a smile on his face the whole time.

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

It feels good to check in with them! I'm so obsessed with elf Natasha, if you couldn't tell. Thanks for reading! Happy holidays! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[slut4megantheestallion]

Warnings ⚠️: William afton x reader, possessiveness, William being a creep, age gap, degradation, Michael secretly likes the reader, smut, reader is of age.

(Writers note: This story is inspired by a fanfic I read from @orionlain, that William afton fanfic was so good, like I'm obsessed, so I wrote this dedicated to you.)

"Unspoken Desire"

Michael had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. You two had grown up side by side, sneaking out late at night, causing trouble in the neighborhood, and sharing secrets no one else knew. Despite his tough exterior - his love for cigarettes, graffiti, and scaring his little brother with that stupid Foxy mask - he had a soft spot for you he always did.

His siblings adored you. Elizabeth would cling to you whenever you came over, begging you to play tea party with her or let her braid your hair. Evan, usually shy and withdrawn, would light up when he saw you, always wanting to sit next to you at dinner.

Michael pretended he didn't care, but you saw the way his face turned red whenever Elizabeth called you "pretty" or when his father actually acknowledged your presence - someone he rarely did with Michael.

And then there was Michael's Dad, William Afton.

He was an enigma, always composed, always watching. Unlike other adults, he didn't seem to dismiss you like just another teenager. Instead, he observed his cold silver-grey- blue eyes studying you with intensity that sent an odd shiver down your spine.

You never thought much of it at first. After all, he was Michael's father. Strict, intelligent, a bit intimidating - but nothing out of the ordinary. Or so you believed.

It was late at night. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the ticking clock in the hallway and Michael's light snoring from the couch. You've slept over at Michael's place often, but something about tonight felt different kinda sinister.

Curiosity got the best of you, leading you down the dimly lit hall. The basement door was slightly ajar, a silver of golden light cutting through the darkness. You hesitated, but the low hum of machinery and the occasional clinking of metal piqued your interest.

Peering inside, your breath hitched.

William stood at his workbench, sleeves rolled up, his lean but strong frame illuminated by the glow of his desk lamp. He was working on something - an animatronic, its metal frame half- assembled, wires spilling out like exposed veins.

"You're up late, darling," his voice cut through the silence, smooth and deliberate.

You swallowed, stepping fully into the room. "Sorry, I... heard a noise."

He turned to face you, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in his gaze. Then, a slow smile curved his lips. "Curious little thing, aren't you?"

Your face warmed at his words. There was something about the way he spoke - low, almost amused - that made your stomach twisted.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," you murmured, glancing at the animatronic. "I just... didn't know you built them yourself."

He wiped his hands on a rag, stepping closer. "It's a passion of mine." His eyes flickered over you, lingering. "Would you like to see?"

You nodded, unable to find your voice as he gestured for you to come closer.

The scent of oil and metal filled your nose as you stood besdie him, his presence unnervingly close. He explained his work, but you found it so hard to focus on his words when his voice was so velvety smooth with his British accent, each syllable sending an unexplainable heat down your spine.

Then, his hand brushed against yours - subtle, deliberate. Your breath caught.

"You're quiet the distraction, you know." He murmured, but you heard clearly.

Your heart pounded. "What do you mean?"

William chuckled, low and knowing, "You really don't see it, do you?" His fingers lifted, tracing a featherlight touch along your jaw. "How utterly captivating you are."

Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of fear and something else entirely swirling inside you. You had always found him attractive - though you never admitted it. He was older, Michael's father, off-limits.

And yet, here you were, alone in the dimly lit basement, his gaze heavy on you.

"Tell me, darling." He whispered, his lips dangerously close. "Have you ever been touched like this before?"

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his voice intoxicating.

His fingers traced along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. There was something unreadable in his expression - something that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn't explain.

"You spend so much time with my son," William murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "And yet... I wonder if you've ever noticed how different we are."

Your breath caught. "Different?"

He chuckled, low and smooth, his grip tightening just ended to make your pulse race. "Michael's a foolish boy. Reckless. Always chasing after trouble." His eyes flickered over your face, drinking in every detail. "But you... you're so much more careful. Much more... delicate."

