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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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rongzhi · 3 months

Text

English added by me :)

Further Details:

In 2014, while digging ground to construct the Number 7 line for the Chengdu metro, a 2300 square meter tomb with 13 graves was dug up near Mohechi (摩诃池), the former back gardens of the Prince's mansion in Sichuan (蜀王府). Of the 13 chambers in the tomb, most were single graves, and some had been plundered or were difficult to get to. Chamber #8 was found to have its seal still closed and in decent condition, with archeologists speculating that the area had been subject to earthquakes in the past, and robbers skipped over the chamber because they were afraid of the walls collapsing if the heavy stone door was moved. Chamber #8 was also discovered to contain two rooms and the engraving of a dragon and phoenix, indicating that whoever the tomb belonged to were of relatively high status.

While the royal mausoleum of the prince of Sichuan had long been unearthed, the new joint grave was originally thought to be the tomb of an aristocratic husband and wife, as the type of tomb was typical of a husband and wife pair. The area where the new tomb had been discovered was also known long ago as 公公坟 (the eunuch graves). Other tombs of court eunuchs buried around Chengdu had been discovered in 1953, 1955, 1956, 2003, 2005, and 2008.

At the same time, experts noticed that the porcelain relics buried in the Chamber #8 all shared an unusual characteristic: the male figurines had no facial hair. This led to the realisation that the figurines depicted eunuchs. Additionally, two stone tablets were eventually located which turned out to be the epitaphs for the graves, and which allowed the archeologists to confirm that the tomb did indeed belong to two imperial eunuchs from the Ming dynasty. Moreover, the tablets revealed that the eunuchs were named Wei Yu (魏玉, b.1470) and Ruan Ying (阮英, b. 1472). Both were born from poor farming families in Tongzhou (潼州; present day northern Sichuan province).

In the fourteenth year of Chenghua, there was a huge drought in the nation, so both children were sent by their families to become eunuchs in the palace as a means to survive. Being from the same area and around the same age, they would grow to become very close.

In the Ming dynasty, imperial eunuchs had great power, such that they were in charge of many government and even military affairs. Due to this, Wei Yu and Ruan Ying did not stay in Beijing to serve the emperor but instead eventually ended up as chief eunuchs in Shuwangfu, the center of government in Sichuan. Based on the epitaph and historical materials, historians concluded that Wei Yu and Ruan Ying did not necessarily overstep their power as is often the depiction of court eunuchs of the era, and in fact, they cooperated very well with the Zhu Chun, the prince of Sichuan and Hongwu Emperor's 11th son, assisting him to repair infrastructure and bringing prosperity to the people of Chengdu.

Wei Yu was favored by the prince for being clever and witty, and was bestowed the surname Shuang, so is also referred to in records as Shuang Yu (双玉). As Wei Yu's status grew, Ruan Ying's did as well.

In the 10th year of Zhengde (1515), having experienced some rough times, Wei Yu and Ruan Ying decided they wanted to be buried together and and obtained royal permission for it to be so. As they had no children, they were able to accumulate all their earnings (imperial servants were paid) and buy a plot of land. One year later, Ruan Ying passed away and Wei Yu had a tomb built with two rooms so that they could be buried together. Ten years later, when he passed away also, Wei Yu was buried with Ruan Ying, fulfilling their desire to be entombed together.

Additional sources:

https://www.sohu.com/a/413776430_120795605

https://m.thepaper.cn/yidian_promDetail.jsp?contid=3744568&from=yidian

https://www.toutiao.com/article/6706734279713358350/?wid=1705638571420

video (in Chinese)

#tried to find a better douyin to introduce/summarise the topic but some of them had really annoying voice overs lol #i think there is like a cctv type documentary about the dig with actual expert talking heads but i can't find the video online atm #anyway. it's really incredible to me that they even recorded their birth and death years like bro...so often these details are lost to time #but we know all these things about these two from 600 years ago :')#chinese history #video #douyin #tiktok #long post #同志历史

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pathologicalreid · 2 months

Note

hiii love! I’d love to request a fic where Spencer takes care of the reader in anyway. Fluff, angst, h/c idk my depressed ass would just love something like that 🥰

dazed days | S.R.

your job at the FBI is hard, but life with spencer is easy

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader category: fluffy with a smidge hurt/comfort content warnings: mild disassociation, crying, nondescript case related crimes, nonsexual nudity word count: 1.17k a/n: hi sweetie baby angel! thank you so much for your request, i hope you like it! additionally, thank you all for 1k followers that's absolutely insane and i love each and every one of you <333

You hated court days.

It didn’t happen that often, usually, local police or FBI field offices were more than capable of taking care of cases after the BAU left, but sometimes team members were called in as expert witnesses.

This time, you were called in as an expert witness. It was a rough case, all of the victims were around your age, and the one surviving victim was in the courtroom too.

You never spoke about it, but sometimes it was easier for you to have faith that the survivors would get the help they needed. It was easier for you to move to the next case so that you wouldn’t have to ruminate over someone else’s pain. Today you needed to put yourself back into that case, back to two months ago when you were sat in front of families and telling them their children were gone.

And you’d need to go back tomorrow, the court didn’t come to a decision today.

Stumbling over your own feet, you dropped your bag on the ground haphazardly before you moved to the couch. You stepped out of your shoes as you did so, promising yourself you’d pick them up once the world stopped crumbling.

There were still hours before Spencer would come home from Quantico. Slowly, you pulled your blazer off and laid it over the arm of the couch before resting your head on the pillows, curling your body in on itself.

It felt like minutes later that the door opened, “Love, did you leave the door unlocked?” Spencer called out, obviously not having seen you on the couch. How long had you been lying there? When you didn’t answer, Spencer wandered around the living room before spotting you on the couch. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “Are you alright?”

There’s that sort of unnamable feeling where you’re perfectly fine, but the moment someone asks you if you’re fine the floodgates open. That was how you were feeling, and you looked past Spencer as your eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, honey,” he breathed, moving so that he was sitting on the couch next to you, maneuvering your body so that you were leaning on him, depending on him to keep you steady. “Have you been sleeping since you got home?”

You hummed, adjusting so that you were leaning straight back on the couch. “Not sleeping,” you mumbled.

Spencer dropped a soft kiss on your shoulder, “Just thinking?” His voice was still reverent, “Do you want to think out loud?”

Closing your eyes, you shook your head despondently. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you had been thinking at all – you were simply waiting for time to pass.

“What if you go take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes? We can get takeout and watch a movie if you want,” he offered.

You had nearly forgotten that you were still wearing slacks and a blouse, but as soon as Spencer mentioned it, you felt drawn to the idea of washing this entire day off. Silently, you stood up and walked to the bathroom.

Spencer opened the door as soon as you turned off the water, meeting you with a towel that he had just pulled out of the dryer. “Do you feel any better?” He asked, wrapping the towel around you before he tenderly kissed your forehead.

Nodding, you used part of the towel to wipe your face. He left to let you dry yourself off before you walked into your bedroom to get dressed, just to find that he had laid out comfy clothes for you, pajama shorts paired with an old CalTech sweatshirt – your favorite one to steal.

Briefly, you sat on the edge of the bed before the smell of food kindly coaxed you out into the kitchen. “You got pad Thai?”

He nodded while pulling two forks out of the silverware drawer, “It’s your favorite comfort food.” He handed you a fork before setting his down on the kitchen counter, he held a takeout container out toward you, “Pad Thai for your thoughts?”

You smiled softly as you took the container into your hands, “It’s just hard to go back sometimes, you know?”

“Back to old cases?” He asked for clarification, popping the lid off of his container and gesturing for you to lead the way to the couch.

As you walked, you noticed that everything that you had scattered when you got home had been picked up. Your shoes were on the rack by the door, and your bag had been hung on the hooks on the wall. You bashfully mumbled a thank you before sitting down on the couch. “Sometimes I have a hard time believing that we’re helping people. When I see the parents and the husbands, it’s difficult for me to recognize that finding the people who did that to their loved ones is in any way aiding them.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, “Some people find comfort in knowing that what happened to their loved one can never happen to anyone else.”

“But what about the other people? What about the people who are hurting? How do we make sure they’re taken care of?” You rebutted. That was a lot of therapy that a lot of people needed.

Setting his container on the coffee table, he took yours out of your hand and did the same before he dragged you into his lap. He placed his hands on your waist, “Do you want someone else to take your place tomorrow?”

You knew he was offering to go in your stead, but you couldn’t ask that of him. This was part of the job, and if you were lucky you wouldn’t have to go back to court until next calendar year. “No, I’ll be okay,” you reassured him, placing a hand on either one of his shoulders.

Gently, he swept a strand of hair off of your forehead, “You have such a big heart.”

Sighing, you leaned forward so your bodies were flush, resting your chin on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him.

Momentarily, the two of you remained silent. Spencer gently slid a hand under your sweatshirt, softly skimming his fingers up and down your back.

“I know we do good stuff, but sometimes it doesn’t feel good,” you whispered, wishing there was a way you could speak more eloquently. “If you keep doing that, I’ll fall asleep,” you informed him, your eyes were already beginning to droop as a result of his ministrations.

He just hummed in response, “What do you want to do?”

You pulled away from him reluctantly, “Dinner and a movie.” Climbing off of his lap, you reached for your food again. Watching as he reached for the remote, “Wait, you got to pick last time!”

“Yes, but you’re going to pick The Parent Trap,” he responded. “So, I’ll put it on.”

You slumped back onto the couch, “Just make sure it’s the-“

He had already hit play, “1998 version, I know.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #margot's requests #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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notjustjavierpena · 10 months

Text

Hate

A/N: Mean!Joel is back! Beware of dubcon.

Summary: This is PWP. Nothing else. Joel manhandles you in your home. You hate him.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dub-con, tears, ignoring you in bed, breeding kink, unprotected sex, PIV sex, forced creampie, dirty talk, fingering, oral m receiving, deepthroating, degradation, finger sucking

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48179338

Hate

You had promised yourself never to give in to Joel, but he has his hand in your pants with a force that has sent you dangerously close to the edge of coming in mere seconds. You had fought him, said no for less than a second, but then there were two of Joel’s thick fingers inside of your cunt, beckoning your orgasm closer by rubbing the tips of them against your g-spot whilst grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. Who could continue saying no to that?

And to think that this is happening in your own home of all places; somewhere that you’d shouted that he’d never set foot in after the way that he’d continuously humiliated you in front of your shared patrol group. Back then, he had suggested meeting up at your place after training to help you improve your skills (or lack thereof), but you had been inches away from spitting in his face at the suggestion that he had anything to teach you.

You realize now what he had meant, and additionally why he had wanted to nitpick at your fumbling with your rifle and the way you sometimes lose balance for the briefest moment when you tried getting on your horse: Joel wanted you to hate him. He wanted to rile you up, because he wanted to have his way with you and this was the only way to get your attention.

If only he knew that he already had it so desperately. If only he knew how much you hated yourself each time you fucked yourself open on your fingers at the thought of his rough demeanor, strong arms, rough hands and salt-and-pepper hair and beard.

“Joel,” you say shakily, gripping at his arm as you feel yourself dance around the edge. You moan loudly, leaning your head back against the wall that he has shoved you against, “You’re making me—“

His hand is gone as fast as it had been there, brutally dragging you away from your orgasm that had been so perfectly within reach. You furrow your brow as your clit throbs, whining through a moan as you are suddenly empty, but you are clever enough to not start complaining with thoughts put into actual words. He doesn’t seem like he’d like that with the way he’s looking at you; Joel’s eyes are practically black with harsh desire, his normal brown tint that you have often found his only kind feature, completely gone.

Oh, the irony of him being the enemy who, as the only person, also has the remedy to all the racing thoughts that flood your brain.

There’s a moment where he just has you panting into the room, but then he reaches up to grip your jaw with the same hand, smearing your wetness along your cheek as he holds you in place. You want to look away, turn your head to the side to not let him have the satisfaction of seeing how terrified and horny you are.

“Christ,” his southern twang is thicker than normally when he has you like this, “I can see how much you want it. Stop pretending you ever wanted to refuse.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is what I should do,” he finishes your sentence, tightening his grip on your jaw and pushing the softness of your cheeks inwards. You try to avoid biting down on the soft flesh despite how hard it is with Joel’s strong hand holding you like this. He continues, “Fuck you stupid, so ya wouldn’t have such a smart lil’ mouth around me and the others guys. I don’t think you know how many of them want to shove a cock down your throat to shut you up for just five fucking minutes. Bet you gobble down dick like a pro with how much you love using your mouth to make my day hell.”

He turns his wrist to shove his slick fingers into your mouth before you can retort as if to test out his theory before giving you the real deal. You suck them filthily into your mouth, tasting yourself on them whilst holding his gaze. As if to say something snarky, you narrow your eyes at him and scrape your front teeth slightly along his digits as he pushes down on your tongue. He retreats his hand with a growl, dragging a string of saliva from your mouth that drips down to your chin. He wipes his fingers clean on your shirt.

“Jeeesus, you’re annoying,” he bites, but somehow still shows you enough trust to put his cock in your mouth as he starts pushing down on your shoulders. You let him, if not only to have a chance to rid him of his shit attitude, slowly sinking to your knees until he has you trapped between the wall and himself.

“Look at you with your hair up already,” he notes, praising almost absentmindedly, “It’s like you knew.”

You palm him over his denim pants and earn a groan, noticing his generous size even before seeing him on full display. He is outlined so well, hard underneath the fabric that must be straining painfully and withholding any type of friction. You absentmindedly lick your lips before going to work.

Getting his dick out isn’t a challenge because it is jutting out underneath his boxers as soon as you undo the jeans. You feel a tug in your cunt as you realize his girth and length, the outline having cheated your eyes to think that he was smaller. Your gaze follows each ridge of his veins, which you have an urge to trail with your tongue to really get to know him.

