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#they got engaged like 4 months of dating

blueskiesagain · 1 year

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My sister and her husband are getting married which technically they already did but then they separated bc (I later found out) she has been HITTING and CHOKING him and she eventually moved out of their house but now they're going through couples therapy and going through with having a big wedding (with all their friends and family bc they eloped the first time) and she's still living with my parents and the wedding is SEPTEMBER and jfc like PLEASE JUST GET DIVORCED

#tw domestice abuse #like holy fucking shit #ive always known she has an anger problem #and then she just CASUALLY REVEALED THAT SHE BEATS HER HUSBAND LIKE WTF #I FEEL LIKE IM TAKING CRAZY PILLS #they met 2 momths before my wedding #and she bought a wedding dress while i was on my honeymoon #yes you read that right #my sister bought her wedding dress after 3 months of dating #a full fucking 4 MONTHS before they even got engaged #then she got pregnant and they got married like #exactly a year after they started dating #and then first anniversary #she gets kicked out of the house bc of the aforementioned physical abuse #and im over here just trying to live my damn life #like i really REALLY thought she changed after having her first kid #diasterwedding

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charliemwrites · 3 months

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…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #poly 141 #open relationship trope #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader

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jazzsonly · 1 month

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ʟᴏɴᴅᴏɴ.

paring(s): jenna ortega x g!p!reader

warning(s): smut, p in v, unprotected sex, mentions of past break up, mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, cheating, sex in a bathroom, sex in front of an open window, no pronouns used for reader, uhh that’s it i think(?)

summary: you get invited to jenna’s engagement party a year after your break-up.

────────✬────────

the crisps sound of the cigarette burning crackled as your lips wrapped around it, taking a long drag you let the smoke ease through your nose before you threw the stick to the ground and stepped it on, twisting your heel to put the burn out.

nothing but a flickering street light mixed with the red light of the street light illuminated over you face, as the rain drizzled you stood on the empty sidewalk looking up at the new york apartment building, the white invitation, that you had ripped apart weeks ago, was now tapped together in your hand’s tight hold.

“excuse me?” you let out a faint ‘huh’, turning your head in the voice’s direction.

there stood an unfamiliar man clad in a dark suit.

“are you here for the engagement party? could you tell me which building it is? i’m little the lost.” he ended his words with a slight chuckle to ease the tension, clearly telling the mood you were in.

“yeah. i’m heading up there now, i’ll walk you up.” you offer, finally getting collected enough to even go in, in the first place.

the man smiles, stepping close and you both turn your heads to either side of the road before jogging across it.

1580.

from very fresh memory, you press code to access the apartment building’s front door.

“you live here?”

“nah. i know the person who does.” you offer in a sulking tone.

the man nods his head with his mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “you know jen?”

“how do you know her?”

“oh, uh, my girlfriend and her are really close so i got invited by association. my girlfriend is already here, i’m just running late from work.”

you nod, uninterested.

“how do you know jen?”

“who’s your girlfriend?” you ignore his question as you step into the elevator.

“emma. you don’t like answering questions do you?”

“jen and i used to date.” you shrug off pressing the number 4.

a face of realization came over the man, “you’re y/n?”

“and you are?” this elevator couldn’t be moving any slower.

“john.”

silence had fell over you two as the shaft came to a stop, you both stepped out at the same time, coming face to face with your’ destination.

music and chatter could be heard through the door that held a sign that read, ‘just come on in.’

“well, cheers. thanks for walking me up.” john offers a smile before disappearing into the direction of the kitchen.

you stay planted by the front door, scanning the place, there were a number of faces you recognized. co—stars of jenna and mutual friends of yours.

as you looked over the familiar apartment your eyes caught the big sign that hung from the ceiling, ‘congratulations to jenna and ari!’ in a fancy golden fond with glitter around it.

i need a drink. the thought waved over you and immediately your feet moved to towards the kitchen as did john.

to your good fortune the kitchen was empty.

scanning over the choices of refreshments, you skipped over the soda and water, going right the alcohol where you would find patron to occupy your grievances.

“y/n? hey!”

a mouthed ‘fuck’ followed with the roll of your eyes before you turn to face jenna’s co—star and your mutual friend, mason.

“hey, mas! long time no see.” you face excited as you let the man pull you into a ‘bro’ hug.

“i know, it’s been like a month since we last linked up.”

you nod, taking a big sip from the red solo cup. “ah, you know, busy, busy, busy.”

you catch the way he nods his head awkward, knowing you’d barely talked to any of the friends you shared with jenna since the split.

“you working on anything new?”

“yeah, i just booked this dc movie. i start directing in a few weeks.”

“that’s great! i’m glad to see you here...”

you wanted to crawl into a hole in die.

“it’s good you and jenna are on good terms after everything. you two create magic together, romantic or not.” he reaches and pants your shoulder in support.

“but i gotta get back to dylan and ethan, you should come say hi later, yeah?”

“sounds like a plan.” a plastic smile flashed from you, immediately dropping when the boy walked away.

safe to say you needed more than just a drink now but a cigarette.

downing what little was left in the cup, you easily made yourself up the stairs that led to the bathroom which held three stalls and an open window, only two girls stood by the mirror doing what seemed to be gossiping. you flash a smile, making your way over to the window where you lit another malboro.

i can’t believe she’s getting married.

all your thoughts seemed to be consumed with the same six words. to be truthful, it was justified because how you could you come to terms with your ex-girlfriend of six years, that you were very much not over getting married just as year after your split.

a deep inhale consumes you as you thoughts wash over you, your eyes counting the city view.

where did it all go wrong?

“you showed up.”

your eyes flutter at the voice, immediately you hit the cigarette.

jenna.

“of course i made it. wouldn’t wanna miss your big day.” you turn, you body language filled with as much sarcasm as your voice.

you take in her body, she looked the same if not better a year later. well, better than the pictures you found while instagram and media stalking her.

“you could’ve said hi, you know? but knowing you, you probably would’ve disappeared after your cigarette.” she gestures to the stick that sat between your pointer and middle.

your head tilts as you smirk a smile, eyes going to the stick and back to jen. “join me?”

wordlessly the woman steps forward, her eyes never leaving yours she attempts to grab the cigarette but swiftly, you pull back, nodding your head ‘no’ before bringing your hand up to her lips, letting her inhale.

“you been standing in the rain? you’re all wet.”

looking back out the window, “i was contemplating if i even wanted to come in or not. let my sorrow consume me far away from you or right in front of you.”

“always been a battle of yours, huh?”

wordlessly, you reach forward, throwing the lit object from the window.

“when did you meet your finance?” you inquire, a small smirk coming over your face to which jenna rolls her eyes at.

“6–8 months after we split.”

you scoff, “you move on quick, and i think you mean after you left. we didn’t split. you made that choice.”

she squints, stopping to study you for a moment.

“i didn’t leave. the relationship was toxic and you knew it. you knew then, and you know it now but your pride would let you accept it.”

“just because we were in love doesn’t mean we were right for each other, y/n.”

dramatically you throw your hands up, letting them harshly fall back down to your side.

“so, what? we argued? who doesn’t? that doesn’t mean our relationship was this big tumultuous thing, jenna!”

“look at us, we’re not even together, i’m engaged and somehow we are still arguing. we should’ve never gotten together, i should’ve never mixed business with pleasure.”

it was true, you and jenna started off as co-workers.

you, being a quite known director had landed one of the many positions on ‘wednesday’, a job you’d had been quite a fan of considering you’d previously had a hugeee crush on jenna as she rose to ‘it girl’ status in the film world.

not to mention, ‘addams family’ was one of your favs growing up.

essentially, after the first two to three weeks of filming you and jenna really started to form a closeness. you’d started a traditions where at least one person on set gets pranked every wednesday and jenna, being who she was, just loved this.

wanting to get in on the pranking action, she sparked up conversation with you which formed into you visiting her trailer to plan your next to prank, which then turned into you asking her out.

from there, your relationship spouted.

at the start you guys held a pretty content relationship with each other, bickering placed between you two at times but nothing too serious to break up—well, until your first real argument a year in.

you had gotten another job after the first season of wednesday aired, directing for marvel’s new show ‘hawkeye.’

normally after the first day of filming is done, the cast goes out to a dinner to celebrate, unfortunately for everyone paparazzi got a tip of one of the stars of the show, haliee steinfeld, was out to dinner so of course they showed up. in the mix of every thing a few pics of you and haliee were snapped, which caused dating rumors.

let’s just say, when you got home jenna was not happy with you. the situation even causing you two to split up, for a week, but still it was a split up.

over all, your and jenna weren’t ones to agree on the bigger things which caused you ‘break up’ in the long term of your six year relationship and somewhere along the lines it became too much for the young actress as she already had enough to stress over with fame so she called it quits, leaving you to self-destruct with drinking, smoking, drugs, and partying.

in the mix of your wicked lonesome you’d always thought somewhere, somehow you and jenna would end up on the same street at the same time but just a month ago did you receive an invitation to her engagement party.

“if you feel that way, why’d you even invite me? i believe one of the last things you said to me was about how you never wanted to see me again.”

she leans back like she’s shocked by your words.

“our relationship might have been a mess but we spent six years together, i learned a lot from you and us in those six years. you’ll always be special to me, y/n, that’s why i want you here.”

“six years gone is just a couple of months.” you grit, turning to walk away in a haste but failing as the woman grabs to your wrist.

she pulls you toward her, a little to close if you ask anyone else, especially her fiancé.

“don’t walk away from me, y/n! i know it hurts but can you just be here for me? can you just be happy for me?”

“do you even love her?”

“of course i do, i wouldn’t marry someone i didn’t love.” her hand was still firmly around your wrist.

“ok, so,” a bitter chuckle falls from your lips. “are you in love with her?”

you could see jenna’s tongue roll around in her mouth in distaste as she turned her head to the side and back up to you.

“why are you asking me all this? all i did was ask you to be here for me.”

again, you let a bitter chuckle slip past your lips. “you’re not even in love with the girl and you’re gonna marry her.”

“i never said tha—”

“you didn’t have to. i know you, jenna—i mean, come on we dated for six years, you’re gonna have to do better at lying than thi—”

“i’m not lying!” she defended, finally pulling her touch away.

“yes you are.” you couldn’t be more amused in this moment than you had the past year.

“you know what, i’m not doing this. don’t stay. i don’t care.”

this time jenna is the one to try to walk away but you grip her wrist the same she had done yours, pulling her back to you but this time even closer, your bodies together.

“kiss me.” it came out softer than you intended, almost like a whisper but raspy and firm.

“i—i can’t. i can’t do this with you.” she attempts to pull away but your arms wrap around her waist, keeping her in place.

you lean down, only getting the chance to brush your lips over her’s as she quickly turns her head to the side, fighting any and all temptation.

wordlessly, you let your lips connect with her cheek and gracefully move down to her jaw before lifting your head to stare back to the woman you were so familiarly enamored with.

“jenna, kiss me.” you grip the sides of her face, pulling her in, to which she definitely no longer fought from by the way she kissed you back, seemingly even more in need of it than you.

you could taste the cigarette from each other’s lips, her breath mixed with cherry and your’s with the drink you had, had earlier.

mindless thoughts flew through your head in the moment, your body so heated with final desire it melted to the inside of you. while, jenna’s filled with so many thoughts she could probably explode from them in this moment.

she knew she shouldn’t be doing this and not just because she were with someone else but because your relationship would bring nothing but chaos of heartache, but damn she loved you.

she were in love with you, even after all this time. even after being with someone else, let alone engaged to them.

nothing compared to then taste of your lips that were firmly, but sloppily moving against her’s with haste in these very seconds. or the way your hands traveled across her, up from her waist down to her ass, which you gripped harshly in a wanting manner.

alone in the bathroom, only your pants of eager desire could be heard. shamelessly all over each other, just inches from the big open window for the world to see.

quickly but surely, you flip jenna’s body, her hands immediately holding onto to that window as you hike her black dress up before impatiently undoing the strings on your sweatpants that you let drop to your ankles, along with your boxers.

you harden cock sprung free, hollowly brushing against her ass.

