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sailorrlino · 2 months

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Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Any work is good work.

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building.

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor.

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down.

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co.

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.”

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.”

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers.

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket.

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows.

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first.

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward.

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep.

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways.

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy.

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever.

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes.

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife.

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery.

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious.

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over.

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get.

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it.

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top.

Any work is good work.

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop.

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable.

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch.

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards.

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure.

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood.

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic.

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat.

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth.

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?”

“Who is to say?”

“Just tell her I’m here.”

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.”

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars.

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass.

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.”

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door.

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top.

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand.

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver.

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.”

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face.

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data.

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.”

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.”

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on.

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow.

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft.

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns.

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver.

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches.

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her.

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.”

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.”

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt.

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him.

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here.

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in.

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises.

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock.

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.”

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.”

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.”

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?”

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently.

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that.

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time.

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection.

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy.

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why.

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal.

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web.

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?”

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.”

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.”

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know.

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of.

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you.

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.”

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.”

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces.

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave.

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood.

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface.

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop.

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it.

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now.

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses.

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go.

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be.

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring.

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.”

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work.

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less.

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself.

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts.

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made.

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating.

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way.

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel.

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates.

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl.

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process.

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline.

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him.

There was crazy, and then there was that.

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you.

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true.

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them.

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team.

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl.

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch.

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling.

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history.

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning.

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing–

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill.

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection.

Irreversible.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed.

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he?

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning.

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit.

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth.

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again.

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room.

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves.

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave.

It’s clinical.

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work.

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers.

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list.

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure.

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman.

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments.

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too.

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone?

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway.

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him.

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops.

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible.

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside.

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair.

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door.

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf.

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers.

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.”

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?”

“You’d be surprised, Collector.”

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me.

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.”

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd.

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking.

Act of faith.

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable.

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires.

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him.

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes.

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.”

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.”

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together.

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.”

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.”

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.”

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun.

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise.

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.”

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you.

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun.

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does.

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.”

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.”

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little.

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over.

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel.

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face.

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face.

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.”

“I… don’t have an argument.”

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?”

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again.

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin.

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down.

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.”

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light.

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours.

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you.

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?”

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.”

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not.

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?”

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly.

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t,

An act of faith.

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust.

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers.

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens.

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?”

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.”

“Who owns that place, anyway?”

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.”

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.”

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.”

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing.

“Where are we going?”

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.”

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.”

Minho bites back a grin.

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline.

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence.

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern.

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh.

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist.

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation.

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive.

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.”

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.”

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?”

“Of course. Swan likes strays.”

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.”

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.”

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side.

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something.

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching.

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide.

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does.

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean.

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse.

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane.

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.”

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive.

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them.

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night.

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island.

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been.

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within.

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge.

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him.

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house.

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities.

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.”

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home.

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto.

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed.

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you.

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay.

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel.

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling.

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.”

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder.

A little braver.

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.”

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look.

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?”

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist.

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his.

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans.

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous.

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane.

You.

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else.

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth.

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple.

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too.

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead.

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in.

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.”

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?”

“Need it.”

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger.

“Hmm. Sweet.”

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is.

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth.

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.”

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart.

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left.

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it.

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating.

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.”

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together.

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again.

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen.

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there.

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you.

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down.

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in.

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?”

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.”

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling.

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.”

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.”

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo.

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

#lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee minho x you #lee know fic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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tending-the-hearth · 11 months

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everything i loved about "the little mermaid" live action

Ariel's melody being her siren song!! that little new bit of lore!! i also really liked that it added more depth as to why Ursula wanted her voice in exchange for her becoming human

the way Ariel became almost angry during the bridge of "Part of Your World", she was so frustrated that she couldn't do the things she was dreaming about, like YES let her be mad!!

full body chills during "Part of Your World" + the first reprise

Ariel helping Max onto the boat 😭😭😭

I've mentioned this before, but Ariel hearing Eric's voice before seeing him!!! hearing him sing before seeing him!!! agh!!!!

Eric holding Ariel's hand on the shore after she rescues him 😭

the detail put into each of Ariel's sisters was so stunning, i'm so excited to read more about them in the books! i loved that they each had their own specific vibe

THEY INCLUDED THE FACT THAT URSULA AND TRITON ARE SIBLINGS YES THANK YOU VERY MUCH

"For the First Time" being a voice over, as Ariel's thoughts, and then the scene shifting to complete darkness except for her to represent us being in her head and hearing her thoughts, and the way it gets cut off when she realizes she can't say "hello" to Eric? i cried

The Jodi Benson cameo and her giving Halle!Ariel the fork 😭 literally her passing on the mantel of Ariel 😭😭

Eric and Ariel being total nerds with each other??

The way Ariel "told" Eric her name using the constellations???? and him saying it was written in the stars???? hello????

Also Eric saying "my little mermaid" made me so soft wtf

Eric and Ariel running around and giggling in the castle and being the definition of puppy love like they're so goofy and in love i adore them

the "Part of Your World" reprise after Ariel sees Eric with Vanessa shattered my heart, the MOST heartbreaking song

Grimsby kicking the ring away after it falls near him, my man knew exactly what was going on, he's known Ariel for three days and is already a ride or die

just Ariel and Eric holding each other so tightly after she gets her voice back, and Eric refusing to let her go until Ursula literally has to throw him away

ARIEL BEING THE ONE TO KILL URSULA USING THE SKILLS SHE SAW ERIC USE OH MY GOD IT WORKED SO SO WELL

i like that they added a chunk of time passing between Ursula's death and Eric and Ariel reuniting, it added a little extra drama and emotion when they finally saw each other again!

listen i'm an absolute sucker for a "hug before kiss" reunion and i was SO happy that Eric and Ariel had that, it fit them and their relationship perfectly, the way Eric just clung to her, and Ariel's happy smile as she hugged him back 😭

The mermaid statue and the dress representing the land vs. the sea???? and both returning back to where they're supposed to be but having new meanings????

Ariel's wedding dress being pink to (probably) pay homage to her pink ballgown in the animated movie was such a good touch, and i loved the length!!

Triton and Ariel's goodbye, where he says "you shouldn't have had to give up your voice for me to hear you"???? hello my father issues jumped tf out and had me sobbing in the theater

literally the entire movie was so beautiful, i could talk about it for hours, this is the best live action remake honestly, and Eric and Ariel (specifically the live action version obvi) have moved up to become my favorite Disney Princess/Prince pairing, just behind Belle and Adam (bc let's be honest, nothing can top them)

@queen-with-the-quill bc i know you're seeing it soon! more things i forgot to tell you lol

#the little mermaid #the little mermaid 2023 #the little mermaid spoilers #ariel #prince eric #disney

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taintandviolent · 4 months

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Star of the Show - Jimmy Darling x Reader

warnings: dub-con, drug usage, unprotected sex, orgy, smut (female and male receiving), reader x multiple partners (Amazon Eve and Jimmy Darling). a/n: 3k words! basically, this is uh - y'know. inspired by the orgy scene in Freakshow. this is... shamelessly also me dipping my toes into an Amazon Eve x reader fic because big tall lady make the brain go brrrrrr. that's all I can say about myself here okay? shh. also this was written after a very long bout of writer's block and exhaustion, so i'm rusty and clunky. apologies.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

Warm sun filtered in through the canvas, warming your exposed limbs. Lids peeling apart, your first visual was red and white stripes, and the second visual was your own body. You’d woken up in nothing but a satin robe that didn’t belong to you. Still muzzy from sleep and whatever else you’d done, you stumbled around to find your dress and thankfully, it had been thoughtfully draped over a nearby bench. You replaced it with the robe, and made your way outside, pushing the flaps of the tent aside.

You weren’t sure how it started, or what was said specifically to cause your lapse in morals. Normally, you’d never do something like that. Honest. In fact, you were always such a good girl that if you ran home and told your friends what you thought you’d done, none of them would believe you. Not you, they’d titter. You can’t even tell a fella that you think he’s cute!

Last night, once the crowds had cleared the field, leaving nothing but crumpled tickets and popcorn bags, you remember wandering into the main tent. They were all there, the freaks. You remembered the way they’d looked at you, all of them smiling dangerously at you as you stood in your pretty mint-green sundress. For whatever reason, you’d been persuaded to take one, maybe two, maybe three, hits of whatever the nice German lady had offered to you - and that’s where it all went wrong. Or perhaps where it all went right. You didn’t remember much else after that.

Shading your eyes from the sun, you peered out into the fairgrounds. They were empty, save for the smaller tents and caravans that encircled the main big-top tent. Dabbing at your forehead with the back of your hand, you trudged through the high grasses. An eerie feeling settled over your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine despite the heat.

What had happened last night? You racked your brain. Tent full of people… German lady… that guy. The handsome guy with the … oh. Jimmy. His name was Jimmy.

As you rounded the corner, recalling the most you had since you’d stumbled out into the morning, coincidentally, he was there. Across the field, The Lobster Boy bent down to hoist a heavy-looking bag over his shoulder before straightening back up. He caught your gaze with a grin and winked. The boyish charm he presented skilfully extracted a carnal reaction from your body. Suddenly, you remembered a whole lot more.

Last night…

As someone undressed you, carefully, you stared up at the massive inside of the tent. It seemed to go on forever. You had been looking at - no, gazing dreamily at the world through a sheer, white curtain, like the ones your mother hung up during the summer time; the ones that fluttered in the hot breeze and seemed to make the air that filtered through smell sweeter. Everyone was moving slower than they should have, and you leaned your head back on the curve of the chair, inhaling a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

It felt like there were a dozen hands on you, petting you, skimming the ticklish flesh of your inner thighs and the crooks of your arms. Some of them were cold, some of them were clammy, and some of them felt like they didn’t belong to humans. Everyone was murmuring and someone called you an angel. You threw your head in the direction of the sound, hoping you smiled. Another person caressed your cheek, cupping it tenderly. You hmm’ed in adoration, trying desperately to discern figures. You’d never felt so venerated in your life; everyone was obsessed with you. The star of the show.

One figure that you could recognise, solely because of the height of them was Eve. Amazon Eve. The tallest woman you’d ever seen, and possibly the most beautiful. She, who you had immediately taken a liking to during the show, was now caressing your bare chest. The delicately explorative way that she handled your breasts, rolling your nipples in her thumb and index finger made you whimper in delight, squirming helplessly on the chair. She pressed a few delicate kisses along your jawline before pulling away to look at you, letting her hands ghost over your exposed flesh. She softly trailed her fingers along your ribs and your sides, fluttered over your hips and neared your centre before sweeping back up along your stomach. Your lids drifted shut, revelling in the sensation.

“Little pretty thing,” she said, very close to your ear. Your brows lifted high on your forehead, pathetically trying to pull your eyelids open again. Eventually, the seal broke and you looked around, focusing gradually.

She was above you with one knee on the chaise, towering like a building. A building that smelled like cherries and flowers. Behind her, blurred dots of string lights, framing her like a picture. She had a pretty face and a warm hand that stroked the side of your cheek. She leaned down, pressing her lips against yours. You melted, wrapping your arms around her soft neck to bring yourself closer, and deeper into her mouth. You’d never really thought of kissing a woman, but the warm, honeyed way that she tasted had you craning your neck to follow her as she straightened up, wanting more.

Eve leaned down, kissing you again. Her large, soft hands dipped in between your legs, and as soon as she felt the slippery warmth that met her fingertips, she looked off to someone. For a fiery moment, her middle finger encircled your clit, sending shivering waves through your body. But too quickly, the moment ended, and her hands gripped your wrists, fingers overlapping as she pulled them from her neck.

“My friend Jimmy is gonna’ take care of you now. Okay, sweetheart?” As she moved off the chair, she brought your hands down to your sides where you flattened them against the textured velvet. You babbled, protesting her leaving, but she shushed you with a single finger, assuring you that she’d be right there. You didn’t want her to – a thought that tantalized you. She was so gentle, but so commanding in her motions.

At the sound of a belt buckle clanking, your head lolled sleepily to the side, lids heavy. Jimmy? Jiiiiiiimmmy…. you tried to remember who Jimmy was, but your mind was far too busy sounding out the name syllable by syllable, repeating it over and over again like a mantra to even conjure up any mental pictures. Thankfully, standing behind her was an attractive man with thick fingers. Long fingers. But something looked off.

You lifted your head off the chair and blinked heavily, giving him a woozy, half lidded look. His caramel locks were separated with sweat, a few stray strands hanging in front of his brow. You blinked again, clearing your vision. Open pants hung at his hips. Fused fingers wrapped around the base of a thick, red-tipped cock, hand pumping it slowly to keep it hard. Though, as soon as he saw you, naked and sprawled out on one of Elsa’s luxurious chaise lounges, with your legs falling open slightly to expose your cunt, he had little issue with that.

C’mere, doll face.

He closed in the distance between you two, letting his erection guide him like a compass to what it wanted most. Another man and Jimmy exchanged some words that you couldn’t understand. Frustrated by the lack of attention, you reached out for him sloppily, like a sleepy child. Your hand slapped the air until it found the warm fabric of his cotton undershirt.

“F-feels…. mmmff…”

He chuckled at your avidity, glancing down at you. “Alright, baby, alright…”

You looked dreamily up at him, wanting him to fall on top of you and shower you in kisses. He had the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. The darkest eyes. Like two cups of black coffee, warm and inviting.

Jimmy’s thumb found its way into your mouth, pulling your bottom jaw down to make room for his cock. With peaked brows, you mewled dreamily, wrapping your lips around his single digit and sucking hard. His skin was salty, the sweat of the day settling in the creases of his hands.

“Ohh, god damn - you’re so eager…. Suck on this instead, huh?”

Again, he used this thumb to manipulate your jaw, tugging on it. You opened it further, your tongue lolling out hungrily. The corners of your mouth were pulled upwards; you felt so good, so light and breezy. He was so handsome and you’d do whatever he wanted you to.

You blinked, watching as his cock neared closer. You’d never given a man a blowjob before. For a brief moment, your eyes were wide, pupils dilating in concern, but as soon as the head of Jimmy’s cock was hot against your tongue and warm, salty pearls of pre-cum oozing from the tip, glistening and catching the reflections of the string lights from above, you eased into the action. Your mouth stayed open, as Jimmy was the one guiding his dick inside, knowing full well you didn’t have the strength to do it yourself.

Your lids drifted shut. For a second, he felt bad. You were real out of it, but before he had a chance to dwell on it, a wanton haze consumed him as your pretty lips closed around the blisteringly hot tip, your precious flushed cheeks caving in. Inside, your tongue caressed the slit, lapping up the pre-cum like it was ice cream. You hummed around his cock as he began pumping it in and out. You may have been out of it, but boy were you going at his cock. Your tongue flattened against the thick vein on the underside of his cock, rubbing at it.

He groaned low in his throat, caressing the underside of your jaw, all the while resisting the urge to bring his hand to the back of your head and guide his cock deeper into your mouth. He was weak with arousal. In truth, he was almost embarrassed at how badly he wanted to lose it in your pink, waiting mouth.

“Baby, baby….” Jimmy’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his lids fluttering helplessly as you sucked. You mewled again, the vibrations sending a shockwave through his cock. He bucked his hips in and out of your mouth, focusing hard on the way that your plush, soft lips popped over the head every time he pulled back.

“Take her, Jimmy,” someone said. It was a male’s voice, low and gruff, a slight accent to it.

Though you didn’t know who the voice belonged to, Jimmy hurriedly obeyed it. Whether or not he wanted to stop, the reality was that you had him wound up too tight; he was ready to bust and needed to quickly change positions before the inevitable happened. Sucking in a deep breath, he withdrew his cock from your mouth. Long, sticky strands of saliva and cum strung from your lips, dribbling onto your chin. Moving quickly, Jimmy took hold of his cock and crawled onto the chaise, on top of you, looking fixedly down at your form. You hadn’t quite recovered from the position change, and needed a little help; he let go of his cock, gently pressing his fingers into your cheek, and pulling it to face him. You blinked a few times, before smiling brightly.

“ H-hii …..” You breathed, woozy. “Hi Jimmy…” You were very proud of the fact that his name came out normal. In your current state, it felt like an arduous task. “Hi Jimmy,” you said again, delighted. You laughed girlishly, and Jimmy felt a pulsing heat in his groin. He hadn’t heard a sound as sweet as that in years.

“Hey, baby…” He smiled crookedly at you. Warm and soft like honey. “You want this?”

You knew what he was asking. Your weighted gaze dropped between your bodies. The feverish, scarlet tip of his cock was leaking beads of pre-cum onto your bare tummy, bobbing heavily up and down with each breath he took. You felt your pupils dilate again, hungrily, craving the monster in front of you. You knew what it tasted like, you now wanted to feel it ripping you in two. You gave him an excited nod. The inside of your brain felt like it was jostled around by the action, so you huffed out a steadying breath.

Excited by your consent, Jimmy wasted no time and reached down. The pads of his fingers found your slick entrance, toying with it slightly to spread the slippery, clear fluid around your cunt. He slipped one of his pincers inside, bringing a gasp from your throat. “You like that?”

You nodded again, much slower this time and reached for his bicep. Once you found it, you gripped it tightly, readying yourself for the oncoming storm. He lined his dick up and brought his eyes back to you.

“Look at me, baby.”

You did. He grinned.

Watching you, he stuffed himself inside, swallowing dryly. His eyes danced over your face, picking up all the subtle, lustful little changes; your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, your brows peaked together in an expression of slight discomfort, your lips parted with a delicate whimper as your slick walls swallowed him whole. This pulled a throaty groan from Jimmy. It was such a display, and for a moment, he wondered if you’d ever been with a man. How obedient and pliable you were underneath him… was that pillowy soft virginity or just the drugs kickin’ in?

Thinking was hard and instinct took over again, wiping all thoughts from his mind, save for the way you felt. You were warm and tight, clenching around his shaft. He jerked his hips up into you, protruding veins massaging your walls. Your attention dropped between you two again, eyes glazed over as his thick cock disappeared inside you, bottoming out each time.