At this point, you barely know if he will fit into your mouth or pussy, but you do know that you don’t mind being stuffed to the brim. It’s just been a while.

You pull down at his boxers to let them rest just above his knees alongside his jeans. Then you wrap your hand around the base of his length, looking up at him through your lashes and flattening your tongue. You tap the thick head against your tongue a few times before giving him a kitten lick to test out his sensitivity.

Joel’s large hand comes to rest on top of your head whilst he inhales deeply through his nose. He doesn’t say anything besides breathing a little louder, so you find it safe to wrap your lips around him experimentally, moaning as you finally taste his skin.

Engulfing him in the heat of your mouth seems to make him shiver a little more, even more so when you start sliding down your soft lips to feel every inch until he is nudging at the back of your throat. You try relaxing your throat but he is huge, at this point barely halfway in. You gag and try sucking in a hitched breath through your nose.

“That’s it, honey, gag on it,” you hear from above you, thick fingers that you miss inside of you carding over the hair on top of your head and towards the back of your head. You whine as the fingers close around your ponytail in a fist, tightening to give the opportunity to use you like a marionette.

Pulling back a little whilst hollowing your cheeks, you try going back to the head and swirl your tongue, not wanting to feel the squeeze of your throat around him again if it meant nausea. It works for a moment; you curl your tongue around the underside as you bob your head.

But when you stop right before hitting the back over and over, Joel doesn’t seem too pleased with it. You look up at him, eyes wide as you are acting oblivious.

“What are you doing?” He asks impatiently then presses against your shoulder with his free hand, pushing you into the wall to make it impossible for you to escape. You whine up at him with panicked eyes as he pushes his hips forward, sliding right back down your throat again. He chuckles darkly, “Try fighting it, sweetheart, no one’s gonna hear you cry with my dick in your mouth.”

There’s a brief thought of biting down but then Joel continues, “You want this though, don’t you? No one makes such a desperate display of hate in front of others without it being about something else. You just wanted cock. Go on, and then I might make your cunt weep and spasm after.”

You gargle pathetically in return. Yes, yes, you want that so much, clit throbbing painfully between your legs as you were neglected by him right before your orgasm.

“That’s what I thought,” there’s a tug at your ponytail and suddenly, your nose is buried in Joel’s happy trail, “Now relax your pretty throat, whilst I fuck your smart mouth. Remember to swallow too.”

You curse yourself as you try to force spit down just as he says it, swallowing thickly around his cock to which he responds by letting out a whew and wrapping your hair around his fist to gain more control. It makes tears sting at the corners of your eyes, threatening to drip down and slide over your cheeks and, worst case scenario, into your mouth.

He thrusts once then twice, setting up a rhythm, and you can taste the salt of his precome. It’s brutal. You relax your throat as best you can like he has ordered, but deep-throating has never been a well-developed skill of yours, and when it happens you appreciate that you can control it. This isn’t the case with Joel; right now, he isn’t even letting you breathe as he shoves his cock down your throat by bucking his hips and yanking hard on your hair to meet in the middle.

You want to fall onto the floor after that, completely exhausted from the rough handling of your mouth, but instead of trying to fight it, you reach with one hand to steady yourself by holding his thigh whilst the other reaches down to rub your clit. You sob with relief, spilling actual tears now as you feel the first stirring of an orgasm while he fucks your face.

“You better not come unless it’s me making you,” he pants and you slow down your fingers before, albeit reluctantly, removing them from yourself altogether. Following orders feels like a reflex this time. Oh, you want him. Fuck him.

“Such a good girl, you could become my favorite” he wipes the tears from your eyes almost affectionately, but doesn’t remove his cock from your mouth just yet. Only when you are close to collapsing, your entire body pleading for you to take in a proper breath through your mouth, he relents.

You cough as soon as your aching jaw and throat is relieved of the pressure, heaving in several breaths that burn in your lungs and make your nose run. Joel’s cock is still in front of your face, slick with your spit, but he makes no movement to force you to suck him again.

“Christ, look at you being a fucking mess,” he lets go of your hair, kneels down to look you in the face and pat your cheek, “But you know that it was something that had to be done, don’t ya? Fuckin’ hate an attitude.”

“Yes,” you croak. It hurts to speak.

“Good girl. Now get up.”

“What?” You look a little shocked.

“It ain’t a suggestion, sweetheart. Get up. Gotta fuck you until you’re dumber, remember? Don’t tell me it’s already happened?”

You scowl. He smirks.

With much effort, you slowly get back onto your feet but not without feeling utter shame as you feel Joel’s impatient eyes roll as he watches. Your body aches for a break, but anything’s worth his promise of putting his cock inside of you.

When you’re finally standing on two legs, Joel tuts whilst he pulls at your already undone jeans. He shoves them down your legs, not afraid to crouch down into such a pose of submission in front of you as he does it, because you know he is in charge. He orders you to step out of your jeans one foot after the other.

Your underwear follows, wetness having seeped through them and causing the fabric to shine, and then his head is level with your bare cunt. He stares at your sticky inner thighs, mutters something under his breath and reaches between your legs to scoop up some of your slick from your folds. You whine.

“Shut up and take your top off. Lemme see those tits too,” he orders as he indulges himself, sucking his fingers clean after getting up from the floor again. You obey silently, feeling another gush from your cunt as you watch him eat your slick like candy.

“Can I have it now?” You ask quietly.

“So polite.”

“Please,” you add.

“Fuck, maybe you’re already my favorite girl,” he moans, bending down just a little to lift you off the ground, strong hands on the back of your thighs, and wraps your legs around his body. He pushes your back into the wall, laughs a little as the back of your head knocks against it. You look at him with a dazed smile.

When he enters you, you gasp in unison. He takes up every little bit of space inside your cunt, nudging at your cervix and stretching you to the point where it burns sweetly between your legs. You dig your heels into the small of his back, angling yourself slightly to keep him from missing that little sensitive spot inside of you, resting comfortably against it until he feels ready to abuse it.

“You’re so big,” you reply and clench around him, fluttering from need mixed with the lack of movement, “Please, Joel.”

“I barely fit,” he groans.

“Joel,” you say again, a little more impatiently, and it earns you a painful thrust. Your mouth hangs open in a silent shout, your toes curling and your eyes falling shut.

Joel starts to fuck you roughly, slamming his hips up into you over and over again. His face is contorted by concentration, beads of sweat forming around his temples as he pistons his cock in and out of your weeping pussy.

You tremble in his arms, feel the pain of the wall behind you being pressed into the bones of your hips and your back, but the sensation of the fat head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot has you forgetting about any discomfort. It cancels out everything so beautifully.

You’ve forgotten how to moan, maybe even your name too. The only noises leaving you are whimpers or whines that make you closer to a wounded animal than a fully-fledged human. You take whatever he can give you, throw your head back and feel him latch onto your neck.

“Fuck me, oh— shit, Joel,” you cry, voice still sore and tired from the way he has used your mouth. The sound has an effect; Joel’s movements aren’t as controlled and consistent as just a moment before.

“Knew you wanted it,” he pants against your skin, looks down between you to stare at your breasts whilst impaling you repeatedly, “Knew it from— Christ… that’s good — Knew it from the moment you called me that name. What was it?”

“A fucking asshole,” you interrupt before he can answer his own question. Joel laughs quietly, falters just briefly. You can feel him twitching inside of your cunt; he must be close.

“Pull out,” you say breathlessly at a particularly sharp thrust to your g-spot which makes you shudder. The words are completely ignored by him. You repeat them a little louder, but it seems that he is willfully ignoring you, and it makes you panic slightly.

Joel groans as you start thrashing in his arms, clenching involuntarily around his length as you try to get away from him.

“Pull out. Joel,” you order but there’s hardly anything dominant about you.

“Fuck no,” he chuckles through a moan, gritting his teeth as he continues his torturous thrusts. By now, it just hurts because your orgasm fades so quickly and the sensation in your body becomes replaced by fear.

Oh.

This position had been chosen wisely by him. You are trapped between him and the wall just like before, and this time, he holds you in place so roughly that it hurts to try and fight him. You want to stretch your legs to feel the safety of the ground in your home beneath your feet, but Joel seems determined to ruin your safest space.

“No, please, please pull out, Joel,” you whimper to no avail, clawing at his back. His hands are rough on your thighs, nails digging brutishly into the soft flesh of your plump legs. He has you exactly where he wants you.

“Keep your mouth shut and take it,” he growls. Then his hips stutter, and he pushes his pelvis harshly into yours as he empties himself inside of your body.

It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

Warmth spreads inside of your cunt, your walls welcoming every single drop of his come like some kind of biological instinct in a world so cruel. You wanted this, you know this, but you don’t want the possible consequences of it.

There is no doubt what this is about for him. He is claiming you as his; marking you with evidence of who you belong to and fuck, even better if you end up with the ultimate mark of possession in a primal world as this; round and swollen with his kid.

Joel pulls out and carefully puts you down onto the floor after a moment. He grunts as he tucks away his spent dick, steps back and lets you slide down the wall when your legs give out.

The lights above you seem brighter. You feel sticky and warm, but still unsatisfied from not having reached your own high as the situation seconds earlier brutally ripped you from coming apart. You have seed dripping out of you onto the floor, and Joel doesn’t spare you a glance.

Instead, you just suddenly hear your front door.

You’re alone, and you hate him. You hate him so much that you can’t stop thinking about him, furiously rubbing your clit until you gasp quietly into the empty room and pushing the remainder of his come out as your cunt contracts into pleasure.

He needs to come back. Just once. Just to feel this again, but by the doing of his fingers or his hands, maybe even his cock.

You know that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #mean!joel

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hrtbreakanniversary · 1 year

Text

love me low | neteyam sully

Baby, I just wanna kiss you Stay until the day is done You don't even know just how much I need you Baby, I just wanna keep you

summary: y/n is in love with her best friend's brother but he's in love with her sister.

pairing: neteyam sully x f!omatikaya reader

word count: 10k

playlist: love me low - ai bendr, yes to heaven - lana del rey, umaasa- calein, xo - beyonce, cloud 9 - beach bunny, i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys, about you - the 1975, here with me - d4vd, can i - alina baraz & galimatias, moment - lildeath

warnings: aged up (neteyam and kiri are 18 whilst lo'ak and y/n are 17), misunderstanding trope!, jealously, protectiveness, talks of marriage, unhealthy family dynamic, assault, y/n is super hard on herself and cares about others more, blood, war, profanity, suggestive

She knew this was a bad idea from the get go. Despite the Olo'eyktan warnings to not wander out after dark for the sake of safety, his own son had come to her as the orange hue of the horizon seeped through the cave's openings to speak of a new area he found in the forest.

Trying to reject the younger Sully never really worked for Lo'ak was always persistent to take his best friend on whatever not so bright idea he had planned in his head.

Additionally, she would do anything to get out of her home. The constant berating from her mother and calling her every second to do something because her sister's precious hands couldn't bear to get rough from using them.

At first, nothing was wrong. Like always, she would follow the male and the human (a term she learned from Kiri because calling him an alien was far too mean), Spider, as he ran and swung through the trees before they stopped at a place she has never seen before. Vines that hung from the tree branches above. A question formed on her tongue but Lo'ak was already climbing up the trunk, his eyes set on a thick branch that stuck out high off the ground.

It was already too late to back out so she followed, having no idea what the male Na'vi was planning to do but she always knew that no matter what, he was going to shove off his skills as if he were performing for a circus. She didn't know what a circus was but she would always hear Olo'eyktan mumbling under his breath of how much of a complete circus it was whenever something didn't go to plan specifically because of his middle child.

At first, it was all fun and games. Despite the suspense, the fun he spent all night talking was about swinging on the extravagant amount of vines. Screams and laughs filled the air as the three took turns going back and forth on the long vine, the momentum allowing them to go from tree to tree.

They were having a lot of fun.

So she couldn't blame Lo'ak for how she ended up with her head being seconds away from becoming a meal for baby palulukans. While the other two tied the vines around their waist, she decided to be different and tie the rope to her ankle instead. Cheers filled the air once again as she spread her arms out to the refreshing wind. She swung back and forth at least three times. In the corner of her eye, she saw the herd coming from afar that prompted her to stiffen her posture. That would lead to her failure as gravity would take it's course, causing her to be hanging upside down.

Trying to untie the vine from her ankle took a lot of upper body strength that she was struggling to pull out at the moment. The two males atop of the tree too were struggling to pull up her up because of the many factors: how the long rope, gravity, and mind her language… fucking weak they are.

A scream, now out of fear, came out when she felt the snap of thanator jump through the air but missed by a couple of feet as she was still a bit off the ground.

Although there was only a handful of these little creatures here at the moment, she knew she was seconds away from the number of them multiplying by the seconds.

"Hey, hey! Help me up!” Y/N kept doing sit ups midair to avoid losing body parts from her heads. She could hear the bickering of the two from above and the vine budging at every attempt they had to try to pull her up. “You two have 10 fingers each. Use them, skxawngs!"

"I'd be nicer to the ones saving your life!" She didn’t know who did said that but that was the least of her worries since the vine did not shorten, it got longer. The snaps of the animals getting closer to her head. The probability of them taking off her head at 90% possibility now.

She heard their shouts of fear but a hum rang through her ears, cloudiness blurring her eyes as the blood rushed to her head.

In the moment of losing her consciousness, the herd had ran off in the other direction for who knows what reason before another blurred figure jumped into her view. They stepped down and stood in front of her, their face merely centimeters away from hers. Features familiar to the one of the fools that was still struggling to pull her back up.

It was when he sighed when she realized who it was. Neteyam.

From both trying to readjust how she looked while also trying to get her foot out of the stupid vine, she looked even more ridiculous when she fell into the field of grass below her from the vine cutting cut from above. Her legs and arms flared out in awkward positions.

