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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 8

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: double chapter friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You put on the outfit Sy picked out. The lilac skirt and the matching razor back tank top are a bit mismatched in style but the colour is almost exact. You add a silver necklace to add a bit more to the top and even out top and bottom. 

You take out a pair of white keds and slip them on. As you do, Sy stand on the door mat with Aika prancing excitedly around him. He deepens his voice and tells her to sit. She obeys, still trembling with elation as he hooks her leash into place. 

As you stand, you find his attention on you. His eyes scale up and down your body as you brush your hand up and down one arm. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples as he exhales through his nose.  

“Well, let’s go,” he commands and Aika jumps to her feet as you nearly leap in place. 

He opens the door, your keys already in his pocket, and he waits for you to go ahead of him. He turns to face the door as he shuts it. He has the leash around two fingers as he slides the keys in the lock and turns. 

As he turns towards the hall, he stops and looks at you. You waver, uncertainly, cautious of a single misstep. He offers the leash. 

“Why don’t you take her, sweetie?” He says, “two of you needa get used to each other.” 

You take the leash as Aika waits patiently. At least she’s trained well. You only ever had cats so you’re not entirely sure about dogs. They’re cute, sure, but a lot stronger. 

You continue down the hall and to the stairs. Sy walks calmly beside you. You’re happy at least that the rage no longer roils off of him, though a tension remains. You sense it in the subtle twiddle of his thick fingers and the way he keeps popping and cracking his joints. 

Outside, the sun glints blindingly above, casting a shine much too bright for your mood. Aika stops and the leash tugs in your hand. You turn back as she pees in the grass and step closer to slacken the leash. Oops. You make a face. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re doing good,” Sy encourages, “she can be a bit wild when she wants to. Probably more like you than you think.” 

His suggestion makes you want to frown but you won’t let him see your discomfort. You continue down the sidewalk, keeping pace with the sniffing dog as Sy lazily swaggers behind you. She stops again then crosses to the other patch of grass. You follow her. 

If it wasn’t for your company, you might enjoy the day. There’s bumblebee’s digging into stores of pollen, buzzing around vibrant petals, and birds cheeping from the interior of bushes, and wispy clouds across the sky. You might have taken a picture or two, even though your phone lens rarely catches the true beauty of the world. 

You continue around the corner and suddenly Aika darts forward. She pulls you nearly off your feet and you stomp clumsily after her, trying not to topple. You see what she sees only as she gets within snapping distance of the fluffy cat. The feline hisses before dashing away and you pull back the barking dog. 

“Aika,” Sy says firmly and quiets the canine, “good girl.” 

The silt in his voice makes even you freeze. You peek back at him and hold out the loop of the leash. You recoil as you notice the phone in his hand. Your phone. The little pearly wrist band hangs from the corner of the blush pink case. He has the lens aimed right at you. 

“Say hi,” he waves from his side of the phone, “got my girls out for a nice walk in the sun.” 

“What are you--” you quiet, realising what must be going on. 

“Your fans want to see you, sweetie,” he chimes. “Isn’t she cute? My lady. Waited for me so long.” 

He turns the camera around, holding it at arm’s length as he comes to stand beside you and faces the sunlight. You gulp as his hand goes to your hip and he pulls you close, leaning in to press his jaw to your head, angling the phone up to capture both of you. You try to smile. 

“Finally going public,” he sounds almost giddy, “military sh—stuff. Couldn't disclose it til I got home but here we are.” 

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple. He purrs and slowly releases you. He stands straight and backs up, once more aiming the camera at you. You feel like you might shatter into pieces. 

“We’re gonna grab some coffee. There’s a cafe around here. You’ll remember it. She did a live back in March. Got the vanilla chai, didn’t you, sweetie? I been waiting this long to get back and try it with her,” he commentates, oblivious to the people who glance in his direction. He keeps his arm extended. “Go on, Aika’s getting antsy.” 

You look down at the dog and she looks up at you. You spin and continue down the pavement. You should scream and shout and tell the world that this man is crazy. Yet it doesn’t matter. There’s probably a single viewer, if any. You realise now, he was probably your only fan. The others you’ll chalk up to bots or other weirdos. 

A trickle of ice flows through your chest. He knows where the cafe is. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching, not just on the phone? You don’t know why you keep asking. It doesn’t change a thing. 

You approach the short iron fence that marks off the patio of the cafe. You slow and Sy stands at your side, showing the tables and patrons to the camera. He rubs between your shoulder blades. 

“So how ya wanna do it? You wanna wait with Aika or you wanna run in?” He asks. 

You gulp. There is not better option. It’s all just the same. 

“I’ll get the coffee,” you offer and untangle the leash from around your wrist. “What do you want?” 

“Hm, good question,” he says, “why don’t ya surprise me. You know I got a sweet tooth.” 

“Right.” 

He takes the leash and you turn, stiffly marching through the gate and up to the door. You enter and as you’re shut in, you clutch the sides of your neck and blow out through your lips. No, you don’t know he has a sweet tooth. You don’t know him. As much as he scares you to death, he’s starting to make you really angry. It’s just how he talks as if you actually know who he is! He’s a stranger. A creep! 

You stand in line and only remember to step up for your turn as someone taps your shoulder. You mumble an apology and step up. You hadn’t even checked the menu. You look at the specials board and try to wet your dry tongue. 

“Um, white mocha,” you order in a croak, “and a uh, a lavender latte. Thanks.” 

The barista offers to add on items from the bakery. You decline and pay, already spending enough on the overpriced coffee. You shuffle along to await your order and mull your options. None. You have none. 

When your number is called, you grab your drinks and quickly spin around. You follow another customer to the door and he holds it open for you. He smiles as you step through and you thank him. 

“Not at all,” he steps out after you. “You got your hands full.” 

“It’s really nice of you,” you say as you walk just ahead of him, turning your head to glance over your shoulder. 

“Pretty girl like you. How could I not,” he says as you reach the gate, “have a good day, miss.” 

“Uh,” you’re surprised by the compliment, “you too, sir.” 

You give an awkward purse of your lips as you stand in the open gate. You look around and find Sy watching you. You go to him and hold up the drinks. 

“Um, I got the white mocha... not sure if you like that.” 

“Ooh, white mocha, sounds delicious, just like you,” he purrs, “and what did you get?” 

He takes the cup, Aika’s leash around two thick fingers. You stand dumbly, staring at the phone he keeps pointed in your face. 

“The lavender latte,” you answer flatly. 

“Well, the lady and I are gonna have our coffee date,” he says to the camera as he flips it around, “walk the pup and all that. Hope you all have a good day. Right, sweetie?” 

He once more puts you on the stream. Your lip trembles, “sure, yeah. Have a good day everyone.” 

You hold a shaky smile and he taps the screen several times with his thumb. He slides the phone into his short’s pocket and tastes his mocha. He waves you down the sidewalk and Aika takes the lead. He’s quiet as he slurps from the plastic lid. 

“That boy,” he speaks at last, “said you were pretty.” 

You blanch and turn the cup in your hand. The heat seeps through the sleeve and adds to the sheen across your skin, “er, I guess. I don’t know.” 

“Who was he?” Sy asks harshly. 

You flinch and peek up at him. He’s not happy. His entire demeanour has shifted. 

“I don’t know. A stranger. He just held the door,” you shrug, “guess he was being nice.” 

“Being nice? Shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” he reproaches. 

You nearly choke. Yeah, you shouldn’t. He taught you that well. 

“You are a pretty girl,” he says, “so I’m just lookin’ out for you. Some men...” 

You keep your eyes ahead as you fight to hold your composure. You drink from the cup, tasting the floral foam, and swallow. You force the breath from your chest and steady your nerves. 

“Sorry, I... won’t do it again.” 

He hums and reaches to grab your hand. His large one swallows yours. You don’t pull away, even as you desperately want to . He walks along with you, swing his arm slightly. 

“Isn’t this nice, sweetie?” He purrs, “you and me and Aika. Like a little family.” 

You grit your teeth and your aching cheeks fall. You can’t smile any long. You try to hide your face as you hover your mouth over the cup, “yeah,” you wisp out, “it’s nice.” 

💜

When you get back to the apartment, you’re exhausted yet adrenaline has you wide awake. Sy lets Aika off her leash and feeds her as you toss your empty coffee cup. You linger around the bin nervously, uncertain what to do next. You’re trapped again within these walls that once spoke of your freedom. 

Sy groans and stretches his neck. He runs his hands over his shaved head and combs his fingers through his thick beard. You step away from garbage before he notices you hiding. 

“Hot out, I’m beat,” he yawns, “what about you, sweetie?” 

“Yeah, uh, kinda,” you hug yourself and sway, “but um, not too bad.” 

“Ugh, one thing I was happy about was gettin’ outta the heat,” he pulls on his shirt and lifts it over his head. The fabric is darkened around the chest and arms with his sweat. More of it glistens in his body hair as he strips away the tee.  

You chew your lip and go to turn the fan on, turning it to oscillate. You sense him in the edge of your vision. He hangs the shirt across the back of a dining room chair then comes back to the living room. You stay close to the wall. 

“Er, Sy,” your heart jumps as your doubt clogs your throat. 

“Mhmm,” he flops onto the couch and leans back. He’s shameless and shirtless. His muscles flex along his arms and chest. He’s huge.  

“Do you think I can have my phone? I wanted to check my messages,” you push your palms together and twist your hands. 

“Don’t got none,” he says, “forget about that. Let’s disconnect. You and me, sweetie, let’s enjoy a quiet night in.” 

You want your phone but you know better than to push him. You’ve seen what happens when you do. You peer over at the dent in the wall. 

“Sure,” you go to him and sit on the couch, keeping a foot between you. “Do you wanna watch something?” 

You reach for the remote and he stops you. He snatches your hand back and wraps his arm around you, pulling you to lean into the couch with him. He crowds you as his scent suffocates you. It smells like sweat and generic deodorant. 

“We don’t need TV, sweetie, let’s just enjoy each other,” he reaches across you and rubs your upper arm. 

“Um,” you nearly choke, “it’s almost dinner time--” 

“It’s early,” his voice is rocky, “sweetie, it’s alright. Just relax. It’s finally just us.” 

“Sy, I... I should get some work done,” you sniff. 

“You should take it easy. You work too hard,” his hand brushes along your shoulder and to your neck. He drags his knuckles up your throat, “you’re gorgeous, you know that? This colour,” he slips his hand back down and touches the top of the tank, “looks so good on you.” 

“Thanks, I, er,” you squeeze your thigh and gulp. You can’t help the tremor that rolls through you, “Sy, please,” you reach up and grab his hand, “I should--” 

“It’s okay to be nervous. I am too, sweetie,” he rasps as he leans in, “but I can’t wait any longer.” 

He frees his hand from yours and cradles your face. He dips his head and you press your hand to his chest, helpless to stop him as he smothers your mouth with his. You let out a muffled gasp as he crushes his lips to yours, his tongue poking around eagerly. His hand crawls around the back of your head as he traps you against the couch. 

Your fingers curl against the muscle of his chest and he groans. He pulls you against him, falling back with you until he’s flat on the cushions. He brings you over him, and arm hooked around you as his other hand stays on your head. His tongue invades your mouth as you struggle to breathe past his hunger. Your brain screams at you to bite him, to smack, to do anything, but you’re paralysed with futility. 

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #sandcastle #follow you anywhere

[lalal-99]

of being true {l.f.} | track 5

©June 2023, April 2024 by lalal-99

Lee Felix x Jung Wooyoung | trope: strangers to lovers | word count: 9.2k

Synopsis: The one that's about Felix and other pretty people.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Smut tags: explicit content | porn with plot | first time with the same gender | oral (m. rec.) | body worshipping | teasing | anal sex | top/sub dynamics | top!felix | Felix is whipped | sex under the influence (they're not wasted but definitely tipsy) | soft sex | nothing too spicy, honestly, but so, sooo many emotions

Note: This is an interim chapter. You don't need to read this chapter to understand the rest of the main plot. But I advise you do, because it's just so beautiful. Truly one of the best things I have ever written. (Reposting, cause the first upload tanked...)

Tumblr works on a reblog system. Please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people. Thank you :)

Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You

Felix learned he was gay at the tender age of 7. That was if he were completely honest with himself.

It happened on a beautiful Sunday morning in his suburban Sydney home. He had just prepped himself a bowl of fruit loops, clad in his pyjamas with his favourite blanket in hand. That’s how he made himself a home on the sofa, turning on the TV with the volume on low so his parents wouldn’t wake. Switching through channels his parents had forbidden him to watch, he finally landed on Nickelodeon. And that’s when he saw him.

Danny.

Phantom, if that wasn’t clear already.

All the kids at school had talked about the show for weeks, raving over who they thought Danny would end up with. Sam—the sarcastic best friend—or Jazz—the cutesy love interest. Pretty, beautiful and whitty were some of the words his friends referred to them as. Felix needed to see for himself and make up his mind. If not to admire their animated beauty, at least to determine who he preferred.

Needless to say, all intentions went out the window once he saw the underdog protagonist. His hair as black as the night and his eyes as blue as the ocean minutes away from Felix’s house. And that was only the human form of one Danny Fenton. No one could have prepared Felix for the incredible looks of his super-hero alter-ego. His icy grey hair and green eyes were truly something else, and Felix was soon captivated by the fictitious character. A fabricated figure drawn with pencil, but even so the hero of his childhood.

In hindsight, Felix should have known it right then and there.

While his friends argued the show’s female characters, he fantasised protecting Amity Park alongside his idol. Telling him his deepest secrets and hugging him in glee at the end of each episode.

As he was only a child, Felix didn’t think to investigate the intensity of his affection further. He pushed it to the back of his mind. Argued that he didn’t watch the show for its romantic aspects whenever someone asked him about his prefered love interest.

Despite ignoring the nagging thought for all his childhood—oblivious to a deeper meaning behind it—it caught up with him at some point. And that point came in the form of one Cassidy Miller.

Cassidy was one of Felix’s classmates in Year 8. Upon laying eyes on him on the first day of the year, she made it her main plot point to become his girlfriend. During lunch that first day, she chose the seat next to him in the cafeteria, sharing some of her homemade snacks. As a teenage boy amid a growth spurt, he accepted with not another word of persuasion. He didn’t even consider it to be an advance of sorts. Even when his friend high-fived him after the fact, Felix understood it as an act of kindness. Cassidy was trying to make some friends after moving to town weeks prior. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It took him about three weeks of shared snacks every day and a kiss on his cheek to recognise that, yes. A girl had a crush on him. And everything would have been fine. Hadn’t it been for the slight complication that he didn’t feel the same about her. Cassidy was sweet. He would even agree that she was cute with her bunny nose and blonde locks. Conventionally attractive features for a 14-year-old girl.

Before he could break the truth to her, though, she had already introduced him to her parents. Quick, but Felix didn’t get the chance to intervene. He didn’t even know she wanted to introduce them when she asked him to follow her to the parking lot. Let alone introduce him as her boyfriend, much to her father’s dismay.

So, at the fragile age of 14, Felix found himself in a heterosexual relationship with a girl he barely knew but didn’t have the heart to break up with. As though being an unknowing closeted teenager wasn’t enough already.

That relationship, as innocent as it was, lasted 6 months. At most, it consisted of hand-holding and handwritten notes passed during class. Still, it lasted long for a first relationship Felix had no intention of having in the first place.

When Cassidy revealed that her dad had been relocated for the umpteenth time, Felix was even a little sad. She left after only 7 months, thus ending the relationship as it had begun—completely out of his control.

One should think: A closeted gay teen who just came out of a heterosexual relationship he hadn’t intended having? Definitely won’t do that again in the near future.

And that thought was fair. But wrong.

It took around 2 months after Cassidy left when Emily Wilson came into Felix’s life.

Emily was different from Cassidy in many ways. She was one year Felix’s senior, held back a year for grade-related reasons. She had black hair and a sidecut. Eyelids always painted in a thick layer of dark eyeliner which made her look at least two years older than she was. She had a nose ring her parents hadn’t allowed her to get and wore combat boots like part of a religion. Every word leaving her lips was drenched in sarcasm, which drew Felix to her right from the beginning.

It didn’t take Felix more than a few weeks to accept it. If he were to ever have a relationship with another girl, it would be a girl like Emily.

Fortunately for him, she and Cassidy had one thing in common. They were both pretty much obsessed with him from the moment they first laid eyes on him.

Whatever was drawing them to him, Felix decided that what anyone in his position would do, was make a move on Emily. Everyone in his class was obsessing over who was with whom. All his friends went from relationship to relationship in weekly rhythms. So, getting a girlfriend himself was the logical thing to do.

The 1.5 years he spent with Emily were the most fun but excruciating months of his life. Being with someone that long was hard, as much as he loved getting to know every part of her life.

He liked Emily’s parents, and they thought he had a positive influence on their daughter. But they were uber controlling and burst into her room every few minutes to check on them and what they were doing.