Jimmy, on the other hand, had moved to focus on the way your tits bounced with the power of his thrusts. The visual drove him crazy. Made him hungrier. Craving your taste, Jimmy’s mouth was suddenly on yours, sloppy and hurried. His greedy tongue felt around every inch of your mouth and slipped wetly along your tongue. You did your best to keep up, tasting him all the same, but he was taking the lead. You inhaled a big breath through your nose and moaned into his mouth.

There was a cacophony of pleasure around you, coming from every direction. Wet sounds and hushed moans, peppered with lewd mutterings. Somewhere in your mind, you knew what you were a part of, what you’d stumbled into. Had you been more coherent, it might’ve embarrassed you, but the deep, carnal sounds that Jimmy was making were the only ones that mattered. Suddenly, you furrowed your brows, frowning into the kiss; someone was incessantly petting your hair and grumbling excitedly behind you. You tried to wave them away, but when you lifted your hand above your head, Jimmy reached for you, pinning your hand there.

“Mmmhh…” Breathless, Jimmy pulled away to look at you again, breath rushing out from between kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you harshly onto his cock. You winced, but pressed your legs open further, hungry for the sensation. Eve came from behind Jimmy, pausing to run her hand through his caramel coloured hair, gripping it tightly briefly before letting go. Jimmy moaned above you, and before you could protest someone took hold of your hands at the wrists, holding them firmly above your head. With a little whimper, you tried to wrestle around from them, but failed. Eve’s sweet voice came from behind the chaise then, praises drifting down atop of you. Your head rolled upwards to the sound of the woman’s voice, again trying to find it. You couldn’t, and it didn’t seem like Jimmy wanted you to. His conjoined fingers were on your face again, gently pulling you back to face him.

“Eyes on me, baby… right here… that’s it. Atta’ girl.”

You blinked a few times, refocusing on his face. His tanned skin had a blush to it now, covered in sweat. He humped you furiously, his dick slipping in and out of your weeping cunt, rocking your body back and forth. You were close, there was an unmistakable tightening in your abdomen. Jimmy seemed to know this. More than knowing it, he could feel it; the way your tight little cunt quivered, clenching tighter and tighter around him. “C’mon baby, lemme’ hear that voice of yours…”

You opened your mouth, letting the whining moans free.

“Good girl,” Eve cooed above you. “Such a good girl…”

As you continued meeting Jimmy’s thrusts with moans, he picked up his pace, hands snaking around the back of your body to take greedy, punishing fistfuls of your ass. His hands were so big and seemed to envelop you entirely, kneading your soft curves like dough. He came with a low grunt, gripped you hard and pulled himself into you as he climaxed. Jimmy coated your insides like the glaze on funnel cake, and you got to feeling even woozier than before. The feeling was too much, and pushed you over the slick edge. You let out a shrill cry, pulsing around him, fighting against Eve’s grip, who held you fast. There were sounds all around you as you came, excited murmurs and whispers. As your orgasm ebbed and Jimmy softened inside of you, finally, your hands were freed, and they found Jimmy’s florid, sweaty neck, pulling your forehead to his chest.

You remembered the way his chest heaved laboriously above you with each breath, shaky with expelled lust.

You blinked, your jaw hanging slack. He was still standing there, looking at you with that syrupy flirt in his eyes. You were suddenly dizzy with need. The ache between your thighs was no longer inexplicable, and your heart thudded in your chest.

“Hey!” Jimmy called across the field, one hand extended in a friendly wave. “We oughta’ do that again sometime, baby!”

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz/ @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur

#fuck it here it is #Jimmy Darling #Jimmy Darling x reader #Jimmy Darling x you #ahs smut #AHS Freakshow #American horror story #Amazon Eve #Amazon Eve x reader #myfics

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

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♡ ｗａｎｎａｂｅｙｏｕｒｓ♡

♡ Pairing: bouncer!bang chan x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You've had your eye on a bouncer who works at your club for the longest time. Tonight may just be the night that you get your chance with him

♡ Genre: smut/angst-ish

♡ Word Count: 1.5kish

♡ Warnings: light violence during fight scene, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, dick riding (in the fun sense)

If years of being a dancer have taught you anything it’s how to pretend to give a shit when you’d much rather be at home vegetating. It’s not that you hate your job. You simply aren’t always in the mood to socialize. But the club’s packed tonight and bills need to be paid.

At least the customers are generous, the music’s tolerable, and your best friend’s scheduled to work with you. Spinning around on the pole, you spot her over by the bar lighting a sparkler inside a bottle of champagne. She waves to you, blowing you a kiss. You blow one right back at her.

A sweet moment's swiftly interrupted by the thud of a body crashing onto your platform. With the music blaring overhead, you hadn’t noticed the fight breaking out behind you between bouncers and a few frat boys who’ve clearly had one too many vodka shots. The frat boy laid out at your feet has blood gushing from his nose, ruining his shirt and risking the safety of your brand new stilettos.

He sees the bouncer responsible for his broken nose headed in his direction and so do you. Both of your heart rates increase for opposing reasons. His because, despite his blurred vision, he’s ready to go another round. Yours because the bouncer in question is Bang Chan or Channie as he lets you call him.

You’ve had an embarrassingly heavy crush on the platinum blonde haired Aussie since your first night working here. Somehow you’ve managed to remain oblivious to the fact that the feeling’s mutual. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of the frat boy sneaking a knife from his pocket.

You stomp down on his wrist, applying your full weight, and you feel something crunch beneath your heel. He cries out in pain, the knife falling to the floor. Now his nose isn’t the only thing that’s broken. Chan grabs him by the shirt, tossing him into the arms of two other bouncers waiting nearby.

You’ve never seen him this angry before but his rage is fleeting when he rises from retrieving the knife and lays eyes on you. He smiles up at you, basking in your beauty like you’re one of those goddess statues in a museum. Masterfully carved in marble and perfect in every sense of the word.

“My hero” he gasps, hand over his heart. You roll your eyes, “Dramatic much?” Chan takes your manicured hand, kissing it so gently that it sends a chill through your body. “Thank you. I mean it. I owe you one.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand, your gazes lingering on each other as the rest of the world fades away.

It returns with a roar as the fight erupts again. “I, uh…” he stutters, torn between the longing to stay with you and his obligation to fulfill his duties. “Go. Do your job. No slacking” you tease, shooing him away. Chan blushes, grateful that the darkness of the club conceals it, and disappears into the crowd.

Being the professional that you are, you immediately go back to dancing. Your mind’s even farther gone than before, floating somewhere in the clouds treasuring the tingle left behind by his kiss like it’s gold.

“Absolutely not” you sing, slamming the door to your locker. In the dressing room girls crowd around a half dozen vanities, dashing between clothing racks, hurrying to put the finishing touches on their looks before they’re called to the floor. You, on the other hand, have already changed into a hoodie and a cozy pair of sweats.

The night’s over for you. At least it was before your best friend cornered you, begging to borrow your car. “Oh, come on. Please, please, please” she pouts, “It’s only until tomorrow and I’ll give it right back.” “And how exactly am I supposed to get home?” The grin that spreads across her glitter speckled face is adorable and concerning all at once.

Throwing her coat on, she takes your hand and drags you through one of the side doors where Chan leans against his car waiting for you. With the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up and a few buttons undone, you get a peek at the tattoos covering his muscular form. Whatever workout this man does has done sinfully good things to his body.

Your best friend plucks the car keys from your hand, nudging you forward, “You look out for my girl, Bang Chan!” “I’ll take good care of her” he promises, opening the door for you. There’s something sensual about the way he says that. “I’ll take good care of her.” You throw the bag on your shoulder into the backseat, hesitating to get in yourself.

“You really don’t have to do this.” “I owe you, remember?” Unable to argue with him, you hop in and put your seatbelt on. As sexy as he looks walking around to the driver’s side, you wouldn’t object to being taken care of by him.

You pinch yourself on the arm, shaking off the thought of anything happening between the two of you. He probably doesn’t want it to. Even if he did, you work together. Something like that would never happen. It can’t...

An hour’s passed and you’re thrown across your bed, knees pressed to your chest, breathing like a pregnant woman in a Lamaze class. You have no clue where your clothes went but honestly, who the hell cares? Chan’s face is buried between your legs, slurping at your pussy like it’s the only thing he’s eaten in 48 hours.

Though that may not technically be true, you definitely taste better than any meal he’s had in recent memory. Your bed’s soaked from how wet you are, a year’s worth of anticipation dripping from his chin. He sucks your clit between his lips, circling it with his tongue and pulling away.

He repeats this over and over again, edging you to the point that you’re a trembling, overstimulated wreck. “Channie…” you whine, your eyes falling close as your nails dig into the sheets below. Chan grabs onto your lush hips, lifting you away from him, “Keep them open.

I wanna see those pretty eyes when I make you cum.” You pry them open and catch him staring up at you with nearly the same look he had at the club. Only now there’s an insatiable hunger behind those eyes. Grinding you down against his face, his tongue plunges into the depths of your warmth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” is all you can say when he has you coming apart at the seams. “Mmm” he hums, sensing how close you are by the way your walls clench around his tongue. He flexes it along your g-spot and you’re cumming harder than you ever have. Your body’s twisting, pitiful moans fill the air, fingers grasping at his hair.

This must be what it feels like to have a demon exorcized or to be possessed by one. Either way, there’s nothing in this world like it. Even as your body goes limp, your mind going cloudy, Chan’s still kitten licking your slit to gather every drop of your juices. When he finally stops, he straightens your legs out, massaging them as he trails wet kisses up your stomach.

He takes the hand previously responsible for breaking someone’s nose and delicately toys with your nipples. They perk up for him, making each graze of his fingertip twice as intense. He drags his tongue over your bud. Up your chest. Along your chin. You open your mouth to catch your breath and he’s pulling you into a decadent kiss, laced with the sweetness of your arousal.

“I knew you’d taste amazing but that was…” he groans, using two fingers to stroke between your folds, “I could stay between those thighs all night.” “You’ll have to come up for air at some point” you tease. Chan wraps his arms around your waist, hooking an arm behind your knee, “Breathing is overrated.”

In one fluid motion, he’s rolled you over on top of him, his thick cock resting against your twitching clit. Your legs are as structurally solid as jello but you manage to prop yourself up on them, fingers running along his length. “Is this all cause of lil old me?” you ask, dipping your thumb in the precum leaking from his tip and licking it off.

Chan cups your cheek into his palm and you nuzzle it, kissing his palm. “Can I keep you?” You giggle at the question, raising your hips and sinking down onto him. “You can'' you moan, rotating your hips in graceful figure eights that have him ready to implode. A mixture of pleasure and panic floods his system.

It’d be embarrassing to cum this quickly but you’re making it impossible. It takes everything he has to hold back watching you have this much fun using his dick to make yourself feel good.

Chan gets it, how men can throw everything in their pockets at you when you’re on stage. He’d empty every bank account in his name to have you sit on his face. Just sit there. Not even move.

#bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x thick reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #stray kids smut

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celestoria · 10 months

Note

aaa congratulations on your milestone!!!

can i req 7, 18 and 20 with al-haitham?

Tags: somnophilia, jealous sex, creampie, video editor!alhaitham x idol!reader

A/n: this was longer than expected lol.

Do not interact if you are 17 or below (17+)

Alhaitham was never a man who enjoyed the limelight since he found it extremely overbearing. Even if he isn’t willing to relish the fame with you on stage, he’s always willing to support you on the sidelines and watch you shine.

Though people found him to be a genius, yet stubborn editor who never does anything above the bare minimum in the music industry, he’d never been caught pulling extra hours to get a video finished earlier before you two got together. Some people called it a miracle, but he just calls it doing what was in his job description.

It was normal for him to rewatch scenes of you dancing from different angles over and over again just to pick the best one. He enjoyed seeing you passionately do what you loved.

However, your recent video, a collaboration with an arguably handsome man, made his teeth grit and his blood boil whenever he saw you two in the same frame. Alhaitham deemed it illogical to fret over professional matters, so he pushed his rash emotions aside to get it over with.

But later that night, his mind played scenes of you and that man in his mind. Seeing how close he was to you while you wear clothes far too revealing than he’s comfortable to admit made his jaw clench.

It was uncharacteristic for him to feel this way, letting such irrationalities get the best of him while you lay asleep next to him, his arms wrapping around your waist in the middle of the night, symbolizing your trust in his protection during your vulnerability.

That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to have your undying loyalty, whether you are awake or not.

His hips grind against the thin fabric of your panties, hidden under a shirt far that’s too big for you. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck, a place where it was usually loud enough for you to hear his needy sighs but now you had your eyes shut like nothing was happening.

Logic, something he always abides by, told him that his actions are a risky take, but his emotions, one he rarely follows, said his greed will only consume him if he doesn’t do something about it.

Alhaitham grunted, the tight constraints of his crotch freed his hardened member. He spreads your cheeks to make room for him as he slips himself in you, trying not to nudge you awake during the process. The warmth of your pussy tightly wrapped around his aching cock. Even when you’re asleep, you still take him so well.

His buff arm hugged you from your shoulder, acting as an anchor to keep you still. A heavy weight burdened his chest, mixing in with pleasure that travels throughout his body as his girthy cock bullies your cunt.

He could just claim you here and now by spilling his seed inside of you. How pretty would it look once it seeps out.

Your eyelids fluttered open, dazed from a dream you can barely remember. Processing what was going on, the first thing you noticed was the heat of your core and the fast-paced friction between your legs.

“Ngh~ '' your hand traveled to clasp Alhaitham’s grip on your body, almost letting a chill run down his spine if he wasn’t so caught in the moment. “Alhaitham, what happened- ah,” you moaned, the moment he went faster in and out of you.

His hand caressed your body before it traveled to your pussy so his rough fingers could circle your puffy hub. Overstimulated, you tried to pull his arm away but his defiance gave him the strength to stay where he is.

He knew full well you’re incredibly sensitive when you just woke up, and he’ll gladly take advantage of that knowledge if it ensured you’ll never think of other men even just for a millisecond.

“You know you’re mine, right? Tell me,” he growled, envy and desperation coating every word spilling out of his mouth.

“Yes,” you swallowed as you nodded, feeling the knot in your stomach growing tighter as he rearranged your insides with how balls deep he is.

Despite your answers, his fingers pressed deeper into your clit, his digits fiddling with you faster than he ever did before. Something tells you he isn’t stopping until he’s satisfied with your answer.

Typical Alhaitham. Never saying more than he needs to.

“Yes. I’m yours. You’re the only man for me, Alhaitham. No one else,” you screamed, your head rolling back.

He loved the way you cried his name, thick with submission and the loyalty he expects from you. The jealousy that conquered his logic turned into possessiveness. He feels reassured he’s the only one who can make you melt like putty from fucking you that hard even in your sleep.

Alhaitham’s lips curved upwards, smirking with satisfaction. His movements began to be sloppy, ready to leak out at any moment. Your walls pulsate around him, yearning for sweet release. With a final stroke, he buried his member deep inside you, unexpectedly filling you to the brim. As he pulled out, his cum oozed out and trailed to the sides of your lips.

You barely came down from the high when Alhaitham flipped you over, rose from where he laid, and knelt behind you. Your soaking wet panties pulled down close to your knees, allowing the cold air to brush against you.

He had your head buried against the pillow and your ass up ate an angle where his dick could slide in so easily. He brought his body forward, his biceps lighting brushing your back and his lips close to your ear. “We’re not stopping until I fuck a smart girl like you dumb.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfic #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin impact alhaitham #celeste’s black hole

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s1k0zu · 26 days

Text

Hey everyone,

While I was a bit (okay a lot) late to board the Austin train, once I did, I fell HARD. Before I saw him in Dune II, I knew about him, but never thought to take a second look.

Then I saw Dune and I still can't get Austin's performance out of my head. He was amazing! 😍

I've devoured everything I can find with him since then, and I've been reading a lot of fan fiction lately, and a scene has been playing on repeat in my mind, so I decided to write it down.

I love all the Feyd fics but I find myself wanting more of Austin and less of Feyd (he's just a bit too intense and I kinda miss the hair). So I came up with the idea below.

Let me know if you liked it and if you want me to try writing about something else. 🫣

Fair warning ⚠️ I've never written any fiction before, so this will probably be a mess...and it's maybe a bit too long.

🔞 It's pure smut, so minors stay away!

Under his skin

You and Austin have been together since before his Elvis movie.

You'd met when you were teenagers and became fast friends, but until you had to spend two weeks locked together in his apartment in Australia, because of the pandemic, that was all you were - friends.

You'd visited him for the weekend and then the lockdown forced you to stay.

The tension between the two of you had started escalating gradually, until one night he couldn't resist kissing you any longer. All it took was that one kiss and you were his forever.

You started getting jobs in the crew of all of his projects so you could stay together, which is why you're now in Budapest on the set of Dune II.

It's early morning and it's already as hot as hell. Add to that the giant sound box you've been setting up, so Austin can film his fight scenes in it later, and you're close to fainting.

You haven't seen Austin in two months, because he was busy training in L.A. and you were on location in Jordan with the rest of the cast.

You flew in with the night flight, dropped your bags at his place and went straight to set. He was already there, getting into costume, and you didn't have the time to see him.

Once you're done setting up and finally have some free time you head to his trailer to surprise him and wish him luck.

You open the door and cool air hits your face. Then you see him and you're sure the chill running down your body isn't from the AC.

He's gloriously naked, a black loincloth is all that covers his body. They've painted his torso with black lines and he's got his bald cap already in place. You've seen him in full costume before, but only in photos. This hits differently.

There's something feral and imposing about him and it's doing things to you. Gone is the sweet, gentle Austin you know and in his place is a man who exudes power and dominance.

His body is pure perfection and you know how hard he worked to get here.

"Hey, Earth to y/n. Are you ok?" Austin's voice comes through the fog.

"Yeah", you sigh, "It's just..."

"What?", he asks, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

"Let's just say if you weren't about to shoot, I'd be ruining your makeup right now", you say, raking your gaze over his gorgeous naked body.

"Fuck", he mutters and steps toward you, biting his lower lip, his eyes darkening with want.