Neteyam ran to her side, pushing back the hair that fell in front of her face and kept his hand on her cheek, “Are you okay?” His other hand quick to adjust her loincloth that went out of place.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Her cheeks feeling hot as she melted into his touch before her head flew to the side from him shoving her head.

“Now, what were you thinking?” Always too good to be true. She didn’t fight back when he helped her up from the ground.

Lo’ak and Spider came down from the tree, running over, “Brother, what a surprise to see you out here!” His shoulders folding back to mock Neteyam’s straight posture, “I see we all had the same idea of taking a late night walk.”

“Are you three insane? Are you asking for a death wish?”

All joking subsided, “We had it all handled. We’re just trying to have fun.”

“Have fun? Have fun?” Neteyam scoffed," This is what you call having fun? Somebody almost died." Lo'ak waved him off which only prompted the older male to continue," You both need to grow up. You're almost 18 and you're going to have to start acting like adults."

Lo'ak rolled his eyes," Then ask yourself why you followed us out here. Surely, you didn't think that Y/N was going to have a near death experience so why are you here, bro? What is that saying that the sawtute always say? FOMO? Fun out when more out?"

"It's fear of missing out." Y/N and Spider whispered to not interrupt the brothers' daily quarrel, eyeing one another in amusement.

Neteyam looked away in defeat that made Lo'ak proud," And we did have it handled. You came right when we had it." And although he said it with such confidence, his eyes diverted away because he knew he was wrong and he walked away before anyone could say anything.

"Handled, he says", Spider elbowed Y/N's side," The only thing that would be handled is there would be no horrendous singing on the way back."

She threw herself forward to jump on Spider but a hand grabbed her back, Spider sticking his tongue out at her before he caught up to Lo'ak. Her heart quickened again. Her eyes wandering from her arm to his hand, up his arm, and to his face.

"He's not wrong. How do you think I managed to find you? I followed where it seemed Eywa was covering her ears." Quick to act as if she wasn't staring at him when he looked down at her, Y/N shoved at his chest that moved up and down from laughter with her free hand with a roll of her eyes. Though he didn't budge, instead moving his hand away to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

She knew the way he touched her meant it no other way than platonic. Talks about the girls who also had eyes for him about how he is not affectionate towards others unless they are apart of his direct family. Y/N has been in this family for longer than she hasn't. Growing up with all of them had put her farther than what could be considered the friend zone but into the family zone.

She also knew that what she felt for him was different. There wasn't a time that she could pinpoint where she started to see him in a different light but it felt like she has forever. That she has loved him since forever.

As he talked to Lo'ak and Spider, her eyes had a mind of her own as she looked back up at him. Watching as the night sky illuminated his freckles.

The ride back was short but felt long. Despite Lo’ak not caring about Neteyam’s lectures, all of them dreaded Jake’s scoldings.

Y/N had to admit that he was intimidating but she knew his rough attitude was for ensuring the safety of all of them even if he tends to go a little too hard on Lo'ak. She was used to it all too. Constant lectures of how she should act and getting in trouble for the most smallest of things. At least him yelling at them was from the good of his heart.

At the moment, all she could do was simply enjoy how her arms were wrapped tightly around Neteyam's torso. Just as she was about to lay her head on his back, he angled his body so she could hear him over the wind that blew through them,"So where's my thank you for saving your life?"

Y/N squinted," Has Lo'ak misspoke? Did you have a need to fill your urge to be such a knight in shining amour?"

All the air escaped her lungs when he leaned back, "Only for you.". Arching his head back, the skin of their cheek skimming each other," I like the look on your face when I do."

"Whatever." She pushed his body back into a straight up position to hide her flusteredness. But the warm feeling had faded when she saw the rest of the family awaiting their arrivals at the entrance of High Camp.

Without a word, the four diverted their eyes away to the ground as they stepped off the ikrans. After Neteyam had helped her down, Lo'ak and him stepped in front of her to block her from the death stare their father help onto them. Of course, Spider had made his way to the front and tried to convince Olo'eyktan that it was his idea but he was quickly hushed by Kiri who was quick to pull him away with Tuk from the high tension area.

Using the boy's heights to her advantage, Y/N tiptoed to the side to try to make an escape and delay the consequences of her actions but a deep clear of Jake’s throat made her stop immediately in the steps.

"I expected better from you", Although he didn't state a name, it was clear who it was directed to. "All this time that you have to be training and finding a mate, you're instead messing around and not taking anything seriously."

"Sir." Y/N finally looked up from her feet but felt instant regret when both Olo'eyktan and Tsakarem had put their attention on her. “It was my doing. I wanted Lo’ak to show me what he’s been raving about and Neteyam only followed to make sure we were safe.”

Lo’ak shook his head, “ I actually really wanted to show Y/N and Spider this place I found so it was my idea to go out into the forest.”

Olo’eyktan sighed, “ I don’t care whose fault it is.” He pointed between the two, “ You both need to grow up. Somehow when there’s something on, it’s always you two and I’m tired of having to say the same thing over and over again especially to you.” He pointed at Lo’ak. He opened his mouth as if he had more to say but Neytiri cleared her throat and it only came out as a huff, “Don’t make me find out you’re out there after dark again. I don’t even want to look at you two right anymore, dismissed.”

It wasn't until they heard their footsteps of the couple stray far away did they look up at one another. Despite the nerves that racked their body when getting yelled at, they could help but snicker at each other's inconvenience.

"Come on, guys!" Spider waved from hut they were huddled in. It wasn't until they raced to the group did Y/N feel the sharp pain on her ankle, kneeling over next to Kiri and clasping onto the raw skin. The vine must've dug into her skin when she was struggling but she didn’t want to make too big of a deal out of it. It’d heal over time.

“What did Father go on a rant about this time? And does it even matter? He says the same thing yet Lo’ak is still going to do it.”, Kiri earned a high five from Spider on the side.

"It's so unfair. All they do is yell at me and when they look at you, they go "Y/N, Y/N, you mustn't spend such time with a delinquent.", Lo'ak mocked his father's brooding tone.

"You are a bad influence." Y/N avoided his swing through the air, making a face at him but also because the movement made her lean down against the wound.

A smirk replaced her pained look as Kiri listed out the multiple occasions in which Lo’ak did not listen to their father and how many times he was always caught.

“Y/N, are you okay?”, Tuk asked from behind, leaning up against Y/N’s back. Oh, ever the so observant. Y/N couldn’t help but affectionally rub her head but the little girl paid no attention to the cooing as she hovered over to the hand covering her ankle, lifting up Y/N’s hand, “ Oh my gosh, you’re hurt!” The girl's eyes widened, Y/N holding a finger up to her lips to shush her. Luckily, Lo’ak moved the topic from complaining about the consequences of his own actions to tease Neteyam who was quietly sitting on the window sill behind all the girls.

“Dad's all like " Neteyam, you've got to find your mate."". He teased, hoping over everyone to poke him on the arm, " Little does he know that all the girls in the village have been lining up for him and yet he doesn't care one bit."

Spider stood on the other side of Neteyam, holding his chest," Maybe he isn't into that crowd."

"Either way, we'll help you out, bro. It must be hard to juggle picking a mate while also being the best son."

"Oh shut up the both of you. And Lo'ak, you said it, not me.", He swatted at them with the cloth he had in his hand. " Besides I've already chosen."

"You've already chosen?" Kiri and Tuk gasped.

"When did you choose? How did you choose so quick?" Y/N propped hers on her knees, Tuk's body falling onto her lap.

"I guess I always knew." He shrugged," Just finding the right moment and way to tell her first. I don't want to tell my parents yet in case they make her promised to me against her will."

"Oh ~ so romantic." Lo'ak wiggled his fingers, Neteyam swatting the cloth at him again.

Y/N noticed that even though his annoying little brother was mocking him with a deep voice and making their other siblings laugh, he was staring out into the air and not even defending himself like his mind was elsewhere. She couldn't help the ache that came with the realization. He must really like this girl if he is hoping not to mess up with her.

I wish you would look at me.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he looked in her direction and she locked eyes with his. Her breath hitching as he smiled down at her instead of looking away,"What?" He mouthed.

She tilted her head and mouthed back," Who is it?"

He playfully shrugged, earning a scowl in return. Right as he was about to get up and walk over to her, Lo'ak stood in front of him with Spider. Their hands were clasped together and they looked out into the distance with starry eyes, "Oh how I love you, Neyetam." Spider spoke in a high pitched tone while Lo'ak deepened his already deep voice," Come with me as we venture into each other's bodies-"

"Lo'ak, Tuk is here." Kiri growled under her breath and rolled her eyes when she heard Tuk asking Y/N what does venturing into another person's body means. "Besides, I wouldn't make fun of him so much. He's managed to find his in a short time while who knows how long you'll take when the time comes." Kiri pointed out which Lo'ak matter of factly responded, " I don't have to worry about that. I've got Y/N. Mates for life."

"As if!" Y/N threw a pillow that Tuk handed to her to hit the male square in the face that erupted the whole hut into laugher again.

The laughter faded when a figure appeared at the opening that caused everyone to stop what they were doing.

Y/N followed their eyes and she felt as a needle had poked her balloon that was her mood, deflating it.

"Jeez, you guys are acting as if I'm a monster." Her older sister, Eyota, stood up. Her braids falling behind her back like waves when she brushed it back. Y/N knew the quietness wasn't because that they didn't like Eyota. It was farther than that. Everyone adored Eyota like how they adored Y/N. Though it was different. While they wanted to be her friend, they wanted to be Eyota's other. She knew Lo'ak's sayings were a joke because the boy has talked about how pretty her older sister is to her face and not that she cared for Lo'ak's opinion, he has never called her pretty and instead resorted to comparing her to a fish he caught the other day.

“Hi Yam." Eyota’s words slurred, making Kiri and Y/N side eye one another.

"Did she really nickname him after a vegetable?" Kiri whispered.

"Hello, Eyota." Neteyam leaned back into his previous position, cropping his leg up onto the frame.

"Hey, Eyota." Lo'ak leaned up against a pillar, attempting to cross his leg over the other but it only resulted it in him losing balance.

"What do you need?" Y/N asked, Eyota looking away from the older Sully brother and pointed with her head towards their own hut," Mother's calling for you."

"You're an embarrassment."

Y/N watched as her mother placed scoops of Teylu on Eyota's leaf, chewing on the outside of the salty seed.

"The Olo'eyktan." Her mother seethed," The Toruk Makto."

Reaching over to grab a handful of teylu from the middle of the table, her mother slapped it away.

"In front of the whole village, he addressed you." She grabbed away the leaf in Y/N's hand before she could retract it away," And you still sit here with no shame as you eat away all of your father's earnings."

"My love, it's okay-"

"It's not okay. She thinks she can run around with that demon and drag along the Sully boys into her troubles. Then doesn't even bother to come home after the Olo'eyktan scolds her." Her face scrunched up into one of frustration, disgust dripping from her tongue," It's because you spoil her that she's turned out like this."

The table remained silent, the sound of the crunching and chewing echoing in the air before her mother asked Eyota how she was doing on finding a mate.

She hated how gushy they sounded and how Eyota is praised for the bare minimum. Call it jealously. Call it envy. Y/N didn't care, she simply wanted to be treated with respect for once.

"I've had a lot of suitors but there's one that I'm planning to take a step further with."

"Whose the lucky boy?", Father butted in.

"Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan."

"Ah the Sully boy?" Mother clapped. Father's eyes widening as he spoke with his mouth full," The future Olo'eyktan?

For the first time the whole night, Mother turned to Y/N and spoke in a civil and sweet tone," Would you help your sister? Your friendship with the children will benefit her greatly."

Hate was a strong word, Y/N loved her older sister unconditionally. Y/N would never feel that way for Eyota but it was hard not to resent the older girl when she was never defending her from their mother and was now planning to court someone that Y/N has always loved.

Unable to breathe, Y/N abruptly stood from the table and sat in the corner with her back towards her family.

"Not even excusing herself from dinner and not answering a simple question. What an ignorant child." Each word poking more and more into the facade she was trying to keep up that she didn't care anymore. Opening a book that was found during one of the raids, the crummy pages of words and pictures serving as an escape for her as her mother continued to ask Eyota about what her plans were.

She didn't know when she fell asleep but the book was laid out flat on her lap and the hut was now quiet as everyone else had tucked themselves away for the night.

The ache in the back of her neck reminding her of the position she slept in. Noticing that everything from tonight's dinner was still left out, she mentally noted to herself to clean up after stretching. Careful to not step on anything or anyone, she pushed past the drapes. Once the night air hit against her skin, her body convulsed into stretches, raising her arms above her head.

A rustle made her crotch her arms down into defense mode and turn to where the noise came from.

There Neteyam stood with a bowl of an unknown substance and the same cloth he was holding a few hours ago.

"Teyam, you scared me." She set her arms down and crossed them over each other to warm herself from the cold. "What are you doing out here so late?"

He held up the materials in his hand and looked down at her ankle that she had completely forgotten about. But now that it was mentioned again, she started to feel the pain searing up her leg. "Oh this thing? It'll heal."

"When? After it gets infected? Go ahead and sit down." He jumped down so he was on a lower level, Y/N sitting down on the wooden ledge. Her body betraying her again as her heart began to race from his touch. However, it was replaced when the cold ointment met with the gash. Hand reaching out to squeeze his shoulder as she hissed in pain.

"Drama queen." He nudged," You know it's kind of crazy you came out right as I was coming."

"I have a sense of when idiocy comes around."

"It must go so crazy when you look at yourself."

He caught her ankle when she moved it out to try to kick him. She kicked again in efforts to get out of his grip but gave up after a while, allowing him to finish cleaning and put Mo'at’s medicine on.