A shiver ran down your spine. You should have pulled away. Should have said something. But the way he looked at you - like he had decided you belonged to him - left you frozen in place.

"Tell me," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Does Michael know how easily you tremble under my touch?"

Your face burned as his other hand trailed down your arm, his touch slow, deliberate. You swallowed hard, unable to form a response.

William's smirk deepened. "No, I don't imagine he does." He murmured, his voice dripping with amusement, as if he were indulging in some private joke. His thumb brushed over against your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

Your breath hitched. He was too close now, his sharp, silver silver-grey-blue eyes studying your face like he was committing every detail to memory. "You seem nervous," he observed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I making you uncomfortable, dear?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly too quickly. "No! I mean... I just - I wasn't expecting to see you down here."

He chuckled, the sound low and velvety. "Ah, but surprises can be.. exciting, don't you think?" His free hand reached up, fingers barely grazing your jaw as he tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. "And I do enjoy exciting things."

Your heart pounded, your body betraying you as your face grew hot. His words felt heavier than they should have, dripping with something unspoken.

"You've been such a good little guest in my home," William continued, voice barely above a whisper now, his fingers still resting against your jaw. "So polite, so sweet..." His smirk widened, his gaze darkening. "Such a tempting little thing you are."

Your breath stilled. This was dangerous. You weren't naive - you knew the way his eyes lingered, the way his touch felt just a little too intimate to be casual.

"Tell me," he leaned in just slightly,enough for you to feel his breath against yur skin, "Do you really think I haven't noticed the way you look at me?"

Your stomach twisted, heat rising to your cheeks. "I- I don't know what you mean, Mr. Afton-"

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Oh, but you do," he murmured, his fingers trailing lower, brushing against the delicate pulse of your throat. "You've always been such a sweet little thing, haven't you? So polite, so eager to please... No wonder Michael keeps you close."

The mention of Michael should have snapped you back to reality, should have reminded you that this - whatever this was - shouldn't be happening. And yet, the way William studied you, like a puzzle he was piecing together with precision, made it impossible to step away.

He sighed, almost mockingly. "Such a shame, really.. the way he takes you for granted." His fingers trailed down to length of your arm, slow and deliberate. "If I had something as lovely as you. I'd make sure you knew your worth."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The room suddenly felt too warm, the dim light casting sharp shadows over this sharp features.

William smirked, sensing your hesitation. "No need to be shy, dove. I see the way your hands tremble, the way your breath catches.. Is it fear?" His hand slid behind your waist, pulling you flush against the desk. "Or is it something else?"

William's grip tightened at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. "I think," he murmured, voice rich with amusement. "You like the attention, don't you, bunny?"

Before you could respond, he lifted you up with ease, setting you down onto the desk. The cold surface met the warmth of your skin, sending a jolt through you. Your pulse pounded as he stood between your legs, his presence overwhelming, suffocating in the best way.

His hands traced up your thighs, slow, skilled, deliberate, his touch rough with callouses. "So soft," he mused, fingers pressing in spreading you open just enough to make you gasp in pleasure. "A delicate little thing like you, trembling for me... Tell me, love, do you have any idea how irresistible you are?"

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips ghosting against your ear. "I've thought about this," he admitted, voice low, sinful. "About having you like this, beneath me, taking every inch I give you."

A sharp click cut through the air, and your eyes dropped to his hands. Williams fingers worked through at the buckle of his belt, slow, deliberate, his gaze locked onto yours as he pulled it free from the loops. The leather hissed against the fabric of his slacks, the sound sending a fresh wave of anticipation through you.

You couldn't help but stare at the veiny cock, it wasn't it was big like you you seen in porn magazines,it was throbbing, a bit veiny, and thick, for such a skinny man, he had a really big dick.

William chuckled at the way your face looks at his cock, He interrupted your thoughts. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, dove." He instructed, smirking as he let the belt drop to the floor with a heavy thud. "I want to see every little reaction."

Before you could respond, he inserted himself inside, making you gasp in pain, but you enjoyed the feeling of the way he was inside you. His movements were firm, controlled, as he pulled you forward, pressing you further against the desk. A deep groan escaped him as he filled you, stretching you with a delicious ache that you never thought you craved. Your fingers gripped at his shoulders for stability, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he thrusted in you at a relentless pace.