"Ah, ah", you stop him, placing a hand on his chest, "makeup."

"Damn you woman! How am I supposed to focus now?", he asks brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing next to nothing here," you tell him, "and you're not the only one having a hard time focusing."

You brush your lips against his and his hands instantly grip your face as he deepens the kiss. All the frustration of not being able to touch each other for the past two months melts as your tongues dance frantically, fighting for dominance.

"I'll make you a deal," you say, panting, "you go slay them with your talent and we can come back here during the lunch break, to finish this."

"Deal", he says huskily in your ear, melting you with his beautiful voice.

A crew member comes in to call him to set and breaks the tension before you two can go any further.

You watch him perform, always in awe of his ability to switch between himself and the character in seconds. You busy yourself with work and bringing him water bottles and towels between takes, and just like that the hours go by and it's time for lunch.

"I can't wait to take this thing off my head. I'm sweating like a pig," Austin says, taking a towel from your hands. He's been doing fighting scenes for the past hour and he's in full combat get up.

"I'll stick around to help with the set. Text me when you're done and we can take a shower," you say, walking your fingers playfully up his chest. You lean up to give him a quick kiss but he grabs your waist to keep you there, turning it into a steamy makeout session.

"I've missed you so much," Austin breathes out, his forehead touching yours.

"I've missed you too," you say, tilting his head lower to kiss his nose.

You disengage and he heads to his trailer so the makeup team can remove his bold cap.

A while later you get a text from Austin:

R u coming? We had a deal remember?

You mutter an excuse and head towards his trailer, willing yourself not to run.

When you enter, you see him running a hand through his wet hair, the bald cap gone. He still hasn't removed his costume.

"Want some help with that my lord", you ask, starting to unzip the back of his wetsuit.

When he hears you call him that Austin feels a shiver run down his body. He turns and wraps his arms around you.

"Say that again," he growls.

His eyes are dark with desire and you swear you can see Feyd still lurking in the background, ready to pounce.

"You should play the bad guy more often. It's a good look on you...my lord."

"Yeah? Wanna show me just how much you like it?"

You grip his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and kiss him long and hard, your tongues fighting for dominance. You bite his lip when he pulls away and the groan that escapes from his throat sets your whole body on fire.

He returns the favour by placing kisses on your jaw and down your neck. When he reaches your collarbone he gives it a bite in just the right spot, making heat pool between your legs.

You lean into him, feeling his erection against you and bite his earlobe, whispering into his ear: "I want you inside me."

Austin's hands tighten on your ass and he gives you a smouldering look. His blue eyes are dark with desire as he dives in to kiss you again.

You start undressing each other frantically, hands running all over, tongues locked in a dizzying dance. The room fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, your moans, Austin's groans and wet kisses.

He grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the shower.

You're both panting while he turns around to fidget with the water tap. You admire his naked body while he adjusts the temperature. He's a work of art - all lean muscle chiselled to perfection.

Your eyes travel down his chest to the trail of hair under his belly button and between his thighs and the sizeable erection he's got. His penis is perfect: a round red tip, its length marbled by veins. You can't wait to taste it and feel it inside you.

You can't believe he's yours.

"My eyes are up here, gorgeous", Austin's amused voice brings you out of your dazed wet dream.

"And what a sight they are," you smile up at him.

After seeing you standing gloriously naked before him, raking your lust-filled stare over his body, Austin can't hold himself back any longer.

His hands come up to grab your face and he bends down to devour you. As the kiss deepens, Austin's hands travel down your body, lingering on your breasts. He pinches one of your nipples and you moan into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss to look at you.

Before you can answer he bends down and licks your neck, slowly descending to your left nipple.

"Fuck you're gorgeous. I can't wait to be inside you."

You start kissing his neck, his chest, his abs, your hands trailing down to his hips. His skin tastes salty from the sweat. You kneel in front of him and lick his length slowly, feeling the veins with your tongue. He lets out a groan and braces himself against the tiled wall.

You place tiny nibbles on the head, squeezing his balls, teasing him. He shudders in ecstasy as you swallow as much of his length as you can and start moving your head up and down slowly.

"Fuck, y/n, you have to stop or I'll come...," Austin pants on top of you. You speed up your pace, locking eyes with him.

Seeing you kneeling before him, your mouth on him, looking at him like that drives him over the edge. Austin comes with a groan and you feel his seed spill into your throat. You take him out of your mouth and give the head a little kiss.

"You taste so fucking good every time," you say standing up.

Austin grabs your cheeks and gives you a rough kiss.

"You have no idea how hot you look on your knees, do you?"

When one of his hands sneaks between your legs and he rubs his fingers on your clit you feel a jolt run over your whole body and you can't stop the moan coming out of your mouth.

Austin hears you moan, hands digging into his back and throws caution away - he bites down hard on your nipple, sliding his fingers into you.

"Fuck Austin", is all you can say, your mind going blank with pleasure. You don't know what's gotten into him, but you love this new, dangerous and dominant side he's showing you.

Austin places wet kisses and nibbles all over your breasts and stomach, pumping his fingers into you. You writhe in his arms, hands tugging his hair.

When his mouth descends on your clit you moan loudly. He bites it and then licks the sore spot, curling his fingers inside you. This sends jolts of electricity all over your body and you feel yourself coming, nails digging into his hair.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he says, voice hoarse from lust. You can feel his hard length pressing against your entrance.

Austin groans in pleasure when he hears you moan his name, the pain from your nails digging into his scalp sending bolts of pleasure straight to his groin.

He gets up, grabs your hips and lifts you, your back against the tiled wall.

You look at his soft, puffy lips and can't help kissing him again. Austin groans and slips his tongue into your mouth, making you dizzy.

When he finally breaks the kiss to look at you, you see the passion burning in his eyes, but there's something else there too - something feral. You realise he hasn't shaken Feyd off completely.

That sparks something in you, emboldens you.

"Have your way with me, my lord na-Baron. I'm all yours", you say, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling on it, your hips bucking into him.

Hearing you say that, something in Austin snaps. He can't think anymore, all he knows is that he wants to be inside you, now.

With a quiet growl he bends down to crash his lips into yours, sliding into you in one swift move.

You can't help the cry that comes out of your mouth when he slams into you. You were already wet, but he's big.

The sharp pain quickly turns into intense pleasure as he starts thrusting into you with abandon. You can feel every vein on his hard length as he's stretching you and filling you in the best way.

You've been together for years and every time he enters you feels like the first time. It's like your bodies are pieces of the same puzzle. The feel of him inside you is divine.

Austin doesn't wait for you to adjust to his size, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He's possessed by the desire to be inside you, to own you. He picks up his pace, slamming into you, his teeth leaving red marks all over your neck and shoulders. His left hand is moulded to your thigh, his right squeezing your breast.

You've never seen him like this, so forceful and primal, and you realise you love it. As the pain shoots through the pleasure you find yourself coming, trying not to scream. You mould your lips to Austin's to stifle your moans and that just spurs him on. He continues to slam into you, balls-deep, throughout your climax.

After a while, Austin comes to his senses and realises he's too rough, he's hurting you. Just as he slows down his pace, releasing you from his grip, he hears you say:

"No, don't hold back. I want you to lose control. Ravage me."

He looks into your eyes, making sure he didn't just imagine that, and sees only carnal desire and love there. He can't believe you're his.

"Fuck, I love you," he whispers.

You smile and bite his neck hard. The little control he'd managed to take back shatters. Austin slips out of you so he can turn you around, your back towards him, and slams back into you.

One of his hands travels to your neck and squeezes, the other goes to your nipple.

This angle helps him sink even deeper inside you. The sensation is almost too much and you feel the waves of another orgasm coming. Sex with Austin is always great but this is different. He's lost all control and given in to his desire, and you fucking love it.

Austin feels your walls clenching around him and he knows you're close. The hand around your throat tightens as he moves his other hand from your breast to your clit, running his fingers in agonisingly slow circles, and right before you come he inserts two fingers in.

The feeling of his fingers and his hard length inside you is too much and you trip over the edge, your whole body shaking. You claw at his neck and bury your fingers into his hair as he swallows your moans with a kiss when you both come.

You've never seen this side of him before. He's always so protective of you, so gentle. You realise he's been holding himself back, afraid to lose control and hurt you.

He looks at you apprehensively and you smile at him, tugging him close so you can wrap your hands around his neck and give him a slow, tender kiss.

For a while the only sounds in the shower are the running water and your heavy breathing as you're both coming down from your highs.

Eventually, Austin lets you go and eases out of you with a groan. Your legs are shaking as you lean onto the tile wall while he turns around to adjust the showerhead.

He melts into you, relieved you're okay.

You disengage and proceed with your shower, washing each other's hair and bodies, placing soft kisses here and there.

When you're done, Austin stops the water. He swaddles you in a huge fluffy towel, picks you up and carries you to the bed.

He lies next to you on his side, head propped up, facing you, tiny droplets of water running down his face and torso.

"I'm sorry", he says quietly, giving you a sad puppy look and caressing your face.

"For what? Giving me multiple orgasms?"

"No..." he laughs and then falls silent.

"I hurt you. I don't know what came over me."

"Not what, who. You've still got some of Feyd lurking in the background," you say a soft smile playing on your lips.

"That's not an excuse y/n. I should've stopped...I should've..." he trails off, looking remorseful.

"I don't know if you noticed Butler but I liked it. A lot", you lift his head so he can look at you.

"I'm not made of china you know. Promise me you'll stop holding back on me. This was fucking amazing."

"Yeah it was, wasn't it," he says, finally relaxing, "Okay, but on one condition: you promise to tell me if I cross the line."

"Deal," you say and mould your lips over his.

#austin butler #fiction #feyd x you #austin x reader #smut #austin butler smut #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #first time writer #fanfic

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rosewould · 1 year

Text

cool off; ldh

🖱️⤻ pairing; afab!reader x haechan 🖱️⤻ word count; 4.6k 🖱️⤻ genre; smut & fluff 🖱️⤻ synopsis; haechan lets you in on a practice room secret that leads to a new hang out buddy during practice 🖱️⤻ warnings; unprotected sex (this is getting ridiculous), oral play (hyuck receiving), piv, doggy style, dirty talk, pet name (angel), public sex(?), switch!ish, soft but fun

⌨️⤻ How’s this for a meet cute lol. This is not accurate because Haechan oozes confidence. Most of my works aren’t accurate tho bc I don’t know them so it’s alright.

"See you guys at the dorm." Johnny tacked on just before exiting the practice room. Mark and Haechan don't answer, just collapse to the floor. Their chests heave in unison as they lie under the vent. All the sweat that was bothersome ten minutes ago was now welcome as it chilled under the cool air. Being comfortable with each other, they felt no need to voice any of their thoughts or fill the air with conversation, Haechan and Mark just sat quietly and enjoyed their moment of rest. It was easy to forget where they were this way.

After what felt like hours of lying under the vent, they jump as they hear the door click open. Expecting a member that forgot something made for a lot of confusion when you peek your head through the door. You gasp, eyes blowing wide before you pull your head back and close the door. Mark and Haechan stare at the closed door as you and a choreographer go back and forth.

"What's the matter? Go back in there." The manager chuckles.

"There are two members of NCT in there!" You whisper the name like it's some forbidden word.

"It's fine! I'm pretty sure they're on their way out. Just go in there with them!"

"Are you crazy?!"

Haechan had never seen your face before. No regular trainees were allowed in this practice room. Only debuted idols, groups preparing for debut, and special trainees. Any of those were possible, but what if...

"You think that's her?" Haechan rolls his head toward Mark with raised eyebrows.

"What? No way." Mark continues to stare at the door, hiding his disbelieving look from Haechan. "Well..." He lifts his shoulders, quirking one of his brows, "I guess it could be. But what are the odds? We were just talking about her and now she's here."

"Good odds, I'd say." Haechan mumbles, lifting his body slightly to peer over Mark at the door.

Some of the boys thought you were a pain. Technically, you weren't a proper trainee. Just someone the CEO really wants to be one, so he's giving you the full star treatment. Letting you practice here, use their studio to produce songs (hopefully more for their artists), and even let you around the artists themselves. None of them have ever seen you, for reasons that are now apparent, but the fact that the company was allowing this was unbelievable. Some may even say unfair. Haechan just thinks you've proved your talent enough to open doors. How could he not admire that?

"How many amazing producers have we had? None of them have gotten this treatment." Said Johnny a few days prior. "She's probably just pretty." He brushes off.

He was wrong. You weren't pretty. If you were truly who Haechan thought you were, you were absolutely breathtaking. Haechan swallows hard.

--🖱️▷

"Good job!"

You groan loudly, completely blocking out the choreographer's praise as you flop to the floor. "It's hot!"

"Well!" She claps her hands together before continuing. "We'll practice again tomorrow. And by that I mean we're practicing together tomorrow. Don't you dare stop practicing on your own." She scolds and you groan again.

This is what was expected of you. You wanted to be a soloist for the sake of your irrational fear of all your members hating you. It's just a little easier on your social anxiety this way you told yourself. Now you have to work twice as hard. All eyes are on you. Was all this worth it? Should you just go back to being behind the scenes? You did enjoy singing and dancing. Being an idol was something you dreamed of since you were a little girl. But perhaps you were being a little unrealistic. Maybe you're just not cut out for this...

Why is it so hot?

You stand up from the ground, sweat was starting to collect on your back. Plus, the heat was accumulating from lying there. You wander around the room, in search of relief before you continue practicing.

As if the heavens themselves open up above your head, a cool gust of air hits your body and you all but faint. "That feels so nice." You breathe, sweat trickling down your neck. Your body goes rigid as the door creaks open.

From across the room, you stare at Haechan like a deer caught in headlights. He chuckles to himself before he makes his way toward you, noting the way your limbs draw together like you're trying to physically shrink into yourself. Haechan plants himself right in front of you. You try to look at his face but you're so flustered it's almost debilitating. Did you do something wrong? Were he and his members not actually done as your choreographer suggested? Was he about to chew you out?

Haechan huffs, resting his hands on his hips before looking at the ceiling. The corner of his mouth twitches. He inhales slightly, tilting his head back down before fixing his eyes on your anxious face.

"You know, it actually feels better if you lay down."

You finally build the courage to look up at him. Once you do, you find it hard to look away. The way his face melts into a warm smile makes your heart do flips. Your tongue darts out to wet your increasingly dry lips. "R-really?"

Haechan's smile grows. "Yeah." He chuckles. "When you stand up, it only hits your head and shoulders, maybe your arms a little bit. When you lay down, it hits everything, and it's easier to relax."

You nod, but it's hard to focus on anything else but every muscle that moves on your body. You're just wondering if this celebrity noticed how hard you just gulped in front of him.

"Try it." Haechan takes a step back, gesturing toward the wooden floor. You blink up at him before whispering a small 'oh'. You awkwardly settle onto the floor, feeling utterly embarrassed as Haechan watches you lie on the floor. As soon as your back hits it, you gasp. The crisp air hits the entire front half of your body. It's almost too cold as it cools every drop of sweat exposed to it.

"See?" Haechan raises his eyebrows and you nod again.

"Thank you for showing me this." You say quietly, eyes moving everywhere but on him. You clear your throat.

"Is something wrong?"

"No... it's just... this is kinda weird." You gesture up at him from the floor.

"Ah!"

You watch in awe as Haechan lowers himself to the floor as well, lying right next to you. You can't possibly ignore how close your hands are to touching. "Is this better?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure if it is." You say bluntly, turning your head to look at him. Bad idea. He has these round puppy dog eyes. The kind that could melt ice cream with their intense warmth. You would verbally swoon if you were out of your mind.

"What, is there something on my face?" Haechan instinctively wipes the corners of his mouth. Just then you get a bright idea. Nothing breaks you out of that ‘this is painfully awkward please end this interaction immediately’ phase faster than some lighthearted joking.

"Mhm," you nod before pointing at his forehead. "right... here."

"Really?!" He stands up and hobbles toward the huge wall of mirrors you forgot about. You see, he was supposed to ask you to guide him to the spot and after a few seconds of misdirection you'd go 'just kidding!' and laughter would hopefully ensue.

What were you supposed to do now?! Now he was behind you and it'd be awkward to turn around and say 'just kidding!' from the floor, should you get up-

"Where? I don't see anything?"

You plant your palm firmly on your face.

"Wait... did you trick me?" Haechan laughs loudly in disbelief as he walks back over to tower over your body.

"Yeah." You say after you've had your fill of facepalming.

"Ha!" He laughs again before kneeling beside you. "Are you embarrassed?" He narrows his eyes at you.

"Yeah." You repeat before snorting.

"Okay." Haechan crosses his legs before pursing his lips. "I'm a little insulted that you just successfully embarrassed me without even being confident in your own prank." He nods slowly, clearing his throat awkwardly. You giggle, covering your mouth.

"I'm sorry." You squeak, closing your eyes.

"No, it's okay." He draws out the 'no', clearly not sincere in his consolation. "Just a little pathetic." He gestures with his fingers to illustrate how little. You gawk at him in disbelief.

"Huh?"

"I mean, my little cousin can pull off that prank perfectly. He's seven." Haechan rests his hand on your shoulder to further his faux consolation.

"Hey!" You sit up from the floor. "This is not making me feel better."

"Good, you made me think I had something on my face while I was talking to a pretty girl."

You gasp before slapping your hand over your mouth. Haechan rolls his eyes. "Oh, what? You don't know that you're pretty?"

"I-I mean... I-I don't know..." You stammer like an idiot.

"Well you are. And that's putting it lightly." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs as he peers up at you. Saying such pretty words with those constellation-filled eyes. If your heart was doing flips earlier, it was doing an entire gymnastics routine now. You play with your fingers, tearing your gaze away from him. You weren't sure how to respond. You were never good at taking compliments about your appearance.

"I uh... I have to continue practicing." You point your thumb behind you before settling it back into your lap.

"Oh, right." Haechan nods as he stands up from the floor. "Practicing is important."

"But we can talk another time." It sounds more like a suggestion than an act of disclosure, but just to be sure you don't sound too pushy you tack on a "Right?" at the end.