A comfortable silence blanketing over them with the exception of some hisses from pain. An unknown amount of time had passed before the cloth was wrapped around her ankle, Neteyam’s thumb running along the closing to ensure that it was secure before he began to massage the area.

“Did you like the book?”

“It was good. A bit hard to get through because there’s a lot more words than there are pictures but I like it a lot more than the other ones you brought back.”

“Wasn’t my favorite ending.”

"Really? I liked it."

"Is that right?" He took the spot besides her, sitting close enough that their thighs touched, her heart beating once again beating harder than it should be, "Care to explain?"

"I mean sure, I wished the couple should've stayed with each other till the end. But it was extremely realistic that they didn't. Sometimes happy endings are meant to be."

"I beg to disagree."

"Oh, is that right?" She mocked his previous tone," Would you care to explain?"

Neteyam scooted closer than they were before, leaning his arm behind her," I believe that even if the world is against two lovers being together, there's always one path that brings them to a happy ending."

Is there a way for them to be together? Even if her parents were going to be against it because her sister had verbally stated her want for him first. Even if she was considered to be family by his and isn't mostly likely not seen as anything more by him? Will she have the happy ending he speaks of if she were to voice her feelings to him?

"Teyam, who are you planning to court?" She held her hand up in defense," If you don't mind me asking."

"I'd like to keep it as a surprise." He nudged her side," In fact I think you'd like her. You'd probably know her the best out of everyone."

"Interesting. Is she cute?"

"So cute."

"Even cuter than me?"

He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands and squished them together, making her lips pucker out," Now who could ever be as cute as you?"

Scrunching her nose in an attempt to shake off the jittery feeling. It didn't help that when she looked at him all she was was flowers and a bright light that illuminated around him. She didn't know it was her pure imagination or Eywa was working to create a show for him.

He then lowered his tone and slid his hands down onto her shoulders, "Now that we're on this subject somewhat. What does your sister think of me?"

And it was as if someone reached in and squeezed her heart. The tightness in her chest overwhelming every sense in her body. Why did it have to be her? Why does it always have to be her?

The signs were so clear in front of her. The special nickname she had for him and how quick she was to choose him. The fact that she knew her sister the best out of everyone and how he would get quiet like Lo'ak would in case he would say something embarrassing that would ruin her perception of him. Neteyam too cared about Eyota's opinion.

When she hoped he was talking about her, he was talking about her.

It’s been a week since that night. Her father had stepped out and interrupted the conversation so she didn't have to go on a spiel of how Eyota liked him as well because that would have honestly taken away all of her digniity. Managing to escape the question, she bid Neteyam a good night without looking back and had a sleepless night.

Neteyam's bullshit interpretation of the book was not about her and him clearly. The two main characters are Eyota and him. For she was only a side character to their love story.

If the question wasn't obvious enough to fix her narrative, when returning back with the buckets of water that her mother had requested, Neteyam stood with Eyota in front of their hut with flowers in his hand. Talks that she's heard when she spends time with other girls in the clan about how flowers tend to be the first part of the courting phase.

Now she wasn’t going a downhill spiral where she was going to let herself fall claws of depression. No, she couldn't sit around and mope about it. If the two wanted each other, she couldn't stop because in the end like Neteyam said, if two lovers are meant to be together, they are mean't to be.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t pain her to have to talk to him, knowing that he does not return the same feelings to her and having to watch him court her sister.

At first, it was as simple as trying to be as touchy as before. Refusing to ride on his ikran together or walking with Kiri and Tuk when she ventured out into the forest. But all failed the day they went out for a swim and Neteyam had beat Lo'ak to offering her hand back onto the solid grand, his arm wrapped around her to spare some of his warmth on the way back home.

For the past two weeks, she’s been walking out of any area he walks in before he approaches her after a specific amount to not make it obvious. Thought it’s been enough times so for it to be. She’s been declining Lo’ak offers to go out into the forest because she knew in the end that Neteyam would be there. She only went when she knew Neteyam would be going with his father on another raid.

It was dumb but she had to do it to protect her heart.

There had been a time when she came close to ending whatever she was doing but when she walked towards the Sully’s hut, Eyota’s hand was running up and down Neyetam’s arm and he wasn’t budging to move it, leaning against the hut as they engaged in conversation. That pinch in her chest reminding her of why she needed to take this time to heal.

She did occasionally make her rounds around the Sully's hut but not as often as she used to, finding things to occupy her time.

She was able to avoid interacting with Neteyam easily that didn't garner much questions from anybody except for maybe Lo'ak who was used to the girl dropping everything to be able to spend time with them.

Neytiri had offered to her to come over to learn how to make this dish that Y/N had previously stated a loving for. As the two sat crouched over several cut up ingredients, Neteyam had walked in to grab a cover for Tuk which was an excuse to come in and invite Y/N to chat outside. Unintentionally, Y/N made eye contact with him. His hand coming up to wave at her but Y/N turned away and asked Neytiri what kind of plant she held. A frown formed on the boy, bundling up the cover in his hands. He stood for a good second to see if Y/N would look back up but he walked out in defeat when she didn't.

Unknowingly to them both, Neytiri had saw it all and looked over at Jake, widening her eyes as if she was questioning the interaction but he could only shrug.

The morning after, Y/N decided it was time for her to learn how to make baskets as the ones her family has were starting to wear out from use. Though it sucked when her fingers were quite cooperating, "No, 'evenge, you must go under and then over." Mo'at grabbed the straw basket out of her hands and fixed the uneven pattern that Y/N had created.

"Sorry, Mo'at." She beamed at the older woman who only humphed. Propping herself onto her knees to watch her do correctly, she hadn't noticed the two other beings surrounding them.

It wasn't until the air in Spider's mask exposed the two did Y/N looked over in annoyance," Can I help you?"

"Want to go hunting?"

"I'm busy."

"Please." Lo'ak clasped his hands together.

"No." Mo'at handed the basket back to her with the correct pattern and tightened one.

"Pretty please."

“Kiri is going." Spider included but it didn't help much since Y/N shook her head again.

"Well that's one too many for you to bother now."

She successfully folded in a one and proudly held it up for Mo’at to look at who only shook her head and fixed it again.

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“I’m too lazy.”

Lo’ak groaned and began to go on a whole rant about how even if he says that he’s tired, he still has to go. He shut up after Mo’at sent him a stare. It didn’t stop his pleas for her to go, Spider joining in. Though they sounded like whiney babies, it was all white noise to her as she tried again to weave the same pattern but instead failed.

Mo’at grumbled and snatched the basket away from her, “ Go. You are not helping and these two are hurting my ears.” She shooed them away with a wave of her hands and didn’t stop until they were out of sight.

“Cmon, Y/N.” Both of their arms wrapped around her shoulder with Spider falting off her a bit because of his shorter height, Lo’ak joked,“You’d never be a lady if you tried.”.

Just as he said that, she saw Neteyam and Eyota together besides an ikran, the comment striking harder than she usually let it. Huffing out a deep breath, she crossed her arms together with a frown as they made their way to their own ikrans.

The large group gathered around their instructor. Much to some people’s annoyance, specifically the ones with the same last name as the teacher, their instructor today is Jake.

The group gets divided into two with one in the ground and the other in the sky to cover as much area as they can. It's done with a team leader picking out who they want in their groups but with Jake, he tended to put his family with him and several others in his group and then the remaining in the other. He knew he could trust the others to do their job but with all of his family sans Tuk participating, he'd rather keep a close eye.

"As last time, we'll be-"

Y/N rose her hand, bowing to apologize for suddenly interrupting," May I be excused from the sky team today and stay on the ground today? I'm not feeling all that well.". The reality was that she rode with Neteyam last time and she was feeling sick at the thought of being in such close proximity to him. She couldn't be feeling those butterflies when he was going to be betrothed to her sister.

Kiri was surprised, nudging her on the side. "There's no way you're leaving me with those losers."

"That's fine, Y/N. Make sure to stay close to the group in case something goes wrong."

With a close lipped smile, she stepped back and Jake continued to state his plan, most of the group's attention and ears on him except Lo'ak and Spider that were groaning and whining to Y/N on switching teams which ended with Kiri telling them to shut up and leave her alone even though she mumbled under her breath that it'd be no fun with only boys. Y/N giggled out a "sorry" that didn't at all sound sincere, missing Neteyam's hard stare on her.

“Has Y/N been acting strange at all to you?”, Spider asked.

“Yeah, kind of.” Lo’ak twirled a stick in his hand, “Like she stills spends time with us but she also doesn’t. I don’t know… she’s been kind of distant.”

Kiri scoffed out a laugh, “Maybe she found out she can do better than hang out with you all day.”

“You know the "you" includes you as well, right?”

“Did you forget that Y/N and I are girls which means we have a different connection which means … we talk amongst ourselves… especially about you all."

While the two boys pestered Kiri about what kind of gossip the girls do, Neteyam took front and moved large branches and leaves out of the way for an easier walkway. Though on the outside, it seemed that he could care less about the topic at hand and was simply alert on his surroundings. His mind was else where like it's been for the the past month, no, for the past two years.

His thought were interrupted when he heard a familiar giggle come from below. Rushing to the source, he leaned over the ledge and saw Y/N. Not alone though but with another boy, Zakum, that he always found a bother because of immature he is and now he was 10 times annoying when Neyetam saw how his hands were placed on her waist and the other on her arm as to position her to aim the arrow towards the stream.

The others had joined him and watched as the arrow was wasted into the water, missing the fish. Y/N pouted back at Zakum, Zakum patting her head affectionally before they both returned back into the prior position to try again.

“Isn’t Y/N a perfect shot?” Spider frowned.

Neteyam nodded. He knew because he was the one who taught her. He was the one who had his arms around her to get a perfect stance and the one who taught her the secrets of having perfect aim.

“See what I mean? There's something wrong because if she can easily get her target, why did she miss?” As if lightbulb had switched on above his head, “Oooh.”

They then all collectively placed it together with Lo’ak and Kiri ooo’d teasingly in spite of their friend knowing how to flirt but stopped when they looked towards Neteyam, his face stoic and his jaw clenched.

The voice of their father caught their attentions through the throat microphone that they were getting off track, the regrouping for the flyers occurring a while ago.

“Let’s go.” Neteyam threw himself up from the ground and refused to look at anyone, roughly pushing away anything in his way.

After a successful hunt, all the members of the clan gathered around to celebrate the winnings of the day. The meat of the strumbeest and fish grilling over the fire, families happily with one another as they fed each other. Some engaging in some indecent behaviors that involved kava and its disastrous effects.

Y/N held onto Tuk's hands as the little girl guided her around the dance line. Now instead of following the traditional dance, Tuk was making her own moves and moving her feet in a different way that made Y/N trip over her own feet when she attempted to follow her.

Tuk groaned out of frustration," Y/N, you've got to get yourself together before you fall on me."

"Come on, Tuk Tuk, slow down then! You're a much better dancer than I am."

She stuck her tongue out," I know that." She proudly grinned. She dragged Y/N around the fire to follow the others in the dance line. Even though Tuk did take the dancing quite seriously, the child would never miss out on the chance to be lifted up in the air. Y/N twirling her around in the air before the both of them got dizzy.

Stumbling to an empty spot, they both fell back onto the soft cushion of the ground. Tuk rolled over to lay on her side, her head laying on Y/N's arm.

"Y/N, I'm glad that Neteyam chose-"

A small shadow that stood over them, Tuk quickly sitting up and regaining her composure. Y/N lifted her head to find a little boy holding his hand out for Tuk to take. The blue of Tuk's ears fading into a light blue. Tuk's hand reached out for the boys but quickly retracted it when she realized that Y/N was besides her. Her eyes looking over for permission.

"Go ahead. I'm all worn out."

Tuk didn't think twice before running off with the boy.

Damn, even Tuk was having a better love life than her. She scoffed to herself. Maybe she can wallow in her self pity now. As she was in the process of laying back down, something caught her off guard that made her sit right back into position.

Eyota's legs over another person, her lips close to his ears to whisper unspeakable things. And that other person was someone that surely was not Neteyam.

Fury burned within her. She didn't think twice about her actions and if anyone was going to stare at her, the trail to her older sister almost leaving behind smoke if she had faster than she did. "What the hell are you doing?"

Eyota widened her eyes and immediately stood up, the male besides her obviously intoxicated by the way he missed her arm when he reached out to pull her back down.

"What is that language? Is that what you learn when you-"

"Shut up." Eyota and Y/N both equally stunned but Y/N continued on," Why are you being touchy with another boy? Aren't you close to having a secure mate? Like Neteyam."

"Ughh." Eyota's scowl returned, "I never confirmed that I wanted him. The whole point of finding a mate is to explore and why would I stay put with one?"

"You told Mother that Neteyam was the one you wanted to take a step further with. Isn't it working out, why are you-"

"Y/N, can I not interested in another people too? Sure, he's cute and a good warrior but I'm young, let me have fun. And when have you ever been so interested in my life? Is it because yours is so disappointing?"

Y/N brushed away the last comments, "Neteyam is my friend, you shouldn't treat him like he's some kind of toy." Y/N felt her body shaking from such anger.

"Ach! Then you can have your friend! All he does is talk about you anyways. It's insufferable."

He talked about her? Y/N's face softening at the thought, unaware that Eyota was staring at her little sister weirdly, stepping back to sit back to sit with the drunk Na'Vi.

A hum ringing through her ears as if time stopped, eyes trailing around the crowds before her eyes landed on him. His gear still on from today but paint decorated his face. He talked amongst his friends, his hands motioning a ikran flying through the air. As if he could feel her stare on him, he momently looked up and then back up, interlocking his eyes with hers. The sound of her heartbeat thumped in her ears when he didn't break it.

"Y/N!" Zakum appeared from thin air, his arms wrapping around her. A tug to pull her in the direction of everyone else. "Dance."