He adored Emily’s love for music and art. Every picture she drew for him and every mixtape she made proudly displayed in his room. But, she didn’t allow any opinions on the topics that didn’t correlate with her own. Felix’s love for Pop music? A slap in the face of a proud anti-capitalist. Felix’s one-year-anniversary plans to visit a special exhibition in the museum? Another penny in the pocket of the rich, making them even wealthier.

He fell apart at the touch of Emily’s hands and mouth. Losing his virginity to her left him breathless and in a sweaty sheen for hours. But, as much as he didn’t mind sleeping with her, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling. She always made the first move. And he was not only lying to himself but to her.

Their relationship was a constant back-and-forth. Liking her while not liking her enough to want a serious future. No matter how hard Felix tried, keeping up the facade became more agonising with every I love you. Eventually, Emily could tell something was eating at her boyfriend. And after 18 unforgettable months together, she finally had enough. She left him with usual harsh words and exhausted tears of relief in his eyes.

Even then, as the doubt and exhaustion finally reached the front lobe of his brain, it took him a couple more years and 3 more relationships to come to terms with reality.

Felix was gay and wouldn’t continue lying to everyone around him.

Well, except for his parents, who, despite living in a modern country, had different values. They weren’t particularly homophobic, though they approached the movement with ignorance. That’s other people. That would never happen to us.

Thankfully, by the time Felix realised he would never be content in a heterosexual relationship, he had already set his eyes on further education abroad. And once he finished High School, he was already packed and ready to head overseas to live as his true self.

Never in a million years had Felix expected to live that true self so early in this new chapter of his life. He had barely set foot onto campus when he bumped into a guy on his way out of the physiology building. Felix almost lost balance but the man grabbed his biceps, delicate fingers steadying him against himself. That’s when he met the guy’s gaze. Beautiful mahogany, surrounded by a sheen of gold eyeliner. Which only made them sparkle even further than Felix was sure they already did. His hair died in layers of blonde and black, ears adorned by so many earrings he couldn’t have counted them. And that cheeky smile on his lips made Felix want to taste him right then and there.

Instead, Felix pulled away, smoothing his t-shirt out as he hugged his bag closer to himself. It gave his hands something to do while hiding the semi he sported. From a short-lived, innocent physical contact, but nonetheless.

“You good?” the guy asked, and Felix nodded, eyes wide as though he had seen a ghost. The man swiped his thumb over his plumb bottom lip with a smirk and a wink as he brushed past Felix. “Next time, keep your eyes on what’s important. Alright, Pretty?”

Pretty. Felix subconsciously nodded at the words as the man rounded the corner with another look back. He remained still for approximately minutes before he shook himself to snap out of it.

And that could have been it. A short, embarrassing moment like he had had so many times before. But that wasn’t Felix’s luck.

God screamed You should see your face at Felix when he entered his Psychology 101 class days later. The same boy stood by the entrance, talking to another guy who looked a little too good in his pink hair.

Felix skimmed past him, feeling the man’s gaze trained on his back as he wordlessly sat between two girls. Anything so he wasn’t exposed to the man’s enticing presence. Making his heart race like that of an untouched virgin.

That’s when Felix diagnosed: He might not be as ready to live his true self as he had thought.

The decision to take his time exploring his identity was easily made. Yet, the pledge lasted only 4 days.

“Hi, man! How’s it going?”

The first thing Felix noticed about the man in front of Jisung was the age difference.

Jisung might have been Felix’s age phsyically, but he usually carried himself with a heightened sense of maturity. His long-term girlfriend definitely was the cause for that, so much the countless dirty jokes had told Felix.

Jackson, on the contrary, had a sense of wiseness to him. He must have made many a experience that still awaited Felix and Jisung. What exactly made Felix feel like that, he couldn’t pinpoint. Although it likely wasn’t the baggy clothing or the Gucci snapback. Jackson must have come from money, was all Felix took away from them. And if it weren’t for Jackson’s clothing, the golden earrings and chain around his neck would have said as much.

“I’m alright. The workload already has me in a chokehold. But I’ll manage,” Jisung joked with his old friend before turning to Felix. “Jackson, this is my roommate, Felix. Felix, Jackson.”

“Nice to meet you!” Jackson greeted him as he pulled him into a bro-hug. The first of many, Felix was sure.

“Likewise.”

“So, already swimming in the workload? If it’s too much already, I wouldn’t advise picking Medicine as a Major. I was studying until the second the first guests arrived. And I will continue the moment the house is empty.”

A future doctor? Jackson? Definitely not what Felix had expected, but he didn’t know the guy. All he could go from was the first impression. He knew better than to judge from that alone.

“I’ll keep that in mind. You should tell Y/N before she suggests I also become a doctor.”

“She’s still not giving up on you picking a Major, huh?”

“I swear it’s everything she talked about the past two months.” Felix looked around the place, trying his hardest to ignore the words coming from his friend. It wasn’t like he knew everything about their relationship, nor was he picking sides in this debate. But hearing Jisung talk behind her back like that? It filled him with slight unease. “I love her, but it’s annoying.”

“You probably don’t want to hear it, but she has a point.”

Again, not what Felix had expected from Jackson. Taking Y/N’s side like that.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a semester to figure things out, but you’ll have to pick one eventually.” Jackson could tell from Jisung’s expression that this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “But...” Jackson opened three beer bottles from the sink before handing two of them over to Felix and Jisung. “That’s a conversation for tomorrow. Or next week. Right now, we party.”

“Hell, yeah!” Jisung agreed with a cheer before toasting the other two and downing half his bottle.

Felix took a sip, face scrunching at the bitter aftertaste of the liquid. He had never quite grown accustomed to the flavour of beer, his tastebuds preferring vodka or rum. Anything that mixed well with soft drinks.

While Jackson and Jisung chatted away like two estranged friends (which, for as much as Felix had understood, they were), Felix’s gaze wandered through the doorway into the living room. The house gradually filled with young students—some yet sober, some already intoxicated. Felix started appreciating Jisung by his side, so he didn’t have to approach this situation alone. Even if Jisung, right now, was ignoring his presence for his old friend.

Distracted by the loud music, Felix took a few steps out of the kitchen, when suddenly, he got knocked off his feet. Or at least almost.

He would have planted his face straight into the tiled flooring hadn’t it been for a set of delicate fingers coming to his biceps and steadying him. And if it weren’t already a complete recap of his encounter on the first day, Felix met the same mahogany eyes yet again.

Sweet, sweet irony.

The guy recognised him soon enough, a smirk appearing on his beautiful face. How he could be so enticing and cheeky without saying a word was beyond Felix.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Invisible strings drew Felix’s eyes to the man’s face, hanging on the way his lips moved whenever he spoke. He was in total awe of how someone could sound so sweet while having the fucking confidence of a... Well, if Felix had to name it, he would have called it fuckboy. Although, he didn’t want to judge a book by its cover. Even if this particular book was extremely easy on the eyes.

“You good?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you were alright.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, I’m good.”

“Good.” And there it was again. That stupid smirk made Felix feel things he didn’t know he had the mental capacity to feel. Emotions he had prayed to feel for Cassidy, Emily, Tina and all the others, he instead felt for some stranger the second he laid eyes on him. Like a complete loser. “You’re Felix, right?”

Eyebrows raising at the sound of his name from the stranger’s mouth, Felix swallowed thickly. “Yes. How do you know?”

“We have Psychology 101 together.” The first non-flirtatious words coming from the man, though that didn’t last long. “And I always remember the pretty faces.”

Pretty. That word, again, made Felix’s stomach churn and his pants tighten. Internally, he scolded himself for being so new to this that the simple compliment could affect him like this.

“I’m—You—Erm—” Felix stumbled over his thoughts pathetically. The stranger’s eyes kept running over all Felix’s features and he was very aware of it. He must have thought Felix was an utter basket-case. If he wanted to keep the last bit of pride, he had to get it together. Quick. “What’s your name?”

“Ouch,” the guy said as he placed his hand over a heart in mock hurt. “And here I hoped you had paid as much attention to me as I did you.”

What now? He had paid attention to Felix? When? How long? And why? Was this all part of a play, or was he kidding? Felix didn’t know what to think.

“I—I’m sorry.”

“No worries. I’m messing with you.” A breath of relief escaped Felix’s lips as he hoped the guy didn’t notice. “I’m Wooyoung. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“You, too,” Felix replied with the first smile in approximately hours.

“So, Felix. Now that I saved your life twice, what do you say we have a drink? It’s on me.”

Felix laughed at the joke as he pushed a strand of his blonde hair behind his ear.

“I already have one,” Felix explained, holding up the beer towards Wooyoung.

“Beer? You’re one of those guys?” Wooyoung asked with a sarcastic undertone, making Felix blush as he eyed the brown bottle.

“Actually, no. I never liked beer.” Placing the almost full bottle on the counter, he let Wooyoung guide him around the counter. A display of countless different liquors met them in a broad array.

“What’s your poison? Vodka? Gin?” Wooyoung questioned as he grabbed two red cups from the stack.

“Rum, actually.” The slight smile on Wooyoung flustered Felix as he hoped he hadn’t somehow made a fool of himself. Again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Wooyoung shrugged as he filled the two cups with a quarter rum before topping them off with coke. “I just know how to pick ‘em.” Felix didn’t know what he was hinting at, so he only smiled once Wooyoung handed him his drink. “To new acquaintances.”

“Yes. Acquaintances.”

With that, they toasted and took a sip each. The mixture of Captain Morgan and Coke gave Felix a sweet aftertaste. Much more comfortable than the beer had done, and he returned the smile Wooyoung sent him.

This whole situation was rather new to Felix. He had never been to a party like this. Single, that was. He never had the chance to meet someone on the go in a similar situation, and that reality filled him with unease. Despite having only met the guy, Felix wanted Wooyoung to like him. Whether that was a like in the we’ll become good friends sense or the give me all of you kinda way.

For a moment, Felix felt he was getting ahead of himself. He had met Wooyoung a few minutes ago. For all he knew, being flirtatious could have been engraved in his personality. Felix had arrived at campus mere days ago and even pledged to ease himself into this new, true identity. He definitely shouldn’t rush it.

As fast as he remembered that pledge he had taken, the memory evaporated. Wooyoung’s hand touched his hip, pulling him slightly closer, in front of everyone. Including his roommate and Jackson—two people he had no idea how they’d react to finding out his deepest secret. A secret he had never told anyone, on top of that.

“So, Felix—” Looking around the room, Felix soon realised that Jisung had left, and so had Jackson. A bunch of random people were running around, albeit ignoring the two guys in the corner, throwing googly eyes at each other. That realisation relaxed him almost entirely. “What’s your deal?”

Felix’s eyes met Wooyoung’s lips as he licked his own, a little nervous in the presence of someone so beautiful still. “What do you mean?”

“Are you, like, single? Hetero? Better tell me now before I fall for another straight guy.”

For someone so—unfamiliar, Felix felt himself drawn to anything Wooyoung did. Much more than he ever had with any of his ex-girlfriends. Sure, Felix was nervous around him, his hands shaking so heavily, he feared he’d spill his drink on the guy. At least some blame laid on his inexperience, blood rushing through his system like it was racing against itself. How was Wooyoung so self-assured and head-on anyways?

“I don’t know what to say.”

That was the truth. Felix had no idea how to answer such a straightforward question. Especially since he hadn’t said the words I am gay out loud, ever. Not even to himself. Expressing his personality to a stranger, out of all people, felt so out of place for him. Although he couldn’t deny the unmistakable magnetism pulling him towards Wooyoung.

“That’s okay. Because I know.”

The fingers at Felix’s hips dug into his flesh a little fiercer as Wooyoung closed in, breath hitting Felix’s cheek. Everything around him slowed in motion as his gaze switched from Wooyoung’s eyes to his lips, unsure of what to do or how to act. Would this be his first kiss with a man? With a stranger? In front of all these people? Tipsy from two unfinished drinks and Wooyoung’s presence alone?

“You do?” It took him a few seconds to finally reply, the tension becoming too much, too fast. “Maybe you can tell me. Because I have no fucking idea.”

Wooyoung laughed out loud at his words; a hearty laugh which sounded much like heaven to Felix. Some of the tension vanished as he took another deep breath and a long sip from his drink.

“And he’s funny, too. Damn, I really do know how to pick ‘em.”

The words made Felix blush as he averted his gaze towards the floor.

“I tell you what,” Wooyoung retracted his hands as his softening gaze met Felix’s anxious one. He must have noticed Felix’s unsure aura, torn between wanting to experience whatever Wooyoung had in mind and taking it slow. Felix had never been this happy about his expressional features. “How about you figure out what your deal is first? And when you do, come find me.”

As much as those words took the pressure off, Felix couldn’t deny the hint of disappointment pulling at his mood. He wanted to try and get him to close the proximity again, feeling cold after Wooyoung had pulled away. Sneakers screeching against the tiles soon captured their attention, rendering the moment gone. Felix recognised the owner as the same guy Wooyoung had been sitting next to in class. How could he have forgotten the bright pink hair and features as sharp as a fox’s?

“Dude, you gotta come watch this,” the guy exclaimed as he came over, dragging Wooyoung away by his hand. “Mingi is trying to do a keg-stand. It’s fucking hilarious. Like a giraffe trying to… well, do a kegstand.”

“No way!” With one last wink that made Felix’s knees weak, Wooyoung ran after his friend and out of Felix’s vision. It took him a few desperate moments to steady himself, hands still trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Felix turned around, one, to tighten his grip around the counter and regain his balance, and two, conceal the boner which his pants did nothing to hide. His mind kept racing back to the proximity, the touches. The flirtatious words of a guy he barely knew but, at the same time, felt like he wanted to know everything about. The distance allowed him to realised how fast everything had played out. And while he feared it had happened all too fast, he couldn’t help but want to skip forward even further.

Perhaps, it was that he was desperate to finally get a taste of what he had denied himself for years. Crushes, love, passion. Everything his girlfriends had felt, but he never quite managed to. Making mistakes and gaining experience. Anything eventually leading him to alwaysness. With whomever that might be.

Although, right now, he wanted to have a sense of it with one particular person.

Two excruciating hours later, Felix found himself in the living area of the frat house. He had thought back to the moment in the kitchen so many times he could hardly count them. Not to mention how often he had gotten semi-hard thinking about Wooyoung’s breath against his cheek. His hands on his hips. And his words in his ear.

How about you figure out what your deal is first? And when you do, come find me.

But what if there was nothing to figure out? What if Felix already knew what he wanted and what his deal was? What if the only thing keeping him from acting on it was his inexperience?

All those what if’s jogging through Felix’s brain didn’t change anything. All he wanted—truly wanted at the moment—was to drag Wooyoung into the nearest closet and make him feel good. Have Wooyoung make him feel good. Whatever the guy was up for, honestly. Felix had spent the better part of two decades pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Now that he had a fresh start, he desired to finally be his true self.

It took him not 20 minutes longer until he decided that enough was enough.

Y/N, Yuqi and Changbin had left a while ago to play Truth or Drink in the kitchen, leaving Felix with a group of random boys. Sure, it was a group of boys he considered his closest friends on campus, but right now, they appeared so boring. Especially with a much more intriguing person, throwing him suggestive winks from the other end of the room.

How he had even noticed Wooyoung in the sea of drunk students was beyond him. Though Felix had no brain capacity left for the whys and hows. Wooyoung was sipping on his drink, playing with the straw about as suggestively as Felix had seen anyone do. Biting at the short fingernail of his pinky, Felix already felt the excitement nagging at his gut. The combination of clothes, alcohol and arousal ran him so very hot.

Wooyoung’s pink-haired friend didn’t notice he wasn’t paying him the slightest hint of attention. How ever important their conversation was, Felix couldn’t bring himself to care. This whole back and forth went on for a few minutes when Felix finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Without a word to his friends he got up from his seat, eyes drawn to the beautiful tempter at the other side of the room. Once Wooyoung recognised the intention behind Felix’s approach, he left his friend for the stairs.

The sway in his hips had Felix’s whole attention as he followed him upstairs, always a few steps behind to not alert the surrounding couples. As though they weren’t completely immersed in their make-outs and other grindings.

Once at the upper end of the staircase, Felix looked around to find the hallway empty. Someone must have ensured the private rooms remained private, and usually, this would have been the end of his path. Though the confidence in Wooyoung’s step encouraged Felix to push that to the deepest part of his brain.

His movements stayed cautious until he reached the end of the hall, entering the last room on the left. Felix took a deep breath as he closed the door and turned around. Not a second went by until he noticed the man on one of the two beds, drink long forgotten on one of the desks.

“Hi.” With no hint of pressure in his voice, Wooyoung watched Felix fidgeting by the door.

“Hi.”

Silence took over the room as Felix realised why Wooyoung wasn’t being his usual flirty self. Understanding how he had some reservations still, he left every decision up to Felix. It gave him a sense of security, understanding that if he didn’t want anything to happen, nothing would. Even if they were on their own in a small room, veiled in tension thick enough to cut with a spoon.

With that sense of total security in mind, Felix took a shaky step forward.

“So—” His voice broke as he regretted not bringing his drink. He felt the deep desire for something to cool his system, easing the lump in his throat. “I figured out what my deal is. And I’m coming to you, like you said.”