“i missed you so much.” you wish in her ear before kissing it.

“arch a little more for me.” your tone was soft spoken with desire.

with your left hand pressed against her lower back you use your right to align yourself before slowly sliding in, letting a groan fall from your lips and your head throw back. you couldn’t believe what was happening after such a long time.

neither could jenna believe her actions but as tempting as you were it was bound to happen. her head pressed against the window as her eyes closed in fancy, mouth firmly open with pretty moans to fall from them.

your hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her sides as your hips move in a back and forth motion, going in and out of her while your eyes watched the sight in awe.

“tell me you love me.” you demand.

“i love you.” she easily complies.

“again.”

“i love you.”

“again.”

“i love you.”

“fuckkkkk.” you draw out, moving with more pace.

“i love you too.” you words were as just as much fire to jenna as her’s were to you.

you enflamed her in way you were half clueless to but could definitely feel by the way she pushed back trying to get you impossibly deeper and closer.

“fuck, baby. if you keep doing that i’m gonna cum.” your head flies back in pleasure.

gaining a smidge of strength in the mix of your motions, jenna pushes off the window into you.

“i’m gonna cum too. i wanna cum with you.”

“keep going.” you utter, moving impossibly faster as you feel the build up in your body set to release, assuming jenna felt the same by the way she clenches around you.

“kiss me, kiss me.” you order, leaning down to meet the girl’s lips.

you moved your motions a few more times before feeling jenna’s juices gush over you.

you followed shortly behind, letting everything go inside of her.

there was moments of silence before jenna was the one to pull away from your embrace, fixing her now soaked underwear and pulling down her dress.

a content smirk filled your face as you collected yourself.

“you—”

“jen? jenna?” any cocky remark you had to say was put on hold by what seemed to be jasmin’s voice, a co—star of jenna’s and good friend of the both of you.

as the woman came through the door, she paused, eyeing the distraught state between the both of you.

“ari is about to do the toast, hurry out.” was all she could manage before exiting the same way she had came.

this would definitely be the topic of discussion later. jenna thought as she moved over to the mirror to check her semi-messed up makeup.

“i’ll be on my way out. come over later when you’re done breaking the news to ari.”

━━━ 👩🏽‍💻

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darksouls2yuri · 2 years

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btw friend cuddling is my wife and is code for when we used to lay in bed and play minecraft but. extremely gayly in eachothers arms. BUT WE WERE JUST FRIENDS SO ITS NOT GAY I PROMMY

#txt #and then like 2 months later we started dating.........#and then 8 months later we got engaged..... and we have now been together for 4 years

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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.

| Masterlist | Ask | Tag List Request Form | Song Inspiration

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.

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sinkovia · 4 months

Text

Regretful bets

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Fluff with light angst

You gaze at the picture of your late parents, a bittersweet reminder of how far you've come. It's been alittle over a year since you joined the task force, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you. Although you didn't have your family anymore, you'd found a new one within the task force. In the rec room, a small celebration was underway, the team reveling in the success of their recent mission.

The guys decided to buy some drinks and engage in a game of pool. You sat on the couch, focused on some paperwork when Ghost took a seat next to you and handed you a drink.

"Supposed to be celebrating, love, not buried in paperwork," his words and close proximity making your heart flutter. You've held an interest in Ghost since you joined the task force, but you never tried to pursue it, believing he wasn't the type for relationships.

"I know, I just wanted to finish up, get it out of the way. These reports for the last mission have been kicking my ass." You took a sip of your drink.

"I can help you with it if you'd like."

You hesitated, surprised by his offer. "Oh no, it's okay. I know you have your own report to do."

Ghost leaned a bit closer to you, "I've already finished mine. I can teach you a thing or two about getting them done faster."

"Really? I mean, yeah, I'd appreciate that."

"Maybe we can meet over dinner?"

Your mind raced as you processed his words. Was this a friendly gesture or something more? "These files can't leave the base," you reminded him.

"Right, I forgot. Well, we can get dinner and then work on the report after. How does that sound, love?"

Your face heated up, and you stammered out a response, "That sounds good."

"It's a date then. I'll come get you tomorrow at 8." Ghost got up and left the rec room, leaving you in a state of utter disbelief. You rushed to your room and squeezed your pillow, excitement and anticipation swirling inside you.

Ghost took you to a cozy restaurant in town, and over dinner, you discovered his love for telling awful puns. Surprisingly, you found them funny, and the lighthearted atmosphere made the evening even more enjoyable. After your meal, you pulled him to a small traveling carnival nearby where you both played games and he won you a few plushies. As you made your way back to the base, you stood in front of your door.

"We never got to the report," you mentioned with a laugh.

"Maybe we can do them after lunch tomorrow?" Ghost was leaning against the doorframe, he was close, his arm casually resting on the frame above you. You smile as your eyes met his. Breath caught when he lifted his balaclava, leaning in to plant a sweet, soft kiss on your lips, his smile lingering as he pulled away.

"How does that sound, love?"

You smiled as you turned around to unlock your door, looking back for a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow at 4," you said, noticing the wide smile on his face before closing the door, leaving you to get ready for bed. You lay there, smiling, thinking about how sweet he was, nothing like you'd initially imagined. A week later, Ghost officially asked you out, and you had been dating since. A month in a half passed and you couldn't be happier.

You often stayed up late with him, soothing his insomnia, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, making tea for him in the mornings. Many nights, you'd stay up together, talking until you saw the sunrise. You were always there for him. You were walking to price's office when you saw graves walking out of it. He smiled as he approached you.

"Sargeant I was just looking for you." you furrowed your brows a bit in confusion, why would graves be looking for you.

"Is everything okay sir?"

"Price tells me that you're one of his best shots with a sniper."

You blushed slightly, proud of Price's words. "He flatters me," a smile gracing your face.

Graves was quick to get to the point, "I want you to join my Shadow Company."

Your smile faded, and you hesitated, "What? I mean thank you for the offer sir but I can't. I'm part of 141. This is my home. I've built a family here."

Graves looked disappointed but still gave you a nod, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Well, the offer is still open if you change your mind. We leave tomorrow morning."

You and ghost just slept together for the first time since you started dating. You lay on his chest, tracing small circles on his chest while he combed his fingers through your hair. Your stomach grumbled, and you shifted your head to look at Ghost, who appeared lost in thought, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Ghost's eyes met yours as he kissed your forehead. "I'm okay love, just hungry."

"Me too. Want to get some takeout for us?"

"Yeah, let me get dressed."

You grabbed one of Ghost's shirts, throwing it on as you watched him get dressed. He gave you a kiss before heading out. Your eyes go to his wallet on your night stand and you throw on a pair of sweats before running after him. Ghost was walking down the hallway when he bumped into Soap.

"Listen Johnny, about the bet-" Soap laughed, handing over the money from his wallet.

"Bloodly hell Ghost, you finally slept with her? You were cutting it close. You had a week left." Soap was still laughing when he glanced behind Ghost and cursed under his breath, quickly walking away. Ghost slowly turned around and furrowed his brows when he saw you.

"Fuck, Y/n, it's not what you think,"

"You were only with me for a bet?" Tears welled in your eyes as you looked up at him.

"Love, please let me explain." He took a step closer, but you stepped back.

"Don't call me that. Just answer the fucking question." Your voice trembled with anger and disbelief.

Ghost's eyes were desperate as he tried to explain, "No– I mean, yes, Johnny bet me 200 if I could sleep with you within two months, but I swear to you that—"

"200 dollars? That's what I was worth? Everything I did for you was worth throwing it all away for 200 dollars?" You threw his wallet at his chest.

"Y/n please, I love—"

"I hate you." Tears streamed down your face as you turned away. Ghost reached out to grab your hand, attempting to stop you from walking away.

"Don't fucking touch me. I don't ever want to see you again."

You walked away, and Ghost stood there, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared around the corner. His gaze fell to his wallet on the floor, and a polaroid of you two together slipped out. He picked it up, looking at your face, you were both in the middle of laughing when price had taken the picture. The realization of his mistake hit him like a truck.

"Fuck."

You began packing you things, throwing them all in your duffle bag. You picked up the small seal plushy that ghost had won for you on your first date. You leave it on the bed with all of the pictures you had of him next to it. You walk down the hallway and make your way over to graves temporary office. You gently knock before opening the door. You see him gathering some papes and his gaze meets yours. He sees the puffiness in your eyes.

"Is everything okay Y/n?"

"If your offer is still open I would like to join your company." Graves is thrown off by your eagerness as earlier today you had told him you couldnt. He didnt question it, he smiled and handed you patch.

"We leave in an hour." you nod and walk out of his office.

The weight of regret bore down on Ghost, a heavy burden he couldn't shake as he thought back on the time you had spent together. Somewhere along the line he stopped pretending. Somewhere along the line he had fallen in love with you. He should have told Soap the deal was off a long time ago, he should have never taken the bet in the first place. He made a promise to himself to talk to you tomorrow; he didn't want to approach you while you were still so angry.

But that night was sleepless for Ghost. The absence of your presence in his bed left it feeling colder...emptier. When morning arrived, he mustered the courage to approach your door, knocking gently. No answer. He knocked again, and still, you didn't respond. He called out your name, pleading, but the silence was deafening.

Concern gnawed at his insides and slowly he twisted the doorknob. His heart sank as the door opened fully, revealing your empty room. His eyes fell upon the plushie and polaroids on your bed.

No. No, no, no. He refused to believe you were gone.

Panicking, he rushed into Price's office without knocking. Price’s brows furrow in confusion as Ghost asked, "Where is she?"

"She didn't tell you? She joined Graves' shadow company. She left with them this morning."

Ghost slumped on Price's couch, feeling like his heart had been torn out. You had left the task force, the place you had worked so hard to be a part of, all because of him. Regret and guilt washed over him as he realized the enormity of his mistake. You made him happy, and you both could have had a happy life together. He sat there, wondering what might have been if he had only made different choices.

Two years later...

You were inside alejandros base when you heard graves yelling and gun shots in the garage. You made your way out and froze in your tracks when you saw Graves zip tying alejandros hands together.

What the fuck is happening?

A bullet whizzed past your face, grazing your cheek, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. You turned to see Ghost pointing a gun at you from behind a vehicle. Time seemed to slow as your eyes locked onto his, a mix of surprise and recognition in his gaze. His eyes grew wide as they trailed over your face. For a moment, you both remained frozen in place. But before either of you could react, two shadows tackled Ghost, ziptying his hands behind his back. Your eyes never left him as they dragged him and Alejandro into the base

What. The. Fuck.

You walk up to Graves as he's calling for his men to chase after soap who ran away.

"Whats happening?" He smiled patting your shoulder.

"It's nothing, go back inside and make sure our shadows get them to their cells."

You turned around quickly walking towards Alejandro's cell block, you didn't know why graves betrayed the 141. You had just been working with them.

You had asked Graves if he could put you on comms as you didnt want to see them in person. Thankfully you never had to directly talk to Ghost. Two years had passed but the ache was still as present as ever. You watched as they threw Ghost into the cell, shutting it behind him. He was being treated in a manner that should have left you feeling satisfied, but instead, a sense of unease gnawed at you. You couldn't help but be bothered by the way they threw him in the cell. As the days passed, you found yourself unable to resist the urge to walk by his cell, day after day, a silent presence in his world.

What the hell were you doing?

You walked past his cell door when you heard Ghosts voice from the other side.

"Y/n."

You froze in your tracks, how the hell did he know it was you. The doors didn't have windows.

"How did you know?" there was a long pause before he spoke.

"I know the sound of your walk."