"No, I'm okay." Looking back in the direction Neyetam previously stood, he was no longer there.

"Cmon! It's tradition. It is the way. Dance!"

"Zakum, I am quite busy." Trying to squeeze her body out of his grip but he only kept a tighter hold.

"For a quick second, I promise and then you can go on as you please."

"Go with the boy, Y/N!" Eyota claimed, tossing her head back to take another large gulp of kava.

Seeing as there was no way out of this, she stopped struggling and let him lead her to the large crowd, his hands on her hips so tightly that she could move in the other direction if she wanted to. As everyone stood in a line, Zakum faced her and mirrored the others in line.

Typically Y/N is able to keep up but her mind wandered else where, unable to concentrate. The sound of everyone's voices and the hot air of the fire being all too much for her at the moment. All she wanted to do at the moment was talk to Neteyam about what Eyota said last.

Zakum's hot breath radiated down her neck, his skin clammy against hers. His hands running from where their hands were linked to his hips. Lower and lower he went until-

"Don't touch me like that." She pushed him away, a face full of disgust clear on her face. A stunned look on Zakum's face as he tumbled back. Taking this as an opportunity to walk and finding a breath of fresh air in an empty space away from everyone, she felt herself being pulled back around to him by her arm. Both of his hands now holding a tight grip on her.

"Where's the Y/N from earlier today? The one who was practically begging me to touch her."

The Y/N earlier only acted in that way to prove Lo'ak and Spider wrong that indeed she could be seen as a woman even though it was down in a way that didn't make her feel comfortable whatsoever. When she heard the group that hide behind the bushes rushing away, she moved out of Zakum's touch immediately. Apparently Zakum didn't get a hint that she wasn't interested when she was extremely annoyed by his flirtatious ways before and after the act.

"Get off of me."

"Come on, you wanted me earlier. Change of heart?"

A pain felt in her wrists when his grip on her grew tighter and tighter each time she budged. He used his tall height as a advantage to push her back until she felt the stabs of scratchy bark of the tree.

"You think you have better options? I'm the best you have. I can prove it to you right here. Nobody's around."

Disgust ran through her veins and clung to her skin, bile rising up her throat. Frustration causing tears to brim at the corners of her eyes. Though, she didn't stop her fight against him. Spreading her firsts to push with her palms at his chest. "Leave me alone, you perv."

"Stop fighting." He gritted through his teeth, pushing both of her arms against her chest. The pressure making it hard for her to move and breathe.

Y/N shut her eyes tight. Wishing constantly in her head that he'd magically go away and hoping that a good idea would appear into her head.

Silence.

His sweaty palms being replaced by a familiar warm embrace, the beaded bracelet pressing against her skin confirming exactly who it was. Her vision blurry at first when her eyes fluttered open, leaning into Kiri's arm.

She saw silhouettes of the two men in front of her, one pushing back the other.

"Neteyam, leave him. Let's get Y/N home."

Though he didn’t listen. Everything happened so quick but in the moment, it felt as if it was in slo-mo.

The way Neteyam threw his arm back to land a punch square in the middle of Zakum's face, the blood trickling down from his nose. Zakum threw himself toward’s Neteyam’s torso to push him on the floor but Neteyam held his place, placing another hit to his face. Zakum returned the hit with one to Neteyam's side that fell weak against Neyetam's move to knee Zakum's stomach. The blow making him fall to the ground, Neteyam hovering over him. How he kept going back in, his knuckles landing each time on the other boy's face.

The two were split up suddenly by a taller male. "Stand down.", Jake's strong voice ringing through the air, his body sandwiched between the two to hold his son back from the other. Neither of them had even seen him approach the commotion, Lo'ak clearly out of breath from trying to get his father in time before the fight escalated any further.

Neteyam didn't care though. A spine chilling look in his eyes. An emotion none of them had seen before. Sure, she's seen him annoyed and upset but this was rage. A look clear and evident that he wasn't done with Zakum.

"Can't even fight his own fights without Daddy stepping in." Zakum spat, Neteyam stepped forward with his fist up but Jake blocked him.

"You best shut your mouth before you find yourself in more trouble than you already are." Jake glared at Zakum before turning back to the others in the area. "Kiri, take your brother..." His eyes softening at the sight of the blue skin of Y/N's wrist turning a light purple. As if he was starting to get a clear understanding of what had occurred not more than five or so minutes ago," and Y/N to get their injuries checked."

Not wasting a second to avoid Jake's scolding of another member of the clan, they were quick to walk away from the scene. The last thing Y/N had saw when she looked back was Zakum's parents standing, their forehead creased from their frowns and the sound of yelling being loud for them to hear from where they were.

No words were exchanged. She knew purely from the way her mother was refusing to look at her that she had messed up tonight.

Her father helping her apply the medicine Mo'at had given to her before she was pulled away by her family to their own hut. She did want to stay with them to assure that everything was okay especially since she was the one that was at fault and caused this commotion to happen.

"Did he..." Her father's eyes watering, his body completely shutting down and refusing to even finish the sentence. Y/N placed her hands over his and shook her head. Cries racked through his body as he with his forehead pressed down to her hands.

Towards the side of the room, her sister was sound asleep underneath a blanket, the smell of the liquor she drank radiating off of her. Their mother hovered over her, a hand reaching out to smooth out the older daughter's hair.

Oddly, Y/N didn't feel the green envy that she typically felt when she saw her mother caring more for her sister. Despite what had happened to her, her mother still repelled any sense of worry to her and only cared for the simply drunk sibling. So it wasn't worth feeling.

Maybe it didn't matter what she did. It didn't matter how much she cared for her family. It didn't matter that she sacrificed her heart for her sister in hopes that her mother would be proud of accomplishing such a task. Nothing worked.

Maybe if she realized this long before, she wouldn't have gone through this effort to distance herself from Neteyam and potentially ruined the friendship they had.

The chance to talk to him seemed to pass her every time. After having breakfast with her family and taking care of the aftermath of what the kava had done to her sister who woke up with a shooting headache and had projected vomited everywhere, she was stopped by Zakum who was accompanied by his father to apologize for how he acted last night.

Quick to forgive with her mind only focusing on what Eyota had told her last night about how all Neteyam had done was talk about her. She had made to their hut but she was a few minutes off as both Lo'ak and Neteyam had gone with the war party. She used that time to apologize for the events that occurred last night but Neytiri was quick to tell the girl that it wasn't her fault while Kiri reproached her for even considering that she was.

It wasn't until later that that day when night had fallen did the opening of her family's hut swished open, the youngest Sully standing in the opening. All four pairs of eyes startled and all watched as Tuk ran over to Y/N to pull at her arm, her chest heaving up and down from what seem like she had ran here.

"Tuk Tuk, what's wrong?"

"You have to come." Urgency dripping off from her tongue," It's important." She didn't look at anyone else in the room except for Y/N, her small hands barely wrapped around the circumference of her arm. Tears streaming down her face, using all of her weight to try to pull Y/N up.

"Tuk, wait. What's wrong? You have to calm down and explain to me what is going on."

"The sky people attacked." Her words jumbled as snot and tears ran down into her mouth. "I don't know what's wrong with Neteyam. Norm took him and I didn't even see him. He was bleeding so much, Y/N."

Not only Y/N but everyone in that hut stood and ran with the child to where people were returning back. It wasn't an exaggeration to say this was the worst they have seen so far. Usually people would return with as much as a scratch but the skin of several people that were being lifted past her were almost close to falling off. Bubbles littered several other people's skin, Mo'at handing off medicine to others to be able to care for as much of the injured as she can. Several people huddled together as cries were heard among the chaos hinting that there were losses this time or they had gone missing.

Her eyes surfed the crowd to find Lo'ak and his father stood towards the opening. From their posture and the veins that popped out from Jake's throat, he was yelling at Lo'ak. That she would question later but she could get a sense that Lo'ak may have been partly to blame for what had happened today.

A breath of relief to see them both standing, she was quick on her feet and followed Tuk to them. Colliding her body to Lo'ak's, not caring if he wasn't finished getting berated. Lo'ak's returning the embrace as he wrapped his arms around her torso quickly. Hearing him whispering reassurances that he was okay, she remembered that one person was missing and circumstances Tuk had told her.

"Lo'ak, how's Neteyam?" An obvious strain in her voice as she thought of the worst.

Lo'ak's heavy sigh and the look in Jake's eyes making her heart drop to her stomach, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as tears immediately came streaming out.

"Y/N!", Kiri called for her just as her knees were about to give out from underneath her. Neytiri trailing behind as they ran over to Y/N. "He's refusing help." Neytiri spoke through dry heaves. "Norm was able to take the bullet out but he's not letting anyone touch him to clean his wounds or look at any other. There's still a lot of blood."

"He's asking for Y/N." Kiri pointed. "He keeps saying he wants her and chanting her name like she's going to appear."

So he is alive. Resisting the urge to hit Lo'ak in the stomach for scaring her but she figured he knew as much as she did about what was going on.

She quickly wiped her ears as Neytiri walked over to her and placed a hand onto her shoulder. Plead in her eyes,"Y/N, sweetie. I don't know what's going on between the two of you but I beg you to forgive him or forgive yourself."

Y/N immediately agreed, finding no strength to say no to Neytiri who bowed her head as a thank you. The two guided her the box that was full of pods for avatars, all the metals in the room shining in her eyes. Kiri handed her a mask to help her get better control of her breathing from the toxins from the air inside. Her feet feeling cold against the floors and her body full of nerves as she inched towards the closed door at the end of the hall.

Silently she entered the room with medicine that Kiri claimed would sting less compared to what Mo'at was giving everyone else, the boy hunched over with his body facing the wall. She could tell he knew he was in the room by the way his ears perked up at the sound of the door opening. A white bandage was wrapped around his upper torso but the rest of his body still full of open wounds.

She walked around and stood in front of him, eyeing the large blood spot where the bullet had entered. Cautiously she brought her hand up and placed it carefully on the gauze. Feeling his stare on the side of her face, she refused to look up in fear of how her calm facade would drop and instead moved her hand down to the much gnarly scratches that littered the open skin.

With still no words spoken between them, she set aside the bowl and instead grabbed a discarded towel that she believed was being used to clean his cuts before he became troublesome and everyone had given up.

Right as she was placed the towel onto a bloody wound, Neteyam hissed in pain. She tried to go slower and dab it instead of rubbing but he continued to groan. verbally letting out grunts of "ows.".

Deciding there was no way to ease the pain, she continued to clean off the blood less carefully and pressed down on one that was still leaking out.

His hand shot up to grab at her arm, making her finally look up at him to see that he was crying.

"Wow, I didn't know you were such a baby."

He obviously didn't find that funny as he blinked away the water that gathered at the linings of his eyes, his eyes rolling when he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"You try getting blown up and shot at and not cry."

"I'd rather not."

Usually they'd laugh but the tension that filled the room stunted their chance to, only resorting back to the static silence. Y/N looked back down at the seeping wound and began to dab at it again.

"You know you're all I could think about."

She stopped. Only for a moment before she continued to clean the cut as if she didn't hear him. Not because she wanted to avoid confrontation but she refused to believe what he said was real.

"When I felt the bullet go through me, all I could think about was you. Wondering what the hell I did to make you to so upset that you couldn't even have talked to me. And I got so scared because I thought I was going to die out there without finding out what I did wrong and how you refuse to even look at me in the eye" He grabbed at her arm again but this time by her wrist and pulled it away from she was doing, her attention as well. Goosebumps running up her arm when he inched her closer to him, peering down at her even though he was seated," Especially when you have always told me to be honest about my feelings so why is that when I am, you're upset with me? Remember thinking, is what I did so bad? If I had known you would've acted this, I wouldn't have done so."

"That’s not the point, Teyam. You say that now but you would’ve resented and I couldn’t bear have you be upset with me.” Y/N pushed his arms away from her, cautious to not be too rough. "Teyam, I just needed time to get over it."

"All you had to do with me was be honest with me. Because I wouldn't have cared. I could never risk not having you in my life."

He wouldn't have cared. It felt as if everything had shifted two steps back when they were moving one step forward.

"Then what’s the point?” She threw the towel to the side. The fury ran strong through her veins, not expecting him to be this cold about how she felt for her. “ You’re such a fucking asshole.”

"Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't have cared? Well guess what, Neteyam, people have feelings and while you couldn't care, I'd still have to sit there with my feelings for you and watch you be all lovey dovey with my own sister. And I know my worth and I'm not going to sit there and act like I’m happy for you two and watch you try to make her yours."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion," Wait what? Your sister? What does Eyota have to do with this?"

"Gosh if I had known how bad you are with girls, I would've have gone for Lo'ak. But of course I'm one of the many fools that has to be in love with you" She scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "First of all, skxawng, if you like Eyota, why would you talk about me so much? That's why she's moved on from you so fast. "

A offended look on his face appeared on his face,"I'm bad with girls? I'm far from being bad with girls. If anything, I've tried every- Wait... you're in love with me?" A smirk replacing the grimace on his face.

"Yeah. Not that'd you care or anything." She huffed," I swear, Neteyam, get that look off your face before I smack you because you're really hurting my feelings."

"Oh I'm hurting your feelings? Y/N, I've been waiting for a response from you for what seems like forever. I was wondering when you would flat out reject me."

Now it was her turn to be confused," But I saw you giving her flowers. And you asked that night before what she thought of you."

"I was giving her flowers for you. Fucks sake, they even were your favorite ones. Your mother was there as well. And I asked her what she thought of me because I was going to be courting her sister so I had to make that she saw me in a good light. And before you get confused, you. I wanted her approval so that I could pursue you."