Haechan exhales amusedly. "Of course, how else are you gonna learn the ins and outs of the practice room?"

--🖱️▷

You didn't learn much, but you were definitely much cooler. You spent every break you had lying on the floor with Haechan. It wasn't the most picturesque location, but you didn't mind it. Spending time with him made it easy to ignore the strangeness of lying on the floor. It was a bit harder to ignore once his members started calling you his "floor buddy", but it wasn't too humiliating. Even less so since Haechan never protested. Seems like he didn't mind it either.

If he were honest, he doesn't understand why he catches you staring at him. What is more puzzling was the way you get flustered when he brings it up.

"You're not gonna prank me again, are you?" Haechan looks at you with suspicion sewn into his expression. You press your fingers to your cheek like you're checking their temperature.

"No! I'm not."

"Just checking now that I know you're this big prankster."

You throw your head back against the floor in defeat. You don't stand a chance against Haechan's teasing. He always manages to make you tap out.

"No, but really..." Haechan starts and you turn your head toward him. "Why are you always staring at me?" He tries to keep a straight face, but his confusion seeps through when his eyebrows furrow slightly. Your mouth hangs open as your eyes dart around the room. Truthfully, you had no honest answer that didn't make you seem suspicious. You're sure some people think you're a rich brat who's here just to hang around idols and ogle at them. Admitting to Haechan that that's exactly what you were just doing felt wrong. Could he trust you enough to continue hanging out with you after that? Perhaps keeping it a secret was worse, but perhaps you were okay with being a little bit selfish. Being with Haechan was making all this grueling practice bearable.

"Uhh... subject change! How was that variety show-"

"Nice try. Actually, horrible try. Why would you announce-?"

"I don't know." You hide your face in your hands, muffling the incoming whines.

"So tell me what I need to know." Haechan shifts his body to the side, resting his head on his hand. Your eyes flicker around the room, feeling something uncomfortable stirring inside your stomach. Not only would Haechan find out that you were ogling him, but he'd also find out you thought he was attractive this whole time. There's no way a confession like that would leave your relationship unscathed. Sure, Haechan says it all the time. But his excuse of 'it's just a fact' was starting to work on you. The way he'd nonchalantly shrug his shoulders after every "you're beautiful" was believable. Your heart reacted nonetheless.

There's no way you'd be able to play it off as a simple observation. You'd gulp and stammer and squirm, no doubt about it. But there was no backing out of this apparently, so here goes nothing.

"I-I think you're very handsome, Haechan." You try to keep your eyes on his blinking ones, but ultimately fail. You groan, hiding your face again.

"Haha. Very funny."

You peel your hands from your face to peer at Haechan who had turned off his side. "Funny?"

"You're getting better at the pranks, I'll admit it." He laughs dryly.

"What prank? Haechan, I'm serious." You maneuver closer to him, puzzled by his reaction. He flops his head to the side, a scrutinizing look on his face.

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better. Like I said, you're pretty and that's just a fact. You don't have to try and return the compliment."

You lie there quietly for a moment as he fixates back on the vent. "Do you seriously think I'm pretending to stare at you?"

"More like there's a different reason you're doing so."

"What? Like me thinking you're ugly or something? That's not it at all!"

He sighs. "Don't lie."

You push yourself up with your elbow, ready to pour your heart out about how he makes you go crazy every time you see his face, but you get a different idea. One that fills your body with nervous excitement. You overcome the nerves as you look at his face again. The slight annoyance on his face made him look irresistibly adorable. Those damned puppy dog eyes glitter like the stars. How soft his caramel-tinted skin looks. His lips look... inviting. You grab his face, smushing it between your hands as you deliberate once more. He looks at you in confusion before you lean down slowly and press your lips to his.

It was a short and sweet kiss, lips still adhered for a moment as you pull away. His lips glisten with the lip balm that transferred to them. He was dazed, and a bit shocked for a moment, but soon enough his lids grew heavier as he sits up and dives in for another kiss. Just as sweet as before, but with a bit more longing. Both of his hands made their way to your jaw, fingertips sneaking into the nape of your hair.

He tasted like mint and the sugar from whatever he was snacking on earlier. His lips brushed against yours as he readjusted to suck on your bottom lip. You sigh against him, fingers finding the back of his shirt before clenching onto it. You felt dizzy, almost like you were drunk. That must be what was stopping you from stopping this. Someone could walk in at any moment. Hell, someone could walk past and peek in. This was not safe for either of you, but none of that mattered more than your need to feel and taste each other.

You tasted so fucking good. Your vanilla-flavored lip balm was the cherry on top. It made both of your mouths soft and slick so your lips glide against each other with more ease. Haechan was getting riled up fast. More than anyone, he should stop before he does something stupid like acting on his primal urges. Urges that grew stronger when he tugs on your hair, eliciting a pretty noise from you. He pulls away with a chuckle. "Having fun, angel?"

You miss his lips already, so much that you feel spontaneous. You lift your thumb toward his bottom lip, smoothing your thumb along the plump flesh. You're mesmerized by your own actions, and he's mesmerized by you.

"What has gotten into you?" He asks in a hushed voice.

"Haechan..." You start, still staring at his lips. "You're so hot," You finally look at him, watching as his eyes go wide, "so annoyingly, devastatingly hot. Not just your face, but how you talk, how you carry yourself. I... I just can't get enough of you." You rush out before heaving as you stare into his eyes. It was a bit entertaining to watch him be the one flustered by compliments. Seems like the teddy bear can dish it but not take it. You smile with a giggle. "You're so sexy Haechan-"

"Shut up." He crashes his lips against yours, pushing you over so that you're laying on your back. He rests his hands beneath your head, lifting it up so he can move his lips against yours properly. You feel something protruding against your stomach. You gasp lightly against his mouth, yearning stronger for him when he bites your lip. “You talk too much.” He growls.

He was doing a great job at shutting you up. You were too preoccupied with trying to inconspicuously push forward for a better feel of his bulge. You couldn’t even do it a second time before he catches on to what you’re doing. He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “You are just full of surprises.”

He slides lower until the outline of his heavy member is resting directly on your mound. You can feel his thick shaft so vividly through the thin cotton of your shorts and underwear. “This what you want?” He quirks up an eyebrow at you. You nod, though your lip caught in your teeth and wanton expression already gave it away.

“Okay,” Haechan sits up on his knees, ceasing all friction. Your hips chase his, huffing when you can’t reach him.

“Take it.” He nods at his steadily hardening member. Settling on your forearms, you look at him confusedly. “I wanna see how many more surprises you have for me.” He smirks, voice deep, shooting right to your core. He looks so cocky. Unlike most men, it fits him so well. His lowered lids with a slanted smile suggested he didn’t think you were capable of taking the lead.

With how flustered you constantly are, Haechan expects you to be a whimpering, whiny mess in bed. He’d find it cute, of course, but he wants to see you act with a little confidence. Someone who looks like you should be the most confident motherfucker around.

He was always teasing you and gaining the upper hand with his certitude and wit. After getting a taste of how he acted when he was flustered, you needed to experience it more. So you lean forward, sliding your legs from under him and pushing him back. You catch a glimpse of a shocked expression as you press a splayed hand against his chest and it nourishes your determination. With a single, swift motion you pull the bow his drawstring was tied in loose. He watches eagerly as you push his pants down, lifting his hips to aid the process.

The sight of his more prominent outline makes your mouth go dry. His tan thighs are a sight you could get used to. You run your hands up his thighs, feeling how hot his skin is and how it erupts in goosebumps at your touch. You move them further until they’re resting on either side of his member. He puffs out a frustrated exhale.

“I’d love to take my time with you angel but we haven’t got all day.”

You grin up at him mischievously. And who said you weren’t good at teasing? If the Donghyuk from the first day you met saw how you slid his underwear down his legs and looked hungrily at his hard cock he wouldn’t believe his eyes. Not that he’s any less surprised right now. Your eyes are blown out as you inspect his phallus. Sufficiently veiny and thick, making up for where it lacks in length. You brush your fingers up the shaft, feeling the silky skin. He hisses, face tensing as he watches. He switches between watching your hand and your curious eyes before he exhales amusedly.

“You’re a virgin aren’t you?”

You place your entire hand along the base to get a proper measurement. The angle of it solidifies in your mind how well it’ll hit your g-spot.

“Nope.” You push him down so his upper body is flat against the floor. There’s a fondness to his gaze that lights a fire behind your cheeks. You lower yourself between his legs and begin kissing up his thighs. Just this is enough for Haechan. He makes a mental note to let you mark up his thighs when there’s more time to spare. But for now, he wants you to get on with it.

“Need I remind you where we are, angel?” His face pinches in pleasure when you plant a kiss on his balls. You ignore him and seek out that reaction again, sucking one of them into your mouth. His hot shaft raises the temperature of your hand as you wrap around it. A salacious moan breaches from his throat as you transition from no stimulation to sucking his balls and pumping his dick. Getting your fill from one side you switch to the other, coating it in a thick layer of saliva with a lengthy lap of your tongue. You pull your face away to let a little spit dribble from your tongue before sucking again. Arousal pumps fiercely through Haechan’s veins as you stimulate him. He tries and fails to keep quiet, choked groans slipping through every now and then. He squeezes his lips tight when you suck both sides into your mouth.

What he was witnessing was a masterpiece. Such a beautiful face dirtying up his dick and balls. So dedicated to get him off while looking so fitting for your pet name. “Angel,” he shudders, “I wanna fuck.”

“Hm?” You ignore him. You’re sitting pretty on your high horse with no intention of getting off any time soon. You want him to either whine and beg for it or cum all over your face. It’s a welcome change of pace to see him like this. And just for you? You could cum untouched. You release his balls with a pop before trailing your tongue to his shaft. He drops his head back with a heavy sigh as you trail wet, sloppy kisses up his shaft. “Fuck–” He breathes harshly and you can tell he’s getting there.

You run your spit-slicked lips up and down his member, poking your tongue out to kitty lick here and there, until his member starts twitching. He whines something under his breath and the sound makes you buck against his leg. “What was that?”

“Need you, need you…” He murmurs mindlessly, flicking his hips up involuntarily. You deliver full-on licks to his shaft until his stomach starts tensing and his moans pick up in frequency. “Please– fuck!”

You don’t listen again, you just give his tip the same treatment you gave his balls. Haechan’s torso jumps up from the floor as he moans louder than you’ve ever heard him. You giggle, “Hm~ I found the sweet spot I think.”

“Think this is funny?” He looks flush, hair beginning to stick to his forehead and pupils blown wide. If he was setting out to hypnotize you, it was working because you were entranced by his eyes. He takes the opportunity to push on top of you and flip you over. You nearly yelp but he covers your mouth with his hand. “No more slip-ups, we can’t get caught okay?” You nod within his grasp. “Good, because it would suck if we had to stop.” He purrs as he slips your shorts down as well as he can with one hand. You nod again and he coos a bit of praise.

He slips his hand from your mouth and kisses your cheek softly. You just about melt, and you feel like you actually could after what he says next.

“I told you I needed you and I meant it.” He shoves your shorts the rest of the way down and lowers his hips until his tip is spreading you open. Your lips part like softened butter until he’s fully submerged inside you. He pants next to your ear before peppering more feather-light kisses along your jaw and neck. When he bottoms out you feel a groan rumble in his chest. You keen, pushing back until there’s no space between you.

Haechan rises further on his knees to make up for it before dropping his hips down. You gasp and his hand is back over your mouth, not stopping his onslaught of pounding. Countless coos of praise fill your ears as he fucks the sense right out of you. Your eyes roll up, legs twitching as he fills you up slam after slam. You mumble your own praise incoherently behind his hand which makes him chuckle beside your ear. “Knew you’d be cute getting fucked.”

He angles his hips to brush against your frontmost wall and rubs at your g-spot again and again. “F-feels so good.” You know he can’t hear you but it was just mindless blabbering anyway. You worry for a moment that all this drilling will leave your legs hurting and prevent you from following instructions, but every thrust wipes your worries away. You feel connected and close to Haechan in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. You pull his hand away and chuckle slightly. “Need you too, Haechan.” You breathe until you’re whimpering again and he has to re-cover your mouth. “I love to hear it, angel.”

You can feel fractures of your orgasm beginning to form, tingling up your thighs and collecting in your groin. You suck in a harsh breath as your legs quiver. “‘m fucking cumming.” Haechan mutters as his hips stutter and his knees slide against the floor. Hearing his sounds build in desperation makes your abdomen clench and in turn, your walls. Haechan bites your shoulder in an attempt to muffle the resounding cry that crawls from his throat. His hips buck wildly into you, jolting you forward until your orgasm fills your channel and joins his spurting semen.

The two of you are only afforded two or three minutes to come down, but it feels like an eternity of bliss so you’re okay with it. Haechan pulls the both of you up and embraces you while he stays inside. Then the sound of multiple people thundering toward the practice room cause you both to jump up and situate yourselves as quickly as possible.

--🖱️▷

The rest of 127 watch as you and Haechan talk across the room. Taeyong is the first to talk. “They had sex didn’t they.” He narrows his eyes at Haechan leaning in and whispering something in your ear, he notes your shocked expression and subsequent slap of is arm.

“I caught onto that like… last month.” Mark mumbles.

“Really? I thought she’d be too shy. She doesn’t seem like the type.” Doyoung says before reflecting. Then one, two, three beats pass before Taeyong speaks again.

“You guys think they did it on the floor?”

The rest of the members react in audible disgust which makes the two of you look over. “Where do you think they did it?” Johnny asks, suddenly panicked about everywhere his feet land.

Mark looks around sheepishly before mumbling, “Just steer clear of the vent."

likes and reblogs are very appreciated! 🖱️⤻ nct dream & 127 masterlists

#800 #I've been waiting to post this for AGES #FiNALLY #haechan #donghyuck #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #nct #nct dream #kpop #smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #lee haechan smut #kpop smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 4 months

Note

in your earlier ask you said that yves is pretty much anti child so is he also anti pet? or maybe anti puppy/kitten/baby animal? when you described yves pretty much conditioning reader to dislike kids it reminded me when i got my kitten when she was three weeks old. it was during the lockdown so although i was there 24/7 i was lacking sleep because she refused to sleep on her own and i had to feed her every two hours and when she got older she got hyper and i needed to play with her so she could chill out a little more. i remember as i put her to sleep in my lap for the third time i thought to myself “is this what babies are like? but worse, dirtier and for a longer time?” as much as i love my little fur baby i don’t think i could go through that again so i wonder yves’ thoughts on pets. he gives off those vibes that he hates fur everywhere and can’t stand barking lol. but then again if reader wants a pet im assuming he’ll accommodate somehow.

Pets that need his constant attention like most mammals and noisy animals like the majority of birds are a big no for him.

However, he doesn't mind having reptilians as pets. As long as they're big enough to not lose them. He is indifferent to fishes, but he sees them more as home decor than actual living beings. Something akin to owning lava lamps.

He especially likes snakes. It fits with the aesthetic of his house and they're one of the lowest maintenance pets there is. He would meet all of its physical needs, but other than that, he wouldn't care to spend more time with it than necessary. The snake will be locked up in its enclosure at all times, unless you want to interact with it and he knows that your personality wouldn't lead to trouble. He knows everything there is to know about the snake, yet he sees it as a mere display piece for his living room.

Yves despises insects, he uses the presence of them as a sign that the environment isn't clean, and he does not appreciate having to think his house is filthy. No matter how much research he does on them and how many results show that insects do not necessarily equal dirty, Yves just could not accept them.

He is not squeamish, though. Yves despises them but he is not afraid of them, he knows how to handle a tarantula gently and keep calm when it decides to crawl under his turtleneck. If you threw a bucket of cockroaches on him he would not scream or flail, he would dodge it gracefully before dusting himself off. If any got onto him, he will just pick them off his clothes as if they're paper stickers. Yves will not beat around the bush and try to find a roll of newspaper or a bug spray, he is squashing that colony of spiders with his bare hands.

The way he could simply grab a handful of mealworms without hesitation makes the world think he loves bugs. He doesn't, not one bit.

You could simply shove him in a vat full of writhing maggots and he would come out as if he took a leisure swim in the pool, combing his hair with his fingers to get rid of any leftovers.

Yves would be annoyed more than horrified, lecturing you that pushing him into ponds of worms is rude while he jerks his head to expel the ones that are stuck in his ears.

Not to say he is inept at taking care of them. Yves can be an excellent caretaker for any and every animal. His research skills are unbelievably godly and he loathes the idea of him being perceived as incompetent in anything.

Yves also has a strangely high tolerance for all things disgusting and vile, he could clean up the most brutal bloody murder scene complete with mutilated bodies, decomposition, faeces, urine, vomit and other bodily fluids without wearing gloves or a gas mask; and still have an appetite to eat lunch immediately after. Vacuuming fur and sifting through the litter box is nothing to him. He just does not find much fulfillment in owning a pet. Hence, a pet becomes a parasite in his life, and he detests all things vermin.

If you wanted a furry companion so badly, he will hit the books and review the patterns in your life again.

Do you really want a pet or are you actually just bored? If it's the latter, he could effectively fill your time and make you forget about your desire for an animal companion. He could also negotiate his way out of this too.

Are you someone who hyper fixate on something or someone, then lose all interest after a few months? Then, he could wait it out. Taking care of your newest breathing toy as he counts down until you finally decide to abandon it and move on to greener pastures.

Are you someone who easily gives up at the first encounter of a problem? Maybe all it takes for you to drop the interest entirely is a meow that's too loud or a nip that's a bit too painful. He's going to train the animal to misbehave around you.

Are you someone who is susceptible to peer pressure? He is going to train your pet to misbehave around your loved ones. Manipulate your friends and family into thinking that you're an abusive or neglectful pet owner. He doesn't have to say a word to you, everyone is doing the pressuring for him.

Maybe you would fold under his dour glare and stern words, he can be quite scary at times. That generally reduces anyone into a shivering, crying mess that will not bring up the things that displeases him. This is usually the second-last resort to anything.