Your feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking you to the front of his door. Without a second thought, you unlocked it and stepped inside, closing the door behind you. His eyes were on you as you entered, and in those moments, you felt an overwhelming sense of longing. You tried your best to maintain a cold demeanor, but your eyes, you knew, were betraying you. In those lingering gazes, you both shared a deep longing, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that still lingered between you.

"You're so beautiful."

"Did soap bet you 20 to say that?" his eyes went from yours to the ground as the words left your lips.

"Y/n I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I should have never taken the bet. You didn't deserve that."

"You broke my heart Ghost," your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions. "I...I loved you so much, and you didn't even care about me."

Ghost's eyes widen, and he stands up, walking toward you. You instinctively take a step back, and soon, you're backed up against the cell door. He reaches out and cups your face, his taller frame towering over you. You meet his intense gaze with tears in your eyes.

"I loved you so much, I still do," he confesses. Tears streaming down your face, your heartache and longing were laid bare for him to see.

"Liar." You choked out.

Ghost's voice wavered as he tried to explain, "I promise you, after I asked you out, I started to fall for you. I loved you, y/n, with my whole heart. My life was so dull, and I've suffered every day without you by my side since you left. My biggest regret was not telling Soap that the deal was off." You looked up at him, shaking your head as tears continued to fall. His words were filled with regret.

"Ever since you left, the only thing I could think about was the life that we could have had together. The life that slipped away because I was stupid." You buried your face in his chest, overwhelmed with emotion, as you sobbed in his arms. He held you tight, his hand running through your hair.

"I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret.

You pushed your head back slightly to meet his eyes, your own voice trembling with emotion. Not even five minutes with him after two years being apart and you already caved into him.

"Promise me, Promise me that you'll spend the rest of your life making it up to me, and i'll get you out of here."

"Only if you promise to come with me." your brows furrowed and you opened your mouth but ghost cut you off.

"We can fake our deaths, we can get far away from all of this. I dont want to be in a line of work that could easily take you away from me. Two years was hard enough, I couldn't imagine a lifetime without you."

As his words sank in, your mind raced to comprehend his proposal. Ghost wanted to build a life with you, away from the world of shadow companies, the 141, and the constant danger of missions. It was a vision of a peaceful and quiet life, just the two of you in a tranquil home somewhere far away from the chaos you had known. A warm, heartfelt smile spread across your face, and without hesitation, you agreed.

"Okay."

You snuck him out of his cell and made your way over to alejandros, taking out a few shadows along the way. Alejandro nearly smashed your head into the wall but Ghost was quick to let him know that you were helping them escape. Together, you successfully made your way out of the base. Alejandro took the lead, guiding you along the safest route. Finally, you reached a safehouse, and he was about to call Rudy, when ghost stopped him fom making the call.

"We aren't going back." Alejandro looked at him a bit confused, his brows furrowing.

"What do you mean you're not going back?"

"When you see Price again, tell him we were K.I.A trying to get you out," The words hung in the air for a moment, and Alejandro's gaze shifted from Ghost to yours, where he noticed your radiant smile. It became clear to him what was happening, and he nodded in understanding, a smile forming on his own face.

"You can take one of my cars if you need it, I wish the both of you well and thank you for everything you have done for me." Ghost shook Alejandro's hand, and then he took yours, leading you toward his garage.

6 years later...

"Hey! Don't run with a fork; you're going to hurt yourself!" you call out to your 4-year-old child as he dashes around with the utensil. With your 1-year-old in your arms, you watch as Simon swoops in, lifting your 4-year-old off the ground and taking the fork away. You breathe a sigh of relief and smile as you see Simon playfully wrestle with him on the couch.

The both of you have come a long way in the six years since you both ran away and started a life together. Every day you thank yourself for going inside Simon's cell, as your heart swells with happiness at the beautiful family you've built together. He walks over taking the baby from your arms and lifting her up as she laughs. You smile as you watch his radiant smile as he looks up at his daughter. He cradles her in his arms as he leans down and kisses you.

"I love you." He says, and a wide smile graces your features.

"Did soap bet you to say that?."

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beom-pyu · 10 months

Text

truth or drink! (engaged edition): choi soobin

part 3 of the truth or drink series! <3

other parts: beomgyu & taehyun "my ex + my boyfriend edition" yeonjun "couples edition" kai "blind date edition"

slightly nsfw! (minors dni.)

welcome to truth or drink! engaged couples will ask each other a set of random questions. they can either answer the question or take a shot.

“i’m soobin and this is my fiance...”

“y/n!”

how long have you guys been together?

YOU: "4 and a half years."

how long have you guys been engaged?

SB: “going on 2 months now.”

who talked about marriage first?

SB: “y/n.”

YOU: “me.”

and how did that go?

SB: “they actually said it the first time we met at a mutual friend’s birthday party.”

YOU: “i was shitfaced and he had really cute dimples, so i told him we should get married. and he said okay!”

did you get engaged on the spot?

SB: “they completely forgot who i was by the next day, so i had to do all of the courting and work to even get them to go on a date with me.”

YOU: “it was worth it though.”

SB: “of course it was.”

SOOBIN: what was your first impression of me?

YOU: “other than the birthday incident, i thought you were way cooler than you actually are.”

SB: “am i not cool???”

YOU: “you are like… pitifully cute?”

SB: “that makes me sound like a charity case.”

YOU: “the cutest charity case ever.”

YOU: is there anything about getting married that scares you—something you haven’t shared with me?

SB: “hm… rationally, i know it probably won’t happen, but i feel like you’ll get bored of me at some point?”

YOU: “i could never get bored of you, baby. well… only your league of legends talk, but i love everything else.”

SB: “what’s wrong with my league of legends talk?”

you gently place your hand on top of his.

YOU: “everything.”

SOOBIN: what is something you want to try in the bedroom that we’ve never done before?

YOU: “bottoms up.”

SB: “hey, no! this is a safe space.”

YOU: “i think my mom is watching this, soobin.”

SB: “hi, y/n’s mom. now tell me.”

YOU: “if i say mine, you have to say yours.”

SB: “deal.”

YOU: “i want to like… tie you up.”

SB: “wait, i was gonna say that!”

YOU: “no way.”

SB: “yes way.”

YOU: “see, we’re a match made in heaven.”

YOU: on the count of three, both of us say the number of children we would ideally have.

YOU: “one, two, three. two!”

SB: “five!”

YOU: ��five?”

SB: “i was going to say six, but i lowered it just for you.”

you give soobin an incredulous stare.

YOU: “i need a shot.”

SOOBIN: if you had one hall pass, who would you sleep with?

YOU: “people we know or…?”

the producer gives you a thumbs up.

YOU: “i’m gonna drink.”

SB: “wait, now i’m curious.”

YOU: “what about you?”

…

SB: “...pour me one, too.”

YOU: who proposed to who, and how did they propose?

SB: “i proposed. but it was really messy.”

YOU: “really cute actually. he had just gotten home from a month-long business trip and, if you didn’t know, he’s a really emotional person—”

SB: “i’m not that emotional.”

YOU: “you cried watching shrek, honey.”

SB: “that was one time.”

YOU: “you also cried during our first ti—”

SB: “continue on with the proposal, please.”

soobin pours another shot, just because, and you laugh under your breath.

YOU: “i was already in bed when he got home and he just got into bed and started bawling.”

SB: “i wasn’t ‘bawling’, i was sniffling.”

YOU: “you were bawling. anyways, he pulled me into his arms and was just like ‘please, please marry me, the love of my life, my entire universe, i can’t live without you, i need you forever—’”

SB: “okay, now you’re just making stuff up.”

YOU: “so you admit you were bawling?”

...

SB: “next question.”

SOOBIN: have you ever seriously considered breaking up with me?

YOU: “i wouldn’t say seriously…”

SB: “so you actually have considered it?”

the pout on soobin’s lips is prominent.

YOU: “you know work takes up a lot of your time, and i didn’t really understand where you were coming from in the beginning. so i guess i’ve thought about it once or twice, but i never really wanted to go through with it. i can’t see myself with anyone else but you.”

SB: “i think i’m the only one that can handle you, anyways.”

YOU: “woah, what does that mean?”

soobin just laughs and kisses the back of your hand.

SB: “take it as you will, baby.”

YOU: how often do we have sex, and how often should we have sex?

SB: “every other day…? i feel like that's more than average.”

YOU: “yeah, you’re very needy.”

SB: “i’m not needy. i’m just obsessed with you.”

YOU: “see, look, you’re trying to get into my pants right now!”

SB: “...is it working?”

YOU: “yes.”

SOOBIN: when was the last time you masturbated, and where was i?

YOU: “like, two days ago? and you were out with one of your friends.”

SB: “i still don’t know if he accidentally saw the videos you sent me or not...”

YOU: “doesn’t sound like you’re complaining.”

SB: “i’m the only one who can fuck you right, so i’m not worried.”

YOU: “mom, if you’re watching this. i’ve never had sex. i don’t even know what sex is.”

YOU: who or what do you picture when masturbating?

SB: “your ass. and your lips.”

YOU: “that was quick, woah.”

SB: “sorry y/n’s mom.”

SOOBIN: what’s your favorite and least favorite sex position?

YOU: “i think i like spooning the most? only because i don’t have to do a lot of work.”

SB: “i can’t believe you tried to convince me you’re not a pillow princess.”

YOU: “i’m not! i can be on top if i want to!”

SB: “isn’t that your least favorite though?”

YOU: “yes, but anything is good if it involves your dick so…”

SB: “and you say i’m the needy one.”

YOU: “it’s mutual!”

YOU: the average duration of sex for most couples is 10 minutes. how long do you think we last?

SB: “honestly, hours.”

YOU: “he has an inhuman libido. please pray for me.”

SB: “okay, ‘inhuman’ is an exaggeration.”

YOU: “no, you are like superman. i’m serious.”

SOOBIN: what is my biggest flaw?

YOU: “you only dress up if it’s for special occasions.”

SB: “i try my best!”

YOU: “will you let me reform your closet?”

SB: “as long as you’re paying.”

YOU: “...nevermind. you look sexy in sweatpants anyways.”

SOOBIN: about 40 to 60% of married couples divorce. do you think we will last?

YOU: “check back in after a year.”

SB: “woah, i thought we were going to grow old and wrinkly and brittle together? you don’t want to bump canes?”

YOU: “i don’t like the way you worded that.”

SB: “so i’m going to take that as a yes.”

you roll your eyes, but a smile forms on your face nonetheless.

YOU: “in all seriousness, you know i’m in love with you and i don’t think there’s anyone else out there that i’d even consider marrying. i’d love to grow wrinkly and old with you.”

SB: “awe, my little prune.”

YOU: “you’re so weird.”

SB: “and now you’re stuck with me forever~”

you look towards the camera.

YOU: “save me, please.”

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

#txt imagines #txt drabbles #txt fluff #txt smut #soobin imagine #soobin imagines #soobin drabbles #soobin hard hours #soobin fluff #soobin smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin x y/n #beom-pyu

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daddyslilchickenfingers2 · 6 months

Text

Kinktober (reuploaded)

Breeding (Chris)

Request: Baby fever with Chris I BEG YOU/omg when you write breeding Chris can you add Y/N saying she wants to have a baby with such pretty blue eyes like Chris

Warnings: Talk of pregnancy, breeding obviously, soft/slow sex

Y/n’s pov

Chris and I have been dating since we were 17 but I’ve known him and his brothers since we were 4 years old. From the moment we started dating, our families always joked saying we’d get married one day. Well, that was a future reality, since Chris had proposed to me in May of this year. Even though we’ve only been engaged for a few months and we’re only 20, I would love to start a family with him. We had this conversation the other day with Nick and Matt, for some reason the topic was babies and Chris was ecstatic.

“I want like four or five babies! I can’t wait until Y/n gets pregnant, she’s gonna be so cute with our baby in her belly” he smiled, poking me in the stomach. “Ow Chris don’t do that. We do have baby fever though” I laughed as Nick grimaced. “I hate babies and I hate children” he said, Matt smacked him, “Oh shut up Nick you know when they have a baby you’re gonna be the cool gay uncle” he laughed. “I’m not changing diapers” Nick grimaced again, “I wanna make Y/n fat and pregnant” Chris beamed happily.