"Look at you," he rasped, eyes dark as they bore into yours. "So perfect, taking me so well, like the whore you are." His hands roamed, one sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades to arch your back. The other gripped your hop holding you in place as he drove into you.

A whimper slipped through your lips, and his smirks deepened at the beautiful sight seeing you so weak, submissive, the tears pooling through your eyes. "That's it, bunny... let me hear you." His voice molten, dripping with satisfaction. "Let me hear you much you love this."

The desk creaked beneath you, each moves sending shivers through your body. His praise was relentless, murmured against your skin like a worshipper at an altar. "Such a good girl, taking me so beautifully, you were made for my cock, weren't you?"

His pace never slowed, each thrust felt so deliberate, like it was claiming you. Your name spilled from his lips a prayer, laced with possession. "Mine, you hear?" He growled, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. "Mine to ruin, mine to fuck, mine to adore."

Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation, by the weight of his words. And when you shattered, he wasn't far behind, groaning your name as he buried himself one final time.

"Oh my- Mr. afton, I'm gonna cum~" you gasped out loudly for you to hear he chuckled at the sight. You looked a complete mess for him at his mercy.

Go ahead my precious, slut." He reassured as his thrust were getting sloppy, he felt your heat through your core, you came as William stopped his thrusts as both of you panted face to face, in satisfaction.

William let out a deep, satisfied exhale, his hands still gripping on your hips as he finally slowed his movements. The air between you was thick with heat, your bodies tangled in the dim basement light. For a moment, the room was filled only with your labored breaths, the scent of sweat, and something deeper clinging to the air.

William was the first to move rolling his shoulders back as he exhaled in satisfaction. Slowly, he withdrew, watching with an unreadable expression as you shivered from the sudden emptiness. His fingers trailed down to your thighs before he stepped back entirely, reaching for his belt.

The clink of the metal buckle snapped you out of your daze. You watched, still sprawled across the desk, as he threaded the leather back through the loops of his slacks with practiced ease. The entire time, his gaze never left you.

You swallowed,hard, suddenly hyperaware of your own state - your rumpled clothes, the heat still lingering between your legs, the unmistakably sting of his rough game on your skin. You sat up slowly, fixing your clothing as best you could.

Just as you were about to slip off the desk, William was there again, looming close. His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His silver-grey-blue eyes gleamed with something dark- possessive, knowing.

"Look at you, love," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. "So pretty when you're all flustered."

Your breath hitched, and you hated how your body responds to his words. He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You hesitated, words failing you. You shouldn't say something- anything- but what could you possibly say? This was wrong. It was so, so wrong.

But it didn't feel wrong.

William leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. "I'd love to keep you here all night," he mused, his tone almost playful. "But I imagine you need to get home before Michael starts wondering where his precious little friend disappeared to."

Michael.

Your stomach twisted.

You tore yourself away from William's touch, suddenly desperate to get you out of there. He let you go easily, stepping back with a chuckle as you hurriedly adjusted yourself, making surreal you look somewhat presentable.

"You should get going, darling," he hummed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk. "We wouldn't want anyone asking questions now, would we?"

You ignored the way your hands trembled as you smoothed down your shirt. Without another word, you turned toward the basement door, your heart hammering against your ribs.

As you climbed the steps, you forced yourself to breathe evenly to act normal. You peeked into the living room, your chest tightening when you saw Michael still passed out on the couch, his arm draped over his face, completely unaware.

Guilt clawed at your throat.

What the hell did I just do?

You shook the thought away and slipped out the front door, the cool night air hitting you like a slap to the face. It did little to calm the fire still burning beneath your skin.

Your bike was still leaned against the porch of the railing. You climbed on, pedaling faster than necessary, as if you could escape what had just happened by sheer force alone. The streets were quiet, the only sound of the whirring of your tires against the pavement.

Your house wasn't far, but every second felt stretched, your mind replaying everything that had transpired in that basement. The way William had looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he ruined you.

And the worst part?

You liked every single moment of it.