Perhaps you're a fierce animal lover and have a strong portfolio of being a cat or dog owner. You wouldn't give your beloved four legged friends up for the world, you will fight for them till your very last breath. Someone with unbreakable maternal/paternal instincts towards your precious fur babies. Giving them up is not in the equation.

Well, he is not above traumatizing you for life.

When push comes to shove, you might find your trusted non-human companions betraying you by lacerating your extremities to the point of no repair. Puncturing your throat with its sharp canines and claws, leaving you to breathe on a ventilator while Yves takes care of you in the hospital.

Or he could direct the attack to someone else, make you liable for lasting damages and having to put your seemingly rabid pets down. You would also have to live with the guilt of knowing you're mainly responsible for disfiguring that poor child's face, changing his life for the worse, just because you "didn't" train them well.

He warned you not to test him. Yves has been lenient and his patience has reached its limits. He may love you and want the best for you, but he is also very, very selfish.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves

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charlie-lynchs · 3 months

Text

Rizzles

Pairing: Jane Rizzoli x Maura Isles

Rizzles x daughter!reader

Warnings⚠️: Blood, weapons

POV: the daughter of Detective Jane Rizzoli and Dr. Maura Isles gets kidnapped and hurt during a case of theirs.

Name: Margret “Mag or Maggie” Rizzoli (she only got Janes name)

Age: 17 years old

Third Person POV:

Maggie sits at the dinner table still half asleep. Her mother Maura stands in the kitchen preparing breakfast and lunch wide awake. “Did you check your blood sugar level, honey?” Maura asked still focused on the cooking. “Yeah Mom I was over, but I pumped Insulin” Maggie mumbled. “Ok good.” Maura answered looking up with a smile. “Morning everyone” Jane walks in taking the coffee from Maura kissing her passionately. “Guys I’m still here.” Maggie groan laying her head in the table. Jane just smirks takes her own and Maggies plate and walks towards the table. “Oh come on Mags. You will have that to one day” Jane said kissing her on the forehead. She puts the plate in front of her and starts eating. “Thanks but I’m not hungry” Maggie said pushing the plate away. “You’re not leaving this house before ate something. We don’t want to pick you up at the hospital again.” Maura said sitting down too. Maggie sat at the head of the table and Maura & Jane on her left and right. This order exists since she was born. Maggie still doesn’t touch her food. Jane sighs before talking. “Don’t make me push the food down your throat Mags.” She said looking at her with her detective glare. Jane always called her Mags because she found it better than Maggie. Maggie just threw her hands in the air and started to eat. After a while she looked at her watch. “Shit I’m going to be late when I don’t leave.” she exclaimed standing up. “Language.” Jane said looking at her. “Do you want me to drive you?” Maura asked. “No I’ll take my bike but thanks. Bye.” Maggie said hugging both of them.

Jane always hated hugs but when they came from Maura or Maggie she enjoyed them. Maggie walks out the door closing behind her. “This is now the third time she didn’t want to eat her breakfast. It starts to get very suspicious.” Maura exclaimed looking at Maggies plate that still had half on it. “Maybe she’s just not a breakfast type. She never was.” Jane taking her hand. “But she needs it. Her blood sugar.” Maura said. “It’s ok.” she tried calming her wife down. Both their phones start ringing. They answer it and of course there is a murder.

Same Time at Boston High School Maggie outside of the school with her friend Lisa just chilling. They start walking to their class using a shortcut outside of the building. Walking around a corner suddenly there laid a girl from their year. “Oh my god!” Lisa screamed. Maggie got down to her knees. “Hello? Can you wake up for me?” Maggie said shaking the girl. “Call 911, Lisa. Tell them there is a dead body.” Maggie said after checking for a pulse. She knew her mothers would come after all her school was in their sector. After 15 min Det. Rizzoli and Dr. Isles both arrived at the crime scene. Frank waited for them. “What do we got?” Jane asked looking at her brother. “17 year old female. Name is Mary Goodwin. Cause of death is your job.” Frost said. Maura starts examining the body and Jane inspects the scene. “Pretty offside the campus. Who found the body?” She asked looking at Frost. “Two students but you’re not going to like who.” Frost said turning around. Jane and Maura looked and saw their 17 year old daughter standing there with her best friend. Jane just looked at Maura having a full conversation with their eyes. Jane starts walking towards Maggie. “Mags, are you ok?” Jane said pulling her into a hug. “Yeah I’m fine. Something else with her.” Maggie said pointing at Lisa, who looked still very pale. Jane sat both them down. “Did you know her?” she asked sitting across of them so she faces them. “Not directly, she is, well was in our year. We never talked.” Maggie explained and Lisa just nods. “Okay, what were you doing here.” she asked with a calm voice. “It’s a shortcut to the gym. Every senior takes it.” Maggie said. “Only seniors?” Jane questioned. “Yeah juniors and freshman know it but they’re not aloud to walk there.” Lisa answered this time. “Okay thank you. I will finish up over there with your mom and then I will drop you off at home, on our way to the precinct.“ Jane said standing up. “No Ma, it‘s fine I will take my bike.“ Maggie said. “Sweetie I don’t know. What you saw was you know a lot” Jane said hesitantly if she should let her go. “I’ll be fine, I mean Lisa drives with me for the most of the way and it’s not the first time I’ve seen a dead body.” Maggie shrugs. “Ok, it happend one time that I forgot to look after you and that you walked inside the morgue wasn’t my fault. You and your mom have to get over it.” Jane said pointing her finger. “fine. Go but text me when you’re home.” Jane said walking away.

Arriving back at the crime scene, everyone went quiet. “What’s going on?” Jane asked confused. “Jane the victim was killed in very specific way.” Maura started to explain. “She was killed with a scalpel, a precise cut on the throat. Hands and legs show signs of tug tape. She was shocked on the side of her ear.” Maura explained with every sentence Jane got paler. “No it can’t be. I killed him.” Jane said. “Maybe a copy cat?” Frost asked. “No we didn’t give the media the details. Maybe he had another student?” Maura said. “Bring her to the station.” Jane said.

At the same time, Lisa and Maggie were on their way home with their bikes. When they were in a valley with many people a white van made a stop and cut them off. Two men jumped out and carried them into the van. They tried to fight but there was no chance. One of the men took Maggie’s backpack and took out the insulin. Then he threw out backpack and phones of both of them. At the police station everyone was working to find out who the killer is. They knew it wasn’t Hoyt but someone he knew.

“Guys I got some news.” Frost said walking in. “Hoyt had a son.” He said laying a file down. “What? No file said that about him.” Jane exclaimed. “Because the mother didn’t write him on the birth certificate. But he raised him, the mother was mentally unstable and killed herself 12 years ago. He could’ve taught him everything.” Frost explained. “Maybe he wants revenge?” Maura said. Everyone looked at her confused. “Remember at whose school the girl was, in whose year.” Maura said. “He is after Maggie.” Frost said. Maura and Jane just looked at each other and jumped up. Jane pulled out her phone calling her. Of it went to the voicemail. “It goes directly to voicemail.” Jane said panicking. Frost already run to check the video tape from school to her home. “Guys have a look at this.” They walk in the room and see the video tape of them being thrown into a van. “Oh god.” Maura said starting to cry. Jane just watched the screen speechless. “Now one thing caught my eye. They thrown out her friend. I already sent uniforms out to search for her. But it’s clear that he doesn’t want money. He wants revenge for his father.” Frost said. “Even after his death he haunts me.” Jane said. Maura laid arm around her. “We are going to find her.” She said kissing Janes cheek.

Maggie woke up in a room that looks like a basement. Given the pictures hanging on the wall she knew she was the target for a long time. Then a door opened and a man walked down the stairs. He was in 40s. “So Hoyt got a son?” Maggie said looking at the man. “Wow got a lot in that brain of yours. Just like your mother’s.” the man said grinning. “Quentin Hoyt. To your services.” He bowed down. “Normally the kidnapper shouldn’t introduce himself to the victim.” Maggie said. “Oh yes, but you are not going to get out of here.” he said, he reached inside of his pocket and pulled out the devise that Maggie uses to test her blood sugar. He throws it at her. “Test it.” He said. Maggie was confused but obliged. “150.” She said looking at him. Without a word he gets out an injection and put the needle inside of her. Maggie realised he wanted her alive, possibly to torture her.

“We found her backpack.” Frost said walking in with a blue backpack. “Nothing is missing except her insulin injections.” He said laying the backpack down on Janes desk. “But that’s a good sign. He wants her alive.” Jane said fighting her tears again.

At the same time Maggie lays on the ground and Quentin above her. She had bruises and cuts on her face and body. “First step we are doing the exact same thing my old man did to your mother.” he said with a psycho grin. He takes a scalpel and stabs him in her right hand. Then he rips it out. Suddenly the door bursts open and many police officers run in followed by Jane and Frost. Quentin jolts up, he picks up Maggie and holds the scalpel against her throat. “Quentin take the scalpel down, it’s over.” Jane yelled. “Yeah it’s over. This is for my dad.” He says and stabs the scalpel into Maggie’s stomach. Frost shoots him and he falls to the ground. Jane sprints to the side of her daughter. “Hey baby. Stay with me.” she said while her voice his cracking. She puts pressure on the wound. “Maggie! Oh god” Maura screamed running in. „Come on Mags stay with us.“ was the last thing she heard before she passed out given the blood she lost. Soon the ambulance arrived and Maggie was carried in to the car. Her mothers not letting go of her hand the whole way to the hospital.

She was rolled into surgery immediately to handle the stab wound in her stomach and hand. When she was rolled into her room her mothers were by her side. The doctor walked in, still in scrubs. “I come with good news. She is going to be fine. We were able to stop the bleeding and repair all organs that were injured.“ he said. “What about the hand?“ Jane asked looking at Maggie‘s hand. “She will have full movement back but a scar was not avoidable” he said. “When will she wake up?” Maura asked. Jane already sat down at der daughter’s side holding the healthy hand. “That is up to your daughter, she lost a lot of blood.” the doctor said. Maura thanked him and he left. “It’s all my fault.” Jane said not looking away from Maggie. “I shouldn’t have let her leave alone.” she said. “Jane no. He would have gone after her no matter where.” Maura Said taking her wives hand. “She is alive and you found out where he hid her.” she keeps on talking.

The next 3 days were long for them. Both of them stayed at the room only leaving when Frost or Korsak force them to take a shower or go eat something real in the cafe. Right now both of them were asleep Maura on the chair on her right and Jane on the left holding her hand. Her head lying on the mattress. Frost and Korsak sitting at the table in front of the bed.

Light. That is the first thing she sees when opening her eyes slowly. She felt pressure on her left hand like someone holding it and pain on her right. She slowly can make out what is in the room. She sees Frost and Korsak reading newspaper in front of her and her mom sitting on her right. She moves slightly in her bed so she can see better. Frost and Korsak hear the movement and look to her. They stand up and smile at her. Maggie slowly presses Janes hand to wake her up. “What? What happened?” she jolts up from her sleep. She turns to the bed and starts smiling. “Sweetie you’re awake.” Jane said cupping her face. Frost wakes up Maura during that. “Oh baby you’re back” she said with a smile. “What happened?” she asked not remembering everything from that night. “Your amazing mother over there found out where he hid you, when we arrived he already stabbed a scalpel through your right hand.” Korsak starts to explain because her mothers are focused on her, but who can blame them? “When we burst through the door he held a scalpel to your throat and then stabbed it into your stomach, but he is dead. Your mother shot him.” he finished his explanation. “And what happened with him?” Maggie asked. “He is with his father. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Maura said this time.

After a few more weeks, Maggie was released from the hospital. She still was not aloud to run or do any kind of rush movement. Maggie didn’t care about that she is just happy that she can sleep in her own bed again. Maura fills out the papers while Jane and Maggie sit down and wait. The wound on her hand already healed and the scar same as her mother’s showed itself. Maggie took her hand without even realising it, rubbing her finger over the scar sometimes she felt them. “I can’t tell you the feeling goes away.” Jane said noticing the movement. “But your mom and I will help you.” Jane said taking her right hand and pressing a kiss on the scar. Maggie didn’t know why but it felt good. Maura walked to them. “Let’s get you home.” She said smiling. Jane helped Maggie up and supported her while walking. Maura gets the car and Maggie sits herself in the backseat, well with a little help.

When they open the door, Maggie is hit with a “Surprise!” from her entire family. To be honest she was exhausted but still appreciated it. They eat as a family and she goes upstairs to sleep. In the middle of the night she jolts up sweating, so she makes her way to her mothers bedroom. She opens the door and positions herself between her mothers. Both of them turn around to face her and lay a protective arm around her. “We got you.” Maura said. “Always.” Jane ended the sentence and they fall asleep as a family.

The End

Credit to of my two friends, anonymous and Katrin, they helped me with names for the characters.

Again I'm not english, Sorry for any mistakes

#rizzoli and isles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzles #rizzles x daughter!reader #jane rizzoli x daughter!reader #maura isles x daughter!reader

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zizz-asdf-re-r-o-u · 2 months

Text

blade's teeth + rei & blade

ok extremely weird thought time. why does blade have shark teeth?

real answer: the devs thought it looked cool and it was a way to distinguish him from Dramatical Murder's Clear.

LOOOOORE answer: he was created as an assassin automaton and every part of his body was utilized as a weapon. He doesn't need to eat food anyways and shark teeth probably aren't optimized for eating most human food. So a jaw full of triangle shaped fangs was probably for killing and/or threatening. Like c'mon, if Blade wasn't so cute, that'd be a slasher smile.

Bonus thoughts:

Does Blade have a hard time eating the human stuff he eats?

He can dislocate (and remove) his limbs- can he dislocate his jaw too? (We've gotten 2 mentions of Rei moving Blade's limbs in weird ways.... we need an in depth scene with Rei & Blade one day)

Would Blade pronounce things differently due to different teeth shape? His voice actor pronounces things normally (well as "normally" as Blade would), but like yknow in universe.

---

Bonus Rei & Blade analysis.

So has anyone noticed their dynamic is kind of interesting? Blade & Rei are very in sync with each other whenever they're onscreen- they bully Dante, Rei enables Blade's chaos, Blade listens to whatever Rei says, etc. They have a comfort with each other that seems to be chaotic BFF vibes.

Canon: Rei & Blade were both in Saia at some point in year 158. Rei's an inherited/2nd gen clan member and Blade was reset after failing to kill Huey. We can assume Rei joined in with Quincy & Kuya (and maaaybe Great Serpent? if GS was still alive by the time Rei was born?) for alter regulating. But Blade seemed to be on random sidequest missions with Huey (before getting abandoned).

After Rei joined Eiden's clan, at some point he disassembled Blade, and currently he still randomly experiments on Blade. During RN, they all shared each other's backstories with Saia.

Theeeeoories???

-Did Rei & Blade encounter each other while they were in Saia? (probably not)

-If Huey told the rest of the clan members he had an assassin bot side hoe from Saia chilling in the Dead Zone, Rei must've gotten interested and sought him out for ResearchTM, esp if he found out Blade was sent to take down Huey.

-Converted Blade is much more friendly and chaotic, so he must have been refreshing compared to the stuffier Huey clan members. I would not be surprised if Rei & Blade became friends during this time and then wound up becoming the chaotic duo they are today.

-At some point Rei joined the Council, most likely was on a team that experimented on Karu/Garu, eventually sabotaging it, mostly likely escaping with them. Is it possible Blade might have been their getaway car/support? Or was he too stuck in the Dead Zone at the time. Or perhaps

(Which btw, do Kuya & Quincy know that Blade was supposed to kill Huey? And had killed several Klein sorcerers when he arrived? Granted Kuya was just as ruthless back then so he probably didn't care. But Quincy probably cared back then).

#nu carnival #blade #personal #nu carnival theory #rei

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rottenpumpkin13 · 5 months

Note

Can we have some more Jenova and Lucretia Yuri?

I felt inspired and needed to put this into an actual scene. Forgive any mistakes please, I didn't edit this aalskshsgskd

Lucrecia stood in front of her mirror, practically bare before her own reflection with only a sheer chemise covering her body. She traced her finger over her stomach, visible lines of concern etched on her face.

She was only in her first trimester, and yet, she was overthinking things already. A mixture of guilt and regret already began to sink its teeth into her peace of mind.

She could feel a small, minuscule bump already, a swollen spot that had not been there before. While she was assured that her stomach would only behind to show during her second trimester, this pregnancy was different.

"Fear not. Your body will change, but the discomfort only lasts nine months."

There was that insufferable voice again. Lucrecia rolled her eyes, letting her hand slip from her stomach as she turned toward the bathroom.

"You know full well it's not my body I'm worried about."

The voice hummed. "Is it the baby? Do not worry. I'm keeping our child safe."

Lucrecia snatched her toothbrush from the edge of the sink, glancing up at the mirror with a mix of fear and disdain. Sure enough, she was there again.

Jenova looked her most innocent when she was a hallucination. Her long, silver hair cascaded over one shoulder as she leaned against the doorway, an absolutely wretched smile playing on her lips as she balanced herself on one leg. She wore a chemise that was clearly meant to match Lucrecia's.

Lucrecia tried her best to ignore her, reaching for the toothpaste next. "It won't be your child."

Jenova arched a singular eyebrow. "Of course it will. My son, that is. You are having a boy."

Lucrecia spat out the toothpaste, gagging.

Jenova watched Lucrecia wash her mouth. "It's my first time being a parent too. I'm going to be a mother. Is that not an important title?" She laughed.

When Lucrecia quickly spun around, the apparition was no longer there. She groaned, punching the light switch before making her way back into her room.

But as she entered, she felt her muscles stiffen again as she became paralyzed in place. Her hallucination of Jenova was there, laying casually in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"You humans have a custom where you name your offspring." Jenova lifted her leg in the air, tracing circles with her foot. It was an image so innocent that one would've really mistaken her for a young woman. "So what shall we name him? Would you like to go over suggestions? I admit I'm not the most knowledgeable about human names. The Cetra had suitable ones though, from the time I—"

"We are going to do nothing," Lucrecia snapped as she stepped towards the bed. "You're going to go back inside my head where you belong. It isn't good for either of us if you keep showing up like you're....like you're...."

"Real?" Jenova suggested, letting her leg drop.