That was like five days ago, today we were having a lazy day, we lived in the guest house behind Matt and Nick’s. They got it built after hearing me and Chris fuck too many times, but still, it was a nice gesture and we get to still live with them basically. “Would you really have babies with me?” I asked Chris as I cuddled up to his side. “I’d love nothing more than to get you fat and pregnant. Our babies would look so cute” I could literally hear the smile in his voice. I pulled away and sat up against the headboard, Chris doing the same right after, looking at me with a big smile.

“Our kids can’t call me daddy though, that would be fucking weird” he laughed, causing me to smack his chest. “They could call my parents Mimi and Papa, and yours Grammy and Pop-Pop. Those sound so cute!” I gushed. “My dad would love Pop-Pop” Chris laughed again. “You know what I would love?” I asked, earning a small hum for me to continue, “I’d love for the baby to have your pretty blue eyes and gorgeous pink lips” I told him as my eyes shifted between the two, Chris doing the same to me. “Yeah?” he asked breathlessly against my lips, “Yeah” I said back in the same way.

Chris leaned in and softly pressed his lips against mine, moving us to lay back. “Let’s make that blue-eyed baby right now! You’re off birth control right?” he asked softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Yes, now let’s make that baby” I smiled, placing a passionate kiss to his lips, after a few minutes, Chris pulled away. He took off his shirt and sweats before pushing my shirt up to see my stomach. “You’re gonna look so good pregnant. Can’t wait to put a baby in your belly” he said while kissing all over my stomach.

“Chris— babe please hurry!” “Sorry, I’m just so excited to have a kid with you” he blushed hard. Chris pulled my shirt over my head before taking off both our underwear, running two fingers through my folds. “So wet already- can we just go straight into softly fucking?” he asked breathlessly, “God, yes” I whined back. Chris slowly slid in and started thrusting fairly fast right away, not too fast though. I pulled him down for another kiss and we let breathless moans out into it, having both a passionate kiss and sex. I was running my fingers through his hair softly while the other held onto the side of his jaw.

One of Chris’ hands moved down to my clit, rubbing it quickly. Pulling away from the kiss, he started talking, “This is like the slowest sex we’ve ever had but— shit! This is gonna be the fastest I’ve ever cum, want you to cum for me princess” he said lowly. I let out a few loud moans before I started cumming, “Oh fuck Chris, so good babe. Want you to cum in me” I moaned. Chris hid his head in my neck, whining as he came in me, pumping into me a few more times before pulling out. He immediately moved down to finger his cum into me, not wanting any to spill out.

“Can’t believe we’re going to have a baby” he said excitedly, kissing all over my stomach. “They’re going to have the prettiest blue eyes, just like their dad” I smiled while playing with his hair. “God, I love you so much Y/n!” he said, looking at the pretty engagement ring on my finger. “I love you so much more” I replied as we both cuddled up with each other and drifted off to sleep, hoping we’d have a happy little family soon.

<<< 12 months later>>>

A few months ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Chris was ecstatic to find out he was going to have a son. He does, in fact, have Chris’ pretty blue eyes, he’s so tiny but you can already tell he has his dads nose as well. We named him Nolan Cole Sturniolo, Chris is literally the best dad ever, he helps me with everything. Matt and Nick are so excited that they’re uncles now, Matt always offers to babysit him so me and Chris can go on date nights. I wonder if he’ll be confused when he grows up, having a dad and two uncles who look exactly the same and all. Anyways I’m very happy with our little family.

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elliespassagerprincess · 6 months

Text

Headcannons: Milf!abby anderson x reader (part 3)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

☆ Milf Abby who’s literally the sweetest girlfriend ever. A little old school, but she’s still cute.

☆ Milf Abby who buys you weekly flowers, and who packs you lunch.

☆ Milf Abby who helps you plan lessons and sometimes comes and helps you teach.

☆ Milf Abby who gets baby fever if she sees you with kids.

☆ Milf Abby who said I love you after 3 days of dating.

☆ Milf Abby who has you as her lock screen.

☆ Milf Abby who plans family dates for you and her daughter.

☆ Milf Abby whose heart clenches when she sees how much Aubrey talks about you.

☆ Milf Abby who feels like a teenager because of you.

☆ Milf Abby that’s confused when you text her slang

Abby: ill come pick you up later?

you: yeah baby, I have to go now ttyl

Abby: what is that

☆ Milf Abby who finds pop culture drama interesting because she’s never really took interest in it till you appeared.

☆ Milf Abby who discovers so much and she feels old, but you never judge or make fun of her for it.

☆ Milf Abby who knows you’re the one.

☆ Milf Abby bought you an engagement ring after 2 weeks of dating. It was a simple ring because she knew you didn’t like big and extravagant things (unless it’s her dick-)

☆ Milf Abby who wants to propose to you at a family BBQ

☆ Milf Abby who takes you to meet her family after 4 months of dating, and she knew that this was the weekend she was going to propose.

☆ Milf Abby who held your hand the entire time, when you were being introduced.

☆ Milf Abby who tried staying by your side, but then you snatched away by Aubrey and her cousins.

☆ Milf Abby who stared at you with a smile as you were playing with the kids because you were just that pretty.

☆ Milf Abby who gets cocky when her family tells her she made the right choice.

“You got yourself a pretty girl abs”

“I know”

☆ Milf Abby who was having a good night till her ex-wife showed up.

“What are you doing here?” Abby asked through gritted teeth.

“it’s a family event, can I not be here?”

“you aren’t family”

“Abby she barley sees her mother:

“did you forget we have a child together?”

☆ Milf Abby who wanted to leave but you convinced her to stay for the sake of Aubrey.

“but she’s a bitch”

Aubrey grabbed onto your hand and she ran to her mother. You watched the women’s face drop at the sight of you

“Abby please”

☆ Milf Abby who wanted to slap her ex-wife every time she gave you a dirty look.

“mom this mommy’s girlfriend! isn’t she pretty?!”

The women stared at you with hatred in her eyes. She extended her hand out to grab your other hand in a tight handshake “I’m Kimberly” then you told her your name. The two of you fell into a awkward conversation, until she brought up Abby.

“how long have you been together?” she asked

“4 months” you replied with a smile.

“isn’t it too early to be meeting the family?” she asked, and you rolled your eyes before you responding: “isn’t it too bitchy to judge what I do in my relationship?”

Kimberly stared at you with wide eyes.

☆ Milf Abby who was listening to the whole interaction and she had the biggest smile on her face. That her girl.

☆ Milf Abby who was glued by your side the entire night, but you somehow got lost.

☆ Milf Abby who saw Kimberly walk up to her and she knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“What do you want?” Abby groaned.

“Look I need to say something”

“then talk”

The women took a deep breath before she started spewing nonsense: “I think she’s too young for you! She’s childish”

“that’s your opinion, you know nothing about her”

“well I don’t like her” Kimberly went on.

“that’s ok, but she’s my girlfriend so I don’t know why its bothering you”

“I don’t want her around Aubrey”

that was Abby’s final straw.

“Listen here, you’re barley present in our daughters life. She’s been a better mother to her that you, ever were! You know shit about Aubrey”

“I do” she tried arguing.

“if you did you would’ve know she doesn’t like the nutty chocolate you brought for her”

Kimberly went quiet. Abby continued on to talk.

“You are a shit person. You were a shitty wife, and a shitty mother. My daughter doesn’t deserve that. She needs someone like her. She’s my everything and I would fucking kill for her, so I suggest you stay out of my family’s life”

“but she’s still my daughter”

“she might be but I have full custody” Abby chuckled. “And besides not everyone was made to be a mother, especially you” Kimberly stood there quietly, and she left the party soon after.

☆ Milf Abby who was relieved that she was finally gone.

☆ Milf Abby whose family knew about the proposal and they were helping her plan it.

As the party continued to go on you stood at the table, helping Abby’s aunts with making salads. It was odd, everything became more and more quiet.

You felt arms wrap around you and you knew it was her.

“Hi” you giggled

“hi” she replied. You could practically hear her smile.

“You having fun baby?” Abby asked.

“yeah”

You noticed her sudden silence before you asked: “are you ok?”

Abby took a deep breath. She was nervous. You could tell.

“Yeah, I’m just thinking”

“about?”

“I want this”

“Salad?”

“no” she chuckled.

“A life with you”

Your heartrate increased.

“I want us to grow old together and throw family BBQ’s. I want us to have a big house, so Aubrey can bring her kids over one day. I want to spend forever waking up next to you, and I want to grow our family….”

During her speech you didn’t notice that she let go of you. You were too busy processing her words at that moment.

“Baby look at me” Abby spoke. You slowly turned around to see Abby’s family surrounding the two of you and her on her one knee, with a delicate ring in her hand.

“Will you marry me?” She asked unsure.

You looked at her with wide eyes, no words were coming out out.

“Say yes! please I can’t wait any longer” Aubrey yelled from the sidelines. You saw Abby chuckle.

You fell down onto your knees before you grabbed her face for a kiss.

“I guess that’s a yes” Abby chuckled when she pulled away.

“fuck yes”

She slipped the ring onto your finger before she got up and yelled “she said yes!” The crowd erupted in screams and cries.

☆ Milf Abby who kissed you passionately as tears flowed from both your eyes.

This was true love.

my pookie: (the tag list): @elliens4

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lewisvinga · 11 days

Text

born to die | fernando alonso x fem! reader

summary: after their engagement, y/n realized her and fernando may have different views of the future. it makes her wonder if they were really born to die.

warnings; age gap, cursing, angst/fluff

word count; 1.28k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03

note; and this is it u guyssss🥹 i enjoyed this series sm and i’m so thankful 4 everyone who read n enjoyed it<33 im gonna miss it sm but keep a look out for my next music f1 series 😁

‘born to die’ series masterlist !

masterlist !

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“But are you really ready to settle down?” Y/b/f asked Y/n during their biweekly brunch dates. The topic of marriage came about after due to Y/n started wedding planning a few months after being engaged.

Her best friend knew her more than anyone. They grew up together. So Y/b/f knows that Y/n never wanted to settle down so quickly. She knew that she wanted to spend her 20s having fun and completing her master's.

Marrying someone who is already in their 40s and wants to settle down as soon as possible meant there was a conflict between their futures.

“I mean, not yet.” Y/n sighed, grasping into the cup of tea as she shrugged. “I love Fernando, I do. I don’t want kids yet. I want to wait a few years and-“

“But does he know that? That’s a man who wants to settle down already and have a house in the countryside. That’s a man who wants children soon.” Y/b/f interrupted her, genuine concern written all over her face. “He’s a great guy and I love that he makes you happy but is that what you really want? Having kids means giving up a lot and you know that I know that.” She added about her own child. “And He just signed another contract with Aston Martin. If you do have kids, he won’t be around to help you much.”

Y/n let out a groan, running her hands over her face. “I was lost before I met him. I was so confused as a little child but he gave me a sense of meaning. I love Nando, I truly do. But It’s just,” She sighed. She looks out the window of the restaurant and watches busy people walking down the sidewalks. “Now that I think about it, we view the next 5 years completely differently.”

Y/b/f reaches out and grabs her hand, forcing Y/n to look back at her. “Just think about it, okay? I love you and I just want the absolute best for you.”

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Y/n sat on the top step of the front patio of her shared home with Fernando, staring out onto the gloomy skies. Despite it being sunny when she was at brunch, by the time she got home it was drizzling. However, the rain usually calmed her and in a moment where she was deep in her thoughts, she definitely needed to be calmed.

She was so lost in her thoughts of her future that she didn’t notice her fiancé’s Aston Martin pulling up to the driveway. The Spaniard was confused as to why his fiancée was sitting on the patio with a sad look on her face.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He asked. He sat down next to her and caressed her arm. Hearing the concern laced in his voice was the triggering act for her.