Though the picture was perfectly drawn for her and the tie of the knot becoming unraveling and untangled, she couldn't believe it. Not when her whole life, Eyota was always first choice. She couldn't accept this reality because it simply couldn't be true, " No." She shook her head. "No, there's no way you could be choosing me. Because everyone likes Eyota more. I'm the friend and you're confused but we all know that-"

"I do not want Eyota."

"You say that because she decided she didn't want you. Because you messed up your chance with her.”

A soft pair of lips cut off her rambling, Neteyam's arm wrapping around her to place his hand on the small of her back to push her closer. His other hands brushing against her cheek. Their bodies pressed against one another like two puzzles pieces fitted together.

It took needing a breath out of their masks to break them apart, her lips parted in shock.

“What does that tell you?”

“Nobody ever sees me-"

They buzzed when he leaned back in and pressed a swift peck on her lips, using his thumb to press down on the middle of her bottom lip.

“Do you get it now?”

“Maybe just one more.”

Neteyam exhaled out a laugh, standing up and picking up Y/N by the waist with no struggle. Except a grunt of pain when she hit his shoulder and warned him of his injury. He sat her down onto the edge on the bed and leaned down again to connect their lips together for a quick second, "Oel ngati kameie, Y/N. Always and only you."

She could feel her cheeks getting hot, getting embarrassed when she knew that her face had to be all purple. Everything was so overwhelming, her mind forcing her to look at other parts of the room. What deemed as impossible of happening was happening.

He brought her back when a thumb softly pushed her chin back down, forcing her to make direct eye contact with him. His eyes so full of love and a plea that hoped that she returned his feeling and it was in that moment that she knew he was being sincere. That what he was saying was true to his heart.

"Oel ngati kameie, Neteyam."

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥ ⋆

a/n: omg thank you so much for reading this. i kind of struggled to finish bc idk i dont like how i've been writing cuz repetivity and also writers block. but my love for neteyam pulled thru hehehe. hope you liked it and plzzz give me criticism bc i shall learn from it!

#neteyam #neteyam imagine #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #neteyam series #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam scenario #neteyam imagines #avatar x y/n

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mykoreanlove · 5 months

Text

3+1

„Why are you always hanging out with them?“

Judgy eyes mustered you intensely. You shrugged your shoulders, already bored by this conversation.

„Why wouldn’t I?“

Confusion was written boldly on your date‘s face.

„Well, you’re a girl and they are three guys so I don’t know. Isn’t that odd?“

A sad smile formed on your lips. You took another sip of your martini and got up from the table.

„No baby, your insecurity is odd. Bye.“

You turned around and left, ignoring his pleas to come back.

A mixture of frustration and restlessness engulfed you, so you decided to visit your favorite trio instead of going home. They were working relentlessly the past couple of weeks, you were pretty sure they needed the distraction just like you did.

„Guys?“, you shouted as you entered the studio.

„Well, well, well. Look who the cat dragged in“, Chan teased as he saw you. You rolled your eyes, too vulnerable to handle his attitude.

„Where’s Binnie? I’m not here to see you.“

You walked over to the booth where Changbin and Han discussed lyrics, observing them from outside as you felt Chan‘s strong arms slung around your waist.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and kissed the skin softly. „Since when are you not here to see me, babygirl?“

Your head fell back as you sighed heavily.

„Chan, I’m in distress. Do something.“

His hands wandered to your ass, squeezing hardly.

„You want something like this?“

Chan didn’t wait for an answer and moved his hands higher, kneading your breasts now. „Or something like this?“

The door of the booth flung open instantly.

„Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is going on here?“, Han asked erratically.

Your head stayed on Chan‘s chest as he answered for you.

„Y/N is having a rough day and needs some distraction I suppose.“

Han‘s eyes saddened for a second, he hated seeing you suffer. Changbin pushed Han to the side and made his way to you.

„Whatever my sexy goddess wants, she gets.“

He took your face into his hands and kissed you passionately. You grabbed his hair and pulled lightly, scratching his scalp a bit. You felt yourself getting wet as he groaned into your mouth. Additionally, you felt Chan‘s hands on your tits, kneading and pinching your nipples through your clothes. Heat rushed through you, you wanted more. You pressed your ass into Chan, feeling him getting hard behind you.

„You gotta be kidding me“, Han mumbled under his breath. „Where should I fit?“

You felt connected to all of them, but this little quokka was your favorite - you knew exactly what he was thinking. Your left hand left Binnie‘s hair and waved at him, motioning him to position himself between your legs.

Han gulped but complied, he loved being involved in this. You felt his hands on your thighs, freeing you from your skirt and panties. It was hard to concentrate while Changbin was sucking your face and Chan pinching your nipples. Loud Moans escaped your sweet mouth as Han‘s tongue circled on your clit, making you loose your mind.

The other two stopped, surprised by his involvement like this. For a while they watched you both, gaining pleasure from seeing Han eating you out like that.

„Bin?“, Chan whispered. Both shared an agreeing look and proceeded with their plan.

„Just how much in distress are you, baby girl?“, Chan whispered into your ear.

You panted, unable to form whole sentences. „All. The. Stress.“

Chan‘s fingers entered you from behind, stretching you out in the best way possible. „Fuck“, you moaned even louder.

„You like that, baby girl?“

His fingers went faster, a perfect addition to Han‘s tongue. You opened your eyes as you realized that only two pairs of hands were on you - where was Binnie?

„Fuck, Binnie baby. Cum like that.“

Changbin was standing in front of you, his meaty dick in his hands, jerking himself off.

He smirked and replied: „Only if you cum first, babe.“

The boys understood their assignment and intensified their pace, it didn’t take long and you exploded right there. Your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, toes curling even in your high heels.

Chan held you in his arms, giving you stability since your legs shook uncontrollably. You regained composure and looked at Changbin, squirming and shooting his cum right on his own tummy.

You let out a laugh and relaxed, thankful for the boys‘ presence in your life.

„Your date didn’t go so well, right?“ Han asked, sat on the floor patiently.

You shook your head.

„No, he was the wrong guy for me.“

„Why?“, Changbin asked curiously.

You sighed. „Well, he had a problem with me spending so much time with you guys.“

Chan‘s chest vibrated from laughing.

„So, 3racha is the reason why your date went wrong?“

You looked up at him, nodding.

„Well, I guess we better make up for that.“ He placed a sweet kiss on your nose.

„What do you say, round 2?“

„And 3?“, Han and Changbin chimed in.

You smirked naughtily - who were you to deny a compensation like that, huh?

719 notes · View notes

parkvcrs · 4 months

Text

Dating Thomas Hewitt Would Include…

WARNING(S): brief mentions of cannibalism, violence, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, restraints, etc.

NOTES: i recently watched ‘the texas chainsaw massacre: the beginning’ for the first time and while i didn’t like the main cast, thomas made it worthwhile. loved every second he was on screen. :))

• You don’t know how exactly, but out of all your friends (Chrissie, Bailey, Dean, and Eric), you were the only one that Thomas showed mercy to and when it came to hurting your well-being— whenever it was brought up, it was always instigated by his Uncle Charlie or “Hoyt”— he seemed always hesitant to do so.

- And if Thomas had to relocate you for some odd reason, he’d be gentle with you. Additionally, he’d go out of his way to bring you food, water, fix your hair to make you look all pretty, and even get a wet rag to wash the dried blood (not yours, thankfully) from your skin. It confuses you how a man coming from a disgusting and cannibalistic family was touching you as if you’d break. He’s strange, but endearingly because if he wasn’t, you’d be a goner.

• In your time in the hands of the Hewitt family, you made friendly conversation with Thomas the most. It took a while to get used to him and while he prefers not to talk, you don’t mind one bit. Since he’s practically out of touch with the rest of the world, you take it as your responsibility to catch him up on music, specifically the songs and bands you like the most, and promise him that you’ll show him every song you’ve mentioned when you get out of your restraints.

- It took some time before you were able to get out of your restraints. After all, you are the family’s captor, they can’t just have you running out of the house now.

- It took an ungodly amount of time before the family put their trust in you and removed your restraints. And to their surprise, you didn’t even try to run away.

- In fact, you could always be found following Thomas around like a lost puppy. It was truly a sight to behold. Luda Mae and a few of her friends that she’d invite over for tea would always make jokes about you falling head over heels for the boy whilst his uncle was less than impressed and would always proceed to make fun of Thomas and his condition.

• Thomas isn’t stupid. He knows how much of a scumbag Charlie is, but it’s mainly because of how much you voice on how you don’t feel safe around him, so Thomas protective over you and whenever you feel uncomfortable, you know to come running to him where you can be safe.

• Also… Thomas doesn’t know how to slow dance and while you’re not the best teacher because of your lack of experience, it didn’t make things any less special when you tried to show him the basics.

- It was a very special moment in Thomas’ book, one that he’ll cherish forever, especially when you decided to rest your head on his chest where you could his heart race.

• It shouldn’t go without saying that Thomas is incredibly touch-starved. After a childhood and young-adulthood of being completely touch-starved, he’s had turned into an adult who was both desperate for and terrified of touch.

- You had to ease him into it since he was initially afraid that you’d be rough with him but after reassuring him that there is no reason to be afraid, it’s easy sailing for Thomas. He’s handsy, to say the least. He likes to press his leg against yours when you sit next to each other at dinner, pressing a kiss to your shoulder while he holds you at night, hugging you from behind while you’re working on something, or fixing your hair — even though he knows you don’t need help with something like that…

//////

author’s note: MY BABY MYYYYYY BABY

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spirit-lanterns · 30 days

Note

ehehe... feral alpha jingliu... i feel like that alone will suffice to say everything

but also damn, given how JL wears a blindfold and yet can still "see" with her senses... uoogh. imagine playing a game of cat and mouse with jingliu; it's a futile endeavour, of course, she's the hunter and you are the prey, and try all you want—she can smell you from miles away. the woman knows your scent and sounds by heart, can practically taste you in the air, and just the first whiff of you has her salivating and stalking after you.

there might be a lot of scratches and maybe even bleeding with alpha jingliu, but i'll happily take all of it 🥰 and her cum!

additionally—i realised this applies to acheron, too! two feral alphas who can appear calm and collected, but when the time for their ruts or your heat arrives... ooh, baby, we're gonna need a seatbelt for that ride... (on their cocks no doubt!)

Alpha Jingliu and Alpha Acheron? 😨

Your poor omega ass is going to be so sore with these two alphas hunting you down. These two women are just obsessed with you to the point they’re willing to share you with each other if it meant having you at least. (Jingliu and Acheron rarepair?)

It is very rare to have alphas share an omega with each other (especially women as possesive as Jingliu and Acheron) but I feel like they’d come to a mutual understanding together as they are similar in strengths. They would hunt you down at the same time, proving an impossible escape for you as they pin you down and make you their mate. Ofc, it’s not like you’re against it anyways, Jingliu and Acheron are such good mates. Always protecting you and satisfying you through your heats, you’d be more than happy to be bonded to them!

The sex with both of them is very rough and by the end of it you’re covered in bite marks, scratches, and back/tummy shots of them pulling out and cumming all over your body, but it’s so worth it because the Jingliu dick and Acheron dick feel so good 🤤

#🕯️spirit box #omegaverse au

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doumadono · 8 months

Text

MASTERLIST

A - aftercare

Alright, you won't be left completely empty-handed, but don't expect an abundance. Katsuki will undoubtedly attend to your needs, embrace you in his arms, and take care of the essentials. However, shortly after sex, he tends to drift off into a peaceful slumber, so you have up to 10-15 minutes to capture his undivided attention

B - body part

Katsuki is particularly an ass/thighs, however his passion knows no bounds, and he could devote hours to exploring every inch of your body. The way your hips gently curve, the subtle contours of your breasts - it all drives him wild

C - cum

He has an oral fixation and enjoys doing so on or in your mouth. If he's not planning to cum on your face, he'll opt for cumming in you, inserting his fingers into your mouth for you to suck on them while he does so

D - dirty secret

He secretly enjoys being the one ridden, reveling in the sight of you on full display from all angles as you bounce rhythmically on his cock. He can easily grip your waist, guiding your movements, relishing in watching you take him in almost to the hilt. Moreover, he takes pleasure in caressing your thighs in circular motions or gently parting your ass cheeks to aid in maintaining a consistent rhythm on his throbbing dick

E - experience

He may come across as reserved, but I'd confidently say he possesses a respectable level of experience. Katsuki's well-versed in knowing how to navigate sex

F - favorite position

Bakugo never bothered with anything out of the ordinary, preferring to splay you across the bed on your back, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact from the beginning until your ultimate climax. Additionally, he has a penchant for the thrill of bending you over his desk

G - goofy

Katsuki remains consistently serious, with no playful banter between his tender words and his brutal treatment in the bedroom (or wherever he decided to fuck you, depending on his mood)

H - hair

He has a blonde happy trail that he grooms fairly often. His grooming routine is straightforward. He doesn't trim his hair extensively, but surprisingly, his hair isn't too difficult to maintain

I - intimacy

He may not fit the traditional image of romantic person, but he truly cherishes the moments you share. Bakugo likes to gaze into your eyes while he’s taking you rough, he also likes planting tender kisses on your hairline and jaw as he nears his climax

J - jack off

I'd say he doesn't engage in self-pleasure very often. He tends to conserve his energy for later, and the frequency of this varies based on his stress levels. However, when he does, he’s the classic shower jerk off guy - it's cleaner and quicker for him to reach climax that way. Interestingly, when he's under more stress, he tends to be more aggressive during these solo moments, whether you're present or not. Additionally, he's a fan of mutual masturbation as a form of foreplay

K - kinks

Marking - Katsuki has a passion for leaving his marks, whether they be hickeys or bruises, and he's not concerned about their visibility or quantity. He becomes so engrossed in the moment that he loses track of just how many he's left behind

Size - Bakugo's broad physique is something he relishes, as it gives him a sense of being your protector. Simultaneously, he takes pleasure in filling your much smaller frame so full of his cock to the point where it leaves you utterly entranced