“Good.” The smile on Wooyoung’s face was as non-suggestive as he had ever seen, further soothing his tense body. “Do you mind sharing with me?”

“No. I will.” Taking another deep breath, Felix looked to the ceiling as he brought his hand to his stiff shoulders.

This was the moment. Felix would say the words out loud for the first time. Reality would hit, and there would be no escaping it anymore.

Fortunately, Felix didn’t want to run from it any longer.

“I’m single. And, I’m—”

Say it! He won’t judge. Just spit it out!

“I’m gay.”

“Okay.”

Okay. Okay? Despite the simplicity of the word, pure relief overcame Felix, body slumping as exhaustion blurred his vision. He was gay, and it was okay.

The next breath through a watery veil of happiness and alleviation felt like the first one he had ever taken.

“Oh my God, did I say something wrong?” Wooyoung hurried over to Felix’s trembling body as he wrapped his protective arms around him. Felix’s hands clung to the man’s shirt, face pressed into the crook of his neck as he let himself be held. Nothing more. Just held and accepted.

“No. Nothing wrong.” The whispered words reached Wooyoung’s ear within milliseconds. “All the right words. But—”

He stopped, pondering for a few seconds whether to confide in someone he hardly knew. A man who had nothing but shamelessly flirted with him for all 20 minutes of aggregated conversation. But he was here right now. And Felix needed to let him know how much he had already done for him.

Also, he was bawling into the guy’s shirt. It could hardly get much more intimate than this, anyways.

“I never said it out loud.”

“Oh… Oh!”

The realisation hit Wooyoung like a bus as he further fastened his comforting grip on Felix. It all made sense to him now. The insecurity. The uncomfortable tension whenever he said anything below the belt. The silence following the question of what his deal was. And here Wooyoung was, thinking he was yet again barking up the wrong tree. As it turned out, he had finally found the right tree, though it hadn’t bloomed yet.

“Fuck. I’m sorry I came on so strong. It just… I thought you were cute, but then I wasn’t so sure if you felt the same way. I assumed you might be one of those straight guys who aren’t so straight after a few drinks. So, I went all in to skip all that will-they-won’t-they crap. Wouldn’t have been the first time I was utterly disappointed at the end of the day.”

He had only tried to feel Felix out and learn if he himself could get hurt. Evidently, neither of them was trying nor intending to play games with the other.

“You didn’t come on too strong. I mean, you kinda did. But I liked it.”

As they drew away from each other, light laughter filled the room. Wooyoung’s arms were still circled around Felix’s waist as they stared into each other’s eyes. Their smiles soon faded as they recognised their proximity. When Wooyoung’s hands reclaimed their position on his hip, Felix’s stomach erupted in sheer excitement. The sentimentality of the moment was ultimately broken by his arousal.

“You like this, too. I can feel it,” Wooyoung pointed out with a smile as he squeezed Felix’s sides once, making him jump a little. “Knew it.”

“Fine. I like it.”

“So, you never told anyone you’re gay. Does that mean you just found out yourself? Or did you always know on some level and try to fit into a pair of shoes that weren’t yours?”

“A little of both. Like, I used to crush on Danny Phantom so hard it surprises me my parents never caught on. But then again, I had many girlfriends in Middle and High School.”

Wooyoung explored Felix’s cheeks and nose where freckles decorated him in beautiful patterns.

“You’ve never been with a guy then?”

Felix shook his head as his gaze met Wooyoung’s inviting, plump lips. In his subconscious, he grazed his teeth against them, the intimacy of the moment turning the corners of his mouth upwards. The closer Felix got to him, the sexier he found him to be.

“But you want to be?”

This time, Felix nodded. Never had he been more sure than while looking at the most beautiful man he had ever seen. So close he could almost taste him. And if that wasn’t sign enough already, the prominent tent in his pants at the simple touch of his hips assured him.

He wanted Wooyoung, more than he had ever wanted anyone else.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

“That’s good. I can work with that.”

Leaning in their eyes met as Felix took in what was happening. Like the romance novel moment he had always dreamed of, seconds turned minutes, and moments turned into a lifeline. And then, finally, after hours of distant pining, Wooyoung closed the gap between them.

Now, Felix had kissed many people before. Cassidy, at 14, under the old cherry tree in his backyard while reading his favourite anime. Emily at 15 in more places than he could remember. And many others since. Girls, exclusively.

Though right now, as he tasted Wooyoung for the first time it finally dawned on him. The sweetness of his scent, the rum on his lips and the coke in his breath. This was what a kiss should feel like. This was what desire was supposed to feel like.

They deepened the kiss, tongues brushing lips, and Felix reached for Wooyoung’s neck. He ran his hands through the man’s hair, mouths moving in unison as silent whimpers escaped his lips. When Wooyoung pulled away, it was to catch his breath while also searching for a hint of regret in Felix’s features. When he couldn’t find anything but lust, he smirked, reconnecting his lips to the other’s.

Hands clawed at and bodies moved against one another as desperate whines filled the room. Mainly Felix’s, but who could blame him? Every single one of Wooyoung’s movements was the perfect calculation. He knew through and through what he was doing. Wooyoung clawed at Felix, pulling him into his body and providing his aching erection with much-needed friction. Semi-aroused for the better part of the evening, finally, he got relief from the discomfort.

Pulling Felix’s hair and tipping his head back, Wooyoung’s lips moved to the side of his neck. All the while, Felix kept his hands in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling him even closer and not letting him go.

“Fuck…” Felix slurred when the other sucked at his skin, trying to mark him for later. In the past, he hated having hickeys on his neck. Others knowing he had made out with his girlfriend had always made him uncomfortable. With Wooyoung, he couldn’t deny that he loved the thought of people knowing he belonged to someone. Or at least had done so for a brief moment in time.

Wooyoung’s hands fisted Felix’s shirt as he inched it up before checking in with the blonde, “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Please, take it off already.”

“Getting hot?” Wooyoung asked with a smirk, getting his answer once Felix nodded with a thick swallow. “Good.”

Once the fabric landed on the floor, Wooyoung lingered to take in the view. He had expected many things from the closeted nerdy boy, but not this. Not a full-on six-pack, tensing as he let his fingertips wander over his hot skin.

“Damn. Who would have thought?” The thoughts leaving Wooyoung’s brain without a filter made Felix blush. It was one thing, hearing how well-built he was from someone else. But someone he deemed the hottest person he had ever laid eyes on? That did something to him alright. And when Wooyoung leaned down to let his perky tongue run over the bulges, that did a whole other thing to him.

“Fuck… More, please.”

“Patience. I have a lot more to give you,” Wooyoung told him with a smirk as he pushed Felix onto the mattress and sank to his knees. This view was heavenly, straight out of a porno, and Felix felt like he was dreaming again. The whole situation was surreal.

Looking up at the blond, Wooyoung pulled him down for another kiss before focusing on his pecs. He took his sweet time worshipping Felix’s chest, his nipples and abs. Electric shocks rushed straight through Felix’s spine towards the top of his head. Wooyoung couldn’t get enough, spending a few extra seconds kissing his abdominal muscles until a layer of spit and sweat covered them.

“Please…” The silent prayer escaped Felix like a mantra. He’d come in his pants if Wooyoung didn’t do something soon and that was definitely not how he wanted this first time to end. Bad enough his first first time (a few years ago with Emily in the backseat of his father’s Toyota) had ended that way. Another taste of that embarrassment would have been too much to overcome.

“You think you’re ready for this?”

“I was born ready. Just— do something, please.”

“Oh, I’ll be doing much more than just something.”

Wooyoung opened Felix’s pants, dragging them over his thighs and towards the floor. Once the jeans had gone, Felix noticed he was almost entirely naked while Wooyoung was far from it. Without a second thought, he pulled the man’s shirt up, and over his head. To even it out, if you will. Now, not only their bodies but their pure skin was connecting. No restraints, no barriers. Only the two of them.

“I’m gonna go slow, okay? Let me know if you want me to do something different.”

As sweet as Felix identified the assurance to be, it was much unneeded. The second Wooyoung pulled him out of his briefs—tip red and leaking—he licked a thick stripe up the underside. That’s when Felix knew this would be excruciating in the best way immaginable.

Wooyoung worked him with so much knowledge and understanding of the male anatomy. It felt like he was inside Felix’s body, metaphorically. He knew exactly where to lick, where to suck and how to work him so he would fall apart below him. Felix’s eyes stayed glued to the beauty, watching him suck on his length and take him down his throat. As though he had never done anything else.

The past blowjobs Felix had received—which there were quite a few, thanks to his charming personality and sweet looks—had been good. He couldn’t lie that he had enjoyed every one of them, though it had never been this mind-numbing. Wooyoung had a technique to his movements only someone with a dick could come up with. Someone who had experienced many a blowjob first-hand— Felix was sure of that.

Spit slid down his length as Wooyoung navigated him deeper with each thrust, hands pumping what he couldn’t fit. His eyes filled with utter and total lust, gazes meeting when he looked up at Felix with a blurriness to his vision. It was a sight Felix had never seen—so pretty and feral. Enough to make him burst on the spot.

However, he couldn’t let that happen.

Felix’s hand on Wooyoung’s cheek urged him to let him fall from his mouth, cock glistening in a beautiful glow. He leaned down and connected their mouths as he tasted himself on Wooyoung’s tongue. Never had he tasted so delicious.

“Good?” Wooyoung asked as though he hadn’t made Felix see stars. Right now, he wasn’t sure he could ever feel as good again.

“So, so good.”

They shared a short moment of silence while Felix scooted back on the bed until he reached the headboard. Wooyoung situated himself above Felix’s lap as they continued their heated make-out session.

Felix admired Wooyoung’s broad chest and sculptured pecs while he planted wet kisses against his jaw. With as much confidence as Wooyoung presented, Felix wasn’t surprised his beauty continued past his face. Although he was still in awe of the perfect piece of art that was Wooyoung’s body. So chiselled, so muscular, so masculine. A dream come true in the most literal sense.

Delicate fingers ran over Felix’s stomach and snapped him out of his daydream. His abs tightened when he felt Wooyoung reach back and wrap his digits around his length.

“Oh, God.” Wooyoung seemed to enjoy the teasing too much, a triumphant grin on his features at the heightened reactivity in Felix’s expression. “Please. I— God.”

The grunt leaving Felix was nothing short of animalistic as Wooyoung’s thumbed over the head.

“You were saying?”

“I need you. Please.”

Bringing his hands back to his front, Wooyoung ended every direct skin contact to Felix. The loss of the physical component refocused all their senses while the fog in their brains lifted a little.

“You sure you want your first time to be drunk at a frat party?”

Felix appreciated Wooyoung’s caution, heart swelling as he wondered how he had deserved someone so considerate. A stranger, yes, but the most respectful one. However, this was hardly his first time. His body count filled all of one five-fingered hand. And even though this felt different, he was well aware of the vulnerability he exposed himself to.

“First of all, I’m not that drunk. See?” Felix straightened up as he positioned his pointer fingers at the corners of his peripheral vision. Bringing them together to touch right before his nose, he proofed his hypothesis. Much to Wooyoung’s amusement, who giggled at the adorable action. “Second, this isn’t my first time. I’ve done this before. With girls, yes. But I know what I’m getting myself into. And third, I really fucking want you to fuck me. Like yesterday.”

Opening up to Wooyoung seemed so easy after he had literally sucked his cock mere moments earlier. The guy’s sweet personality made it much easier for Felix to voice his wishes. He was sure about this.

Apparently, Wooyoung understood so much.

“Okay. But only under one condition.” Wooyoung’s fingers ran between Felix’s pecs and down his adonis belt. “You are the one doing the fucking this time. I have nothing to prep you with, and you want your first time to be slow, believe me. Ergo, you’re topping.”

“Alright,” Felix gave in with a laugh. If that’s what Wooyoung wanted to do, then Felix was content with being the penetrator rather than the penetrated. He also couldn’t deny the skip of his heartbeat when Wooyoung suggested there would be a second time. “One more thing. What’s topping?”

Eyes widening in amusement, Wooyoung couldn’t help but giggle at the younger’s words. “God, you’re innocent. Good thing you have me to show you everything you need to know.”

Rolling off Felix’s body, Wooyoung rid himself of his remaining clothes— jeans and underwear landing on top of Felix’s pile. With his free hand, Wooyoung reached for the nightstand and rummaged through its content with a hopeful expression.

“Come on, San-ie. Don’t disappoint me right now.” After a few seconds, his face lit up while he pulled lube and a condom from the drawer. “Do I know my best friend or what?”

“San. Is that the pink-haired guy?”

“Yup. I dyed it myself. You like it?” Wooyoung asked as he handed Felix the condom.

“It suits him well.” He rolled the piece of latex over himself with vigour while Wooyoung opened the lube and began spreading it between his cheeks. “So, this is his room? He doesn’t mind us using his bed?”

“Oh, I’m counting on it. San used mine so often, with so many different women, he should be paying half of my rent.” Felix chuckle was dark, eyes focusing on Wooyoung once he was back on top of him. “But enough about him.”

Felix’s eyes ran down Wooyoung’s naked form as he felt himself twitch against thin air. For a few rose-coloured seconds, he let himself enjoy the view of a beautiful man on top of him. His hands roamed over the older’s thighs, feeling the texture of his smooth, sun-kissed skin. He could have spent hours exploring every crevice of Wooyoung’s body.

In the dim lightening of the room, Wooyoung looked ethereal, muscular statue and pretty face only further continued in the shape of his cock. In no porn had Felix ever seen someone so enchanting, mouth watering at the mere sight of his erection. As much as Wooyoung had focused on him within the previous moments, Felix couldn’t shake the need to do the same for him. His own arousal pushed past its limits by the thought of making Wooyoung feel good.

Hands wandering further up his thighs, Felix soon reached the base of his dick. With one questioning look followed by an agreeing hum, Felix finally touched him.

He went slow at first, testing the waters and Wooyoung’s reactions to figure out what he liked. It took him not a minute to do so. Working Wooyoung the same way he worked himself in moments of privacy did the trick. It almost came natural to him as he collected the guy’s pre-cum to smear it over his length, hand pumping from base to tip in short, rhythmic motions.

“Fuck. You’re so pretty.”

The words were as much unsolicited as they were unintentional, though Wooyoung enjoyed the compliment. A blush appeared on his cheeks as he closed the gap, pushing his hungry mouth against Felix’s.

“How about you fuck me and see how much prettier I can become.”

Felix, yet again, felt himself twitch at the crudeness of the words, proving to himself that, yes. He might have a thing for dirty talk. Though that realisation was for another day to explore. With his bottom lip between his teeth, Wooyoung shimmied down his body until he reached his lap. Squirting some of the lube onto his palm, Wooyoung lost no time to massage it into Felix’s length.

“Ready?”

“God, yes.”

As Wooyoung sunk all the way to complete fullness, Felix realised that was a lie. He could have never prepared for the feeling of Wooyoung’s snug hole, so much tighter than anything he had ever felt around himself before. His hands flew to the older’s thighs as he moved up and down and steadied himself by clawing his nails into Felix’s skin.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

“You have no idea how amazing you feel,” Wooyoung agreed with a moan, hands resting on Felix’s stomach for support. “You think you can move? Meet me in the middle?”

“I don’t even know if I can breathe right now.”

His words were met with a giggle, though despite his inability to think, Felix lifted his hip up to meet him. Moving against gravity was more demanding than he had anticipated, but the look of pure bliss on Wooyoung’s face made it worthwhile.

He definitely hadn’t lied when he said he’d become even prettier while fucked out.

They soon found a rhythm that was comfortable for either. Still, Felix knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Not when Wooyoung caressed all his senses so perfectly, eyes, ears, hands, mouth and mind filled with nothing but him. The world stood still around them, entirely immersed in the moment.

One particularly sharp thrust poked Felix’s attention, tip hitting a spot within Wooyoung that made him throw his head back with a whimper. His body trembled under Felix’s palms, abdominal muscles pulling Wooyoung forward and crouching over the younger. At first, Felix believed whatever he had done had hurt Wooyoung. Once the older opened his eyes—gaze veiled in animalistic hunger—Felix understood it wasn’t a grunt of pain.

“Was that…”

“My prostate? Fuck, yes.” Stilling on top of him, Wooyoung needed to rest for a second. Right when he took up his previous movements, Felix fell back into the same rhythm. Five thrusts in, the same thing happened again, though Wooyoung didn’t stop this time. To say that the sight was divine would have been a crude understatement. “Fuck… Touch me, baby. Please!”

The first time Wooyoung begged him for something—rather than the other way around—Felix identified another new kink. This was all new anyways, and Wooyoung still unleashed underlying desires Felix hadn’t even known existed.

Felix’s hands flew to Wooyoung’s dick, stroking it in unison with his thrusts. And like that, the older fell apart on top of him.

Felix had only ever seen a man cum through the screen of his laptop. It had seemed so fake, the whimpering and grunting way too excessive to be genuine. Or so he thought.

When Wooyoung hit his high, he completely slumped with a groan in Felix’s ear as he released onto his stomach. Hot spurts painted his abs in white, running between the crevices and towards his navel—and there was so much of it. Felix wasn’t quite sure if this was still considered healthy.