“Do you think this is the right time for us to get married?” Y/n asked, keeping her eyes on her fiddling fingers. She hears Fernando’s breath hitch as he sits up straight.

“Why do you think that?”

“Fernando, you’re older than me, like a lot older and-“

“You just noticed?” He asked in a teasing tone in hopes to lighten the mood a bit.

She just sighed in response and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fernando, we both have different views of the next 5 to 10 years and you know that. I’m still young. I want to go out and party and enjoy my life. I just started my master's degree. But I know you want to retire in a few years. I know you want to have kids as soon as possible and settle down. But I-“

Y/n takes a deep breath as she glances up at her fiancé. “I don’t want that. Not yet at least. Not until I finish my master's. I don’t want to settle down just yet. Y/b/f had to stop so many things when she had her son. It makes me wonder if we’re really meant to be. Maybe you and I, we were born to die.”

Fernando’s minute of silence made her heart drop. He looked like he was lost in his thoughts, similar to how she was moments prior. “What are you even talking about, Y/n? We were born to die? Come on, mi amor!” He exclaimed, standing up to his feet. Her eyebrows furrowed up as she copied him by also getting on her feet, ignoring how the rain began to come down harder.

“Maybe it’s true, Fernando!”

“It’s bullshit.” He let out a laugh as he ran his hand over his beard. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s bullshit. Yes, we’re different ages. The road gets tough, it happens and I don’t know why, but we carry on. That doesn’t mean we’re born to die. Come on!” He continued, his eyebrows furrowed up.

“Are you even listening-“

“I am and what you’re saying is bullshit like I said!” Fernando responds, taking a step closer to her. “Amor, yes, I want children. Yes, I dream of us one day living on the coasts of Spain with our kids but that doesn’t mean I want it right away. I want you to achieve your degree. I want you to enjoy yourself first because it’s not up to me when we have kids. It’s all you.”

“Yeah, but-“

“What do I have to do to prove this to you?”

Y/n raised her eyebrows in confusion as she tilted her head. “What do you mean ‘prove’ it to me?” She asked, confused by his words.

He takes a step back with a shrug. “Prove that I don’t care if you want to wait to have kids. Prove that I wanna marry you because I love you, not to settle down.”

“Well, you don’t need to prove-“ She pauses in her words when she sees him take a step down. She lets out a sigh, her hands falling to rest by her side. She knew immediately by the glint in his eyes what he wanted to do. “Fernando, no. You’re going to get sick.”

He takes another step down.

“Fernando, stop that!”

He takes one step back and is immediately met with the pouring rain. In seconds, his clothes and hair were drenched but he didn’t care. Not one bit.

“Fernando, come back! The longer you stay there the more likely you’ll be sick.” She scolded him but he simply smiled in reply.

“I’m not leaving unless you join me.”

Y/n crosses her arms, glaring at Fernando who keeps smiling. She let out a sigh of defeat as she took a couple steps down the stairs and made it out into the rain. He immediately pulls her close by her waist. She lets out a yelp and balances herself by holding onto his shoulders.

“I love you and I want to marry you, mi amor. I don’t mind waiting 5, 10, even 15 years for us to have kids and ‘settle’ down.” He loudly says over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. “I just want you.”

She laughs in disbelief, resting her forehead against his chest. “We can figure it all out later, right?”

“It’s just you and me right now, mi amor,” Fernando says. He cups Y/n’s face with one hand, forcing her to look up. He took a second to admire her features and her messed-up makeup from the rain. He leans down, kissing her hard in the pouring rain. Her previous thoughts immediately washed away the moment she felt his lips on her. Maybe they weren’t born to die.

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #fernando alonso scenarios #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine

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nichuuu · 10 months

Text

Beats Me - 4: Settle Down

Tags: Mommy kink, orgasm denial, cumshot, rough sex, Anal

The meat sizzled on the grill, grease splattering all over the place. With a pair of thongs, Eunbi flipped the slice of pork over and let it sit for a little more. The rest of the band was engaged in conversation, their chatter becoming a faint buzz in your ears as you stared off into space.

Practice hadn’t gone well that day. After Chaewon stormed out of the room, yelling about how she’d refuse to play for your band for as long as you were in it, the pugnacious brat seemed to be the only thing your mind could focus on. Memories of her came flooding back at random intervals, making you lose focus in the midst of song. You earned a record high of 6 death glares from Yeji that afternoon.

After practice, Eunbi pushed the idea of going to eat as a band. Everyone enthusiastically jumped on the bandwagon, including Yeji—Who was peer pressured by Ryujin to come—and you wound up at a barbeque place just down the street.

Someone tapped you on your hand. You looked up and found Eunbi staring at you. Concern was written all over her face.

“Hey, you okay?” She asked quietly, careful not to alert the other band members. You smiled and sat up in your seat.

“I-I’m fine,” You assured her.

“You sure? You’ve been out of it since this afternoon,” The singer pressed.

“I’m okay Eunbi,” You reiterated. Eunbi sighed and picked up the pork slice. She placed it down on your plate.

“If there’s anything you need to talk about… I’m here. In fact, we’re here,” Eunbi smiled, gesturing towards the other band members.

“I-I’m really fine Eunbi…” You stated. “I’m just… Thinking…”

Eunbi nodded thoughtfully and got another serving of meat going on the grill. She stared into the fire for a moment.

“Look I… I’m sorry that I brought Chaewon in,” She muttered. “I… I should’ve known…”

“It’s alright Eunbi… I didn’t expect you to,” You comforted your singer.

The girl sighed. She took a sip from her cup.

“When did you guys start?” Eunbi asked.

“Dating?” You confirmed. She nodded.

“Start of highschool,” You told her.

“When did you guys break up?” She continued.

“About a month or two after graduation,” You replied.

Eunbi drew in a breath.

“Damn… Two years together… That’s quite a bit of history,” She mused. You chuckled bitterly.

“I guess…” You mused.

“Yo Squeaker!” Ryujin called out to you. “Be a darling and hand me the garlic would’ya?”

You grabbed the small dish of sliced garlic and slid it down the table. Your bassist caught it and shot you a wink.

“Thanks babe,” She giggled. She’d gotten bolder with you since you first met her and you knew exactly why.

“Ryujin seems to like you,” Eunbi told you.

“Ryujin likes everyone,” You replied.

“Fair enough,” Your singer hummed. “She is one hell of an extrovert.”

You nodded and took a sip of your beer, the bitter liquid washing down the aftertaste of meat. Eunbi distributed the new batch of freshly grilled beef.

“So…” She continued, dragging both of you back to the original topic—Chaewon.

“Let me guess… Why did you guys break up?” You predicted. When it came to Exes, this was a common question that was always thrown out.

“Yea…” Eunbi muttered bashfully.

“I’d… I’d rather not talk about it,” You told her frankly. She understood and didn’t press any further into your history with Chaewon. She knew better than to re-open old wounds.

Yeji shoved the last piece of meat on her plate into her mouth. After wiping her greasy lips, she rose from her seat and shouldered her guitar bag.

“It’s late, I’ll get going,” The guitarist declared.

“It’s eight p.m. Yeji,” Ryujin pointed out. Yeji stepped out and pushed her chair in.

“That’s late enough for me. I have things to do. Bye guys.”

The girl turned tail and left, leaving the five of you behind. Ryujin sighed.

“That girl is too uptight,” The bassist remarked. “Someday, I’ll bring her to a party and get the fun back in her…”

“I’m sure she has her reasons for being the way she is,” Karina reasoned. “Maybe she lives in a really serious environment.”

“Girl, she lives with her sister,” Ryujin countered. “Yeju’s the embodiment of a crackhead, and her husband is even better!”

“Who’s Yeju?” Eunbi inquired.

“Yeji’s older sister,” Ryujin replied. “Yeji’s been living with her and her husband since she was in highschool, they got a really cosy place not too far from here. I love crashing there.”

Ryujin popped a beef slice wrapped in lettuce into her mouth and chewed it rather loudly.

“How do you know this much about Yeji?” Sakura piped. Ryujin swallowed.

“I’ve known her since middle school. She’s changed a lot since then, but the old Yeji’s somewhere in there,” Ryujin said. She took a sip from her cup then stared at the golden-yellow liquid inside it.

“Sometimes I wonder what happened to old Yeji…” The bassist muttered. “She wasn’t like this before…”

You silently ate your slice of meat, silently observing Ryujin in her moment of thought that only lasted for a little over a second. Ryujin eventually pouted and set her glass back down.

“Oh well… I guess we’ll never know,” She sighed. She proceeded to raise her hand and call for another round of beer.

You only left the barbeque place a little past midnight. Thanks to your self control, you managed to stay sober along with Eunbi, who had been too busy cooking for the band to take a sip out of her own glass. You held the door open for Karina, letting her walk out of the door with Ryujin straddling her back. Your bassist had once again gone to town with the alcohol, but she got knocked out this time around.

“Jesus christ… She’s heavier than I remembered,” Karina grunted.

“N-Need me to help?” You offered. Your pianist shook her head.

“It’s alright Myeong-seok. I can manage her,” Karina assured you. “Kkura! Help me hail a cab will you?”

“N-Ne!” Sakura squeaked.

“Let me give you guys a lift,” Eunbi offered.

“It’s good Eunbi… There’s a cab right there,” Karina declined, using her head to gesture to the taxi that happened to be cruising down the street. Sakura quickly ran to the sidewalk and stuck out her hand to flag it down. The vehicle came to a stop before the Japanese girl. Karina shot you and Eunbi a smile before hustling over to the cab.

“Be safe! Text when you guys are back!” Eunbi hollered. Karina yelled something in reply, but her words were muffled by the wind that blew by. Sakura opted to hop in with Karina and Ryujin at the last second, and the cab took off into the night. You stood next to Eunbi, watching as the tail light of the taxi moved further and further away till they disappeared from sight.

“So… How are you getting home?” Eunbi asked you.

“I’ll probably walk back to campus to catch a bus,” You answered.

“Let me send you home,” She offered.

“I-It’s okay Eunbi… I can get home on my own,” You assured her.

“Fine… Suit yourself I guess,” She sighed. “Come on… We both gotta walk back to campus to get home don’t we?”

You smiled awkwardly and nodded. The two of you set off into the night, walking side by side as you made your way back to campus. Admittedly, it was a little awkward walking back with your singer. Even though you’d slept with her that one time, you still were a little tense around Eunbi. Maybe it was her demeanour, or maybe it was that dazzling face… You didn’t know why you still got nervous around her.

“Weather’s nice tonight, isn’t it?” She mused.

“Y-Yea… I-I guess…” You answered.

“Do you always answer questions with ‘Yea’ and ‘I guess’? I swear that’s the only thing I hear out of you sometimes.”

You blushed.

“S-Sorry,” You apologised. Eunbi chuckled and playfully smacked your arm.

“Relax Myeong-seok, just having some fun with you,” She clarified. “Jeez… You’re really tense sometimes you know?”

You chuckled nervously.

“I uh… I’m not really an extrovert,” You admitted.

“I can tell,” Eunbi replied. “Knew it from the moment you stepped into the studio.”

You managed a sheepish laugh.

“D-Didn’t know it was that obvious,” You mused.

“Oh it’s painfully obvious,” She told you. “You always look so shocked whenever any of us speak to you. It’s kinda cute to be honest.”

Eunbi laughed softly to herself, kicking aside a small pebble on the pavement.

“So… How have your first few weeks with us been?” She asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“It’s… It’s been fun so far,” You said.

“Are the practices too intense at times?” She continued.

“Sometimes…” You answered carefully. “But uh… I-I can cope with it…”

Eunbi fixed you with a look.

“You sure? Cause that glove on your hand really isn’t helping your case,” She remarked. You hid your blistered hand behind your back.

“T-That’s my fault… I… Pushed myself a little too hard,” You replied. Eunbi chuckled.