She smiled softly, in a way that made Lucrecia certain that the creature could read her every thought and decipher emotions that even she was unaware of. It was unsettling.

"I am real," Jenova said. "I am so real, in fact, that I could have impregnated you myself."

Lucrecia shook a chill that made her skin goose-flecked. Great. She was definitely blushing now.

"If only your pathetic excuse of a husband had known to inject you with my cells only and let me do the rest of the work." She hummed pensively, eying Lucrecia up in a way that made the scientist feel utterly naked.

"I've never done it before, of course. But I'm sure it would've been even more pleasurable than the way you humans copulate."

"Are you done?" Lucrecia folded her arms over her chest.

"No." Jenova rolled over on her side, bracing her head on her hand. "Where is your husband? Don't tell me you sleep in different rooms."

Lucrecia sighed, choosing not to respond. "Can we just—" She walked towards the bed, shooing Jenova to the other side, "—go to sleep? Please? If you're going to stay here, at least be quiet. I have work tomorrow."

Jenova's apparition shrugged, burrowing herself under the covers. "My kind does not require sleep to function."

Lucrecia shot her an incredulous look. "Ever?"

"We can choose to sleep, but it's purely a recreational activity."

Lucrecia did her best to push down the desire to prod Jenova more about her race. It was the researcher side of her that formulated a dozen questions she could ask, and it was the rational human side of her that shot down each one before they could reach her tongue.

"Then have fun with that recreational activity and go to sleep." Lucrecia reached over, turning off her lamp.

Jenova hummed. "Is that what you want of me?"

Lucrecia ignored the details that had her senses screaming at her—the weight of the second body vibrating on the bed next to her and Jenova's somehow sweet scent.

She groaned. "Yes."

There was a pause.

"Then I will do it," Jenova said. "For you."

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #lucrecia crescent #jenova #ff7r #writing

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miss-celestia13 · 1 year

Text

Truth or Dare?

JakexMC Smut One Shot

Words: 4.3k

Fluff and smut!

Another outtake from Bloodstain that can be read alone with no knowledge of the main story!

In a room filled with their friends, Jake teases Manon, and she has to act as if everything is normal. It’s from Manon’s POV this time! It’s almost like her side of the previous smut one shot! So I thought it was worth posting for that since I have one from Jake's POV. These scenes have never fit into the main story, but I wanted to share them anyway. They can be read as standalone, so don’t worry about not knowing the main fic.

Manon

They were all seated in the living room, the spacious room lit by candlelight, and the wood stove behind them made it feel cozy. Manon and Jake had a loveseat to themselves. She had taken full advantage of it and draped herself over Jake, practically sitting in his lap. Her legs were across his thighs, and his strong arm braced her back, holding her tight against him. She had turned on a Bluetooth speaker to play one of her many playlists to ensure things wouldn’t get too quiet. They were farthest away from the light, and Manon was glad of it. The heated looks Jake kept throwing her way had every pore on her body splayed open in anticipation.

Cleo and Thomas each had a chair, while Lilly, Dan, and Jessy shared the largest sofa. Manon was sipping her glass of wine, feeling slightly buzzed, and the alcohol did nothing but stoke the fire in her that Jake seemed able to ignite with a single glance. She stole glances at him as he sipped his whisky, the sight somehow too appealing, and she kept wriggling in his lap to make him tighten his grip on her. She wore only a thin silk dress and had decided to forgo underwear to save time later and surprise him. He’d looked like he wanted to eat her when he took in her curves, barely concealed by the red silk. It was criminally short too, a fact she was glad of now she sat upon him and could feel his reaction to her proximity.

“Being in the middle of the forest during a blackout should be creepy, but I like it,” Jessy said, Manon nodded though she wouldn’t see it.

“Jessy you screamed when the power went out.” Dan poked, and Jessy smacked his arm, giggling.

“Sorry for being on edge. It’s not like we haven’t had to be on our guard constantly or anything.”

“Dan, you were ready to fight your reflection. You really can’t talk.” Cleo joked.

Manon hid her smile in her wine glass, and Jake kissed her forehead, making her shiver and blush. He always had to touch her as if to ensure she was real.

“Well, I think we are safe for a bit. It’s still weeks away until the festival, and we deserve to chill.” Lilly offered, and Manon hummed her agreement.

She almost jumped out of her skin when Jake’s lips pressed against the shell of her ear before he whispered, his hot breath sending chills down her spine.

“I feel oddly out of place here but it’s quite nice at the same time.”

She turned to him with a pleased smile, pecked his cheek, and opened her mouth, but Dan interrupted.

“Can you two not? It’s bad enough we have to hear it. I don’t want to watch it too!”

Manon cackled deviously, and Jake murmured something about knocking him out for her.

“Oh, Dan. Are you jealous? I’m sure we can find someone to scratch that itch for you,” Manon looked pointedly at Jessy as she said it. Dan and Jessy looked at each other and quickly turned away, but Dan shut up.

“You’re a menace,” Jake said, so low and gruff it was almost a growl that she felt between her thighs. She squeezed them together as the heat built, her eyes flicking between him and the glass in her hand.

“What should we do to pass the time? I’m not tired enough to go to bed yet.” Lilly asked.

Jessy squealed and shouted, “We have to play truth or dare!”

Everyone groaned in unison, but her smile didn’t falter.

“Come on. You know it’ll be fun! And what better way to get to know each other?”

Manon shrugged lazily. She was beginning to feel boneless and was happy to take a back seat.

“Fine, but none of us are getting naked, and you can’t ask us things that we wouldn’t even tell our therapist!” Dan declared, and Manon chuckled.

She leaned up, her mouth at Jake’s ear.

“Shame, I’m basically naked anyway.”

Manon pulled back slightly to watch his face. The hand around her waist tightened, sending butterflies fluttering low in her stomach. The predatory glint in his eye only added to the sensation.

“What do you mean?”

She smirked as she felt him grow hard under her ass and slowly dipped her wine before answering.

“I have nothing on under this dress, Jake.”

This time he did growl, the sound drowned out by Jessy explaining the rules to them all. Manon smiled wickedly at Jake. His pupils dilated, the blue swallowed by black. Oh, she’d pay for this later. She couldn’t wait.

“Okay, I’ll start. Cleo, you can ask the questions and decide the dares!” Jessy proclaimed, clapping her hands together in glee. Dan looked at her with so much affection in his eyes that Manon felt she was intruding and had to look away.

“Okay, truth or dare, Jessy?” Cleo asked.

“Uhm, truth!”

Manon watched the devious look take over Cleo’s face and tensed. Oh, it was a bad choice to let her be in charge. She would take great delight in their suffering.

“Do you want to be with Dan? I’m sick of watching you two dance around each other.” Cleo said, and Manon wanted to laugh as Jessy turned beetroot and Dan threw a glare so scathing it was wonder Cleo didn’t drop dead.

Manon didn’t hear Jessy reply, though. Jake set down his empty glass and slid his hand under the blanket over them. He settled between her thighs, dangerously close to where she was already growing wet for him. She went still, her entire being focused on that hand and what he would do next. She forgot how to breathe as his thumb rubbed slow circles into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

“Relax, Manon.”

Jake ordered quietly, then tugged on her earlobe with sharp teeth. She gasped aloud and clamped her mouth shut. The smirk on his face made her nervous. He wasn’t looking at her, and that made it worse. She complied as much as she could, relaxing her muscles one by one and leaning into his warmth. Her thighs slightly parted as she did, and he moved his hand ever closer to where she was starting to ache, liquid heat making her slick, and she knew her dress would be damp soon if he kept this up.

“Okay, Dan, truth or dare.”

Manon tried to pay attention to the game as Cleo turned to Dan. She had no idea what Jessy had said, but Dan was smiling like a cat that got the cream, so it must’ve been positive.

“Dare, of course.” He said, superiority ringing in his tone.

Cleo gave him a wild grin, and Jessy sighed. Manon knew what was coming.

“I dare you to kiss Jessy properly. None of that cheek or forehead crap those two are always doing.” Cleo flung a hand at Manon and Jake, but both ignored her.

Manon wanted to see this kiss, but Jake’s hand moved. He still didn’t touch her, it was driving her insane. Screaming in her mind, begging him to do something, but he only taunted her, she whined softly in the back of her throat. Jake shifted his hold to palm at her ass over her dress, the silk on her overly sensitive skin adding new heights to her lust-crazed mind, and she thought she’d explode, the ache in her painful now. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was utterly rattled. No one had noticed her torment and Jake appeared nonchalant, unaffected. She knew he wasn’t though, could feel it and see it in his eyes, and the tension in his jaw.

Manon bit down hard on her lip when Jake moved his finger, running it down the seam of her, dipping into her wetness and teasing her folds. He still wasn’t looking at her, though he hummed possessively when he discovered how wet she was, he’d barely touched her, and she could feel it trickle down her thighs. Manon threw back the contents of her glass, trying to calm the pounding beat of her heart, the pulse hammering in her neck. He was killing her, that one finger grazing everywhere but where she needed him, a cramping ache in her cunt that begged to be filled, but he only teased her. She only hoped her face remained clear and wasn’t giving her away when it was her turn to play.

“Manon, your turn. Truth or dare.” Cleo asked.

Manon didn’t think and just blurted out, “Truth!”

No one said a word if they noticed the crazed note in her tone. Cleo smiled, and she groaned inwardly.

“So, what is your actual job, Manon? You still haven’t told us.”

Manon didn’t have a chance to think it over, not as Jake finally slid that finger inside her. A moan bubbled up her throat, and she somehow managed to choke it off and say in a strangled voice.

“Private investigator. I have my own business.”

Jake smirked down at her as he moved his hand in and out of her, each slow pull and push making her feel unhinged. Cleo opened her mouth to ask more questions. Manon managed to give her a head shake and muttered something about explaining tomorrow. Thankfully she moved on to Jake, and Manon barely heard him ask for truth. Another finger pushed inside her, and her inner walls fluttered around them as they stretched her slightly. It wasn’t nearly enough. He hadn’t touched her clit yet, and she was near to pleading with him when he crooked his fingers and pulled, hitting that spot deep inside that made her feel insane. Distantly, she heard Cleo ask him how he’d gotten involved with Hannah, and he skirted around the truth, saying they’d met online.

The dress beneath her ass was damp, the silk clinging to her skin as she made tiny movements against his clever hand. His grip on her hip was bruising now, and it was Thomas’ turn. They were no longer being watched. She buried her face into his chest, biting down on his shirt as his thumb finally circled her clit, her breath coming in short bursts that she tried to stifle against him. He kissed her cheek, and she wanted to cry out when his hand stilled. She was so close she was almost sobbing. Turned on to extreme levels because they were in a room full of people unaware of what they were doing, the thought so wicked and exciting she convulsed around his fingers. Jake was impossibly hard beneath her; she desperately wanted to touch him. His lips were at her ear again as their friends started arguing, forgetting they were there. They’d become used to her and Jake sitting together, engrossed in each other.

“I want to taste this soon. Would you like that?”

She felt every word between her thighs. The image of his face between her legs, feasting on her, was so enticing she could only nod. Jake grinned and nipped at her earlobe, she gasped and whispered his name, a plea, and he answered.

A third finger stretched her now, the tinge of pain it brought sending her to dizzying heights, and his thumb moved, intent and determined to make her sob and writhe in his arms. She ground down against his length, a rough sigh in her ear as she did, and every thought scattered from her mind as she climbed that peak, his hand moving faster now. He could feel from the inside just how close she was. She was balanced on a knife’s edge, cutting her in two when he again crooked his fingers and circled her clit, once, twice, three times. Her cunt clamped down on his hand like a vice, and she was flying.

Her mouth opened to scream, and he swooped down to swallow it, his tongue delving into her mouth in an echo of his fingers between her split thighs. She tensed, waves of pleasure stealing her breath and making her tremble. He held her so tight to hide her reaction that she thought she might shatter but was grateful for it. His kiss turned deep and slowed as she returned to herself. He held her almost reverently now as she stole his breath into her lungs, her trembling fingers cupping his jaw as he pulled back. He kissed her on the mouth once and slowly pulled out of her, making her buck against him, he was like steel beneath her, and all she wanted was to take him inside her.

His sapphire eyes met hers. She stared at him in wonder. She couldn’t believe her quiet, awkward man had just made her fall apart so easily without giving a hint to anyone around them. He looked away to check if they were being observed. She didn’t care if they were. Oh, she was going to kill him later. She wanted him as unhinged as she was and glanced around to see what was happening.

Lilly was nowhere to be seen, and Jessy and Dan were out on the porch. When had that happened? Thomas and Cleo were chatting in the kitchen, and Manon couldn’t wait any longer. She stood in a sinuous wriggle. Her legs were weak as she tugged on Jake’s hand, barely able to speak but she only needed two words.

“Bedroom. Now. “

He chuckled darkly and allowed her to drag him upstairs, Cleo shouted goodnight but Manon didn’t acknowledge it. She could feel the wet silk sticking to her skin, as her bare feet hit the top floor landing, she shucked the dress over her head, revealing her nakedness to the man behind her. Jake growled and reached for her, but she whirled and held out a hand as he shut the bedroom door behind him.

“Not a chance. Clothes off, then you can touch.”

He stripped, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and unbuttoned his jeans. Manon didn’t waste a second once he was done. She pounced, her legs locking around his waist, and the force of her leap pushed him against the door. His arm flew up, wrapping around her like an iron band to keep her up as she breathily murmured in his ear.

“Inside me, now Jake.”

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

She only snarled and tightened her arms around his neck, needing him to take the reins now. He groaned and snapped his teeth at her throat, which she bared, and he accepted her invitation, grazing his teeth down the column of her neck before sucking at her flickering pulse. She bit down on her cheek when he finally sunk his teeth in. The bolt of pure want went straight to her empty cunt, and she whined in his ear.

“Jake, don’t make me wait.”

For once he listened. His free hand reached under her to line himself up before he entered her in a vicious thrust. Both of them moaned in relief. Manon whimpered as he slid out. She was so wet he had no problem working her open and settling to the hilt. He moved them, carrying her to the bed as she writhed, each tiny movement inside her sending licks of flame across her skin, the ache building in her core an irritant now, and she needed him to fuck her hard. Manon told him so, and he groaned at her boldness.

“I know what you need, patience Manon.”

He lay her on the bed, never moving from within her as he arranged her legs, wrapping one around his waist and bending the other at the knee to rest it against his shoulder. The powerful muscles in his arms strained as he planted his hands at either side of her head and looked her straight in the eye, the new angle drawing a needy moan from her. She saw it then, in his eyes, all the reluctant love he felt for her and how much she meant to him, she blinked back tears and hoped he saw the same in her own gaze. Knew he did when he smiled before he slid almost all the way out of her, her greedy cunt trying to keep him captive before he snapped his hips hard, shoving her up the bed and making her claw at his back to keep herself tethered to this earth.

Manons eyes widened at being so thoroughly taken, and she dug her heel into his ass to urge him on. He set a punishing pace, each lunge within her tight clasp pulling sounds from her throat that she’d feel ashamed of later but right now she only had one demand for him.

“More, Jake, please.”

“Good girl, I’ve got you.”

He moaned and bit her lip, taking her mouth hard and fucking her into the mattress, swallowing her cries and giving her his own. She was spiraling again as her nerves sparked alive, and her lungs begged for air. He pulled away, letting her breathe for a moment before his arms slipped under her back and dragged her loose body up to straddle him, he was on his knees, and she moved over him. He met her erratic movements with brutal lunges of his hips. She could feel him everywhere. Could only see him. He watched her every reaction intently, ensuring he did the right things to make her body sing for him. His hand dropped between them, and he circled her clit as he thrust up into her, each stroke tearing a wanton moan from her chest as she threw her head back. They didn’t need to speak to know what the other wanted. He bit and sucked at her neck, marking her and claiming her. She’d wear the bruises like jewelry tomorrow.

The lewd sound of skin against skin echoed through the dark room, her nails raked down his back, and she was on that edge again when he stopped, panting. Restraint was clear on his face, and she mewled in distress.

“Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

“I know.” He growled and pulled out of her, she wanted to scream at the loss but quickly forgot as he ordered her to get on her hands and knees, ass in the air, and the excitement sent another flood of her essence down her sticky thighs. Jake moved behind her, she arched her back, and he stroked his hand down her spine. She flowed into his touch and clenched her inner muscles, wanting to feel every hard inch as he teased her flesh exquisitely. But he didn’t. She jolted as she felt his tongue slide along her folds, lapping at her essence and swallowing it down, groaning as though he liked the taste of her, and she balanced on quivering arms. She looked down to see him on his back, head lifted to eat her out, and she almost came at the sight of him. His hot tongue pushed inside her, and she cried out, his fingers rubbing her clit in determined strokes. His other hand delved into the cleft of her ass, little feints around her other entrance made her cry out in sudden want. The idea of him touching her there was so intense she sobbed in black delight.

Jake chuckled against her cunt, the vibration of it adding to the inferno he was causing. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she had a sudden irrational urge to slap him. How he knew what she needed without her saying it was more a turn-on than any pretty words men had said to her in the past. Like he’d known her body all his life, the thought was enough to have her on the edge. Jake moved his hand away from her nub, pushing two fingers inside her without warning before his lips settled over her clit, and he sucked her into his mouth. She cried his name so loud she knew the whole house would hear her, but she didn’t care. Not as the warning pulse of her release fluttered inside her.

“Jake…”

She couldn’t finish the thought as he grazed her clit with his teeth, the scrape of his beard on her tender folds making her quiver as his talented tongue drew patterns over that bundle of nerves. There wasn’t another warning as she shattered under his attentions. Her upper body collapsed to the bed, and Jake held her hips to keep from being smothered as she tossed her head wildly against the sheets, murmuring nonsense words and repeating his name over and over. He didn’t give her any reprieve as he moved from under her and knelt behind her. He was inside her so swiftly and fully that she could only lift her head off the ruined sheets and howl.