Despite being in a state of utter bliss, Wooyoung kept moving, dragging out his orgasm and urging Felix towards his own. The sight and noises would have gotten him there as was. The added pleasure of Wooyoung’s tired hole clenching and his intense eyes eventually launched him into his sweet, sweet release.

Panting beside each other, they tried catching their breaths for a few minutes. It could have been hours, for all Felix cared. He couldn’t have been trusted with anything right now, not even telling the time.

At some point, Felix cleaned himself before reclaiming his position under Wooyoung, with the older’s head propped on his chest.

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

Chuckling filled the room as their gazes fixated on the ceiling. Wooyoung pressed kisses against Felix’s chest on occasion, a sweet gesture that was much appreciated. The longer they remained entangled, listening to each other’s breathing, the faster Felix’s mind spun. The kissing, the tension, the desire. Everything was so fresh in his mind but, at the same time, felt so far away. He couldn’t deny that after finally figuring out why everyone was so obsessed with sex, he couldn’t wait to experience it again.

Wooyoung figured Felix’s mind out with one short look at his lap.

“You’re still hard.”

It wasn’t so much still as it was again, his body visibly not done yet despite having reached a peak minutes ago.

“Because you’re still pretty.”

The explanation forced Wooyoung’s cheeks into another blush as he kissed Felix, softer this time but just as passionate. Climbing back on top of him, Wooyoung nipped at Felix’s bruised neck, making him moan at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“That’s gonna be a bitch to cover up tomorrow,” Wooyoung recognised with a giggle as his gaze met Felix’s. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. I like having a visual reminder for the next few days.”

“Well, if that’s so…”

Trailing off, Wooyoung leaned back down, sucking on Felix’s chest. A red bruise appeared within seconds of him biting and licking over the flesh, Felix holding him close by his hair to keep him going. Any direct skin contact Wooyoung gave him Felix couldn’t get enough of. He wanted to live in this moment for as long as possible.

The fire in his stomach reignited when the older licked over his nipples, swirling the buds between his lips. The shock waves coursing through Felix reached his cock, which twitched in excitement.

Yup, he definitely wasn’t done for today.

While Wooyoung kissed his way all over Felix’s chest, the younger reentered heaven. He couldn’t help but ponder what else there was he hadn’t tried yet. Like giving blowjobs. Or whatever the antonym of topping was. He couldn’t quite wait to figure it out, although some higher power forced patience on him.

Felix wanted to ask Wooyoung if he could taste him, but he didn’t get there. Before anything else could happen, the door to the room opened with a creek, and Felix’s head snapped up. His eyes darted to the entrance, shock written on his face as his gaze met the intruder’s.

He couldn’t quite tell whether you had recognised him. Although the lighting most likely wasn’t dark enough to shield his identity. You must have identified him. But he couldn’t react fast enough. As soon as you had appeared, you muttered a perplexed “I’m sorry” and pulled the door shut. Leaving Felix with only fear and a hard-on he wasn’t so sure would find any true relief for the rest of the night

Next Chapter >>> coming soon

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[anonymouspuzzler]

god help me i'm Writing

i did a little prose one-shot with Buck and Davey just to test out how it felt, and my buddies talked me into puttin 'er up, so now You All Must Read It Too. art at the bottom too if you make it through!

content warnings for: "Buck is basically about to have a panic attack the whole time" and "brief, not especially graphic description of that time Davey lost an arm", "maybe some secondhand embarrassment because Buck can't pick up a hint if his life depends on it", and "Like Exactly One Sex Joke". Okay Enjoy Or Don't

A bit of a crash after a job was standard. You know, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by aches and exhaustion. The contrast of going from a dramatic heist or a bombastic fight, to mundanely washing up and scraping together dinner and such. The early stirrings of inevitable cabin fever, lying low for however long it took for things to blow over and the heroes to move on to newer, shinier threats. That ever-present, anxious itch at the back of his skull - the one certain that one day, his luck would run out, and he’d be tracked back here by someone who knew he wasn’t quite unkillable - growing just a bit louder in the aftermath of drawing so much attention to himself. Yeah, all that was normal; something he’d come to expect.

He was not currently experiencing that. No, the cold crawl in his gut as he looked around the empty hideout was decidedly not the usual post-job, I’m-gonna-be-cooped-up-a-while anxiety. This was new, and he knew exactly the cause.

Davey still hadn’t come downstairs.

No-- no, Dynamo. Dynamo hadn’t come downstairs. He kept letting himself slip like this, into that casual, dangerous familiarity. He absolutely could not keep doing that. He’d already gotten too close, crossed the unspoken boundary that kept them both safe in their line of work. It was exactly what’d gotten him into this mess in the first place.

For a few beautiful moments right after the heist, running on pure adrenaline and the high of victory, it had been like none of those concerns existed. Just him and Davey-- Dynamo; him and Dynamo-- and a giant, freshly-swiped stash of unstable compounds in the backseat. A job neither of them could have pulled off alone, and that had gone off with nary a hitch together. The strung-out, victorious cackles from them both, grinning wide, hands gripping each other’s shoulders, heaving breaths passed between each other so closely, he could still feel it in his lungs if he concentrated on the memory.

(So close to each other, that he could’ve lurched forward and kissed him like it was nothing. It took all his willpower not to do so, and that was one of many, many things here that terrified him; that his willpower could be so easily tested by what should have been the easiest, most obvious boundary.)

Of course, that moment couldn’t have lasted. Of course. It couldn’t have just from the baseline, but especially not when they had to deal with handing over the material to Practis. (Practis, stupid fuckin’ Practis, if he hadn’t owed them the favor he would never have gone to deal with ‘em.)

Davey-- Dynamo wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite. All it’d taken was one well-placed question from Practis while Buck had been busy unloading the goods, and all the dots connected from there.

“O-positive?”

“...excuse me?”

“Your blood type. It’s O-positive. Am I right?”

He’d cut in before they could talk any further, of course, hustling Davey-- Dynamo into the car and bidding Practis a curt farewell, but it was too late. Dynamo was silent as they drove off, tightly-drawn lips betraying that he was deep in thought, even with his eyes hidden behind his goggles.

Buck’s mouth had been dry. Barely able to glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, heart pounding as he wondered whether he ought to make small talk just to distract from the elephant in the room.

He didn’t get a chance. Davey spoke up first.

“You went to them for help when I lost my arm.”

It wasn’t a question. Buck couldn’t tell if the tone was meant to be just observational, or perhaps accusatory. “...maybe,” he answered regardless, cringing the second it was out of his mouth. Repulsed by his own noncommittal cowardice.

Davey would have been entirely within his rights to cuss Buck out for the breach of trust; for hiding that from him all this time, leaving him in Practis’ debt without even realizing. He stared down at his lap instead, silent for a long moment. “...this job was the payment for that,” he added, another not-question. Nothing for Buck to answer; to clarify. “You had to do all this because of me.”

“Not because of you,” he retorted, only mostly lying. “It’s, just… you know. And, you ended up helping me get this stuff for ‘em in the end. So, like. You’ve more than returned the favor, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not, actually.”

“Oh.” Shit. His grip tightened on the steering wheel; his eyes honed in on a suddenly-very-interesting stretch of empty road on the horizon. Great job convincing the guy he owed you a favor, Buck. (Why do you care? Why care what he thinks? Why do you need his approval so badly?)

“...why the hell’d you go through with it, Buck?”

Shit. The million-dollar question. The one he kept circling around himself, trying desperately not to confront the obvious answer. (His name, his real name on his lips, again casting aside the safety of Dynamo and Bulkhead.) He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, seeing his gaze averted, gloved hand just barely tracing the edge where his newly-minted battle prosthetic attached to the stump of his right arm.

He needed an answer. (Deserved one.)

“...well, you would’ve done the same for me.”

The truth of it lingered in the space between his words, and he was terrified Davey would catch on. Because yes, Davey would have done the same for him, but because, Buck suspected, he would do the same for anyone - far, far too kind; too adverse to death for someone in his line of work. But Buck - Buck would not do the same for anyone. For Dynamo-- for Davey, only for Davey-- he would. He would, he had, he would again.

(Because Davey was whip-smart and funny and kind and beautiful and he was all those things to him, of all people. And god help him, he was a sad, grouchy, lonely old man and apparently someone treating him like a regular-ass person, like someone to chat and banter and plot with, was all it took for him to start falling head over fuckin’ heels.)

The rest of the drive back was silent, and in some deep, horrible, cold part of Buck’s gut, he was certain Davey had heard the words between his words.

And now here they were. They’d pulled the car into the hideout, Davey had mumbled out something about doing a bit of cleanup in the workshop before turning in, Buck had nodded and mumbled something about washing up so the shower’d be free when he came downstairs, and now here he was discovering Davey still hadn’t come down. (Avoiding him. Had to be, right? He wouldn’t blame him. Hell, maybe he’d grabbed his stuff while Buck was in the bathroom and ran out for good.)

He managed about five minutes of awkwardly milling about the hideout, valiantly trying to convince himself he’d flip channels on the TV or get out something for dinner, before finally succumbing to morbid curiosity and slipping upstairs to see if Davey was still working in the shop. (Making up excuses, trying not to acknowledge the inevitable. Maybe he was just engrossed in some task or another. Maybe he needed help with cleaning up and hadn’t thought to bug him about it. Maybe he sat down for a minute and fell asleep in the backseat of the car. Anything that wasn’t “running off without a word because Buck got way too close to him for people in their line of work”.)

He wasn’t there when Buck got upstairs, and for a moment his heart sank into his stomach, but then he noticed the golden sunset-light filtering in around the corner - the garage door was open. Davey was just in the entryway, just out of sight, Buck rationalized. (He left the door open when he ran off, the more realistic part of him countered. All contradictions in his head right now, both desperately trying to protect his fragile heart and steeling himself for the inevitable reality of the heartbreak.)

He rounded the corner.

Davey was there.

He was there (he was there, he really didn’t run off), back to him, not yet noticing Buck had walked in. Watching the sunset, it looked like, orange-and-gold light spilling across his sharp shoulders and thick curls. He’d removed most of his work gear - the massive prosthetic, the helmet, the goggles, the gloves - leaving him slim and exposed compared to the imposing figure he cut on the job. (Exposed both metaphorically - though Buck knew better, anyone else would see him like this and think he was fairly vulnerable to attack without all his gadgets and armor - and literally, overalls hanging loosely by a single strap in a way that made Buck fight not to ogle.)

It was a quieter, softer moment than Buck expected to find. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to slip quietly back where he came, leaving Davey to his private contemplation. But, at the same time, he had already trespassed, and it felt wrong to keep that fact to himself, too - reluctant, he cleared his throat, trying to hit that careful, contradictory midpoint of gentle yet forceful; enough to alert to his presence without making it seem as if he was demanding Davey’s attention.

(Dynamo. Dynamo. Dynamo. He was slipping, he kept slipping, and it was getting more and more dangerous every time. Harder and harder to pull back.)

Davey-- Dynamo turned, sharp, eyes wide, hair bouncing in its ponytail with the force. (God, he was beautiful. Objectively. Purely objectively. Big eyes, thick lashes, the way he worried at his thin lips with his gap-teeth.) At a loss of what else to do, Buck forced a grin and waved; Dynamo responded in turn. (Warmth in his eyes, but tightness in his smile. The heavy, anxious feeling from the drive returned to Buck’s gut in earnest.)

“Hey,” Dynamo started, tone light. (Yet forced; Buck knew how he spoke well enough at this point to tell - and god, god, what a sign of the danger he’d put them both in, knowing him well enough to recognize that subtle tell.) “Sorry, I didn’t realize that, uh, y’know-- time-- I-I’m just watching the sunset.”

“Cool,” Buck replied, feeling somehow even more socially inept than normal. “Cool. I can, uh--” He gestured behind him, back to the door; trying desperately to communicate he’d leave Dynamo to his privacy if need be. (To reflect, to escape, whatever. Maybe both. Maybe reflecting on how much he clearly needed to get the hell outta there.)

“No!” His voice cracked with the suddenness of the exclamation, sending Buck’s brows skyward - that he’d never heard before. Davey-- Dynamo seemed embarrassed by the outburst on his part, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, gaze averted. “I mean-- nah, you don’t have to, you can, uh--” And he trailed off, gesturing dumbly to the empty space beside him, an unspoken invitation.

An invitation Buck, by all accounts, should have refused without hesitation.

…he didn’t, of course. Fuck, of course he didn’t. No, instead he shuffled awkwardly up to the empty space beside him, hands in his pockets, balled tight into fists. (He had the good sense to at least leave a polite gap between them, of course. Room for the Holy Spirit, he quipped to himself, trying desperately to lighten the mood in his own mind. He conjured an image of a cartoonish high school dance chaperone, screeching and shoving balloons between dancers’ bodies to force the distance. The thought only cheered him a minute before detouring into grim memories of his own high school dances, spent watching awkwardly from the sidelines, mooning over handsome young men who barely even knew his name. Multiple decades on and he still wasn’t too different from that pathetic kid. Fuck.)

Get back on track. Hands in his pockets, staring out at the (actually quite beautiful, damn) sunset, Dynamo beside him at a polite distance, doing the same. A variation on their side-by-side silence in the car before, but now with barriers removed - their expression-obscuring goggles, Buck’s imposing jacket, Dynamo’s massive prosthetic. Two men off the clock, without their armor, without defenses. (And he hated it, he hated how easy it was, how those walls just came down around Davey without him even thinking about it. This was rule fucking one of the villain lifestyle, not putting yourself in positions where you’re vulnerable around others. You never knew who might be just desperate enough to sell you out.)

(...Even if he was increasingly certain, in some part of his anxious mind, that Davey would never dream of doing so.)

“...You wouldn’t happen to have any cigarettes, would you?” Dynamo suddenly asked, finally breaking the silence. The question came so out of left field Buck couldn’t help but turn his head to stare, finding Dynamo’s gaze locked on the scenery ahead, left hand fidgeting subtly with the outer lining of his pocket.

It took a second for Buck to even process the actual, y’know, words of the question. “...no, I don’t,” he finally replied. (Even if he wanted to smoke, frankly - which he didn’t - his chronic asthma decidedly wouldn’t appreciate it, and asthma attacks were one of those little things his super-durability didn’t prevent. It chilled him how he had to actively stop himself from freely sharing that sensitive, this-could-actually-kill-me information with Davey.) “...you smoke?”

“No, I quit years ago.” A quick, practiced reply. Automatic, in many ways.

“...then why did you--”

“I don’t know.” A quick, barked laugh, no humor behind it. “Just get the craving when I’m nervous, I guess.”

The easy honesty of his words stuck in Buck’s throat, choking down any response he might have been planning. (Too honest, too honest. Was he like this with everyone? Or… did he dare imagine this kind of trust was only for him?) He should have dropped it, he needed to drop it for both their sakes, but unfortunately, his brain was still reeling and he instead responded with a quiet, “You’re nervous?”

A pause. Too far. Davey’s-- Dynamo’s expression was tight. “Maybe,” he replied, quiet. Honest. Too, too honest, fuck.

Buck’s gut twisted and flipped, instinct of shut this down shut this down you’re in danger fighting heartily with a desperate, primal need to return the openness he’d been shown. “...is it… am I…?”

“No. Yes? No.” A heavy exhale, Davey’s hand coming up to scratch at his face, fingers nearly catching at the edge of his now-healed scar. “It’s not you. Exactly. It’s not your fault. Fuck.”

The silence settled back in for a long moment. Buck’s heart was pounding in his chest far too hard for him to dare try and say a word. Davey, for his part, continued to look out into the distance, shoulders tense, hand having come to rest with two fingers on his chin. (Now that he’d asked about it, Buck looked at the gesture and could practically see Davey holding an imaginary cigarette between his fingers. Must have been a long-held habit before he quit, the muscle-memory burned in subconsciously.)

Finally, Davey-- Dynamo broke the silence again with a heavy, shaky sigh. Something in his expression Buck couldn’t quite read. “Listen. I-- I think I gotta say some stuff. I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna say. But I think I gotta talk it out anyway. So if you could, like-- I dunno. Just listen until I feel like I’m done, I guess? That cool?”

His heart was beating so hard, it felt like he was going to throw it up. This was bad. This was bad. He needed to stop this, put up the safe and comfortable barriers between them again. Before it was too late.

Instead, he choked out, “go for it,” because he was an idiot.

The way Davey’s posture instantly relaxed sent him spiraling - forgetting his self-flagellation in the gut response of I did that I made him feel less nervous, followed immediately by a vicious reversal, because that’s all it takes huh you’re so lonely and pathetic that all it takes is a guy kind of half-grinning at you for you to fall all over yourself - until Davey starting to speak snapped him back to the moment.

“I’ve just… been thinking about today,” he began. “And like-- more than that. But, today specifically. The heist and all. It was just… it went well. I mean, you know. You were there! You saw how well we worked together. And it… look, I’m just gonna say it. That was the most fun I’ve had doin’ one of these jobs, like, ever. And maybe I’m reading into it, but… it maybe kinda seemed like you were enjoying it, too?