The thought made your stomach churn. You should feel disgusted, ashamed. You should hate what just happened.

But you didn't.

And that terrified you.

By the time you reached your house, your hands felt clammy against the handlebars. You let your bike fall onto the grass and stumbled inside, locking the door behind you. The house was dark and quiet, your parents long asleep.

You climbed upstairs to your room, shutting the door behind you as you collapsed onto your bed. Staring at the ceiling, your fingers subconsciously brushed over your lips, still tingling from his last kiss.

What have I done?

Your heart pounded. You wanted to regret it. You wanted to feel disgusted.

But all you could think about... was William.

And that scared you more than anything.

[tttabii]

— 양정원 crybaby

yang jungwon x female reader. ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

notes: idol! jungwon x non idol! reader. childhood friends to lovers trope ꩜.ᐟ

DATING YOU WAS ALWAYS a complex experience—most notably due to the fact that you were a bit of a crybaby. 

Not in an attention-seeking, dramatic way. You didn't wail or throw tantrums. You were just deeply sensitive. A Pisces through and through, you'd shed a tear or two when someone raised their voice at you or quietly cry in your room when the weight of the world got too heavy. Silent. Gentle. Honest.

Jungwon recognized this, he recognized all of that, and he respected you even more for that; before being lovers, you were best friends, at least since 11 he was there as your safety net, your warm hug on a cold day, your peace when you were too stressed to keep it together. 

Like the time you were crying into Jungwon while he was giving you a hug after a boy called you dumb for failing Math—even though you barely passed in kindergarten, and it's not like you weren't trying, you were visibly upset, and that wasn't going to change over night. And just like that you were crying into Jungwon's arms instead of saying anything else that could make things worse for you. The next day the boy was on his knees apologizing like he was about to die.  

At 15, when your sense of style started to bloom—modest, expressive, completely your own—your parents weren't impressed. They said it was inappropriate for your age and bought you clothing options that simply... didn't feel like you.

Enormous and ugly, clothes that only intensified the body dysmorphia that you had been disclosing quietly. You told Jungwon everything. He saw the tears fall without any further words. The next day he took you shopping and watched you try things on until your smile looked back at you.

Exam times? A nightmare. Teachers announcing your grades, the immense pressure like lava waiting to erupt under your skin. You would hang your head low, in hopes of holding back tears. laziness. Somebody would have called you careless. You just weren't wired the way the system wanted. You still counted with your fingers, even at 21, and that was okay with him.

After every exam, while others compared answers, Jungwon would sneak off to grab your favorite drink, gently offering it to you with a soft smile.

Jungwon—your Jungwon—was no longer just your sweet best friend, he was now an idol, a member of Enhypen, loved and admired by millions. He was standing there in somewhat formal wear, muscles stretching out the sleeves, holding drinks for you two while being crowded by ex-classmates—mostly the same annoying girls that rolled their eyes at you for being too close to Jungwon.  

They didn't know you were still together. Or maybe they forgot. But he had made it public long ago—confessing his love for you onstage during graduation, handing you lilies as the photography club snapped a photo of your stunned face and soft "yes." That picture lived on.

It was uploaded to your high school's photography page with a caption calling you both the school's sweetest couple. Some fans had already found your Instagram before Jungwon officially confirmed your relationship, piecing things together on their own.

Well, by the time Jungwon came out and said he had a girlfriend, the fans were surprisingly cool with it. They already knew you. Like a fleeting moment. And when Jungwon did his typical Weverse lives, fans would often ask where you were. Jungwon would smile and say, "She's sleeping," or jokingly tell you to make an appearance off camera. You weren't ready to go live, but people already knew what you looked like...and they were fine with it.

Of course, the company was hesitant at first. Dating is usually not part of the contract. But considering the years they watched you two through thick and thin, awkward teenage crushes to public confessing and unconditional support, it was hard to fight it.

But the girls tonight were insufferable. Jungwon walked back to you and handed you your drink, wrapping his hand around your lower back. The same girls were followed behind him, fake smiling and pretending to ask polite questions about your relationship, while squeezing in backhanded remarks. 