The pulse of her release soon bled into another orgasm, and he gathered her hair in his hand, tugging her head back to clamp his hand around her open mouth. He pounded into her, riding her through it, the pleasure so sharp it was almost painful, and she felt crazed. He was chanting her name, talking her down, and bringing her back to him. The hand at her mouth fell to wrap around her neck, and she felt like she might die if the pressure in her core wasn’t relieved soon. His fingers tightened around her throat, cutting her air off enough that she was gasping, but she loved it, wanted more of it, and told him so in between pants, and his body covered hers in a blanket of warm flesh.

“I want you to come with me, Manon. Can you do that for me?"

She’d cut out her heart and hand it to him if he asked her then, but she only nodded, his thrusts out of rhythm now, and the hand at her throat squeezed before sliding down her back and around her front, finding her clit and driving her wild again. She was mindless, focused entirely on the heat building to a crescendo, her walls rippling wildly around his thick length as he brought her closer, their bodies slick with sweat. Jake moaned her name, so guttural and rough she felt it inside her. It wasn’t the feel of him moving within her that sent her over the edge, neither was it his clever fingers at her clit. It was the feel of him as he came hard. The wicked thrill of his release sent her flying, and she bit down on her arm, her vision fracturing and turning white. Blinded and dazed, she rode the waves of her orgasm as he fell on top of her and pushed them into the mattress. She couldn’t speak or think for an age as her vision cleared enough to make out shadows in the dark room.

Their harsh breathing was the only sound as he pulled out of her with a groan and kissed her neck, brushing her sweat tangled hair away from her face. He wound his arms around her and pulled them on to their sides, her back against his chest. She wriggled into him, loving how they fit together, all her curves and softness melting in to his hard angles and muscles. She sighed in contentment and Jake hummed his agreement, the heavy ache between her thighs from being well fucked only made her smile. His hand found hers and entwined his fingers in hers, squeezing three times like she always did to him and she wanted to cry at the sweet gesture. He didn’t know what it meant yet but she hoped he felt it. How could he not when it was written all over her face? She loved him, she’d known for a while now. He could fuck her until she was a writhing, mindless mess but after, he was so sweet it made her heart bleed for him. It was a long while before he spoke, his breathing was so deep she’d assumed he’d fallen into a very male doze but he always surprised her.

“Was that okay?”

She smiled and turned her head to face him, she could only see the glint of moonlight in his eyes, but it was enough.

“Oh, it was more than okay. It was phenomenal.”

He was silent for a while, and she counted the steady beats of his heart as he processed what he wanted to say. She was quick with words, always having a snappy retort on the tip of her tongue, but Jake was different. Every word was carefully selected, and those he did say typically meant more to her than any sweet talk or romantic gesture she'd ever received.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, doubt I will again.”

Manon smiled against his chest, her eyelids heavy and her body felt weightless.

“Good because you never will, you’ll have to put up with me for the rest of your days.”

***

If you enjoyed it, the main story is linked below. It’s a smutfest from chapter 5 🥰 thank you for reading.

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genocidehim · 1 year

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Telling Tuco that you’re pregnant and thinking he’ll be mad but he’s overjoyed

notes: render is female, unwanted pregnancy. words: 1037

When the pregnancy test came back positive, you realized you were screwed.

Really screwed.

And it was a reality that could have happened at any moment since your only forms of contraception were the birth control pills you took every day. The condom was abandoned after the second encounter when Tuco became obsessed with the raw, pure sensation of sex with you, and by the time your relationship became more serious, the contraceptive methods were only on your side, as Tuco was Tuco and there wasn't much to do about it.

But now the result of your carelessness was in that positive pregnancy test and the slight swelling of your belly that was barely noticeable. Maybe you were one or two months pregnant, but you weren't even sure because terror seemed to be the only thing invading your thoughts.

You had no idea how Tuco would react to the news, he never talked about family or children, despite his siblings and cousins having already settled down with a family. Tuco lived his life very differently from the traditional Mexican family model, and you followed in his footsteps. You were young, too young to even think about getting pregnant, but it was too late to turn back now.

You had been avoiding the topic for weeks, during which time Tuco had become a bit more dependent on the drugs he used, and with that came more violent outbursts at work, but never with you. Normally, those outbursts would happen when something got out of his control and he didn't like it, and the thought of how he would react if he found out about your early pregnancy terrified you... What if he became violent? Would he be capable of doing something?

All your worries and fears led you to that day when Tuco was busy cooking lunch without being chemically altered. You wanted to approach him in his sobriety and in the mundanity of everyday life.

"Amorcito..." you called him as you quietly walked down the stairs barefoot.

From the kitchen, you heard a 'Dime, amor' accompanied by the sound of the frying pan splattering oil and the smell of cooked vegetables. You approached the kitchen and leaned against the door frame while looking at him with a shy expression on your face, quieter than usual.

"What's wrong? Why do you have that look on your face? The food is almost ready" Tuco said as he scraped the pot with a spatula.

All of that scene was worth admiring. Tuco, in his sobriety, looked like such an attentive husband; his worried gaze on you, that pastel-colored apron over him, how his voice sounded much softer and honeyed when he spoke to you, and the way he reassured you with more words. All those things really affected you emotionally, wishing he could put another child inside you as soon as possible.

You shook your head slightly to clear your thoughts and resumed your confession.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important... Do you have a second?"

"For you, I have a lifetime. Tell me, what's going on?" he replied while continuing to cook.

It took you a while to get to the point, the anxiety filtering through your body and sweating through your pores. You didn't understand why you were afraid to reveal your pregnancy, why you felt like crying just trying to say the words, why the idea of him not accepting the news and leaving you scared you.

Your lips trembled before uttering the words, and you seemed deeply affected.

"My period hasn't come for months..." Your words came out soft, but that caught his attention instantly. His dark eyes widened at the moment and looked at you with surprise and seriousness, you trembled with fear. "And I took a pregnancy test and... I..."

When your words began to tremble and your eyes watered, Tuco let out a big sigh and turned off the stove to give you his full attention.

"And what about you?" His stern voice sent chills down your spine.

"I took several pregnancy tests and they came out positive..."

Silence filled the kitchen at that moment, the only sound you could hear was your heavy breathing and your heart about to burst. You couldn't look him in the eyes, you somehow felt guilty.

But Tuco's loud laughter snapped you out of your mental trance and forced you to look at him.

"¿¡Estás embarazada?!, Dios mío, no me lo puedo creer" The man had a smile from ear to ear that lit up his face, he looked so happy about the news that he couldn't stay still, going back and forth and babbling words of gratitude and blessings in spanish.

Feeling a great weight lifted off your shoulders, you sighed and let out a small cathartic laugh as you watched him in total amazement. Tuco approached you and held you tightly in his arms while dedicating sweet and cheesy words to you. When he pulled away and gave you a tender look, he placed his hand on your belly and touched the small bump with the palm of his hand.

"I can't believe my Amorcito is carrying my baby... How many months are you? Dios, I hadn't noticed the beautiful belly you have." His words tickled your ear and your smile eased the tension in your body.

"Two or three months... I don't know, just... I was scared to tell you when I found out."

"When you found out? And why were you scared?"

"A month ago and... I don't know, I was scared to think that you would hate me for getting pregnant and ruining your life..."

"Why would you think that? Corazón..." His lips landed on the softness of your cheek and he gave you a tender kiss. "I could never be angry with you for carrying my baby... Dios, what kind of man would I be if I hated the idea of you being pregnant?"

"We had never talked about this and well..."

"You shouldn't have worried your pretty little head with those mistaken ideas..." His lips now cradled yours in a tender and warm kiss before he continued speaking. "My God... You have no idea how happy Abuelita will be when she finds out you're pregnant. She will love you even more."

#better call saul x reader #breaking bad x reader #bcs x reader #tuco salamanca #tuco salamanca x reader #tuco salamanca fanfic #better call saul #breaking bad #tuco salamanca imagine

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honeylikewords · 1 year

Text

penumbra. (jack russell)

jack and his wife are separated during the full moon. (set in the events of the pregnancy arc!)

(warnings: descriptions of food and eating, non-descript vomiting, scenes of fear and anxiety; first ever attempt at writing slightly angsty, potentially hurt/comfort fic(?), everything works out so don’t worry! word count: 6k.)

“Beaver moon,” Jack says, hands in his pockets. He’s staring at a patch of clouds that are skating rapidly across the icy blue sky, nose high in the air. Smelling the wind for what’s to come.

His eyes flick to the side to catch a glimpse of her as she comes to stand next to him, arms crossed over her waist to brace against the chill, and he extends a hand to invite her to stand closer. She does, and she is instantly met with the radiating warmth of Jack’s feverish body temperature as he pulls her into his side; he rubs a hand along her upper arm in soothing arcs, and the heat of his touch comforts her.

“Beaver moon?”

When he’s distant, lost to her, she’s found that pressing him with innocuous questions can help draw him out. An easy opportunity to explain something can warm him back up to talking, and one hapless conversation may branch into a more expository one, and she hopes that getting him to talk about this will help him talk about that. It’s on the horizon, and, presumably, the driving force behind his shift in mood.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “November’s moon. That’s what they called it in, eh, the Farmer’s Almanac.”

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, gaze returning to the skies, and she watches his face as his eyes wander farther and farther away. His thumb creates slow circles on her elbow as he holds her close, and when he does speak again, he mumbles.

“They re-named all the moons of the year. Borrowed--” --he says the word with some sourness-- “--From the people already here. Made up new names for old things. I remember when they started. But there are names, real ones, that people do use.”

Jack turns to look back at her, and she can see something dark hiding in his bright eyes. She knows the expression that has come to linger all too well, from the severity of the lines between his eyebrows to the way he pulls his lips taut, chewing the inside of his cheek. The crease over the bridge of his nose gets more pronounced, and the darkness under his eyes brings a haggard weight to his gaze. A hardness of muscle, a thinness of blood, a lack of color. He’s afraid of something. She feels the knot of fear growing in her belly, too.

She should be used to it, by now. Sometimes, she feels like she is. But every month, like clockwork, when the atmosphere will become tense, Jack’s anxieties become her own, no matter how much she tries to assuage them.

“This month’s a total lunar eclipse,” he adds.

“A blood moon.”

Jack never tells her exactly where it is he goes, and he insists that she doesn’t tell him where she’s planning to go, either.

“Just make it deep into the city,” he reminds her. “The deeper you go, the harder it will be for me to get there.”

“Jack, you wouldn’t--”

He puts a hand up, firmly halting the conversation, and finishes putting the last of his clothes in the duffel bag. As he zips it up, he glances at her and sees the hurt in her face, a downcast expression coming over his own. They’ve had this conversation before, but repetition it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m sorry, bebé. I know. But… we can’t risk it.”

Jack rounds the edge of the bed to come to her side, cupping her face in his hands. Regret and longing shadow him as he pets her cheeks, and she doesn’t like the way he’s studying her face; she’s afraid he’s looking at her for what he believes to be the last time. They’ve done this before, dozens of times, so why does this one feel so different? Shaking off the thoughts, she steels herself and holds his hand to her face, meeting his eyes.

“We have our systems,” she reminds him. “You’ll be alright. You’ll come back, all in one big, hairy piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at that. She can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if he’s just uncomfortable, but whatever the reality, it doesn’t seem that her attempt at a joke broke much of the tension in him at all. Damn.

Instead of replying, Jack pauses, then bends forward and kisses her on the crest of her hairline. As his lips warm her, he draws in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes faltering shut as he takes in her scent. He inhales so deeply that she feels a few of her hairs lift off her head; it tickles, and she can’t help the small bubble of noise that escapes her. After a long moment of him standing completely still, nose pressed to her scalp, she feels Jack shift, turning to rapidly kiss every inch of her face.

“I,” he mumbles, kissing her temple, “love,” a kiss to her nose, “you,” a kiss to her cupid’s bow, “so,” now one on the corner of her jaw, “much.”

He plants another dozen across her cheeks and chin and ears and hair, until she’s certain he’s gotten each individual centimeter of surface area her face has, and then pulls back, hands remaining cupped around her face and keeping her in his view as long as possible.

“I will come back to you.” His voice is low, tired. But the promise is powerful. “And we will be alright.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only one night,” shrugs Jack, trying to seem blasé. “You might like the break from me. Get a little ‘you’ time in. Watch something you know I’d hate. Eat something with mushrooms.”

“Sounds fun.” It comes out more mournful than she meant for it to.

Out in the yard, branches snap: the cue. Jack frowns, the lines of his face deeper than ever and she thinks, in that moment, that all the hundreds of years have abruptly caught up to him. Wordless, he sighs, presses his nose to her cheek, and gives her one last, long kiss, savoring the plushness of her lips and the scent of her skin, before pulling away.

He grabs his bag off the bed and then takes her hand, the two of them walking in tandem through the house until they reach the back door, where Jack opens it and sees Ted squatting in the bushes. The massive creature waves sweetly at the two of them, and she waves back.

“Take care of my husband,” she smiles. Ted nods his tentacled head.

Jack hesitates in the doorway. The hand that grasps hers guides their encircled fingers to her belly, and he lets go of her with a trail of his fingers across it. His eyes hold there before he scratches at one ear, surprisingly aggressive, and breaks himself from his reverie.

“I end up having to take care of him, you know,” grumbles Jack, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

Ted makes an elephantine grunt and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Ay, I’m coming, man.”

Finally, Jack takes the step to go. He walks across the yard, towards the treeline that leads into the forest, where Ted holds open a gap in the bushes. As he crosses the barrier into the woods, Jack looks back at his wife, and the two of them do their best to be the one to look away first.

It’s only one night.

She breaks first, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, and when she manages to clear her throat and look back up, both men are long gone.

Paying in cash at the hotel is always extremely embarrassing.

Jack insists, every month, that cards can’t be used-- “They leave a paper trail, querida,” he admonishes-- so he gives her a massive pile of bills to use at her discretion for the night. It always garners looks.

The concierge had raised both eyebrows and quirked his lips to the side before remembering his job and her presence, penitently smiling at her as he counted out the hundreds for the room, and she’d stood at the counter in a haze of discomfort while he made the key card.

She wonders idly if this one would spread rumors of a “lady of the night” or a “woman on the run” in the break room to his coworkers, then continues unpacking her toiletries on the bathroom counter, dismissive. It doesn’t really matter what he says so long as he and all the other people in this city make enough noise and light and stench to keep the wolf at bay.

That was the hope Jack had each month, sending her into the city: the hope that the chaos of human civilization would scare the wolf away from wherever she might be. That their secrecy would keep any memories, even subconscious, out of the wolf’s mind. That he wouldn’t know where to find her, even if he did hunt for her. That was the system.

So far, it has worked.

She does her best to whittle down the hours as sunset begins. Television, phone scrolling, reading, folding and unfolding her clothes for the night and following morning. None of it sufficiently puts to rest the images in her mind; Jack, locked in a cage somewhere, waiting for the agony to begin. Jack, alone. Jack, transformed.

Getting up from the edge of the bed, she moves to sit in the stiff, polyester-upholstered armchair by the window and stares out at the skyline. The city seems to be burning to the ground as the sun sinks between the skyscrapers and streets, dipping lower and lower into the horizon, before being extinguished as moonrise begins. Blue-black night stretches over the land, and thousands of streetlights and windows and signs flare to life, filling the darkness, pushing it back.

The room is too quiet, even with the television running for background noise. She fidgets with a loose thread on the arm of the chair as her stomach churns. She can’t stop thinking about Jack, and how his attitude had been so foreign; he was always withdrawn and anxious before the full moon, but he’d seemed more frightened than usual this time. Her gut contorts when she thinks to herself that he may have been giving her a goodbye, somehow, as if this was the end of something, and all of a sudden--

She bolts up from the chair so violently it rocks over, and rushes to the bathroom, collapsing on her knees in front of the toilet.

“For the love of God,” she moans, voice echoing in the now-full bowl. “Really?”

Nobody answers, but she stands on shaking legs and wipes her mouth with a tissue, flushing the whole affair down the toilet as she brushes her teeth and tongue forcefully. When she’s done, she kicks at the wastebasket in the bathroom and glares at her stomach as it makes a loud, wet growl.

“Seriously? Now you’re hungry?”

The sudden pang, both of pain and hunger, shoots through her and she narrows her eyes further, sighing in frustration and moving to get her coat.

Jack normally instructs her that once the moon is up, she cannot leave wherever it is that she’s hiding. Staying behind doors and walls and out of the open air creates interference, he says, and that interference is key to keeping the beast confused. “If he can’t smell you, he can’t find you.”

Well, wherever he is, she reasons to herself, he’s not going to smell her deep in the heart of the city, much less in the few minutes it will take her to get from her room to the nearby pizza place. The jacket is shrugged on and she opens the suite door, a cold thrill running through her as she breaks one of the rules of the full moon. So much for the system.

She breaks it further still as she leaves the hotel lobby and ambles into the restaurant a block westward, gazing at the menu blearily before ordering two slices: one of her standard order, the second a surprising combination of mushrooms, peppers and pineapple that makes the man behind the counter scoff as he jots it down on the pad. Another fistful of loose bills is tendered, this time to no surprise.

She takes a bite her familiar pizza, first, sitting at a sticky plastic table in the far corner of the restaurant, closer to where the cooking is happening. She figures that if she’s going to break the rules, she might as well balance it out by doing them safely by masking herself in the hot, smelly din of the kitchen. The pizza is a warm meal on an empty stomach, so it tastes better than usual, and she scarfs the first piece down quickly before turning her attention to this new order.

The mushrooms had originally been a little joke-- as one of Jack’s least favorite foods, they seldom turned up in any meals they shared, so she would order them when he was away-- but the other toppings had been ordered on impulse, all of them individually hungered for. Pineapple for its tart sweetness, peppers for their verdant crunch, mushrooms for their earthy meatiness; she piles a massive amount of the tinned parmesan cheese atop her slice and dives in ravenously.

It is a little strange at first, she admits, but scratches an itch she doesn’t quite understand, and she soon finds herself chewing through the crust, the piece decimated and digested. She marvels at herself for housing it that fast and wonders if she might have forgotten to eat earlier today, lost in all the stress of Jack’s departure. Not quite satiated by both pieces, she returns to the counter, orders another slice of the mixed-topping pizza, and takes it to go.