Dirty talk - while not leaning towards overly degrading language, Katsuki enjoys using words like "dirty" or "sloppy" to heighten the excitement. He revels in hearing you beg for him, and he'll encourage you by asking if you like how deep he’s fucking you or if your tiny little hole can fit all of his cock inside. On occasion, he might playfully refer to you as his private "cockslut" or "cumdump" while fucking your brain out

Sensory deprivation - blindfolds? He's all in. Katsuki delights in observing your anticipation as you feel his teasing touches and tender kisses trace all over your body, heightening your senses

L - location

Katsuki's open to fucking you anywhere, but always with your consent. He typically aims for semi-public settings. However, it's worth noting that there are occasions when he's a bit more adventurous, like making you cockwarm him in the bathroom of a restaurant

M - motivation

His jealousy. Katsuki has zero tolerance for anyone daring to look at you. With a low, warning growl, he'd utter your name, "Y/N," in a deep, rumbling tone as you exchanged smiles with a stranger at the bar. Of course, your intentions were clear, using them as a means to an end to attain what you truly desired - your beloved, fierce boyfriend

N - no

Food play isn't really his thing. While he might consider it on occasion, it's not a major interest for him. Additionally, when it comes to sex, consent is paramount, and he strongly dislikes the notion of non-consensual roleplay, even with prior consent

O - oral

Katsuki's incredibly skilled with his mouth, thanks to his oral fixation. Going down on you feels natural to him, and he could continue indefinitely, even if his jaw starts to ache. When it's your turn to pleasure him, if you decide to surprise him while he's working - trust me, it's worth it. There are two reasons he loves it: firstly, it's a blowjob from his beloved significant other, and who wouldn't enjoy that? Secondly, it gives him a reason to return the favor. However, by "returning the favor," he means that he will indeed reciprocate but will tease you along the way by not immediately giving you what you desire. Perhaps he'll show mercy, but that depends on the day

P - pace

Bakugo can and will rail you. It starts off gently, but then everything goes downhill and he’s not holding back, like at all. If he senses any discomfort or if you're hurt in any way, he'll slow down or even pause to ensure your well-being

Q - quickie

He prefers to use them as a form of foreplay or to build anticipation until you're alone and he can fully indulge in his desires. However, there are moments when his overwhelming lust takes over, and he can't resist pulling you aside impulsively to satisfy his cravings without delay

R - risks

Katsuki is into semi-public sex for sure. He finds the most excitement in engaging in sex where he knows it's highly unlikely you'll get caught, but there's that tantalizing hint of a chance that adds to the thrill

S - stamina

Katsuki's sex drive. He wants to fuck with you everyday. The thought of waking up beside you and indulging in sex throughout the day is incredibly appealing to him. However, he understands your limitations, so he doesn't mind the occasional restraint, prioritizing your comfort and well-being

T - toys

Bakugo is not too fond of them - he prefers to get you off using his own body

U - unfair

Katsuki's a notorious tease, and how unfair he gets depends on his mood or your behavior. When he's in the mood to tease or if you've been a little naughty (or both), be prepared for him to withhold pleasure until you're driven to beg for it!

V - volume

At first, he suppresses his moans, opting for sharp, hissing inhales and expelling air from his mouth. However, as he approaches climax, he'll lean in close to your ear to spew absolute filth into it so that he can feel you clench around his cock and send him over the edge. Grunting is also a thing

W - wildcard

As indicated earlier, he just loves to keep going. Seriously, if given the chance, he could fuck for hours. Marathon sex is his forte, and he particularly relishes the state your body is in by the end – it only fuels his desire to continue

X - x-ray

He's around 7 ½ to 8 inches, and the noticeable thickness and prominent veins provide a significant sensation of stretch during sex

Y - yearning

Never lets on just how much he wants you. He would rather have you come to him instead so he doesn’t look that needy but he wants to be balls-deep in you practically all the time. I'll repeat it - his sex drive!

Z - zzz

As mentioned earlier, after 10-15 minutes, he's ready to drift off to sleep. We're all familiar with his sleeping habits though 🤣 Bakugo is also a clingy sleeper, so he'll naturally hold onto you and prefer you as his little spoon

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myfictionaldreams · 6 months

Text

Day 31: Religious Play - Eddie Munson

Summary: You were unsure as to what you'd done to offend the new priest. What's worse is that your mom had invited him over for dinner, where you find him going through your bedside drawer, revealing all of your well-kept secrets.

Before reading: This is (obviously) going to refer significantly to religious practices. I, myself, am not Catholic, so any religious information in this fic is purely from Google and may be incorrect. Additionally, if religion is something that you would potentially find triggering, please do not read. You are in charge of your own media consumption, so read the tags/warnings carefully.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content, bad family dynamics, manipulation, religious play, priest kink, sexual coercion, blackmail, mentions of public sexual activities, power play, the act of purifying, deepthroat, begging, non-consensual creampie, rough sex, degrading

masterlist 📚

kinktober masterlist😈

AO3 Link

“Your mom has invited Father Munson over for dinner, by the way, so make sure you’re wearing your Sunday best”. Sitting up further from where you’d been lying on your bed, you turned towards your Dad in the doorway, frowning in confusion at his sentence, the beginnings of anxiety creeping into the centre of your chest.

“Fath-Father Munson? Why would she do that?” Internally cringing at your noticeable stutter, you stood abruptly from the bed, wiping your sweating palms down your jean legs.

“How should I know? You know what she’s like when she gets into these schemes and wanting to kiss the community’s arse. Just make sure you’re more dressed up than what you are now”. Before you could continue the conversation, your frustrated dad walked away, closing your door behind him.

Releasing a long, slow breath, you tried to take a minute not to panic. Your mom was definitely trying to scheme something like your dad mentioned; however, usually, it would be with the sheriff or someone from the council so that she could become friends and find out the latest gossip throughout Hawkins. This made it even more nerve-wracking that she was trying to do this with the priest with whom you had a strained relationship.

Rushing to your wardrobe, you tried to find the most suitable outfit you were saving for a church. A simple light blue dress that ended below the knees, matched with socks, but no point wearing shoes when you were staying in your home. Nervously, you began to dress and prepare for his arrival, hating that it had to be him, of all people.

There was something about him that had your heart beating so hard you were sure your rib cage would crack. The priest was still relatively new to the parish and had been a welcome sight. Considerably younger than the feeble, frail previous priest, Father Munson came to the church with new hope and enthusiasm. His sermons would easily capture the attention of the crowds, which in turn caused more people to attend than ever before.

A large portion of the crowd came to check out his handsome looks. There wasn’t just the age difference compared to the old priest; Father Munson seemed to be the complete opposite of every priest who had ever lived in Hawkins. Curly long hair that would occasionally be tied loosely at the base of his neck, roguish good looks to match the gorgeous caramel eyes that could lure you in with a simple gaze. There was no denying many people's attraction to him, especially yours. For many quiet moments alone, you had fantasised about the priest, even if this was considerably frowned upon as he had sworn his life to the church.

It didn’t help matters that he seemed to act differently with you. With blessing, his hands would linger on your skin, eyes blazing into yours during preaches. You weren’t sure what it was, but he treated you so much differently than others, which made you nervous to be with him, and now he was coming to your home.

A couple of hours later, you were ready for the ground to open up, and you fell into the depths of hell. Father Munson had arrived, wearing his usual dog collar and black jacket outfit that he seems to wear most days, his hair curling over his shoulders and down his back, the fringe naturally laying softly on his forehead. You greeted him with your usual smile and politeness, and there was no denying the glaze over his brown eyes as they wandered over your outfit and to your toes, linger there for a moment too long.

Thankfully, your mother swooped in and began to pester the priest, asking how his day was and over-complimenting to the point your dad was cringing from across the room. Luckily for him, your mom was the home cook and needed to return to the kitchen to prepare the rest of dinner so he could excuse himself, saying he would help her. You knew he wouldn't, and unluckily for you, that meant you were stuck in the living room with just you, the priest and the deafening silence.

“Is this you?” his deep voice had you jumping and gripping your chest as you turned to look at what he was referring to. To your displeasure, he was inspecting the family pictures on the wall, precisely the picture frame that showed you as a child, sitting on a park bench with a cheesy grin.

“Yes, I was five and-” You were beginning to explain the origin of the picture, but he swiftly cut you off, clearly using the picture just as an opener to start his teasing and torment.

“What happened to her?”

“What do you mean, father?” your voice remained neutral, but everything inside of you knew he was baiting you into something.

“This sweet girl in the picture, so innocent and loving. What happened to her? What happened to you? To become the way you are now”. Those soft brown eyes then turn back to you, but you’re quickly looking away to stare at your socks, feeling uneasy under the intensity of his words.

This was always what he would ask and refer to—talking as if you were some impure, degenerate human being when you were anything but that. Well, that was somewhat of a lie. To everyone in Hawkins, you were the loving daughter with plenty of friends, achieved good grades whilst at school and now working in the library to earn a living. They did not need to know about your activities when out of town, specifically going to watch the rock concerts where alcohol was freely passed between fans, which lowered the inhibitions of the drinkers.

Yes, you’d been promiscuous with a few fellow rockers, but you always made sure to pray for your sins the following night, blaming the intoxication for your actions. However, no one knew of this version of your life as you made sure to drive to a town far enough away that no one you knew could accidentally see you leaving a venue or a motel in the morning.

Looking back up to the priest, you tried to appear confused, “I don’t know what you mean, father? The girl you see in those photos is standing in this very room. Nothing has changed except my age”.

“Hmm, I’m not too sure about that. Nevertheless, I will continue to ask for forgiveness for your sins on your behalf. Otherwise, there would be no hope for someone like you”, he casually remarked with a simple wave of his hand over his shoulder, displaying the collection of silver rings that adorned his fingers.

“Thank you for praying for me, Father, but I don’t believe I need your assistance with-” you began to retaliate, but your parents returning to the room had your mouth slamming shut.

“Dinner’s ready! If you’d like to come through, Father”, your Mom beamed with pride, directing the holy man to the other room where she seated him opposite your chair.

Thankfully, your mom could talk for all of Hawkins and speak at Father Munson rather than allow him to talk. You could keep your head ducked low and push the food around your plate until your parents asked you to tidy the dirty dishes in the kitchen. Even after this, you were forced to listen to the three of them talk about the church and how tainted Hawkins had become in recent years, needing a strong religious figure to lead them to the light.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything we could offer you to drink, Father?” your Mom requested for the fifth time as her glass had been drained of wine again.

The priest shook his head, the curls bouncing around his emotionless face, “No, thank you, ma’am. But, I would appreciate it if you could point me in the direction of your toilet if you wouldn’t mind”.

“Oh, of course! It’s just at the top of the stairs and the second door on the right”.

You watched him stand, straighten his jacket, and walk up the stairs, which were in your eye line. However, once at the top of the stairs, he looked back down at you, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips as he turned left instead of right, which incidentally led him straight towards your bedroom.

Standing so quickly that it caused both of your parents to startle in their seats, you quickly stammered an excuse to run up the stairs, “I think I forgot to close my window! I’ll be back in a moment”.

Your parents grumbled insults under their breath towards your rudeness. Still, you ignored them entirely, climbing the stairs two at a time to race towards your bedroom and hoping to God that the priest had made a simple mistake and just needed clarification of the direction of the bathroom.

As you arrived on the landing, you stared towards your now-closed bedroom door, which had once been open. Opening it with as much urgency as you could muster, you found, to your horror that the priest had entered your safe space and was currently rifling through the secret belongings of your bedside drawer that you swore had been locked before.

“What are you doing?! Those are my private belongings-!” you began, trying to whisper but remaining firm with your questioning as your hands trembled at your side as you knew just the sort of things that were hidden in the bedside draw.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, sounding as casual as ever but didn’t match the fierce anger swirling in those usually welcoming chestnut-coloured eyes. Your heart momentarily stopped beating in your chest as he held up a small silver device that could be mistaken for lipstick but was undoubtedly anything but something used for cosmetics.

“It’s my lipstick, and I really don’t appreciate you going through my stuff, Father. If we may return to the dinner-” You tried to sound as calm and confident as possible, but once more, he interrupted your attempts to move him out of your bedroom.

“You and I both know that this is not a lipstick. Do you know how to use it properly?” Your entire body burned with embarrassment as your shoulders rolled back, and you held your head high, deciding you wouldn’t answer his question, but his response only made you want to melt into the floor more. “Clearly not by the lack of an answer. Clearly you are being tempted by Satan with some of these behaviours, and ah- it seems your taste in music seems to justify this sort of behaviour”.

Dropping the bullet vibrator back into the draw, the priest lifted a cassette tape of your favourite band, Metallica. You knew of the judgemental and anti-faith stereotypes that came with liking rock and metal music, and yet, you couldn’t help but love the music, having used it as an escape for years. A secret escape at that, having kept it hidden from your parents all these years, which is also why you travelled so far to the concerts to truly be yourself where no one you knew could find you.

“Have you listened to their latest album? Track two is something special”, Father Munson remarked whilst replacing the cassette in its hiding spot. Your mouth was wide with unspoken questions, wanting to splurge out as a thousand thoughts alarmed through your mind.

“You… you listen to Metallica?” you asked in absolute disbelief.

The priest closed the draw slowly, turning to face you ultimately, his eyes lingering on the blue socks on your feet. “What I do outside of the church is none of your concern. But, what you do is mine, especially when I have your parents are so worried about the dark, satanic goings-on that are promoted by this sort of music. I can easily fend off the demon whispering through the lyrics, but you? No, someone like you can be so easily manipulated and tempted by the devil”.