"You're so lucky!" said one of them, their eyes lingering on Jungwon's arm. "He looks so... put together now. It's surprising that he's still dating someone like you." You offered a polite smile and held your drink a little tighter.

"Jungwon, didn't that horoscope thingy say you were better matched with someone bold and confident? Someone who doesn't cry all the time?" another girl chimed in, laughing like it was funnily innocent.

That was it.Jungwon's jaw clenched. "That's enough," he said, his voice still steady although it was cold now. "You don't know anything about her and even if you did, I love her just the way she is."

He didn't raise his voice but the girls suddenly looked a little smaller. They looked embarrassed. Jungwon turned to you, and brushed his thumb over your knuckles softly. "If anything," he said louder, looking mostly only at you, "I'd rather be with someone who feels. Someone who cries when it matters. Someone who is real."

You smiled gently at Jungwon's words, feeling warmth in your chest as he entwined your fingers with his again. He was gentle, stable—a nice man who makes sure to take care of you when you forget to take care of yourself.

And yes, you had sensitive quiet days. But that didn't mean you couldn't be fearless when it mattered. You blinked softly at the girl who made the horoscope comment and tilted your head slightly, your tone soft but with a sharp confidence layer to it.

"Didn't take you for someone who stalks birth charts. Obsessed much? You keep tabs on my man and me that closely?" You let out a tiny laugh. "Didn't you cheat on Ricky 'cause he wasn't giving you enough attention, then crawl back like nothing happened?"

A few muffled laughs stirred from the nearby tables. Jungwon raised his brows, holding back a grin.

Then you turned to the other girls.

"And I vaguely remember y'all calling Jungwon a 'stray dog' back in the day. Said he was too skinny. Too soft. Too feminine." You took a slow sip of your drink before meeting their eyes. "Funny how now you're all lined up hoping for a shot with him."

The silence? Loud.Jungwon laughed lowly under his breath, shaking his head while your friends nearby stifled their giggles. He pulled on your hand gently. "Okay, before you kill off their whole bloodline," he said playfully, pulling you away as the room was filled with whispers and laughter.

He led you in the direction of the tables to the start of the class reunion speeches. The whole thing had turned into a blend of school reunion and fan reunion: half of the people were old classmates, while the other half were fans still in shock of seeing you together in person.

Jungwon didn't mind though. Not when they were nice to you, asking politely for a photo with all of you, complimenting you, and treating you kindly.Later on, as the DJ announced a dance,

Jungwon didn't even ask, immediately grabbing your hand. "Dance with me?"

You smiled. "Always."

You swayed to the slow song, his hands secure at your waist, your head resting against his chest. Then the DJ switched it up, playing a few Enhypen songs—your friends screamed—and the dance floor lit up with energy. You vibed together, your friend group joining his, some dancing like no one was watching, others just taking silly videos and polaroids.

There was a group photo with both your friend groups, then one with just you two. Jungwon's arms were comfortably around your waist, his lips grazing your cheek. You were giggling into the camera, glowing. One of your friends uploaded that photo to their story and tagged you both so you could repost it later.

Somewhere along the line, when your dress was riding a little higher because you were laughing and spinning around, Jungwon picked up on how some of the guys were eyeing your legs. Silently, he placed himself behind you and pulled down the hem of your dress and placed his hand on your skin to shield you from their gazes.

You turned around confused, then realized what he was doing, your cheeks getting warm. "You're so dramatic."

He just smirked. "You're mine."

That little moment? Yeah, one of your friends caught it on camera and uploaded that too. And when those pictures were posted to your IG story and began to circulate on fan accounts, the comment sections were popping off.

Top comments under the reunion pictures:

"Why does Jungwon look like he bench presses loyalty and boyfriend energy?"

"His hand placement is respectful but also like—'she's mine, back off.' I'm eating this UP."

"Y/n's dress is hugging in all the right places. They're the real power couple fr."

"The way he adjusted her dress like it's second nature... UGH I LOVE THEM."

"Y'all saw his biceps right? He's not the 'skinny and soft' boy anymore. He's built like a man who'd kill you politely."

"I love how they look like best friends and lovers. It's giving long-term, it's giving unbothered royalty."|

"She said 'vaguely remember' and still ate them alive. Queen behavior."