She walks out the front door with the piece in hand, clutched in a slightly oily napkin, and begins to walk through the cold streets of the city, watching through windows as businesses shutter for the night and families turn out the lights in bedrooms and dens. The world is getting ready to sleep, and she feels restless.

Midway across the street that would take her onto the block her hotel sits on, she decides that she can’t go back to the room right now. The stillness is too intimidating, too constricting. She knows that if she locks herself in that suite, she’ll sit, motionless, on the edge of the bed, cycling through the same thoughts that had led her here, making herself sicker and sicker. The mere idea of being in that sterile, dimly home-like room sends a clench through her abdomen, so she chooses to keep breaking the rules.

She takes a left and crosses another street, meandering into the city park that spans multiple blocks. She’d seen it coming in towards the hotel, and knows where the hotel sits in position to it, so she won’t get lost, she figures, passing through the low gates of the park and following the paved paths past a bed of trees and unpetaled rose bushes.

The grass underfoot crunches dryly, almost entirely dead, as she works on her piece of pizza and wanders aimlessly through the park. Now that she’s had about two and a third of these large slices, she’s beginning to feel full, and the remaining two-thirds slice in her hand is becoming less and less appetizing as it gets colder and she thinks more on her worries. She doesn’t want to vomit again, so she decides to give herself a break from it and moves to sit on an empty bench overlooking a glass-smooth pond.

It’s a calming sight: the park is entirely empty, the water features all turned off, and all that she can hear is the wind through the trees and the distant sound of traffic, muffled by the foliage. The night sky is dim, starless thanks to the city’s light pollution, but the moon, enormous and luminous, cuts through the darkness, viciously bright. It glows orange-red, the penumbra of the earth edging in; the blood moon.

She thinks of him as she stares at the moon, mindlessly picking at the food in her hands. The wind gusts a cluster of leaves down from the tree tops and they rain down onto the surface of the pond, sending ripples flowing across the water, reflecting red moonlight in arcs and waves. Somewhere, a dead limb cracks off a tree and falls to the earth with a heavy thud, and she jumps a little, nails digging into the mushroom she’d peeled off the pizza and was ripping apart on the napkin.

It occurs to her, now, that she is a woman alone in a major city, in a park, at night. She checks her surroundings carefully, noting no sign of other people, and tries to remember which way the hotel is; after a moment’s consideration, she decides that it’s to her right and that she’ll follow the path out to the nearest street, which she should be able to cross and get back to the hotel via.

As she begins to stand, another crack issues through the silence of the park, this one less heavy but nearer than the first. It sounded more like something crunching through shrubbery, something with enough mass to disturb leaves and snap branches. Human? Animal? She isn’t sure; do coyotes come this far into the city? She’d heard that they sometimes wandered the suburbs, attacking dogs; now isn’t the time to remember things about coyotes, she thinks. Now is the time to move. Her heart is pounding, dread setting in around her, and she moves as quietly as she can towards the path that leads right, staring at the space she thinks the sound came from. Unfortunately, it works: she sees what she’s looking for.

In the light of the red moon, she sees it.

Something massive, much bigger than any coyote could ever hope to be, rises from a span of bushes a few yards away from the bench, hunkered low but coming up taller and taller and taller. Every inch it rises is another dagger in her heart, her ears slamming with the sound of her blood, and if she had half a wit left in her, she’d scream: scream until whatever it was went deaf, scream until all the city knew where she was, scream until her throat bled. But all she can do is stumble backward, unable to take her eyes off the indistinct thing in the darkness, her body begging her to move back, into the light, into the safety of numbers, into anywhere but here, as everything else shuts down.

She keeps taking rapid, wobbling steps back, faster and faster, eyes transfixed, as the shape pushes out from the bushes and begins moving across the grass, shadowed and faster than anything she’s ever seen before. It races at her as she tries to turn around and run, and she begins scrambling up the path when whatever it is lets out an inhuman screech that crescendoes into an unearthly howl, so loud it rings her ears and makes her start dry-sobbing, trying, still, to run.

Before she can get anywhere close to the edge of the path, the creature is behind her, arms around her chest, yanking her backward into the night, and she finally manages to let out a belting scream before--

She is laying on her back, in the grass, at the side of the pond, and the thing is over her, staring down. Her body is pinned under the creature, with its knees on either side of her abdomen, one of its hands under the backside of her head and the other supporting the small of her back. The arms holding her still must be enormously strong, as she feels that her weight is not resting against the earth, but rather solely in the grasp of the beast.

It tilts its head from side to side as it inspects her closely, and she takes advantage of the moment to do the same. In the full, bright light of the moon, it’s much easier to see what exactly this thing is; it’s certainly humanoid, to be sure. Wide shoulders covered in a dense pelt of fur block out the sky behind it, and its bare chest is similarly hairy, tapering into a manlike waist. It’s all bare, actually, excepting a shredded pair of sweatpants that fit tightly against the creature’s lean legs and that are torn below the knee, making room for its massive calves. The hair seems to be densest around the thing’s face and neck, where it splays out in a dark mane, backlit by the moon to create a halo of red-brown tendrils that shift with every breeze. Its nose is long, flared into a wide, brown snout that clefts into two distinct curves of cartilage; every breath drawn through it rankles its top lip, curling it into a snarl. Twin sets of razor-sharp incisors glint wetly in the light, framed by lips that hang open as it breathes, hard, through its mouth.

Most noticeable, however, are its eyes.

They glow from underneath massive eyebrows, peering at her through the darkness, twin sparks of the aurora borealis. Green. They’re green.

Her own eyes swim with tears and her throat closes up, unable to make any sound but little sore gulps, and the creature bends down to rub its canine nose against her jaw, whimpering in the back of its throat sympathetically.

No, she corrects, not its: his. She would know him anywhere.

Jack pushes his face along the underside of her chin, whining into her neck, and uses the hand cradling her head to push her into the crook of his, rubbing her in. At first, the action confuses her, and she rankles her nose at the strong scent of his sweat against his damp, musky fur, but it dawns on her that the smell is, in fact, the purpose of the gesture: he needs her to smell him as he is smelling her. The wolf wants her to know that she is with her mate, and believes the scent is key to convincing her. She settles for winding her fingers into the matted span hair that covers his back and shoulders and crying, equal parts relieved and frightened, into his pelt.

She shakes and sobs as the wolf presses her to his chest, and Jack lets out pained, short barks, baying and howling pityingly. He pushes her as close to his skin as he can get her, and his skin is so hot it burns her cheeks, already sore from crying; if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was on death’s door with a fatal fever. As her breathing starts to lull and the sobs mellow into hiccups, Jack shifts her weight closer to him, rising to his feet with her in his arms.

The shock sends her scrambling in his hold, gripping onto his shoulders and yelping in fright. Jack lets out a huff and bumps his nose against her temple, a silent attempt to calm her, and he begins moving back towards the trees, seeming intent on going deeper into the park. Tentatively, she puts a hand on his chest and pushes, and he stops, head jerking back in confusion. She watches his huge eyebrows knit together and he bares his teeth; it’s not a threat, but a question, his familiar eyes searching her face for an explanation.

“Jack, we have to get you out of here,” she rasps. “You’re not safe in the city.”

If he understands, he doesn’t show it; Jack decides to keep walking toward the trees, and she has to push again to get him to stop. This time, he lets out a growl, his hold on her tightening, but he does relent and holds still, waiting in the shadow of a tree.

“Where’s Ted? Why aren’t you in your…”

Her voice trails off as she realizes she doesn’t know what to ask, and that even if she did, Jack probably isn’t capable of responding. He cocks his head at her and frowns, again pushing his nose into the side of her face and nuzzling against her skin, and she melts under his touch. For as long as she’s known him, Jack has been firm with her that this part of himself is too hideous, too deadly for her to see, but, now, all she can see is her husband, vulnerable despite the power of his transformation.

She takes a moment to do some mental math, weighing her options. She can’t let Jack out of her sight for the rest of the night, that much she knows, but how she’ll get him to safety is the truly unknown element. Getting back to their house wouldn’t be entirely feasible, as she’d taken a taxi to get here, and getting him back to wherever he chose to hide during his transformations was out, since she both did not know where it was and knew that wherever it was, it was not in any condition to hold him: he’d gotten out, after all.

That left two options: try to sneak Jack out through the city on foot, or…

“Jack? Baby?”

His ears perk and he pulls his face out of her neck, head cocked like a dog listening for instructions. Jack’s pink tongue slips out and wets his lips and teeth and he flashes her something that she tries to interpret as a smile, but that reads more closely to a grimace. It endears her all the same.

“You need to come with me, okay?”

Jack stirs with a groan, his eyes blurry and unfocused. Everything is scaldingly bright, burning his retinas, and he covers his face with a large hand, rubbing at his sore lids and wiping away the crust of a heavy, pained sleep.

“Morning, Puppy,” he hears.

Oh, still dreaming. That’s frustrating. Jack hates it when he dreams that she’s near, only to wake up alone. It’s like barreling headlong into a glass door. He rolls over on his side and throws an arm over his head, snarling through his teeth at the world.

Of course he’d have a dream like this after a night like that. Dream that she’s rubbing his back, dream that she’s pressing her lips to his hands, dream that her scent is wrapped all around him, filling the room.

He tries to burrow his face into the pillow and block out the light, only to find that his pillow is hot. Solid. Not at all fabric, but certainly plush. He growls in frustration, wondering if he fell asleep on top of a deer carcass again: that'd be hell to wash out of his hair. But the pillow smells like her… painfully so. He pushes his face in deep and moans in misery.

"Are you still hurting?"

"Yes," he says, voice rough and cracking. "Everything hurts. Miss you."

"...You miss me?"

Jack opens one eye and stares up at the fuzzy, dark shape hovering at the periphery of his vision. From a certain angle, and with just the right amount of blinked clarity, it does sort of look like her. He figures getting it all out of his system in a dream is as good an option as any, and he rubs his rough-stubbled cheek into his warm, rising and falling pillow, sighing.

"I hate being away from you, amorcita," he rumbles. "Makes me feel like complete shit. I already feel like shit, then I come out of it, and you're not there, and I become, uh, doubleshit."

"Doubleshit?"

"Mm."

"You're not doubleshit," she purrs. A hand strokes the exposed curve of his face and he tilts his chin to meet it; this is certainly one of his more indulgent dreams. Lusciously detailed. It'll be hell to wake up from. "You're alright, now."

Jack wrinkles his brow and scrunches both eyes tightly before reopening them, rolling on his pillow to face upward. His gaze clears and focuses: her face is now visible, looking down on him from above. He squints at her.

“...What are you doing?”

At his question she knits her brow and smiles, shaking her head in amused confusion.

She looks so beautiful that it takes Jack out of his mind and into a purely animal place: all he wants to do is stare at her, at the angles of her face, the slope of her nose, the curvature of her lips. He wants to ingrain this thought in the forefront of his mind and forget everything else; the pain in his body, the ravages of the night before, the wild haze of unclear memories. All that matters is this.

One of her delicate hands reaches down and scritches at his chin, right in his favorite spot, the one that always sends his leg twitching, and he’s too worn to hold back the relieved moan that issues out of him, his whole body oozing into languid comfort. His eyes flutter shut, and he revels in the sensation of her. Oh, she really knows how to get him.

When her nails catch on a rough patch of stubble that tugs a little, it occurs to Jack that he is not, in fact, dreaming. That accidental scrape of nails feels too organic to have been generated by his fuzzy mind; his eyes flash open, staring up at her.

She pulls back briefly, and Jack leans up, cocking his head. This is not a dream. She is there, sitting above him. His mind goes blank.

Jack pushes himself onto his elbows and looks around at his surroundings, bewildered, heart racing. This is not his safe room. These are not concrete walls. They’re wallpapered, with tacky, directionless paintings glued on. He’s laying on a completely destroyed mattress, body between her legs, instead of on the cold floor of his cell. He’d gotten out, somehow, and--

“Jack, baby, it’s okay,” she says, reaching around to wrap her arms about his chest and tug his back flush to her body. He trembles a little in her grasp, feeling her pressing reassuring kisses all along his face and shoulders, but the sound of her voice and the touch of her hands brings him back down to earth, bit by bit. “It’s just me. You’re alright. We made it through the night.”

“We…?”

“You… found me, remember?”

A low series of curses in a mixture of languages seep from his lips as he turns on the bed, taking her face in his hands. He paws at her, tugging clothes aside and pushing her limbs this way and that as he anxiously studies every inch of her, checking her face and body for wounds, bandages, scars: any sign that the wolf had harmed her. He’d gotten loose? And, worse yet, he’d managed to get to wherever she was?

“Did I--”

“You didn’t hurt me, Jack,” she reprimands. His eyes rise up to hers; her gaze is firm, unyielding in its promise. “You were looking for me.”

“I… I don’t know how I got out,” he admits, stroking one of her cheeks. “I’ve never done that, before.”

“Well, it’s certainly a first, but… as far as I can tell, all you did was come to find me. I think you wanted to take me home, actually.”

He looks at the room. This is definitely not home.

“But I, uh, didn’t let that happen.”

Jack frowns. This just keeps getting more and more mystifying.

“You fought the wolf?,” he asks. When she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, he frowns even more deeply and presses further. “Then… what?”

“I just… asked you to follow me. I took you back to the hotel.”

“We’re at a hotel?!”

Reeling, Jack holds onto her shoulder for support and stares out at the room. Of course. Her hotel room. He recognizes all the telltale signs-- the chipped wooden furniture, the clunky black plastic amenities, the pale orange lighting-- but sees all of it in disarray. Claw marks line the overturned armchair by the window. Stuffing leaks out of the loveseat. All the sheets are shredded, the mattress beneath them carved with long, hard gouges. He thinks he sees bite marks on the legs of the writing desk.

The idea that the wolf was in a hotel room at all flummoxes Jack; that he could pass dozens, maybe even hundreds of opportunities to hunt, all sitting quietly in their little, individually-wrapped rooms seems impossible. Surely, he must have left a wake of destruction behind himself... right?

Jack peers down the entryway and notes that the front door of the suite is shut, with the desk chair shoved under the handle at such an angle that the door is, essentially, barricaded. He wonders if she put that there to keep others out, or to keep him in; either way, it seems to have worked. He can’t smell blood, nor decay, though there’s a minor tinge of stomach acid. She must have gotten sick rather recently, at least within the last hour, and Jack lets out a frustrated whimper at the idea of her being ill and his being unable to help her.

He collapses into her, pulling them both down onto the mattress, and exhaustedly moves his head to lay on her body. He isn’t even particularly conscious of his movements, just letting his instincts take over and guide him, and he ends up curled around her, his head firmly pressed into her belly, hands gripping her sides as she pets his hair to comfort him. Everything washes over him in a depleting wave, and he surrenders to her wholly, burrowing his face into her and kissing mindlessly into her tummy.

“This is actually how you slept for most of the night,” she remarks, playing with the patch of hair over his right ear. “Just like this.”

Her belly must have been the pillow he mistook for a deer carcass. If he wasn’t so drained, he might have been a little embarrassed by the error. It doesn’t matter, now. All that matters is getting her home, safe and sound, and making sure that none of this follows them back. Pay all this off. Get out without being seen. Find Ted. Repair and re-structure the safe room. The list keeps growing.

But he’ll straighten all of that out later. In the moment, Jack just wants to lay still and revel in her: it’s the first time he’s woken up from a transformation with her right there, by his side, and it fulfills some emptiness he had only dreamed of easing. She’s here. She’s holding him. He’s safe in her arms. What more could a man ask for?

His hand straggles up and he lays it next to his face on her tummy, tracing intricate patterns into the skin under her shirt. The texture of her skin is so familiar and grounding that he nearly is lulled back to sleep, his eyes drifting shut, palm splayed across her belly, but he manages to fight through and stir himself awake, blinking heavily up at her.

“You’re incredible,” he manages. “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re, you know, just… I love you.”

He’s not quite aware of his words, more cognizant of the feelings behind them than of their actual structure, and relents: maybe he can’t express himself like that right now. Still too frazzled. Instead, he settles for leaning in, and presses a kiss deep and hard into the softness of her belly. She pets the hair at the nape of his neck, mumbling her response distantly.

“I didn’t really do much of anything, I don’t think,” she says. “I just asked. You listened.”

The idea of the wolf listening to anyone should surprise Jack. But instead, he blinks, pensive, and nods into her stomach; if ever there was a voice that could compel him, both halves, wholly and completely, it would be hers.

“And I love you, too. All of you, by the way.”

“I tore apart a mattress,” Jack moans. “You sure you love that part?”

She laughs, the sound softening every line in Jack’s face as he relaxes into her, and she rubs his shoulders with a doting firmness that makes his heart sing.

“I do, actually; it was kind of cute. I think you were just trying to make a bed pile for us.”

“Leave it to you to,” he mumbles, trailing off, “to find something cute in a werewolf.”

“‘S not my fault. You’re the one who’s a cute werewolf. I’m just an impartial observer, making a statement of fact.”

Jack doesn’t have nearly enough energy to play-argue with her, but he has enough that he manages to open his eyes and stare up at her. Something looks different about her, now: a glow to her features, not quite new, but more pronounced. He wonders if she’s just his guardian angel, come to care for him, and that what he’s seeing is her halo; that must be it. Her halo.

Her light outshines the moon; the wolf bays for her, now.

links to previous fics in this series:

cubs.

familia.

thank you for reading! comments and replies are always appreciated, and give me immense motivation to continue these stories! feel free to let me know what you thought and what you’d like to see next!

#werewolf by night #jack russell #jack russell x reader #wwbn #wbn #marvel #jack russel #jack russel x reader #ALRIGHT so. lot to unpack here. Implications of things. Things Yet To Come. Tropes. much to discuss. i will not give it away here tho #i also wanted to post this before the blood moon so >:3 get a load of that #this was all written in less than 24 hrs in just about one sitting without any proof reading or editing from outside sources so.#if you see any spelling or grammar errors no you didnt. you did NOT.#ghdhghgh anyway i hope you all enjoy!!!#i wonder if you guys will be able to Figure Out some of what this is Indicating gkdhgkhg #ANYWAY BYE GO CHECK THE MOON LATER

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