“It all just… it got me thinking. About that, and livin’ here while I healed up - which, by the way, also has been the most fun I’ve had since I, y’know, started being Dynamo - and just, everything to do with all that, and I… well… you’re not gonna like this.” He chuckled as he said it, mirthless, raising a cigarette-less hand to his mouth seemingly without realizing. “But I… I think. There might be something to… us keeping up with this. Like, working together. Full time. Full-on villain partnership. And I know that’s like-- we’re not supposed to do that. Safety-wise and all. How risky it is for us both. But I-- god, this is gonna sound stupid. But I… trust you. I do.

“I mean--” He gestured emphatically to the stump of his right arm, the haphazard stitchwork Buck had done with shaking hands, kneeling over him on the garage floor all those weeks ago. “If you really wanted me out of the picture, I feel like you had plenty of opportunity and kinda fumbled the bag with it, you know? And I-- I dunno. I hope I’ve made it clear I don’t wanna do nothin’ to hurt you, either. Or that I… can make that clear, you know? Do whatever you need to believe it. But the point is, I-- I like workin’ with you. I think we do good work together. I think we could keep doin’ good work together. And I… want to. Do that.” A heavy breath, a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders like there’d been a physical heft to what he’d been saying. “Hoo!! God, really wish I had that cigarette right now. But, uh, yeah, that. I think that’s all. For now. Maybe. Yeah. Uh, yeah. Your turn, then. Thoughts, feedback, whatever. Go for it.”

His eyes were bright, his face split into a grin, but Buck -- he-- maybe he was reading into it too much. Maybe. But he could feel the anxiety rolling off Davey as he spoke, a mirror of his own. The words between words. Asking, practically begging for his approval the same way Buck kept longing for his.

His throat felt dry. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to, thoughts rolling frantic and aimless in his mind like marbles in a glass spiral. Words turning themselves over and over as his heart pounded and his stomach did enough backflips that it probably oughta qualify for the next Olympics.

We do good work together.

I trust you.

I want to.

Thoughts rolling themselves around in his mind. The dangerous pull, on the precipice of something he knew he couldn’t come back from. Exposed and armor-less here in the setting sun, nothing but the Holy Spirit and this question between them.

It was getting harder and harder to pull back to the boundary.

He had to. He knew he had to.

(Why?)

(He just had to.)

(...but why?)

Inhale. Exhale. Staring out into the sunset, filling the conversation with golden light. A warmth to counteract the anxious chill spreading from his gut as his mind worked itself into overdrive. He felt like he could choke on his own tongue, heavy with words he didn’t know how to speak. (Was afraid to speak.)

“...everything you’re saying is true,” he finally choked out. Almost without realizing it. It felt like he was watching someone else say it, just a little bit beside him.

Davey responded with a subtle, automatic grin and visible brightness in his eyes. It felt like it was putting his heart in a fucking vice. “Yeah?”

“I’m not finished,” he added quickly. Davey went still, went quiet in response. Automatically giving him the same space to ramble that Buck had given him. (Too much, too much, you’re in danger, what are you even going to say here, pull it back pull it back pull it back.) “Everything… everything you’re saying. Including that we’re not supposed to do this. And that it’s risky. Hell, risky doesn’t even begin to cover it; like--”

He felt sick. Panic welling up in his gut from all too many directions. (Shut it down, shut it down, before he notices, before he figures you out, you’re supposed to be the Invincible Fucking Bulkhead here--) “You. You do understand who I am, right? I’m Buck Armstrong. My family--” Bile in his throat, breathing tight; even to Davey, he couldn’t bring himself to reflect on his life before Bulkhead. Bring it back. Different approach. “No matter what I do - whether I’m stealing classified materials or a carton of eggs from the corner store, there’s gonna be a massive target on my back ‘cause of-- where I come from. And if you start associating with me full-time? Publicly? That target’s gonna be on your back too. And you--” His voice was breaking. Swallow it down, swallow it down, don’t let him notice. “...You can’t bounce back from it like I can.”

(There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood and it had been his fault, Davey jumped in because he’d already figured out Buck was weak, that he wasn’t as unkillable as he tried to make everyone believe, and he’d known and he jumped in the way and saved his life and look what he’d gotten for his trouble bloody and shaking and heaving in the dirt there had been so much so much he could see the bone he didn’t know what to do he just couldn’t let him die there for him he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t not like that not for him not for him)

“...I mean. Yeah?”

The sheer casual-ness of Davey’s response snapped Buck out of what probably would’ve been a full-blown meltdown otherwise. He snapped his gaze over; Davey was staring back with the kind of mild dumbfoundedness one might get saying hey little-known fact, did you know water is wet. “Buck, I know who you are,” he continued, still utterly blasé about it. “This isn’t my first day in town, ya know. I’ve known about The Invincible Bulkhead since way before you and I started crossing paths.” (He winked at that, and Buck felt his panic coming from a completely different avenue now. God fucking damn it why’d he have to be hot.) “Point is, I’m not, like… stupid. I know your life is dangerous. I’m not saying all this, like, ignorant of that. I just…”

Now he hesitated, averting his gaze, moving to scratch the back of his neck again. Buck’s heart pounded in his throat. “I. I guess what I’m saying is that, it’d be worth it. For me. Like, ‘benefits outweigh the risks’ kind of situation. I mean, honestly, I’m gonna be living on the edge no matter what in this line of work, might as well have fun with it. So, uh. Guess what I’m saying is. If the only opposition you have to the idea is that I’m gonna be putting myself at risk without realizing it, you can toss that right on out. I know what I’m doing. You’re-- this is. Worth that risk.”

(The stumble of you’re felt dangerously deliberate. All at once he screamed in terror at it and clutched it close like a token.)

…was that his only opposition? If-- if Davey really was going into this knowing all the risks, wanted to go through with it anyway-- well, he was a grown-ass man, you know? And a smart one at that. (Smarter than Buck, it felt like, in more ways than one. He was constantly finding new ways to be impressed by this guy.) Did he… was there anything else, besides the whole well THEY say we’re not supposed to do shit like this, no I don’t know who THEY are either, which… all told, held increasingly little weight to him as the conversation went on. Was there anything, anything at all, that could convince him to stop this?

…

…oh, god, there was one thing.

There was one.

His whole body felt cold. His heart pounded so hard and so fast that it looped back around to being intangible to him, too quick to notice. Oh, god. Oh god. The one thing. The one thing that could take this sudden dream come true and throw it right back in the trash where it ought to be.

It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to Davey, to not put it out there, to not say it. To invite him into this partnership and have him inevitably figure it out down the line, be ambushed by it. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair.

He had to say it.

He would give anything not to say it.

But oh, god, it wouldn’t be fair.

(Davey, stupid beautiful Davey, lit at all his most gorgeous angles by the golden light of the setting sun, watching him out of the corner of his eye, surely waiting for an answer. Davey, who he wanted so selfishly to keep here with him.)

He was at the edge of the cliff now. Teetering on the precipice. There was no going back if he did this.

But it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t.

“...There’s one thing.” He felt like he was watching himself speak from a distance, words slow and heavy and cold on his tongue. He didn’t dare turn to look at Davey. Eyes trained on a suddenly-very-interesting point on the far horizon like it could get him out of this self-dug pit.

“...Yeah?”

“One thing,” he repeated. His whole body felt cold. God, Davey could probably see him sweating, even from the arm’s length away he was standing. He’d be lucky if he didn’t throw up in front of him by the end of this conversation. “If-- if we’re really going to seriously consider this. I have to tell you. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell you.”

“All right.” A long, long pause, tangibly so. Oh, god. His gut was so tight and cold it felt like he might shit blocks of ice, and then probably just keel over entirely to avoid engaging in this conversation further.. “...are… are you going to…?”

“Trying,” he choked out. Davey went quiet immediately. (Giving the space, waiting for him to be finished speaking. Fuck. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t do this. Maybe he could just walk it back, pretend he was joking, ignore this whole conversation and just go back to the way things were this morning, before the stupid heist that had made everything go so complicated. But--) “It wouldn’t be fair. If I didn’t. Say this to you now. If I let you, like-- stay here and start working with me and uproot your whole life and didn’t tell you this and let you-- let you opt out.” (Because he would, surely he would, there was no way he would just let it go once he did.)

He went quiet again. Davey didn’t interject this time. Waiting for whatever he had to say.

(Couldn’t pull it back. He couldn’t pull it back again after this.)

His hands clenched white-knuckle at his sides. Sweat down the back of his neck. He had to say it. He had to. He had to. And then Davey would leave and he’d go back to his normal pathetic life and never see him again.

His mind, miles away as he finally forced his mouth open, idly noted that it’d probably been over twenty years since he last made himself say this out loud to another human being.

“...I’m. I’m gay.”

No response. Whether the polite space to continue or the cold silence of judgment, he couldn’t tell and he was scared to dwell too far on it. Forced himself on; no turning back now. “I’m-- gay and I. You. It’s. I-- I think you’re a v-very. Attractive man. And that’s--” he all but retched; suddenly the words were pouring out of him rapid-fire, like he just had to get them out of him no matter the cost-- “I’m not saying that cause I think you’re, like, obligated to be okay with that if you stay, I-I just know it’s not fair to have you like, living here without knowing that-- like most people wouldn’t be cool working with someone they know has a big stupid crush on them so like it’s no hard feelings I can pretend we never talked about this and you can just go and we can just wave from a distance when we run into each other during jobs and it’s fine it’s cool.”

And there it was.

Oh, god, and there it was.

The careful, safe boundary of Bulkhead and Dynamo was no more. Instead, Buck Armstrong, pathetic, lonely, middle-aged man with a big stupid gay crush, stood there sweating like a pig and watching the sunset on the horizon, waiting to hear sweet beautiful Davey turn on his heel and walk out of his life forever.

Davey laughed.

His head snapped around so fast he swore he could hear the vertebra crack. That-- much as that awful little voice in the back of his head wanted him to believe otherwise, he knew that wasn’t a mocking kind of laugh. No, no it was quick, breathy, high; the kind of laugh he’d heard from Davey as they drove away from the scene of the crime earlier; the kind you let out when you were so overjoyed and relieved that all you could do was laugh.

Davey was staring at him. Davey was smiling. Ear-to-ear, crinkling up the corners of his shining eyes, golden and glowing in the sunset light.

An entirely different kind of chill went up Buck’s spine.

“I was hoping--” Davey started, and then laughed again, drawing a hand back through his hair. “I mean-- you, you get the vibes, you know, but you don’t know if it’s just you reading into what you want to see or if it’s actually there--”

“You were hoping?” He repeated, quiet, dumb, cracking in the back of his throat. Did he hear that right? He couldn’t have, right? Or it was like, slang for something? He didn’t know slang. It was probably some kind of slang that didn’t mean anything remotely like it sounded like. That was the only thing that made sense here.

Davey barrelled on like he hadn’t even spoken. “I mean, all the banter when we ran into each other on jobs, right? And-- and I kept trying to tease it out, like, see how you reacted if I got kinda flirty, but I still wasn’t sure and what was I supposed to say, hey Buck thanks again for not letting me die alone in the dirt by the way do you like men. Like, come on--”

“What you wanted? Flirty?” Surely none of this meant what it sounded like it meant. Surely. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he finally got so panicked he died, like a rabbit does. That would make sense. That would make sense. That was the only thing that would make sense.

Davey finally stopped speaking.

Buck froze.

Davey turned. Eyes on his. Boring right into him. And then he smiled, a different kind of smile, slow and warm and half-lidded in a way that instantly turned that icy chill in Buck’s gut into something molten-hot instead. The slight part of his lips around gap teeth; the crinkle in the corner of his brown eyes; the something something something undeniable in the way he looked at him.

He took a step forward. Buck remained frozen in the headlights of his gaze.

A hand, reaching out, slow, gentle - enough to pull away from if he wanted (like he ever fucking would) - fingers grazing across his knuckles and taking his hand. A slim, calloused thumb circling against his palm in a way he could only possibly describe as intimate, fingernail catching ever-so-slightly at the skin.

He stared down at their hands like it was something utterly alien. (Which-- might as well be. When was the last time he held hands with someone? Oh my god, was he so utterly lonely and pathetic that he was reacting like this to holding hands??) Moved his gaze back, heart pounding at that warm, warm look of his, straight down into his soul. He was so close, now, obliterating the Holy Ghost between them; that imaginary chaperone must be losing their ever-loving shit right now. He was certain Davey could feel his hummingbird-pounding heartbeat this close, smell the way he’d fear-sweat so badly during this conversation he already needed a second shower. (As it stood, he could already feel the slight rise-and-fall of Davey’s chest as he breathed, smell the detritus of the car and the dried-sweat stench of earlier exertion.)

They were back in the car after the heist again. Close, so close, passing the same breath between each other, close enough that Buck could easily just lurch forward and--

It had been a very, very long time since he’d done this. His nose bumped Davey’s, mustache catching awkwardly at his lip; Davey simply hummed a laugh into his mouth and tilted his head to better the angle. Fuck. His lips were thin and chapped; his teeth dragged across Buck’s lip and bumped momentarily into his own as they drew closer. (Maybe, he thought with uncharacteristic optimism, it’d been a while for Davey, too.)

One final half-step forward, the last of the gap gone. Buck’s massive barrel-chest awkwardly slotting against Davey’s sternum, his hand squeezing as they pulled together. He drew his other hand up to rest against the back of Davey’s neck without even thinking, feeling the baby-hairs at his hairline against his fingertips. Passing the same breath between each other, slow and warm and deliberate.

They pulled away too quickly. They pulled away after a million years. Buck’s eyes fluttered open, finding Davey smiling down barely inches away, cheeks dusted red, a terrifying adoration in his eyes, framed golden at the edges by the sunset-lighting in a way Buck was already scrambling to commit to memory.

It was all too much. He was going to-- fuck, start crying, or throw up, or both, and he frankly didn’t want to ruin this moment with either. So instead, burning beet-red, he ducked his face into Davey’s shoulder because it was the only place he had to hide. Davey - sweet, perfect Davey who just let him kiss him, what the fuck, that was real, right, that was real - just laughed again, light as anything, and he felt his face come to rest on top of his head, still toying with Buck’s hand in his grip.

“Take it there’s no further arguments, then?” He giggled. Buck could practically hear the wink in his voice, and it did nothing to calm him down.

“God. God. You really are serious about all of this.”

“Christ, Buck, yeah. What’s it gonna take to convince you I mean it? I could kiss ya some more, if you want. No opposition to that.”

“Fuck, man.” He couldn’t help but wheeze out a laugh himself, relief suddenly forcing itself out of him in waves. (Holding Davey like this felt really nice. Really nice. Wonder if he’d let him keep doing this.) “Fine. Yeah. Yeah. If you’re really so sure you wanna settle for dying in this shithole with me.”

“Don’t be silly! I’ll die outside this shithole with you. We’re infinitely more likely to beef it on the job.”

“God. Fair enough.” A slow inhale, head swimming with the smell of Davey. Dear god it all kept sinking in. “I know-- w-what I said still stands, you know, you don’t-- you’re not obligated to reciprocate or--”

“You think I’m feeling obligated? Christ, Buck,” Davey laughed again in reply, squeezing his hand tight. “You really haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been trying to goad you into making out with me practically since we met.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, see, that’s what I was hoping my flirting’d eventually lead to--”

“Christ alive, Davey--”

“Too much?” There wasn’t the slightest hint of repentance in his tone.

“You’re the worst.”

“You like it.”

“...I do.”

Another sweet, slow laugh; Buck felt Davey press another kiss to the top of his head and thought he might spontaneously combust. “Well, I like you too. You wanna head upstairs about it? I need a shower.”

“Mhm. Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Just… I need a second.”

“All good.” A long pause, a warm silence. Davey’s thumb still stroking circles into his palm. “...uh. One thing. If you mean you wanna stay down here another minute while I head up, I, uh. You gotta actually let go of me.”

He blinked. Somehow he’d gotten so wrapped up in holding Davey, he’d forgotten he was doing the holding. “Oh. Oh, uh-- right. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”

His bastard traitor of a body did not release his hold on Davey.

Lucky for him, Davey responded to the clear freeze-up with a good-natured chuckle, finally releasing Buck’s hand to trace up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, holding him in return. “Or, y’know. We could just both take a second. Go up together when you’re ready.”

“I-- th. Y. Yeah. Yeah.” His burning cheeks had spread to a slow warmth all through his body, tingling at every nerve, lit up with the long-forgotten ecstasy of human contact. He moved his own freed hand to the small of Davey’s back, settling against him, for a moment forgetting all his usual terror of vulnerability. Somehow, somehow, against all logic, against all odds, he felt safe here.

Bulkhead and Dynamo disappeared, up on the shelf with all their gadgets and armor. Buck and Davey remained, holding each other close, breathing the same breath back and forth, illuminated in the golden light of sunset.