You hadn’t noticed just how close he was until the tips of his shiny leather shoes were touching the tips of your toes. Instinctively, you take a significant step backwards, which, in turn, he follows and steps forward. It’s like a teasing dance until you lose as your back collides with your bedroom wall, and he's leaning his hand against the wall beside your head.

“The devil is not tempting me, and I don’t know why you seem so insistent that I am. I come to church every week, I pray nearly every day, what more do you want from me?” As you speak, you realise just how captivated by his eyes you are, and even though you want to look away, you hold the gaze.

“I want you to believe the things you are saying. I, for one, believe you have already been lured by the demonic forces that can so easily tempt sweet little souls like yours. You need purifying. Need the light to return to your soul or risk being damned forever”. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but glance between his lips and eyes, something he, too, noticed as his thumb and forefinger roughly grabbed the tip of your chin, forcing your face up so you were looking up at the ceiling.

You were sure he would be able to hear your heartbeat with how violently it was pounding in your chest as his face dipped so close to your ear that his hair stroked the soft skin of your cheek. “Want to know why I know the depths of evil have already tainted you? Imagine my surprise as I’m watching one of my favourite bands, and who do I see in the middle of the crowd? I see the innocent librarian, wearing next to nothing and some random man’s tongue in her mouth and fingers in her underwear. Does that ring any bells for you, Sweetheart?”

It did. It had been several months ago, and you were considerably drunk and speaking to this stranger for hours whilst waiting in queue for the concert. You were never one for public indecency, but you were going to blame the alcohol for the fact that he’d fingered you in the middle of the crowd, and after the show, you returned with him to his motel for more erotic adventures.

You felt sick to your stomach and had no idea what to say. Of course, you could deny it, but it seemed a useless task if this had been what was fueling his pestering for all of these months. Furthermore, all you could think about were your parents downstairs and just how much you were at the mercy of the priest in front of you.

“Not so quick to retort now, are you, angel?”

“Please, don’t tell my parents. They hate me enough without knowing this side of my life”. It was hard to plead for something so desperately when you were still left staring at the ceiling, entirely at the mercy of the priest pressed up against you.

There was a moment of pause where images and scenarios of all the potential repercussions flashed through your mind. Your parents kick you out, are a thorough shouting at, and probably lose your jobs due to the rumours and whispers that would spread throughout Hawkins. With no job and nowhere to live, you’ll be on the streets with no food or water and your entire world crumbling around you.

Before any further begging could be done, the grip on your chin was released, and the priest was stepping away from you. More specifically, he was stepping away from your door and towards the stairs that led directly to your parents.

“Stop!” you whispered urgently, trying to grab onto his arm to pull him back, but he was already halfway down the stairs and in the eye-line of your parents, who stopped their conversation to greet their guests with fake smiles.

You nearly slipped on the bottom step as you ran down behind the long-haired priest, trying to think of a way to interrupt whatever he had to say, but your mind was utterly blank of thoughts.

Instead,d you had to stand in horror as you watched his mouth open, “I’m sorry to cut this night short, but I’ve realised that I need to rush back to the church. I had thought the groundsman had been working today to lock the building, but it’s just occurred to me that he’s on holiday, so I must get back to lock up. Unfortunately, the church is quite big so it will take me a bit of time, and your lovely daughter here has offered to help me; I hope you don’t mind. I will drive her safely home once the church is safely locked”.

“Oh? Now… you have to leave now?” your mom questioned uncertainly, glancing between her freshly iced cake left uneaten in the middle of the dinner table.

“What my wife means is that, of course, that is no issue at all. I’m glad my daughter has decided to be helpful in some way. You’re welcome back here any time, Father”, your dad explained, giving a pointed look to his wife before standing and shaking Father Munson’s hand.

This was how you ended up in the passenger seat of the man’s van, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat in desperation. You weren’t sure what was worse. Knowing he didn’t tell your parents now and could at any point in the future or that you were now alone with him with a blatant lie about the church needing locking.

One small part of your internal monologue was jumping for joy, attempting to take in every unique detail you hadn’t noticed before from the man. The van smelled of cigarette smoke, a habit he must have kept secret as you were reasonably sure he wasn’t supposed to indulge in habits such as this to remain a good role model for the community. Surprisingly, he also had a Judas Priest tape playing quietly, his ringed fingers tapping with the rhythm of the guitar. This was only surprising as he wasn’t even attempting to hide his love for the metal band, which gave you one bargaining chip if he ever decided to blackmail you with informing your parents.

“Thank you for not telling my parents. I was worried for a second that you were going too”.

Father Munson glanced over at where you were still clutching to your seat as if it were your lifeline. Even though you weren’t facing him directly, out of the corner of your eyeline, you watched his eyes drop to the bare skin of your shins.

“Who says I won’t be telling them? I just thought it would be easier to be in a holier place, in private, where we could both pray for your sins… extensively”.

This did nothing to ease your anxiety and embarrassment. Was he expecting you to kneel at the front of the church and beg god to forgive you for the seedy acts you’d done in secret?

Thankfully, the drive was swift enough that you couldn’t dwell on these thoughts. The surrounding area of the church was coated in darkness as the moon was covered by low-lying clouds, which gave the site an even more haunted feeling than usual. Due to this, you regretfully had to stay close to the priest, rushing to get to the double doors of the silent church.

Once inside, you remained at his elbow as he began to turn on the few lights hanging on the wall, illuminating the rows of pews and alter.

“What would you do to be forgiven by God? By me?” You blink, unsure if he was referring to himself as a god or just as the one to allow forgiveness to be given on behalf of the church.

“I’d do anything”.

“Then kneel before the cross, and we will start with the body of Christ”.

Every Sunday, you completed the action asked. To kneel in front of the cross hanging above the altar as the Priest placed a wafer of bread onto your tongue, followed by a sip of wine. However, doing it now with only Father Munson to witness it felt demeaning. Furthermore, the priest didn’t help with how he placed the wafer onto the flat of your tongue, his thumb pressing firmly so that saliva filled your mouth at the pressure. Next came the wine, which he tilted your head back by pushing your chin so you were staring at the ceiling.

Your mouth was open as he tipped the watered-down wine in, except a single drop slipped past your lips, dribbling down your chin, only to be captured by his thumb and pressed back onto your mouth, where you obediently sucked it clean. You nearly choked on the liquid as the realisation as to what you’d done, and your body unforgivingly began to warm, not from embarrassment but a desire pooling deep within your centre.

Averting your eyes to stare at the floor, you continued to him say the Lord's prayer, which you recounted under your breath, attempting to steer your thoughts away from the damping of your underwear.

“Amen”, his strong voice resonated around the empty church as you repeated the words with a dip of your head. “I don’t think it’s enough just to have the blood and body of Christ inside of you. The actions you have been a part of across the country, the dark music you listen to, I think you need more thorough purifying”.

“Please, Father. I’ll do anything”, you insist whilst remaining on your knees and looking up at him with wide eyes. Even though you were still frightened of the repercussions, your body responded treacherously. “I want you to purify me from my demons, Father”.

The handsome face standing above you tilted, his eyes shadowed now behind his long hair. “When people look at me, they see me as the spokesperson for God and the practices of this church. I am a symbol of everything holy. Some would say that there is nothing more pure than me, leading the way for others to become accepted by God”.

You weren’t sure if it was your hopes and the disconcerting pulse between your legs, but you could have sworn there was an undertone to his words. Carefully, you picked your following words, “If it is you, Father, that I need to rid of these demonic entities, then I will gladly proceed with whatever you deem is necessary”.

“These erotic acts that you have been divulging in, forgetting your faith and allowing the words of the devil to stain your body. The only way to flush these demons out is by replacing them with pure ones, by a holy being. If you want to make God happy and earn his forgiveness, you must earn these rewards. Do you understand what it is that I am saying to you?”

You swallow the thick glob of saliva, continuing to hold his eye contact, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your knees. As you nodded in understanding, you verbalised, “Yes, Father, I understand”.

Without missing a second, he ordered sternly, “Undo my belt”.

Your fingers lifted to his black leather belt and began to unbuckle it, not wanting to overthink the actions you were doing, even though the bulge in front of you made it evident of his intentions. He held the power of your life and religion in his hands; if he wanted you to pray until the early morning hours, you would. Of course, you knew the manipulation, blackmail and coercion he was currently holding above your head was wrong in every sense of the word. Still, the broken part of you that enjoyed being fingered in the middle of a busy crowd was more than ready to please the priest in any way he deemed necessary.

With his belt now unbuckled and opened, you waited patiently for your following instructions. “Let’s start with ensuring your mouth is purified and cleaned of sins first. What do you think, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Father”, you replied whilst fixing your stare on his crotch. Carefully, you nimby unbutton and pull down the zipper to his slacks, opening the gap. Reaching inside his stripped boxers, you were able to wrap your fingers around his hard length, surprised to find him thicker than you’d anticipated. Releasing his length from the confines of his clothes, you admired the firmness of the shaft and the way it throbbed as you squeezed him gently.

“Please cleanse me, Father”, you whisper up at him before licking the deep maroon tip of his cock. The priest didn’t so much as sigh at the touch, but the length did harden slightly as you began to leave open-mouth kisses up and down the shaft.

“Enough. Open your mouth, stick your tongue out”. You did as instructed, sitting back on your heels to await his next move, but it seemed he had other ideas as he placed one hand on the back of your head, and the other supported his cock at the base. Stepping forward, he directed his cock into your mouth, sliding it against your tongue until he was hitting the back of your throat.

You were only just able to suck in a deep breath before he was pushing further in, your eyes filling with tears at the stimulation that was too much, but you wanted to impress him, so you attempted to relax the muscles of your throat. Finally, this earned you a satisfied grunt as the priest watched his dick disappear into your mouth.

Father Munson then proceeded to fuck your throat with the pressure from his hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place and entirely at his mercy. Saliva was soon dripping down your chin, but the sloppiness of it all only made him more frantic and harder with his thrusts. You weren’t able to take his entire length before you were gagging and pushing on his thighs to allow you a moment to breathe through your nose.

Suddenly, he was yanking back your head, pulling himself entirely out of your mouth, “I don’t think it would be as beneficial to allow the purification to happen down your throat. Come here”. With his hands now held out for you to hold, you did so tightly, grasping the rings and allowing them to cool the heated skin of your palm.

Your legs struggled to hold up any of your weight from being on your knees for such a long time, so the priest had to carry you over to the alter practically and have you lying face first over the table. Sighing at the contact and now having to worry about keeping yourself upright anymore, you looked over your shoulder to Father Munson, who was admiring the back of your legs.

Wishing for the wait to be over, needing the fire in your belly to be eased in some way, you wiggled your hips invitingly. “Please, Father Munson, I need you to help me. I want to be cleaned by God’s touch”.

You could have sworn that the man growled under his breath as he lifted your skirt. The apples of your cheeks warmed as he didn’t even pull down your underwear completely; he simply moved it to the side. You could only gasp at the coolness of the air touching your soaked pussy.

A subtle kick to the insides of your feet had you widening your stance so the priest could move in closer between your legs. You watched over your shoulder as he dipped his height slightly, and then you could feel the firmness of his length pressing against your folds, swiping up and down, trying to find its home and then nudging into your hole.

You raised onto your tip toes as the pressure intensified, your hole stretching enough that a dull ache formed in the gummy walls. Your eyes closed as well, thoughts zoning onto the cock now penetrating your body. He was entirely overwhelming, yet you never wanted that sensation to end, as scandalous and against the rules as this was.

“Good girl, let me in, that’s it”, he praised, watching your pussy take inch after inch of his cock. You whimpered at the praise and intrusion, and when you reached behind to try and keep him from entering anymore as you needed a moment to adjust, he grabbed onto your hand and held it to your lower back and thrust in the remainder of the way.

“God!” you shouted out with spite.

Father Munson chuckled, his hand squeezing yours, “That’s exactly right. God. He’s here to ensure you’re thoroughly cleansed, Sweetheart”.

Your entire body shivered as he began to ease out, your cunt shrinking back to its original size before stretching once more as he thrust in. It seemed the priest wouldn’t wait, needing to do his work thoroughly and deeply.

His thrusts had your body rocking back and forth on the stone altar. The obscenity of your cries echoing around the silent church only made this entire situation feel more intense for you. What’s worse is that when you finally opened your eyes, you were forced to gaze up at the statue of Jesus on the cross, watching the entire scene unfold.

“That’s right, they’re all watching. Making sure all the demons have escaped your body. That you now truly belong to the church. No song or man will ever lure you to the devil. Only God and I have permission to have your soul and body. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father”, you cried out around the deep moans of pleasure. Even though you were trembling, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Other than the watered-down wine, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system. It felt incredibly taboo to be fucking the priest in the middle of his church, and yet, there you were, begging him not to stop.

The cock that continued to pound into your cunt expertly stroked every beautiful spot that had you verging on the edge of an orgasm. Tingles deep in your belly and running down your thighs to the tips of your toes. You were so close that you were almost unaware that the priest was near to his orgasm. Almost. You had nearly fallen so far into the fantasy that you’d momentarily forgotten what his main goal was. To penetrate you with his pure seed to rid your body of the demons.

“Wait, you can’t cum inside of me”, you urgently say, looking over your shoulder towards the man who now had wildly unkept hair and a blush rosing the skin of his neck that you could see.

“How did you expect to have God’s forgiveness if you can’t have my pure seed soaking you from the inside?” You were too far gone to care about the repercussions as you came with violent squeezes of your pussy around his cock. The tightness with which you squeezed him only helped to milk him for every single drop of cum that came flooding into the deepness of your cunt.

Still reeling over the high that was easing through your system, you were only half aware of the priest grunting the Lord's pray as his thrusts came to a stop. A heavy hand on your hip kept you pressed against the stone altar as he pulled out and replaced your panties into the correct position.

“You must keep this inside of you tonight for the full potential of the Lord's work to unravel. Understand, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Father”.

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