“Alright, alright… Whatever you say Mr Drummer,” She joked. “Just let me know if you feel a little overwhelmed, okay? I’ll help you out as much as I can.”

“I uh… Thanks…” You managed to reply her. She gave you a pat on your shoulder.

“No problem,” Eunbi said. “I wanna make sure that you’re having a great time with us. Fun first, musicality second. No exceptions.”

She gave you a bright smile. Your breath hitched for a second. You turned away to hide the blush on your cheeks.

The two of you stopped at a traffic junction to wait for the green man to make his appearance. Eunbi started to hum a soft tune to herself, rocking back and forth on her heels while she looked around her. It was an old song, one of those upbeat 80s rock songs that your Mom used to play over the small CD player in your apartment. You couldn’t figure out which song it was, but the tune brought a small smile to your face as bits of nostalgia set in.

Eunbi casted a glance towards you. Noticing the look on your face, she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s got you smiling like that?”

“S-Sorry,” You quickly apologised. “The song you were humming… It just reminded me of my Mom…”

“Oh, I see…” She nodded. “Your mom listened to rock?”

“Die hard Van Halen fan. She has all the CDs, treats them better than me,” You disclosed.

“Introduce me to her, I think we’d be great friends,” Eunbi chuckled.

The red man disappeared, and the green man began walking on the display. You crossed the street with Eunbi and continued on your journey back to campus. A slight breeze blew by, ruffling your hair as leaves skidded across the pavement. You silently watched Eunbi from the corner of your eye, your head reeling as you thought of something to talk about. Alas, Eunbi beat you to it.

“You wanna know something?” Eunbi piped.

“What?” You replied, urging her to continue.

“I…” Eunbi trailed off. “Ah nevermind…”

You blinked, a little stunned.

“O-Oh… Okay…”

You walked in silence for a little more.

“How are your parents?” She suddenly inquired.

“O-Oh… They’re good, busy running their Vet clinic in the city,” You told her.

“Your parents are Vets?” Eunbi mused.

“Yea… It’s kinda sweet,” You remarked.

“Sounds kinda romantic doesn’t it? A husband and wife in the same profession and they run a clinic together,” She chuckled. “That’s some wholesome stuff… Love it.”

You let out a soft laugh.

“I guess you could say that…” You said. “How about you Eunbi? How are your parents?”

Eunbi went silent for a little.

“They’re uh… They’re good,” She answered after a second or two.

“Are they still working?” you inquired.

“I uh… Don’t know,” Eunbi shrugged. “I haven’t heard from them in a while. Last I checked, they were fine.”

Judging from her answer, you had a feeling that further questioning wasn’t the best idea. You weren’t the best person to confide in when it came to other people’s personal issues, you let more qualified people handle those. You could never really think of what to say to comfort someone having an absolute breakdown before you, nor did you have the skills to offer any sort of advice to them. You tried to help once—It didn’t go well.

The mood seemed to dampen after your attempt to make conversation with Eunbi. In your heart, you could sense that something happened to her over the course of your questioning. You weren’t sure what happened, but you were certain that it was your fault.

“H-Hey… I-I’m sorry if I brought up a touchy subject,” You began to apologise.

“O-Oh i-it’s fine,” Eunbi allayed you. “You did nothing wrong… The beer’s just kicking in… Getting a little woozy, you know?”

A strong gut feeling told you that she was lying her ass off, but you knew better than to pry into her personal life. The rest of the walk was filled with the awkward silence that you originally started the walk with. The joy seemed to have been sapped out of Eunbi. You silently cussed yourself out for asking the wrong questions.

It didn’t take long for the both of you to get back to campus. The bus stop was in sight, and you subconsciously quickened your pace to get to the stop.

“Oh… Are you leaving already?” Eunbi asked. You turned to face her.

“S-Sort of? The bus stop’s right there…” You answered. Her face visibly fell a little.

“Oh… Alright then… See you around,” She said with a wave. A pang of shame twisted your heart, but You returned the gesture and turned tail to walk away.

The lights of the bus stop were getting closer and closer. You could feel Eunbi’s presence grow further and further from you. It was like the lingering fuzz in your arm after you woke up from sleeping on it, slowly fading till it disappeared. As you stepped under the shelter of the bus stop, an odd sense of emptiness filled your core. Your attempts to shake it off were futile.

Your bus was coming towards the stop. You turned to look at Eunbi’s figuring getting smaller and smaller as she walked back into the campus.

The bus came to a screeching stop before you, the doors sliding open to welcome you in. The soft lights within the vehicle cajoled you, urging you to stop in and have a seat in the empty bus, but the usual pull to enter wasn’t there.

“Hey! You getting on?” the bus captain asked you, looking rather ticked off. You looked him in the eye.

You turned and ran back towards the campus. Your legs carried you with renewed energy, an invisible rope pulling you towards your destination. You managed to catch Eunbi just as she was about to enter the turnstyle.

“Eunbi!” You called her. She whipped around.

“The fuck? Why are you back?” she questioned. You rested your hands on your knees.

“I… I think… I could use a lift,” You panted. Eunbi blinked, looking a little taken aback. The look of shock didn’t last too long, the corners of her lips pulled up into a gleaming smile.