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Puzz's OCs, Buck (a middle-aged, barrel-chested white man with balding red hair, a large nose and a bushy mustache, wearing a green turtleneck, kahki pants and brown boots) and Davey (a middle-aged, lanky black man with amputated right arm, diagonal scar across his face, large ears, large eyes with long lashes, large eyebrows and curly dark-brown hair in a ponytail, wearing overalls with one strap down and pointy brown boots). They are hugging each other tightly, with Davey's back slightly facing the camera. Buck's face is buried in Davey's chest, blushing furiously, while Davey rests his head on top of Buck's, with a slight smile visible. There is golden light painted behind them and illuminating the edges of both their figures. End ID.]

#anonymous puzzler art #anonymous puzzler writes #anonymous puzzler originals #long post / #ask to tag! content warnings in the body of the post! #Villain Coded comic

[blindedmewithscience]

Subject #S108 - Failure (check cw’s pls)

“Now why don’t we find out what I do with my failures together, shall we?”

Despite their short stature, Scully stood tall over their collapsed subject as she wheezed and coughed. Her mouth moved as she desperately tried to force out words that she could no longer sound out. Blood trickled from the fine cuts, staining her feathers a bright crimson along with the floor.

The scalpel hung loose in their hand while they studied the collapsed figure before them. What to do... There wasn’t any way they were allowing this one to leave alive. Not after her aggression, her threats... They didn’t get this far by taking unnecessary risks.

Scully stooped down to tilt her chin up towards them, “You really should have listened to me. I am your doctor after all.”

A flash of light glinted off the scalpel as Scully brought it up to her face to press the flat edge of it firmly against her cheek. The edge so sharp it still bit into her delicate feathered skin, drawing blood and a fearful shudder of breath. Scully spared her a thoughtful look before pulling the blade away and instead hefting her up to drag her over to the table. This time around, they put no care into making sure she was comfortable, simply restrained.

Despite the circumstances, they went about their routine. The changes had completed, so they needed to collect the same samples to compare to those from before the change. They didn’t bother to sedate her for them this time. Scully put all the samples in the fridge, wrote in their notebook for a while, then set it aside. 

Casting a glance over their shoulder, Scully reached for a different notebook now. They had a quirk of a smile on their face, “So I know it’s not anywhere near as scientifically significant to add so many variables to an experiment, but it is awfully common for us in this field to.. Play around... If we’ve got the spare material for it.”

The horrified look on her face told Scully that their words had immediately sunk in, so did the renewed struggles. Without the ability to move her arms, the most she could do was twist and kick and arch her back in a desperate bid to wiggle free. No luck.

The lab felt too silent without her screaming and cursing, so Scully flicked on an old CD player with a home mix of their favorite music. Classic synth rock of the 80s, 90s, and early 00s. Scully hummed along contentedly as they moved around the lab over to their cabinet of curiosities. Sometimes this part felt the same as the childlike fun of making witches brews in a pot with mud and leaves and anything else you could find on the ground or in the kitchen. Except this was real magic and nobody was going to slap them on the wrist for wasting all the spices.

Their hands stretched out to select a number of jars with no plan in particular. Except for one, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, now that you really can’t spill it. Unicorns are very real. Why don’t we see what happens if we add that into the mix?”

They withdrew a much larger dose than they had for any of their more controlled injections earlier, though they did still note it down. Right before they pressed the needle into her neck and depressed the plunger.

Her mouth gaped open in a soundless scream, unable to do a thing as searing pain cracked through her skull. Yet another sharp point burst forth from her forehead, centered neatly between the antlers as it spiraled outward. The white feathers and fur started to take on an almost metallic, iridescent sheen.

Scully traced their clawtips over the horn, their subjects visceral shudder told them it had full senses, as it should. They would need to perform some tests on it to make sure it was a proper conduit for magic, but first needed to make sure it wasn’t affected by anything else they added in. From their counter, they picked up a far less delicate tool than their scalpel: A bone saw. Something that quickly and easily chewed through the horn right at the base. It cut into the nearby antlers in the process, shredding the soft velvet and splattering everything in the immediate area with blood.

She tried to scream and thrash the entire time, the pain blindingly intense, even after the horn had toppled to the side. Blood ran down her face, much like her fur, it seemed to have an otherworldly shimmer to it now.

Scully placed the horn aside on a clean tray. If it didn’t function as a magical conduit well enough to sell at a market, it would likely still make exceptional base materials for more unicorn solution. Assuming it passed their other strict testing, of course.

“If it weren’t so difficult to obtain, I’d see if giving you more made you grow yet another horn. Wouldn’t that be something? Did you enjoy being a unicorn for a few minutes? Was it everything you dreamed it would be~?” They were just being mean at this point.

No rest for the wicked, they picked up another jar. This one entirely different from anything else they’d used. Spider. Oh what fun this could bring...

The next injection’s changes started out slow. Scully could make out what appeared to be additional limbs starting to sprout from her sides as she writhed. The few patches of bare skin she had left started to grow over with fine silver-white hairs. 

It continued to be slow.

Scully checked the time as they kept an eye on the limb development. It was late and these were taking a while. They would let the cameras monitor the changes overnight. God they needed sleep.

As they headed for the exit, they paused to look back and say their goodbyes in a singsong voice, “I’ll see you in the mooorning~”

The lab went dark.

-----

As much as they’d wanted to sleep in, they got to 7am before they found themself unfortunately awake.

Back to the daily grind then. Scully brewed themself a giant mug of coffee before returning to their darkened lab to see what had happened overnight.

The table was now a twisted mess of feathers that shuddered and heaved with every labored breath. Upon their approach, they could see that the spider genetics had given their subject more arms, but she didn’t have arms, she had wings. Now she looked like something out of the biblically accurate fan works all over social media.

“Oh aren’t you positively angelic today~” They greeted her with that saccharine sweet facade that barely concealed tense, gritted teeth.

In response the feathers drew in tighter, shielding herself as best she could from Scully’s prying eyes. It didn’t stop their probing fingers from exploring the wings and petting over the feathers before finding where they parted and yanking them aside, “Now, now, don’t be shy... We have so much more we could do~!”

They probed around, noting that some of her soft skin had hardened into something more chitinous. Upon her face were smaller wings in about the location they would expect to see pedipalps. Scully briefly wondered if her organs had shifted around as a result. They did not often introduce arthropod genetics to mammals. 

Nothing like a fun little exploratory procedure first thing in the morning!

They geared up in their usual protective equipment, a crisp clean lab coat  to keep the blood off their hair, goggles, and gloves for every hand. A proper mad scientist look.

Scully at least had the mercy to partially sedate her, but only partially. Once their subject’s eyes grew heavy and half-lidded and her many limbs grew slack, they set to work with their scalpel, making expert cuts. As the blood welled up in the cuts, it seemed to have a slightly less red hue than before, something a little closer to Scully’s own purple hemolymph coloration, though theirs did not shimmer in quite the same way. Of course, they weren’t part unicorn.

Despite the hardening, it took them no time at all to peel back the skin and expose her abdominal cavity. They could see her heart racing, her chest heaving, and as they predicted, things weren’t in their usual spots. Both lungs looked distorted, something halfway between a human lung and a spider’s book lung. The heart itself had elongated somewhat, while some of her mammalian organs appeared reduced.

Scully guessed she would not last much longer. Maybe only one more variable before something vital gave out.. If even that. They didn’t think the magic of unicorn genetics could do enough heavy lifting to sustain any of this.

With a gloved hand, they gently pressed a claw against her heart, which they could feel lurch and race faster, “What a sight you are... How long can you last like this, I wonder?”

Not long if they left her open and bleeding on the table. They collected a few additional biopsy samples before replacing the flaps of skin and stitching the incisions back together. Blood oozed from the cracks, but they cleaned the wounds and bandaged them, despite knowing it wouldn’t matter in a day or so.

While they washed up, they mulled over their options in their head. If they waited, there could be additional development from the unicorn and spider genes. It would be nice to flesh out their data on arthropod and mammal combinations.. But they also had a nice petri dish to play around in and they were never guaranteed another one. Then again.. They could do a little of both.

Scully glanced at their phone before scooping it up with a clean hand. Only noon, they had the whole day ahead of them. Sparing their subject only half a glance, they finished drying their hands and tossed the paper towel in a waste bin, “Lucky break for you today. I’m just going to let things simmer for now. I’ll see you in the morning, if you’re still here.”

And the room was plunged into darkness once more. 

-----

Scully had spent their day mostly catching up on e-mails, dozing off at their desk, and considering trying to find someone to spend the night with. That last one they never quite got around to though. When they woke up early Sunday morning, it was the most rest they’d had all week.

For a moment they even considered forgoing the coffee that morning. Only a moment though, soon they had a piping hot black coffee in their hand and were descending the passage to their hidden lab.

Upon turning on the lights they were pleasantly surprised to find their subject still alive, though she was breathing shallowly and looked unwell. Scully set their coffee on the countertop and hooked a claw around her feathered pedipalps to uncover her face, “Good morning sunshine~! You’ve made it through another night!” 

The light stung her eyes and she visibly grimaced, revealing even more messed up mouthparts than the night before. Ohhh Scully was glad they’d waited longer. Inside the elongated deer muzzle, the ridged edges of the swan “teeth” had combined beautifully with the typical maxillary plates of a spider to form a radula-like system for breaking down food. Her canines had lengthened further, taking on a more hooked shape. A careful press with the back of their claw produced a small drop of venom out the tip of the newly developed spider fangs. Beautiful.... No notable changes on the unicorn side of things, but it hardly seemed to matter to them.

Excited to write this all down, Scully whipped around to grab their notebook. The room fell silent save for the rapid scrawl of pencil against paper. Arachnid and mammal didn’t mix well, but arachnid and avians had potential! If they ever got a request for a biblically accurate swan, they’d be golden. They were practically vibrating by the time they’d finished writing everything down. A wild look in their eyes as they turned back to face her, “You’ve helped me so much more than you know. I almost feel bad for the inevitability of your situation.”

Anyway, it was time for the second half of their compromise. First they took a small sample jar and pressed one of her curved hollow fangs against the inside of it, encouraging the biting motion to collect a trickle of venom as one might from a snake. Once that was capped and set aside, they pulled out their almost assuredly final jar of genetic mayhem. For the last one.... Scorpion. Scully had mixed different arthropods together with ease in the past. Their systems played together much more cohesively than others. Time to see how it would play here.

The hardened skin might’ve been problematic for finding a suitable injection site for some other researcher, but as someone with their own chitinous exoskeleton, it didn’t take them long. Right in the soft spot at a joint... The changes didn’t take long either.

The shifting of some of her retractable claws into dark black pinchers made them more visible hidden under her white feathers. Her tail lashed furiously as she writhed in pain, a dark, chitinous tip starting to push through the fur. Her mouth opened in another soundless, breathy attempt at a scream.

It didn’t help. 

What helped was when she thrashed her tail just right. The sharp point nearly grazed Scully’s shoulder on the way past, it might’ve struck them if she’d been trying to hit them. That was a terrible oversight on their part. Fortunately for them, that hadn’t been the case. Unfortunately for them, she had been aiming for her own chest. The sharp barb had easily sunk in right through the seam they’d stitched up yesterday and right into her heart. Her whole body shuddered before the light in her eyes faded, a final breath rattled from her lungs and her whole body went slack. She’d managed to reclaim just enough agency to end this nightmare on her own terms.

Scully watched this happen with only the faintest hint of an emotion on their face but it was mostly concern over how easily they could’ve been hit by that stinger instead. They should have restrained the tail. Noting that down. They swore to themself, promising to never let such an idiotic mistake happen again.

Sighing softly, they finished their notes, collected their final set of samples, including the venom from her stinger and additional venom from her fangs. Now they had to clean this mess up. Scully wheeled the corpse over to a large, tube shaped machine. They were thankful these things came in such varied sizes, imagine how difficult it would be in a world where all people were only the size of humans? Although they did need to fold in their subject’s wings for her to fit through the opening. It made her look almost serene, definitely angelic, the way the feathers curved over her still form. Scully ran their hands over the soft feathers one last time before pushing her corpse into the tube and clamping shut the door.

Nobody knew they had an aquamation machine in their possession, but if anyone ever found out, it would simply be described as a green alternative to safely dispose of deceased lab animals. Not to mention, the water use was far easier to hide than the smokestacks of a crematorium would be. As for the ashes? The sterilized and finely powered bone made for an excellent addition to potting soil for their home gardening as well as their plant-based lab experiments up above. 

While the machine ran, Scully flipped on their music and set to work washing up the rest of their lab space. It was time to completely sanitize everything, leave no unwanted trace of the previous tenant, and prepare it for their eventual next guest.

-----

Subject #S108

Intake date: September 20, 2022

Species: Human Sex: AFAB Pronouns: She/Her Height: 160cm Weight: 59kg Known Allergies and Conditions: N/A Introduced Genes: Avian (Swan requested). Cervid (Caribou used). Feline (Oriental longhair requested).  Solution: Introduced in stages. Each solution 50% Magic matrix, 50% gene at a volume of 5mL each for a total volume of 15mL. NOTES: Swan genes introduced to shoulder. Rapid changes observable within minutes of injection, subject appears very receptive to magic.  Subject describes pain as burning in arms. Source determined to be pin feathers developing in the skin. Swan genes resulted in bird person arm wings. Development took about 30 minutes from first pin feather growth to conclusion of growth.  Subject is showing signs of aggression. Possibly another new trait of the swan genetics. Deer genes introduced next to thigh. Changes occurred quickly and appeared far less painful for the subject. First assessment seems to be a result of flawless deer legs. Cat genes introduced to lower back. Rapid change again. This altered deer tail into lengthy cat tail, as hoped. Genes started to mix shortly after introduction of third variable. Subject’s face developed a deer snout/swan beak hybrid with feline fangs. Antlers started to grow from forehead and ears turned to deer ears minutes after. Settled within 30 minutes. Apparent conclusion of rapid change. Day two: Subject’s wings filled out overnight. Eyes are now catlike. Antlers continued to develop. Subject reacted violently to being touched. Wing musculature is developing nicely, the limbs are already quite strong. Subject is learning to use her new mouth already. Prescribed bed rest while subject continues to develop and learn her new limbs. Temporarily providing diet of soft foods easy to ingest with new mouth. Day three: Subject is already attempting to walk. Very unsteady, but the practice should accelerate her training. Feathers appear to be fully unsheathed. Flight should be possible with the right practice. Will direct her to instructor upon release. Subject already seems to be able to ingest solid food, resuming normal diet. Day four: Antlers appear to be their maximum size now. Apparent feather growth up neck and onto cheeks. Appears to have retained mammalian digits on arms. I may have missed them among the pin feathers. Fingers are now catlike with retractable claws. Unfortunately the subject has grown more violent. Exhibited self destructive tendencies and tried to kill me upon face to face visitation. Resumed isolation. Day five: Subject seems to have lost the ability to speak since yesterday morning. This may be a failure within the vocal cords, or a degradation of the brain which may also explain the animalistic violence. Day six: Subject’s heart failed. Subject deceased. Final samples collected. Apparent cause of death: too much stress from multiple introduced genes. Body processed through alkaline hydrolysis. According to files and subject’s own statement, no next of kin to notify or collect ashes. 

Biological samples collected after conclusion of experiment: skin, fur, feathers, antler velvet, urine, blood, saliva, & mucus.

Test results TBD

Height: 173cm Weight: 60kg

Experiment results: Failure. Subject did not survive the process. Most likely a complication due to incompatibility of introduced genes.

Experiment Concluded: September 25, 2022 -SC

-----

Additionally introduced: Unicorn. Arachnid (Spider). Arachnid (Scorpion). Solutions: 25% Magic, 75% Unicorn. 50% Magic, 50% Spider. 50% Magic, 50% Scorpion. Introduced in stages over a period of two days.

NOTES: Tendons in wings cut, voice box cut. Preventative measures for safety. Unicorn introduction resulted in rapid growth of unicorn horn. Horn was sawed off and collected. Near immediate iridescent sheen observed on feathers and fur. Blood shows signs of same light iridescence. Spider introduction caused slow, painful limb growth. Hair growth over remaining bare skin. Is speed related to number of variables or complexity of change? Subject left to develop overnight.

Limb growth completed by morning. Additional arm wings have grown where arms would normally present on a spider person. Development of wing-shaped pedipalps on face. Skin underneath hair and fur has grown firm, chitinous development suspected. Subject sedated for surgical procedure to inspect internal organ development. Blood appears to be taking on properties of hemolymph, including color. Partial formation of mammalian lungs into book lungs. Extension of heart. Reduction of many human organs. Subject not expected to live past another day or two. Biopsy samples taken from altered organs. Received sutures and left to rest.

As of sixth day, subject is still living. Observed continued spider development of fangs capable of injecting venom. Venom sample collected. Apparent success of combination of arachnid and avian genes. Requires more testing. Scorpion introduction. Rapid development of claws into pinchers. Development venomous stinger. Subject did not have tail restrained. During the painful development process, subject struck herself in the heart. Unclear if intentional or accidental. Subject was lost to injury.

Additional samples collected: Biopsy of all affected organs. Spider venom. Scorpion/Spider venom.

#(( this one is a doozy lads please check the content warnings )) #pls pls pls ask for any additional tags you need too #drabble #blood #gore #body horror #suicide cw #description of organs #surgery #vivisection #medical #scalpels #syringes #bad doctoring really bad bedside manner #((i know there's a post length limit and i am kinda surprised i did not hit it here ))

[gorejo]

▸ ▸ the longer you keep it up, the harder you’re getting fucked :p - gojo satoru

synopsis: you make a bet, but your boyfriend is the one that needs to fulfill it. catch is, if he succeeds then you'll get half a grand, but if he can manage till his birthday, then you'll get even more. and before he settles on the bet, Satoru warns you with one promise he knows he will fulfill. because the longer the bet goes on, the harder you'll be getting fucked when he succeeds.

content: 11k words (what in the world). afab!/fem!reader, she/her pronouns. minors do not interact. half of gojo's pov mixed with yours, reader calls him baby girl, explicit smut — fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, squirting, unprotected sex but only because reader allows and satoru asks for permission, pet names (sweets, princess, babe), explicit language. Satoru gets morning wood and an erection during his meeting. Megumi and Tsumiki almost catch him in the kitchen, Satoru imagines reader in a dress, mentions of masturbation, satoru has a private album of photos/videos, soft!dom satoru, he cums multiple times — inside and on readers breasts.

happy birthday to my lover boy!!!! 🎉 (i posted this on his actual bday, but it got booted from the tags.... )

Satoru felt his vein pop. 

He should’ve known by the way you approached him, called out his name with an unusually cuter ring to his name — the one that left him usually helpless in your palm — to hear it, he’ll sacrifice the world. He should’ve known something was up your sleeves, when you pulled at the bottom of his shirt, playing with the hem as you looked up through your lashes.

Normally, he’ll never reject your advances nor your desires, especially when you were being this cute, but for this? 

Sometimes he needs to put his foot down — because you must be out of your mind.

How cruel of you to even ask him. Were the eight years of not being able to fuck each other not enough for you, that you just dared to ask him? 

“Absolutely not.” his voice was curt, short of the usual chime whenever he responded to you.

“Why? It’ll make it that much more exciting when December comes around, ‘Toru.” you hugged him tighter, looking up at him in hopes that it’ll get him to give in — it always worked. 

He had too, especially when almost half a grand was on the line. 

“It’ll perfectly align you know? since it’ll be your birthday then, as well…” you seduced while riding on your toes to have him look at you. 

“Do you want me to die?” Satoru cupped your face as he looked straight into your eyes, his large palms pushing your cheeks together, “and we’ve tried it, and guess what happened then?” 

“Well no…” your voice muffled through pouted lips, “b-but it’ll be different now! You’re older!” your grip loosened around his shirt, disappointed that he wouldn’t give in.

“If you know, then absolutely not,” he scoffed while letting go of your cheeks, his hands immediately finding your waists, pulling you closer to him, utterly offended you would even dare to pull back from him.

“and no it’s not. I failed then, I’ll fail again now. I’ll probably fail even worse than last time.”

“It’ll be so quick, the month will honestly fly by!” you quickly retorted, leaning your body onto his. 

“So you’re a liar now,” he crooked a brow, looking down at you with his jaws clenched from trying to stand his ground. Knowing he didn’t have the guts to really tell you no, especially when you looked so determined to succeed over something that had no means of any health benefits but potentially drive one insane — the experimental group? him — eight years prior when he tried the challenge.

conclusion: no nut november was unapplicable to one named Gojo Satoru.

Groaning into the crook of your neck, his breath gently ticking your skin, “I wanna be inside you all the time.” your boyfriend tended to always such perverse and ludicrous words with ease.

“D-don’t you think you’ll be so proud of yourself? We can do pilates or meditate together instead —” your voice stuttered from the sudden mesh of his lips on your skin and the gentle breeze of his breath coating your neck. 

Annoyed that you were continuing with this, Satoru lightly nibbled on your skin, smirking when he felt you jolt in his arms, “I’m perfectly content with who I am now, princess. How much more perfect can I get?” he peppered kisses up your jaws and softly kissed the edge of your lips. 

“... we can meditate together, become one soul and mind, through the art of sex. It’s good for you. You know like my cock inside you? How harmonic, how wonderful, how … much more rewarding can that get? Maybe we can finally try some new positions? Like those Kamasutra positions, Suguru sent me. He said that shit works. ”

“But ‘Toru —” you whined, the once animated chirp of your voice dissipated to nothing but disappointment and sadness at your boyfriend’s refusal to comply.

“Why are you pressing this so much?” Satoru furrowed his brows, absolutely confused as to why you would willingly be abstinent for not just one day, nor even a week, but for a goddamn month and a couple of days on top of it? 

“B-because…” you lightly bit onto your lips, hesitant to spill the truth. 

— flashback to a week prior.

“Say… have you and Satoru ever tried… you know… being abstinent for a bit?” she asked while twirling her straw around the rim of her glass cup. 

“Well,” sighing while resting your cheek on the palm of your hand, your body leaning onto the coffee table, “we did try once in college,” humming with a light gleam to your voice, “but he failed within that week.”

“I see…”

“What’s up?” You kindly smiled, questioning her motive of asking, “are you and Suguru okay?”

“Yea, we’re fine! A little too good, I would say,” she laughed, a light glimmer of her eyes sparkling just where the sun radiating above you both, shining down warmth to excite you for the words she was just about to say, “just wanted to fuck with him, a bit you know?”

“How so?” intrigued with her sudden confession, biting your lips in thoughts of maybe – just maybe – you felt the same. 

“November is falling soon, wanted to do the classic no nut challenge,” she shrugged before crossing her arms with her elbows resting on the table, “ wanted to see how far he could last…” rolling her eyes with a sigh, “he’s always so… so full of leisure. always teasing me when I know his nuts are about to bust.”

Giggling in response, “Well, if this makes you feel better, I have to get Satoru off me, or else he’ll cry.” Shaking your head, “you know, for being so similar to one another, they are weirdly so different.”

“Hey… do wanna make a bet?” her eyes gleamed, and her face contorted in excitement as she anticipatingly nibbled her lips.

“A bet?” 

——

“... I made a bet,” you mumbled while playing with your toes, you couldn’t help but wince at the scoff your boyfriend gave you.

“A bet? Like money? Didn’t know you had a gambling addiction.”

“Satoru, I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” clicking his tongue against his teeth while running his hand over this hair, “So you’re telling me you made a bet… and that has to do with Suguru and his girl because…?

“Well… it was to see who would last the longest,” nervously pursing your lips as you watched his vexed expression.

“...Are you serious?” your boyfriend deadpanned.

“Mhm…” you nodded, “very serious.”

“How much?”

“Five…”

“Five dollars, youre joking —” 

“Five hundred for the winner and an extra two hundred if you can last till your birthday…”

“And why is there an extra incentive for me?”

“Because… she didn’t think you’d be able to survive even a week, nor did Suguru when she texted him. Both thought it would be an easy win.”

"that dickhead," deeply sighing with his eyes firmly closed, “did you at least bet that I’ll win?” His fingers wrapped behind your back as he tiredly looked back at you.

“Of course!” you smiled, giggling while snaking your arms around his neck, “I know my boyfriend will win.” 

“you're lucky that you're cute,” Satoru crinkled his nose with a smile, “but, do you genuinely want to do this?”

“Mhm, Imma treat my baby girl out,” reciprocating the crinkle while lightly pinching his cheeks, giving him the softest smile as he slowly loses his resolve. 

“your baby girl, you say?” Satoru raised a brow while running his fingers against the plush of your lips.

“My own and only,” giggling while lightly prancing on your toes. 

Slowly releasing a deep breath before clicking his tongue against his teeth, Satoru accepted your proposal. “Don’t get mad at me when I push you off for being needy,” your boyfriend smirked while pinching your cheeks, “and no more special good morning wake-up calls, even if you beg, I won't give it to —"

Heat immediately radiating to your face, your heart thumping increasingly at the remembrance of Satoru’s cheeky morning relief — in between your thighs, lips kissing your inner skin as he trekked his way to your cunt that looked just so pretty for him.

“I’m the one that always pushes you off, stupid…” you softly murmured, “but yes! I just want us to succeed at least once, and plus… don’t you want to beat Suguru?”

“He’s the least of my worries, princess. Because I’m going to make you regret ever making this bet,” he softly threatened, his smile masked with a hint of depravity in his voice.

“Because the longer I hold on,” giving you a wink as he pushed you towards his room, “the harder you’re getting fucked when I win, angel.”

“W-why are we going to —” your lips were pressed upon his, your voice melting into the dichotomy of urgency but also ease as you drowned in his touch, “ ‘Toru!” moaning his name, chest huffing as you clung onto with your fingers raking his hair as your bodies dropped to the bed, “we s-still have to run errands.”

“Fuck those,” Satoru groaned into your neck, caving his face into the crevice as he pulled down his sweats, the bulge of his cock nodding in his briefs. Kneeling on the edge of his bed, his fingers fastidiously pulled your shorts off, throwing them onto the floor, urgently pulling your cute panties off to the side. Exposing your hardened bud as he placed a tender kiss on your clit, now wet with your juice,

“Your silly bet doesn’t start till tomorrow, so open up, gonna make full use of what’s mine.”

— Day one.

The morning felt oddly nice, a little too nice when the mornings were usually cold and dull. The winter breeze was just right as the leaves swayed by its lead, and Satoru was sleeping soundly following the rhythm of the wind gently blowing outside, with his limbs intertwined with his lover. Without a worry, as he slept with his breath steady, and chest rising and falling in a calm motion, from outside looking in, the view would've simply been a couple soundly sleeping during the early mornings. 

But underneath the sheets as both slept peacefully was his cock rudely poking at your inner thigh, his length pressing deeper in as he shifted in his slumber, lips murmuring what he was dreaming. 

Usually, it would be routine. Satoru would wake up first, reach over to bring you close as he wrapped his arms around your body, and then he’d take some time to admire you while you peacefully slept in his arms. Ten minutes thereafter, is when the suffocating discomfort of his dick became too unbearable, and the throbbing of his cock would prod him to anticipatingly lick his lips while making his way down the sheets. With his lips pecking small kisses down your body while his hands gently massage your curves, he’ll quickly station himself in between your legs, softly pushing your cotton panties to the side with his index finger. 

Hearing you shuffle and innocently moan out in your sleep, he’ll tenderly comfort you with a slight gruff to his morning voice, “shh baby, just sleep… it’ll feel good.” With his vacant finger spreading out your folds, the sticky sounds of your cunt slowly became more viscous the more he played with your pretty clit, the bud hardening with each stroke of his finger in and out of your pulsing hole.

His goal wasn’t to wake you, but for him to taste you just enough so that you’ll wake up in bliss, totally unaware of your boyfriend’s servicing actions. And just before he’ll dive more aggressively to taste your cunt, Satoru always placed a sweet kiss at the base of your pussy before caging your thighs around his arms, softly blowing on your exposed womanhood as he felt you stir in sleep. His voice was soothing as he eagerly licked his lips with a smirk, he cooed, “no need for preworkout if I can eat this every morning.”

But today, despite the morning feeling too nice, Satoru woke up frustrated to the core. He did his usual cuddling session with you in his arms — guess that made him feel better seeing you twitch your nose and softly snore. Cute he thought, would be nice if he could eat — 

Instead of anticipation, his cock painfully ached and his mood turned sour the moment he felt the usual nodding of his dick to have some action. 

Usually, he was excited to start the day. Not because he was enthusiastic to go to work, slave his life away to his family corporation, attend those god-awful meetings, and sign the mountains of files that his secretary ordered to finish. 

No, he woke up solely with the intent of eating you out — end of story, final discussion. If sleeping was the only avenue for him to enjoy having a taste of your morning cunt, he’ll go through mountains and sign those papers if he had to — hell, he’ll even stay overtime if he was guaranteed.

But, he couldn’t. At least for a month, he wouldn’t be able to. 

Sex the day before was good — too good. With a balance of carnal urgency as he bullied your abused cunt with his aching length, meshing with some time to wind down in pillow talk or while he sovereigns every ounce of your body with his lips, only to repeat the cycle of fucking like rabbits with the sheets damp and body sore from prolonged sexual intercourse. sex was still so fucking good. 

But today? Yea...

“Fuckkk,” Satoru groaned, throwing his head back onto the pillow with his arm thrown over his eyes, his hips mindlessly moving upward in a pensive desire to fuck you. 

“ ‘Toru?” your voice softly croaked, totally unaware of the frustration your little bet caused him, “you okay?”

“Mhm,” he immediately swallowed you with his arms, his lips pressing delicate kisses on your naked shoulders but keeping a mental note to not have his dick too close to your ass — that was dangerous territory.

“Are you leaving soon? Stay a little longer, I’m cold,” your voice was slurred, while your consciousness slowly slipped into another stage of sleep.

“I can’t sweets,” Satoru grumbled, his hands mounding your innocent breasts, “not when I’m like this,” his breath tickled the edge of your lobes, just fanning against your jaw while the control of his hips was no longer in his jurisdiction but of a mind of their own as he dry fucked your ass, “fuck baby… Are you sure you wanna do this? 

“You p-promised, ‘Toru…” you responded with your back snuggled close to his bare chest, the heat of his body making you feel safe despite the raging thoughts that were blaring in your boyfriend’s mind. 

Getting out of bed was hard, but getting himself to work out despite his cock stubbornly staying tortuously erect was even harder. The moment he pulled himself out of the sheets, he knew today’s workout wouldn’t be of his fancy as he drank his preworkout making his way down to his basement gym. 

And yes, sure as hell, today’s morning workout was a bust. 

— Day two. 

“They say starting is always the hardest, ‘Toru,” your voice, innocent yet ignorant of the turmoil he was going through, was soothing as you brushed your fingers through his hair, his face plastered on your breasts as he contemplated the existence of his life, “why don’t you join me for some pilates? A lot of couples come together!” 

No, it’s not. And whoever came up with such a quote was a complete fuck, because Satoru could rebuttal it to his grave.

First, starting wasn't always the hardest. Getting over your nerves, or mustering up the courage to start wasn't difficult. Maybe it’ll apply to life circumstances like applying for that dream job or starting out a new hobby. But for Satoru, once you’re hooked, absolutely addicted to something, that’s when it’s the hardest. 

Because like a dog conditioned to expect food after a stimulus, the same applies to sex. If he sees you blatantly walking around in those shorts that he just loved to watch you prance around the house in, he'll easily break. Where your cheeks just lightly land outside the rim of the fabric – it was adorable when you reached up the cupboard, exposing a hint of your belly and your ass jiggling when you jumped on your tippy toes. Like a starved animal, his cock would answer with its length pooled with blood, his stomach knotting in flames while his azul eyes dilated at the sight of you.

It was so easy — you made it so easy. Pushing you onto the countertop, getting you when least expected as he smashed his lips with yours while muffling your little yelp — your call of surprise but his invitation for more — was so, so easy. It was exciting, thrilling, utterly fulfilling his primal desires to just swallow you entirely as you clung onto him while crying out his name, your nails scratching against his back while his cock pistoled itself into you, nestling deep inside as he pumped out his seeds, shooting straight to your womb. 

It was glorious, so divine when he felt his cum leak outside you. The warm clumps of his ejaculation thudded against the kitchen floor while he huffed out deep breaths with his head resting on your shoulder. It sent shivers down his back when you embraced him in his arms. And when he was lucky, you’ll look at him with desperate eyes, pulling more out from him as you whisper in his ears, a voice that almost strips all air from his burning lungs as you palm his length and swirl your thumb over his leaking head,

“I think you’ve got a little more in you, right ‘Toru?” 

But instead, currently, with his head leaning against the shower wall, Satoru stood under the cold shower trying to cool off his cock. It’s almost laughable how his dick nods up and down as if it mocked his misery.

“You think it’s funny bastard,” Satoru groaned, voice spiteful that even his own body seemed to have betrayed him. 

— Day three.

Kissing shouldn’t hurt. Right?

He was at least allowed to do that, right?

Maybe not when the kids were around. But an innocent kiss to show just how much he loved you, should be good, right?

Or so, that’s what Satoru’s sex-deprived head concluded when he saw you cleaning the dishes, softly humming an unrecognizable tune.

“I was going to do this, baby…” he lowly groaned into your skin while his hands snaked up your shirt, fingers immediately going to unclasp your bra while his lips trailed up your neck, his hand placed around it for eventual better access to your lips. 

Oh how he wished to press you down onto the counter, push your cute little skirt up your waists while he measured the length of his cock to see how far he could fit himself inside you before ramming himself in — how admirable would it be to hear the synchronized moans coming out from you both simultaneously.  

But he couldn’t. Even if he didn’t agree to this stupid bet, he wouldn’t — no, you wouldn’t allow it, not even dare let him touch you when the kids were around.

Huh? But to his surprise, he could feel you reciprocating back by pushing your ass onto his cock. Soaking in every touch and affection he gave you; just maybe he wasn’t the only one craving, barely surviving through this absurd bet, despite only being the third day.

It was three days too long.