“Cool,” She said. “Let’s get you home then.”

~~~

You’d expected her to ask to come into your place from the moment she pulled into the parking lot of your Apartment complex, yet her question still caught you off guard. You didn’t have the heart to turn her down.

“Hm… Looks cozy,” Eunbi mused as she strolled into your apartment.

“I-It’s not much…” You chuckled shamefully. You weren’t expecting guests any time soon, so you hadn’t really done much of a clean up. One of your hoodies was strewn over the sole chair at your foldable table that functioned as your dining table. Unwashed plates and cups were in your kitchen sink, and you were half certain that that spot where you spilled some apple juice on the floor was still kind of sticky.

“You look like you don’t receive guests often…” Eunbi mused, picking up your ACDC shirt that was strewn across your beanbag. You’d thrifted it a couple of days ago but hadn’t washed it yet.

“W-Well I uh…” You struggled to answer. “I… Don’t invite people in… At all…”

Eunbi giggled and set the shirt back down.

“So am I the first person to enter your place?” She inquired. You rubbed the back of your neck.

“If you don’t count my parents? Yea…” You blushed.

“Hm… Cool.”

Eunbi proceeded to do a little more exploration. She entered your bedroom, which you’d thankfully packed a couple of nights before due to a sudden motivation to do so at 3 in the morning. She casually looked through most of your things, skimming through folders and examining photos like she was given the permission to do so. You trusted her enough to not protest against her actions.

“You know… You’re neater than I expected,” Your singer mused.

“Thanks,” You replied. Eunbi set down the photo album in her hand and turned to face you.

“So… When can we get to fucking?”

Her blunt choice of words combined with her too casual tone threw you completely off guard.

“H-Huh?” You couldn’t help but stutter.

“Damn… I thought you’d take the hint when I asked to come up,” Eunbi sighed.

“I… What?”

Eunbi folded her arms.

“Jesus Christ Myeong-seok… Have I not dropped enough hints on the ride back?”

Admittedly, you weren’t paying attention for about 90% of the ride. You simply nodded and hummed in response to most of Eunbi’s questions and said “oh… cool” to a majority of her statements. In hindsight, you should’ve paid a little more attention.

Eunbi walked towards you, a slight sway in her hips.

“Get on the bed sweetie,” She purred.

“E-Eunbi—”

“Don’t talk back to mommy.”

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as Eunbi stared you down. The power dynamic had shifted, the balance tipping towards Eunbi. This was no longer a friend-to-friend bonding moment. Eunbi wanted you, here and now. There was nothing you could say or do to change her resolve.

You were hesitant, but you slowly walked over to your own bed and sat down on the edge of it. Eunbi walked over to the door and closed it, then she strutted over to you.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” She asked.

“Yes… Mommy,” You answered.

“Good. Now strip.”

You complied somewhat willingly, your arms and hand moving on their own to pull your t-shirt off your body. Eunbi was gracious enough to help you out of your pants and underwear, pulling the articles of clothing right off your legs and tossing them into a corner of your room. She settled next to you and gripped your semi-hard shaft. She squeezed it not too gently and slowly pumped you to full measure.

“Fuck… I forgot just how big you were,” She whispered right into your ear. Her breath tingled your skin. Her hand quickly set itself into a rhythm.

“You know… I should’ve called you for a booty call sooner,” Eunbi mused, her free hand beginning to explore your body. “Searching for a trumpet player’s gotten mommy so pent up, should’ve called you for some form of… relief.”

You let a soft sigh escape from your lips. Eunbi giggled next to you.

“Shall I play with you for a bit? Or should I just get right to it like I did last time?” She asked you. Her nails traced shapes on the nape of your neck. She was slowly breaking you down and weaving herself in the holes of your resolve, taking control of you. You knew it, but you couldn’t stop it. Her hand sped up, delivering full long strokes to your throbbing length while Eunbi began her assault on your ear. She nibbled, she licked and kissed, slowly tuning your senses into overdrive. You were her toy to play with.

“I think… I should play with you for a little,” Eunbi finally decided. “Get you all riled up, then dMake you cum all over me… How does that sound?”

You weren’t in a good state to give her a reply, but Eunbi took the soft whimper that left your throat as a reply.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Her hand stopped abruptly, freeing you from the spikes of pleasure that’d begun to surge from your crotch area. Eunbi gracefully slipped off the bed, deftly positioning herself on her knees before your twitching shaft. She stroked with consideration, taking her time with you as she let her forefinger and thumb apply pressure to your tip before letting her hand glide to the base of your cock. You stifled a moan, your hands stiff at your sides. The pinkness of her tongue poked out from between her lips. She lowered her head, letting you feel the heat against the tip of your cock. Ou squirmed. She smirked.

Her tongue made contact, teasing your tip with the moistness of her tongue. Every muscle in your body seemed to seize up, responding to her toying. Eunbi made sure to keep your eyes locked on hers as she licked the underside of your length. The softness and warmth made you grit your teeth as you watched her lather up the bottom side of your member. You’d slept with her once, yet she somehow seemed to have found an optimal way to bend you to her will. It was cruel of her—yet something about the way she took her time to paint your length in her spit aroused you to new extents. You twitched wildly in her grasp, each small flick of her tongue sending you gasping and grunting in ways you had no idea you were capable of.

Once your singer was satisfied with the control she’d established over you, she released your cock from the grip of her slender fingers. Spreading your legs further apart to allow for better access, she drawled, “Relax baby… Let Mommy please you.”

She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and rested her palms on your thighs. Before you could even process what was going on, the warmth of Eunbi’s little mouth surrounded your length, lips wrapping around your shaft. You couldn’t fight back a groan.

Sloppy… No, incredibly fucking sloppy was the best way to describe the way Eunbi pleasured you with her mouth. She let the drool flow freely from the corners of her mouth, the frothy fluid sliding down your cock unchallenged as Eunbi had her way with the hard, throbbing meat in her mouth. Glossy pink lips followed a strict path—up, down, up, down—relentlessly slobbering over your shaft while applying a near perfect amount of suction around you as she kept her pace. She was a deadly woman of consistency, each bottom of her stroke aiming to take in more and more of your member into the back of her throat. Her eyes visibly watered, but her resolve remained.

You knew better than to rest your hands anywhere on her body, opting to crumple your sheets with a knuckle-white grip. You could possibly choke the life out of a grown man in seconds. She knew her way around you, the lustful fire in her eyes conveying the joy she derived from making you squirm in your seat while her not too gentle hands fondled with your spit covered sack. Spots danced before your eyes, your world spinning in the handling of Eunbi.

Your cock popped out of her mouth, a mix of pre-cum and spit dripping from your tip.

“You’re awfully quiet baby,” She told you, hand lazily pumping your slippery shaft with full strokes. “How will Mommy know if she’s doing a good job if you don’t moan for me?”

She was a playfully cruel woman. A dark part of you enjoyed this side of your singer…

When she took your cock back into the willing depths of her mouth, you made sure to vocalise your pleasure as much as you could. You caught the faint trace of a smirk on her face as she resumed her work. In and out; disappearing and reappearing—You couldn’t get enough of the way Eunbi blew you.

When she decided that she’d played with you for long enough, Eunbi sadly released your throbbing length from the warmth of her mouth. Wordlessly, she rose to her knees and ridded herself of her clothes. No teasing, no antics. Eunbi was horny and she needed cock, your cock.

She pushed you back, your shoulders impacting your mattress as Eunbi straddled you. She lifted herself up slightly, her hand reaching back to grab your swollen length and line it up with the entrance to her slit. She wasted no time in hilting you inside of her, a soft cry leaving her lips as she planted her hands on your chest.

“Fuck… Your cock feels so fucking good inside of me,” She hissed. She raised her hips slightly and slammed herself back down onto you, earning a sharp gasp from you. Eunbi smiled wickedly.

“Let’s see how long you last inside Mommy’s pussy… Don’t cum till I let you”

She took off. Eunbi rode you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet slick. She was oblivious to your comfort, the only thing concerning her being filling herself over and over with your thick, hard cock. Eunbi’s nails dug into your chest, her face wild and brimming with need. Beads of sweat had begun decorating her curvaceous body, milky skin glistening under the dim lighting of your bedroom.

“Fuck baby… So… Fucking… Full!”

She leaned down and crashed her lips against yours. Her tongue invades your month. You let her in. You were helpless, completely unable to resist Eunbi as she took her pleasure from your body. In a weird, twisted way—you were savouring every second of it. The way her pussy clenched tightly around you, so slick and so tight. The way she ripped her gaze from your eyes to cast her head back, sending locks of jet-black hair flying as she sighed and moaned her pleasure. The way her hips and thighs never slowed nor lost their rhythm… So much to take in; so much to feel.

“You love… My pussy don’t you? Do you like… how I fuck your cock with it?” Eunbi hissed between lustful moans. She thrusted her hips against yours, thighs crashing against your hips while your cock speared through her folds.

“Y-Yes Mommy… I-I love your pussy so much!” Came your reply. Eunbi pulled you upright aggressively.

“Suck my tits baby,” She commanded. You were more than happy to obey.

Her hands gripped your hair and pulled you into her chest. Your face crashed against her breasts, the warm, delicious cleavage between them filled with her sweat. You quickly latched your mouth onto her left nipple and sucked greedily. Eunbi let out a strangled gasp of pleasure.

“That’s it baby… Just like that…” Eunbi spurred you.

You feasted on her breasts, tongue licking and swirling—Giving her the works. Her hips moved a little quicker, no longer taking your entire length into her pussy. Instead, she withdrew only half way before plunging down again to drive you faster and harder inside her tight, drenched pussy. Her juices flowed freely, coating the insides of her thighs and your crotch. Her sighs became shallower and shallower by the minute.

“Baby… You’re gonna make Mommy… Oh god… Oh fucking go—”

Ironically enough, the one who wanted to test how long you could last came first. Her entire body is struck by a bolt of pleasure, quivering, shaking and trembling involuntarily. Cusses spill out of her mouth, paired with intermittent cries of pleasure and other exclamations. From between her tits you could see Eunbi’s features twist, face wracked with pleasure as she holds you firmly against her chest. You yourself were fighting back your own orgasm. Rules set by Eunbi were rules that must be followed.

It took forever for Eunbi to wind down, but the wait was worth it as her hands slackened, allowing you to pull back and witness her bask in the glow of her orgasm. The need for control disappeared for just a little bit, the natural softness behind those eyes returning for a second while she gazed passionately into her eyes. You pulled her in for a kiss, earning yourself a soft moan into your mouth.

When she pulled away, you could sense the slight change in her demeanour. She smiled warmly and cradled your face in her hands.

“You okay?” She whispered. You nodded, she giggled.

“Good, cause I still need more.”

Your living room was the next location. She tossed away the ACDC shirt on the beanbag and bent herself over it, looking back to catch your gaze.

“Don’t keep Mommy waiting,” Eunbi rasped. You weren’t one to make a woman wait. You got down on your knees behind her, your tip lined up with her dripping slit.

“Wait,” She stopped you. “My ass. Fuck my ass.”

She reached back and spread her ample ass cheeks apart for you. You lined your tip up with her asshole.

“Be quick,” Eunbi instructed. You nodded and pushed right in. Your shaft, lubricated with Eunbi’s juices and saliva, slipped seamlessly into her warm, tight hole. Eunbi yelped, her hand gripping your beanbag.

“Fuck…” She hissed. “Forgot… How that felt like…”

You gave Eunbi a moment to adjust, content with fondling her ass cheeks as Eunbi drew deep breaths.

“Okay,” She finally sighed after a minute or two. “Go.”

One word was all you needed to know how she wanted to be fucked. You pumped in and out of her tight little hole, Eunbi rocking back into you with each thrust you made into her body. For what felt like hours, you continued to fuck Eunbi’s hot ass, shaft drilling in and out from between her asscheeks as sighs of pleasure escaped her throat. You took the risk and let your hands roam the curves of Eunbi’s body, reaching around her to grab ahold of her full tits and playing with the soft flesh of her butt. She let you do as you please, focusing on pounding back onto your cock. Her sighs filled your ears, hypnotising you in the sound of her sensual voice. The warmth of her ass roped you deeper into your lust, the scent of her perfume mixing with the smell of her sweat.

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck fuck fuck,” She let the filth spill forth. “God I feel so fucking full… Your cock always fills me up just the way I like…”

She propped herself up on her hands, her slim tummy resting on the bean bag.

“Keep going baby… You’re… You’re doing such a good job,” she praised between gasps. It was taking everything in your body to keep you from unloading into Eunbi’s ass right there and then. Nonetheless, you persevered.

Eunbi’s moans coaxed you, her soft sighs spurring you—Every little thing she did while you fucked her drove you wild. You could feel your cock pulsing inside of her, aching to release rope after rope of cum into that tight little ass of hers. All that riding done by Eunbi had already driven you close.

Eunbi definitely knew that you were at your upper limit, but that didn’t stop her from making things harder for you.

“Speed up,” She prompted with a smirk. “And don’t you dare cum till I let you.”

“But—”

She shot you a glare that silenced you.

“One more word and I’ll make sure that you’ll never cum tonight,” She warned. Not taking her seriously would be a stupid decision, but you weren’t certain how much longer you could last inside of her.

Following orders, you picked up the semi-frantic pace. Eunbi tilted her head back, spine arching in a delicious curve. You could see the smirk on her face. It was killing you.

You couldn’t hold on anymore. Your thrusts into her ass shallowed, your breath quickening as you prepared to let loose.

“M-Mommy,” You groaned.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I-I… I can’t!”

Eunbi abruptly slid forward, withdrawing herself from your cock. She whipped around and gripped your cock tightly, squeezing it in a vice grip as she stared right into your soul.

“Don’t,” She whispered flatly. “Don’t make Mommy punish you baby…”

Her grip on your member was not helping to reduce the pressure in your cock. You could feel yourself leaking, your length twitching wildly in Eunbi’s hand. She laid a hand on your chest.

“Good boy,” She praised once your breathing had settled. “Mommy will let you cum when she’s satisfied, so you better be at your best performance for the rest of the night.”

You gulped and nodded, knowing full well that she meant every word she said. You were in for a rough time.

She tortured you for the rest of the night, making you fuck her in all sorts of positions that drove you insanely close to the edge. Each time she sensed your impending orgasm, she forced you out of her and squeezed your member rather painfully. She made you fuck her over the sink, rail her on the bed, eat her out on the desk… The list went on and on. She kept you painfully close to the edge the whole time, making sure to put on an increasing lewd display of pleasure as you progressed into the night. It got to a point where a perpetual tingle lingered in your crotch area. It was like an itch that you couldn’t scratch.

Your torture amounted to something at the end of it all. As Eunbi laid on your floor, spent from her nth orgasm of the night, she coaxed you towards her. With your jelly like legs, you somehow managed to waddle on your knees towards her.

“Kneel… Over me,” She rasped. You did as you were told. With what remaining strength she had left, she reached up and began pumping away at your shaft. With satisfaction written all over her face, she uttered two words.

“Paint me.”

The orgasm that you experienced would go down in your records as the definition of an explosive orgasm. You felt every burst of semen that shot out from your shaft, cries of pleasure leaving your mouth in streams as Eunbi milked every last drop out of you. Rope after rope painted her tight body, your seed leaving no bit of skin uncovered. Even when the orgasm subsided, warm spurts of cum still leaked out of you, oozing from your tip and dripping onto your singer below you.

Your legs eventually gave way. You crashed down next to her. With a face and body full of cum, she smiled and whispered into your ear.

“Next time… I’ll let you cum in me…”

~~~

You both collectively decided to skip classes the next day. Eunbi spent the morning at your place, sauntering around your apartment in nothing but her panties and one of your Led Zeppelin shirts. She proved to be an excellent cook, whipping up an excellent breakfast with what you had in the fridge. Pairing Eunbi’s masterful cooking with a rather pathetic cup of instant coffee, you sat down on the floor with Eunbi to have one of the best meals you’d ever eat.

“God… This is so good,” You told her. Eunbi giggled.

“Please, it’s just a simple meal,” She humbly replied.

“Simplicity is good sometimes,” You shrugged. Eunbi smiled warmly.

“Glad you like it.”

It felt like the distance between the two of you had closed after last night. You found yourself feeling oddly comfortable around her, finding that you could hold a conversation with her without ever descending into awkward silence. You were glad that you got the sudden urge to run after her the night before.

Before she left, she helped you to clean up the mess you’d both made. Surfaces were scrubbed clean, floors wiped till it sparked. Only when she’d made the place cleaner than when she first arrived did she dress herself in her jeans from last night.

“I’ll return your shirt to you next practice,” She assured you, slipping on her sneakers. “Or maybe you could call me over again…”

You blushed.

“I think I uh… I think I’ll lay off for a bit,” You muttered. Eunbi giggled mischievously.

“Suit yourself,” She shrugged. “See you next practice then.”

Eunbi left your place, leaving you alone for the rest of the day. You used the rest of the daytime to catch up on some work. Somewhere in the evening, a knock came on your door. You set your pen down and hurried over to open it. When you did, a kind-looking young lady greeted you enthusiastically.

“Hello! I’m Yeju, pleased to meet you!” She beamed. You could feel the positive energy radiating off her. She looked familiar for some reason.

“O-Oh… Hi,” You greeted her.

“I’m your new neighbour. I just moved into the apartment down the hall yesterday,” She explained to you. “Just wanted to drop by and say a quick hello! Hope we can be great friends!”

It felt like you were the only introvert in this world. You smiled awkwardly and nodded.

“N-Nice to meet you Yeju… I-I’m Myeong-seok,” You smiled.

“Wow! You share the same name as my husband!” Yeju laughed loudly. “Small world huh?”

“I-I guess…” You chuckled.

The lady’s name rang a bell in your head, but you couldn’t remember when and where you heard the name from. Fortunately for you, your memory was about to get jogged.

“Oh! And before I forget,” The lady continued. “Let me introduce you to my sister!”

She stepped aside. Hwang Yeji stared right back at you, fixing you with her signature death glare. You felt like you were about to shit yourself.

With an icy cold look, she locked eyes with you and said, “I can’t fucking believe that we’re neighbours now…”

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

Hai. Wats popping kings and queens.

This was long overdue and I apologies for my procrastination. Hope ya'll enjoy this fic that I re-wrote 4 times because it was funk at the start. Thanks for stopping by to read and have a nice day :).

#eunbi smut #kwon eunbi #kpop #smut #fanfic

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psychickiss · 9 months

Text

i’m not too late

— saiki kusuo x reader (gn, 2nd pov)

— summary: You come over to Saiki’s house to give him a (kind of last minute) birthday gift, which ends with you two hanging out in his room.

— notes: nottt beta read also!! maybe ooc kusuo 😵 also also! dt @kusuokisser

— things: confessions... blah blah... romantic!! quite awkward

— masterlist | request form | retrospring

Saiki’s mom calls out to her son, “Ku! Check who’s at the door for me, please?”

Saiki nods. He’s already heard the inner voice of whoever rung the doorbell to his home– he knows it’s you, and he knows why you’re there.

“Belated happy birthday, Saiki! Sorry I’m late, I didn’t know your birthday at first.”

Now, he needs a way out.

First, he accepts your gift. Maybe you’ll leave after he takes it. Of course, Saiki can’t just rudely shut the door on you– he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings get scolded by his mom. So, he engages in small talk. “It’s alright. You got the month right, at least. The only ones who greeted me correctly are Mera, Aiura and– to my surprise– Toritsuka.”

Confused, you ask, “And who... got the month wrong?”

“Everyone else. We partied in May. Is that all?”

Saiki tunes in to your thoughts, and he’s hopeful he’ll spend the rest of the day alone. Yes? No? I wanted to hang out, but maybe not? He clings onto that “maybe not” of yours.

Like any other person, you get curious. You ask him again, “No...? May? You guys partied in May?”

“It’s a long story,” he says. He’s hearing your (still) inquisitive thoughts. Saiki internally sighs. I need to get this over with, quick. There’s a show I want to watch that airs at 4:30 PM. It’s only 1 PM, but time is fast. He steps to the side, allowing you to walk past the gate. He doesn’t know why he’s letting you in. Saiki takes off his footwear before entering his house, and you do the same.

Saiki announces his presence to his mom, as well as yours. “Oh, dear! Are you here to celebrate Ku’s birthday? Have you eaten lunch already?”

You nod in response to both questions from Saiki’s mom. “Well, I’m not too sure about the celebration part... I figured I’d just give Saiki his gift, then leave–”

Saiki’s mom shakes her head. “No, stay! You obviously made the effort to come all the way here. Stay as long as you’d like.”

Good grief. Saiki forgot to take his mother’s friendly nature into account...

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

... As well as your politeness. Not to mention, the fact you’ve been looking for opportunities to be alone with him.

So, you and Saiki head up to his room.

You two aren’t the closest of friends. Sure, you’d go straight for him when you needed a partner for school and you two would sometimes walk home together, but you aren’t as close to him as Nendou and the others.

That doesn’t stop you from having feelings for Saiki, though. What started as a silly crush to help you pass the time in class developed into full-on fantasies of going on dates with him.

Usually, Saiki wouldn’t mind such things when it came to people like you– people who don’t act on their feelings– because that means he wouldn’t need to actively avoid you, but you confused him.

Saiki sometimes wanted nothing more than to ask you about your feelings for him, but that just felt uncharacteristic for him to do.

He wants you to act on your feelings– tell him how you feel. For what reason? He cannot put a pin on it. Not yet.

Saiki opens the door to his room, letting you enter first.

You sit on the foot of his bed and ask, “Did you have fun?”

Saiki sits on the chair in his room, which isn’t too far from you, before answering. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday in the way others would, but I splurged and bought lots of coffee jelly. My mother baked cake too.”

You give him a small smile. “So, is that a yes?”

Saiki nods.

Saiki didn’t really have much of a plan or intention to kick you out of his house. You didn’t talk his ear off as often as his other friends, so he figures you two can sit in his room alone in silence. He doesn’t hear you mentally complain, anyway. Most of your thoughts at that moment were in regards to the way his room looked.

Most of your thoughts.

I should ask about the show that’s going to air later this noon. Oh. My god. I can’t believe I’m alone with the guy I like, it’s the perfect time to confess!

Saiki hears your thoughts, yet he does not do anything about the confession part. He and you both know you’ve thought of confessing your feelings multiple times but chickened out everytime.

Hm. Saiki wonders if this time, you get the courage and finally tell him. He knows what he’ll say.

Your eyes dart nervously to Saiki, then at the TV right next to his bed, where you’re seated.

“Have you... Do you know about the show that’s airing later? 4:30?”

Saiki nods.

“Would you want to watch it together?” You take a deep breath after asking. Fortunately, he nods.

“Would you like something to drink? Or eat?” Saiki asks. If you’re staying, he might as well be a good host.

“Ah, just water. Maybe, uhm, coffee jelly– if you’re going to get some of your own.”

Saiki nods and he exits his room, leaving you alone.

You eye the gift you handed to Saiki. You had only gotten him a cardigan, unsure of any specific tastes of his, although the design was quite... un-Saiki; it wasn’t plain, but it wasn’t too much design. It just didn’t look like something he’d wear often, though you figured he could probably try out new things.

You just hope he likes it. To be safe, you had bought him a gift card to the store you got his gift from.

Saiki opens the door with a tray in his hands. Two cups of coffee jelly and one glass of water.

You make yourself comfortable on the floor of his room, Saiki sitting across from you and setting the tray down.

You take a sip of water before muttering, “Thank you.” Saiki gives a small nod before silently eating his coffee jelly.

He doesn’t really like being talked to while he’s eating, you think. You’re left to just look at Saiki with that expression he’s always wearing when he’s eating anything sweet. It’s cute.

You’re opting to confess, Saiki feels it. As unromantic as the scene seemed to be– two friends sitting on the floor without talking– he figures if he should be confessed to, it’d have to be nothing grand.

Plus, he knows what he’ll reply, anyway. He’s prepared his response since the first time you backed out of confessing to him.

You grab a plastic spoon and open your cup of coffee jelly. Before you take a bite of the sweet treat, you finally say the words.

“I like you.”

I know. I’m still chewing, hang on.

You quickly eat a spoonful of coffee jelly before Saiki could even respond. Say something, please?

You anxiously eat your coffee jelly, waiting for Saiki to finish eating his.

...

Finally, finally, Saiki replies.

“I don’t really know yet, but I might like you too.”

You feel as though a wave of relief washes over you. At least it’s not a rejection. Oh my god. “Really?”

Saiki nods. He doesn’t say anything else, and in shock, neither do you.

“Don’t ask me how I know this–”

Mentally, you interject, I probably won’t, but continue.

“–but I know you’ve liked me for a while now.”

You sigh in frustration. “I thought I was hiding it well...”

I can’t help that I have telepathy. Saiki discards that thought, instead saying, “No, you were pretty obvious.”

You laugh quietly. “God, I’m sorry! Glad that you might like me back. At least that being obvious wasn’t in vain.” You smile at Saiki. “Belated happy birthday, again. Next year, I’ll be sure to greet you on time.”

Saiki lets out an amused hum. “We’ll see.”

#saiki kusuo x reader #saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki k #saiki kusuo

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legacygirlingreen · 6 months

Text

My silly little HCs for Sebastian Sallow

Some of these are really random but I’ve just had an abundance of HC lately so I thought I’d share:

✨ I GENUINELY see a world in which Sebastian could be slightly messy in some areas and very orderly in others. I don’t think he’d be messy in EVERY aspect of his life. Sure his hair is messy (this i attribute to it’s natural texture and the fact he’s a teen boy and likely doesn’t care that much about it), that large stack of books near his bed and on his desk are messy and I’m sure his life can at times be pretty chaotic - but I get the vibe he still cares on occasion. He’s always dressed properly for class, no less than Ominis or his other classmates. I’m sure his papers and class notes are very immaculately organized and he’s got a system that on surface level looks chaotic but to him makes sense for his books and other possessions. I also don’t see it possible that he can be a complete slob either given how small the feldcroft house is and having to share it with Anne and Solomon (and Ominis).

✨ I think as a child he definitely had to learn how to self sooth, or find ways to entertain himself. We get hints that his parents were often locking themselves downstairs to research, leaving him and Anne to their devices and he seems very well liked by his professors - so this leads me to think that with the exception of the resitricted section and occasional mischief, he may not be as “high strung” as he’s often made out to be. With the amount of time he spends reading, snacking and just overall finding ways to keep from boredom, I can see a world where afternoons with Sebastian are much more laid back than one would imagine.

Which leads me into some loose ideas I think he’d conceive if he was dating you/MC:

* laying in the grass together on sunny days, reading silently, pointing out cloud shapes or looking for 4 leaf cloves together

* swimming in the sea in summer, sunbathing on the shores, skipping rocks

* baking the muggle way and enjoying homemade pie over candle light and engaging in thought provoking conversations

✨ I don’t think that Sebastian cares too much about his physical appearance as a teenager but I can definitely see it slowly becoming more and more a priority as he ages. Several people have pointed out that there’s a razor in their dorm and if you zoom in you can see he’s got the appearance of hair follicles on the high resolution zoom in screen grabs, so I think by seventh year he’s experimenting with facial hair. Probably sideburns or just a mustache as that would’ve been fashionable for the time, but I can see him letting his sideburns go in his least year at hogwarts. He’d claim it was “more convenient that way” since he “didn’t have to waste as much time shaving his whole face” but in reality he just feels more grown up and mature and he likes it - but likely wouldn’t want to be seen as vain.

✨ Sebastian grew up with a twin sister and is likely quite well versed in female anatomy and issues… he’s more than likely a SAINT when it comes to that time of the month, however I don’t think he’d see it as anything to mention. Likely just know it’s roughly that time again, casually offer more snacks, perhaps offer a simple back rub without saying anything, or other varieties of comfort without acknowledging WHY he’s doing so. If you ever bring it up he’d likely just shrug and say “just tying to be helpful since I know you likely don’t feel well” And leave it at that.

✨ I can see a variety of the love languages being important to him. I do agree he likely responds well to physical touch. You cannot convince me otherwise that he would not adore having someone play with his hair. He turns into a puppy immediately and it’s canon as far as I’m concerned. He also likely knows some mild form of braiding due to Anne so he probably equally enjoys returning the favor in that way. Sebastian gives me more strong touch in private but little to no PDA . Exceptions can be made for timely acceptable actions like a hand on the arm to escort but nothing crazy like necking in halls.

✨ however… private Sebastian could be a mixed bag. Initially I see him slightly nervous. Sebastian seems confident and headstrong in areas he’s familiar but we don’t see him ever feel unprepared. I get the sense he’d be anxious when he’s going in completely blind to new arenas like physical relations with a girl… So early on here May be apprehensive. I agree with the thought he would research all he could and go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and he prevented pain. But once he’s got a good handle in it… he’s always looking to improve until he’s confident he’s making you feel incredible…

✨ Sebastian finds feminine hands to be so interesting. Despite not liking PDA I can see him constantly grabbing yours, examining them, admiring the softness, pressing kisses to the back of them, and just all around finding them so insanely beautiful despite being so simple.

✨ Sebastian sallow definitely is the type to practice his signature constantly. He gets bored in class I imagine, with as much reading as he does, he’s likely way ahead of his peers. It’s common to see him doodling out new ways of signing his name and he still hasn’t found the way that’s quite him yet but he will eventually…

✨ deep down I think he can be very self conscious. I imagine he’d find certain features less than perfection … such as his wide nose or bushy eyebrows. Dark eyes and dark features are quite common , I can see a world in which he so often feels quite plain. However the right partner coming along and kissing that button nose or playfully stroking his brow while he rests his head in their lap would slowly make him feel better about what he sees in the mirror. Being complimented on his appearance, something I’m sure gets lost in his many talents, would mean the world to him.

✨Sebastian has a sweet tooth and would 100% rock the dad bod when matured . He’s lean now with all the hogwarts cardio, but once he slows down he’s getting thicker. Just look at Solomon and tell me the sallow genes aren’t slightly husky (Also check out @rednite-dork bc she’s got some awesome art depicting a more aged up, dad bod seb and they are mouth watering 🤪)

I have soo many more but here’s some loose HCs , and I’m always down for a part 2💚

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #fluff #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow headcanon

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