Treating him out? Fuck, that was his job, not yours — well, occasionally he did allow you to buy him some ice cream, but even in that, too, he would rather buy it for you. 

“You know we don’t have to continue —” he tempted, softly whispering into your ear, his bulge pressing against the valley of your ass — erection hard enough for you to feel over your clothes.

“But the bet,” you whimpered when his slender finger pinched your nipples, “it’s o-only been a full two days though,” your voice radiated barely of a whisper.

“Shhh, let's fuck the bet,” Satoru’s hand inched its way down your tummy, gliding to satisfy the aroused coil blooming in between your legs, “this is all so silly, princess. We can be fucking like normal? Enjoying each other, come on, let me make you feel good, yea?” your boyfriend’s voice was laced with an amorous note.

“M-maybe we could just call it qu —” 

“What are you doing?” Megumi blankly asked, holding his finished plate of food while standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at you both with unimpressed eyes, “are you trying to eat her or suffocate her?"

“Ooo Gojo-kun’s in loveeeeee,” Tsumiki chirped, “that’s what Papa does when he’s with his girlfriend!”

“Fuck, we’re never having kids.”

— Day 12.

“So, you still on that bet?” swirling the fizzling drink, Satoru asked before taking a sip of his sugary mocktail — a drink he confidently orders despite the odd stares he gets from the bartender. 

“The bet about not fucking?” Suguru sounded nonchalant about it. It was exactly twelve days since starting and why the hell does he look so smug about it? Fucking bastard… always so full of leisure when he was crawling, begging for scraps to simply survive.

“Yea, I guess,” the raven hair smirked, his tone taunting as he questioned Satoru, “surprised you’re even taking it this far, thought you would fail after the first hour with your horny ass.”

“What’s up with you and your girl both thinking that fucking is all I think about,” Satoru rolled his eyes, pursing his lips offended.

Suguru simply just stared back, the look of his eyes alone sending Satoru a million words as to why he knows fucking is all he thinks about. 

“Rude, it’s not always…”

Shrugging, Suguru brushed it off, “Sure, whatever you say.” 

“Okay… maybe like 90 percent of the time, no — 80 percent.”

“what an addict, I feel sorry for your girl, gotta tell her to run away when she can,” Suguru teased, pulling out his phone to text you, “like, how do you even concentrate at work?”

“It’s called multi-tasking, a trait only the elite have. clearly, its something you wouldn't know about."

“You know what Satoru?”

“What?”

“it still shocks me how so many entrust their careers with you, slaving their lives away to corporate for an elitely dumbass of a boss,” looking at his bestfriend with the kindest smile while tapping his shoulder, “don’t you think?”

There was no fucking way, he was going to lose to this prick of a best friend. 

— Day 14.

Satoru wondered how he ever survived without you. Call it sentimental, call it deprivation, but one thing for sure was that he wanted you — and it very badly. 

Shaking his leg, annoyingly biting onto the edge of his pen, it frustrated him that there was nothing else that could fathom to take space in his brain besides you. He exercised a hell lot more than his usual regimen and cut off on caffeine so that he could try and knock out when he got off from work.

He even tried doing those meditative breathing techniques that he searched for on the web. Said it was to calm your mind and soul. But god fucking dammit, being in silence made him even more hyperaware of his circumstance.

He can tell you are struggling, as well. He’s felt your touch linger on his body longer, trailing down to areas that you shouldn’t be trying to touch as your voice entranced him out of his free will. 

As much as he wanted to throw in the white flag, and dump this shitty little bet over, he was two weeks in. Despite the last two weeks being an absolute shit show, it gave him an incentive to keep going. Why? Because one, you wanted it; second, because he could prove Suguru wrong that sex is, in fact, not the only thing he thinks about.

Gojo-san, hopefully everyth…

But my god, was waking up in the morning a struggle. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten the taste of your cum coating his lips, droplets dripping down his chin on days when he ate you out a little too hard. The pure ecstasy of being in your arms while your pussy fucked him dry.

The painful yet glorious tug of his hair when you screamed out, “‘Toru right there! D-don’t stop! Ngh fuck harder! Go harder!”

Reciprocating your needs, he’ll burrow his face into the crook of your neck, the weight of his body pressing your thighs down to your chest as he caved his member fully into you, the weight of his balls slamming against your puffy folds while your nails painted red along his back, “f-fucking shit… c-can I, princess? can I cum inside?”

Gojo-san? 

Despite the years, Satoru always asked for permission. He would rather live dickless than know he spilled his seeds without consent. 

Your hot breath stingy his ears covered in sweat, you mewled out, “Yes! Yes! ‘Toru hurry —” 

Gojo-san… are you okay? 

“What?” quickly waking from his daydream, his pen still in his mouth as a table of his subordinates worriedly looked at him with eyes all rounded from shock. 

The infamous Gojo Satoru, the heir to Japan’s richest conglomerate, who has a keen eye for detail and business strategies looked like a deer in headlights in front of his staff. 

“They’re waiting for your executive decision, sir,” Ijichi whispered, covering his mouth with a file, “you seem awfully pale, sir. Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Gojo cleared his throat, closing the folder as he prepared himself to make his way out, “ l-let me just read through the presentation once more, and I’ll relay my decision later. Good work everyone.” 

Satoru was never one to get annoyed easily. Frustrated? Yes. Even the clicking of his dress shoes tapping against the graphite floor, a sound that he’d never noticed during his career at this office, irked the hell out of him. Hell, even the obnoxious chime of the elevator ticked him off. 

“S-should I clear out your schedule, Gojo-san?” Ijichi broke the ice while he followed behind his boss.

“No need,” Satoru’s answer was curt.

“B-but sir, you don’t seem to look —”

Raising his voice, “Don’t make me repeat myself, Ijichi —” only to catch himself with a deep sigh as he brushed his styled hair back, large palms gripping the edge of his table as he leaned forward, “sorry… didn’t mean to sound harsh, guess i’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“My apologies sir, I’ll organize your schedule accordingly.” Ijichi stated before taking a bow and making his leave. 

“That’ll be nice, thanks.”

Sitting down on his chair, throwing his head back while closing his eyes, Satoru frustratingly moaned out with his thighs spread out, “I must be going crazy, I’m not some horndog teenager…”

But inside his pants was a bulge, a boner that hadn’t gone down ever since the start of his meeting.  

— Day 17

“Fuck,” a lowly growl resonated throughout the room — desperate and sinful — the depth of his chest expanding with each staggered breath that he took. Clenching onto his bed sheets and shoving the wad of saliva down his throat, it burned from the tension of lubricating his dry throat. 

Licking his lips, and furrowing his brows, Satoru pulled down his sweats, freeing his restrained manhood. When the tip of his head smacked against his lower abdomen, the pain of the cold air encapsulated his poor cock that lay barren on its own, Satoru’s hiss littered his skin with goosebumps when his groans soon turned into desperate whimpers while he vulnerably lay in bed with an erection. 

Before all this, it was easy for him to release. Simply envisioning you while he fucked you senseless, or looked through his private album of photos and videos he’s taken of you. It wasn’t a common occurrence for him to fuck his fist, but hey, when push comes to shove, Satoru wasn’t one to deny masturbating — especially, if he could cum to you in mind. 

Normally, he’ll rest his back against the backboard, topless and with gray sweats — that you'll argue was your favorite because it accentuates his cock and makes him look sexy. If his girl likes it, why not flaunt what he has?

Getting himself in the mood didn’t require much. When he felt his cock pooling with blood, constrained in the restraints of his brief, Satoru would pull down his sweat with a grunt while his member sprung forth. 

Sweetly palming his length, and applying just the right pressure, he’ll start by going through past photos and eventually ending up with videos. Zooming into your sweet lips, hearing your whimpers while he fucked you from behind, watching you play with his fingers on a date, to seeing your breasts giggle with every force of his cock slamming inside you — he loved it all.

Stroking his cock, while bucking his hips forward, desperately moaning while he envisioned just how adorable you would look trying to palm his member. A grip so easy for him to hold with one hand, while you struggled even with two. How soft your tongue would feel around the edge of his leaking head, while your hands carefully fondled his balls, lightly pulling on the sac as you fisted his length, looking up at him through the whisps of your lashes. 

It drove him senseless when you would call his name with a little purr, pulling him closer to you as you spread out your legs to invite him in. It drove him mad when he’ll feverishly press his lips on yours, stifling your cries as he pounded into you. The only sounds resonating from the room were erotic slaps of sweaty skin and your muffled cries.

It didn’t take long for him to cum. give and take fifteen to twenty, but it was nonetheless a euphoric expression because every session made him pulse and huff, desperately desiring more. 

If you had asked to abstain from sex, maybe that would've been easier to manage. At least he could relieve himself solo. 

But, completely stripping himself of the option to simply cum was cruelty on its own.

And no different from a prepubescent boy, Satoru lay in his bed with his cock raging with his tip a fiery red. 

But unlike a teenager, that would get boners out of simply nothing, Satoru couldn’t relieve himself of it.

— Day 19.

Surprisingly, Satoru woke up feeling refreshed. He swore he slept agitated and exhausted especially since this past week you’ve told him, “no more sleeping in one bed together, Satoru.”

But this morning, he felt rejuvenated and light. Maybe not nutting did actually work —

… Did he? No, fucking way. 

Quickly shredding off the sheets, his eyes barely adjusting to the brightness of the room, Satoru checked his groin and examined his hands for any signs that he might've masturbated in his sleep. 

Nothing — spotless. Miraculously, he didn’t even wake up with morning wood. 

With another thought springing to his head, Satoru fastidiously reached for his phone — face id unable to recognize his morning face with the white bird’s nest of hair he had on his head.

Google search history: 

Can my dick break from not cumming?

What are the symptoms of a broken dick?

Reading that there was no correlation between not nutting and its health benefits, and receiving the assurance that one’s dick cannot simply “break” from not cumming, Satoru felt reassured that he, in fact, did not have a broken dick and that maybe he was finally getting the hang of it. 

Surely, there’s always a light at the end of every tunnel.

And maybe he’s finally found his. 

— Day 19 - 11:34 pm

Nope.

Wrong. So so wrong. Most utterly wrong.

Satoru was in fact very wrong of the presumption he had in the morning. Because he was not getting the hang of it. Especially not when his cock was bulging in his sweats, while he was frustratingly lying wide awake during the crack of dawn.

If he could just touch his dick, stroke its length with the perfect pressure, he knew he’ll fold. 

Only if he could. 

It was arguable that he could. 

But the look of disappointment you’ll give him, with the cute pout to your lips when he tells you he’s failed, he would rather die than come to you as a lousy prick that just wanted his dick sucked. 

So, sighing while trudging off his bed, guess it was time for another cold shower — fourth one of the week.

— Day 24.

“Sir, it seems to me that’s you’ve lost some weight.” 

“I’ve been hitting the gym more lately,” Satoru chuckled, the veins of his forearms angrily bulging, clearly visible on his pale skin. 

“There’s been talks…” Ijichi stumbled on his words, unsure how to bring it about to Satoru.

“Talks about?” Satoru questioned, barely taking the time to look at his secretary as he was focused on signing his documents.

“That maybe you’ve broken up with…" Ijichi couldn't even dare say your name in the same sentence, " or —” 

“Yea?” Satoru put his file down, a smirk growing on his face as he twirled his pen around his slender fingers — guess those flirty good mornings and looks from his staff made sense.

“I’m no expert…” clearing his throat, hoping he wouldn’t offend his boss, “but I’m here to listen if you have any trouble with your relationship.”

“I’m glad I’ve got such a trusted advisor,” the man pushed back on his seat, resting his arms on the sides of his chair, “but don’t mind me, just haven’t been able to let off some steam, that’s all.” 

“Okay…”

“And breaking up? Ijichi you’ve been there when she broke up with me.” The man hummed, reminiscent of the days when he was heartbroken and lifeless, “We’re fine… just trying out something new, I guess.”

— Day 29.

It’s been a little over two weeks of sleeping separately. Dates have been cut to sole dinners, and going over to each other’s places was prohibited — at least til the bet, as per his lovely girlfriend. 

And weekends were the hardest for Satoru. 

Typically before this all occurred, weekends were his golden days. He was able to do whatever he wanted when he wanted it with you. Whether it be going on a shopping spree, or taking you out of the country for a short getaway, you were always involved — his common denominator. 

Surely, he was able to still enjoy those with you, but it was rather difficult for him to keep his hands off you. 

He still doesn’t quite understand why committed to this stupid bet in the first place. It wasn’t something he placed for himself, but guess… guess he just wanted to prove to not only you but also himself that sex, carnal lust, wasn’t the only thing that kept him in this relationship. That even though he’s been waking up with blue balls, and his mind driving him insane, you were worth more than that — not that you would ever get disappointed with him for failing, in the first place, but still. 

If he’s made it till now, he can survive till the end. 

But times like these... damn it was fucking hard.

“You want to come in?” you softly asked, playing with his fingers that were rested on your thighs throughout the drive home. 

“You tempting me?” Satoru glanced over at you, cheekily smiling as he pulled towards you to place a tender kiss on your lips.

His lips felt mildly chapped, unusual when normally they were soft and slightly glossy. The warmth of his mouth and the gentle strokes of his thumb rubbing against your jaw eased you into the kiss as he pulled you over to the driver’s side to saddle his lap.

But that was the extent to where his hands would be: cupping your face.

With his car parked on the streets of your apartment complex, and his windows tinted, it wasn’t an unusual rendezvous for him to shamelessly fuck you in it. And that’s what you presumed this make-out session would slowly turn into. 

Because fuck it. You’ve missed him. 

Missed the way he touched you.

Missed the way he held you in his arms.

Missed the way he just knew the parts of your body that made you squirm, right before pinning you in place with his strength. 

Missed the teases and affirmations he gave when he prepped you.

And my fucking god did you miss the way he rammed his cock into you, pistoling his cock inside as he held you down with his weight. Having him cum inside you? That was a bonus. 

“Satoru… let’s go inside,” you moaned out in the split second your lips disconnected, only for him to crash his mouth onto yours once more with a deep groan. 

Before he wouldn’t hesitate to strip you off your clothes, many times even ripping out the buttons when he was in the rush. He’ll smirk while not meaning his apologizing, “sorry, but i’ll buy you it, focus on me right now.”

It felt unusual to only be making out. You’ve craved him, utterly wanted to devour him. Wanted something more than just his tongue inside your mouth and stagnant touches of his fingers on your face. it felt suffocating to be unable to touch his bare body that was rudely still covered with his clothes. 

So without much thought, the burning knot burrowing inside, flaring in the pits of your stomach, had a mind of its own. your hands slowly made their way down his torso, gliding past his stomach. you've noticed he was much more muscularly defined than the last time you touched him. 

“H-have you’ve been working out mor — ahhh,” his hands pushed your face slightly to the side so that his tongue could easily access your neck. The padding of his tongue sliding along the valley of your neckline, and his hot breath sticking to your skin.

“Mhm, can you tell?” he whispered in between kisses, mindlessly running his lips to wherever they landed.

“Yeah, I can feel it through your shirt,” your fingers wrap around his belt, slowly unbuckling the leather, “and your chest feels more squishy,” your slight giggle was no more than a moaning mess when he immediately bucked his hips to cause friction against your throbbing cunt. 

“Gotta look hot for my baby,” Satoru breathed, “especially when it’s been so long since we’ve fuck… shit, you don’t know how much I want you right now.”

You finally got your hands to free his belt, unbuttoning his pants while unzipping his fly down, “how bad?” you taunted, your lips sneaky up to his soft spot — just under his ear. 

Your needy breaths and the sensual overload always set him off. And you were determined to let him succumb to it.

“So so fucking bad,” gulping down his spit, the viscous wad burning his dry throat, “it’s all I think about, oh fuck —” throwing his head back onto the headrest, allowing you to suck at his skin as his hands now firmly held onto your waist.

And just when you were about to feel his pulsating cock, salivating at how warm and sensitive it would be when you could finally get your hands on his member. To swirl your tongue down just under his frenulum while you lathered his length with your spit. Maybe they’ll be time to suck at his ball while you pumped his meaty cock, and run your tongue along the lines of his pretty veins.  

“W-wait baby,” his hands placed on your wrists. With his chest heaving, and hair frazzled, he looked at you with worry.

“Yes?” irritated that he would stop you — never had he stopped you.

“I don’t want you to make any decision that’ll you’ll regret tomorrow,” he confessed, softly looking into your eyes, while a small smile formed at his pretty lips, “I-i can take care of this at home,” slightly looking down at your hands just about to touch his groin, “and we have so much time to do it later,” he reassured while pulling your hands out of his pants, bringing them to your lips to kiss.

“B-but Satoru, I want —”

“I know princess, I know,” his voice mildly trembled, “you don’t know how bad I want you, it’s honestly torturous,” Satoru let out a forced chuckle. 

“Let’s just break the bet then,” you pouted, sinking into his embrace with your arms wrapped around his neck, pressing yourself deeper into his body.

“Hey,” he gently tapped your bum, teasingly playing with your mounds when he heard you whine, “didn't I say…”

“What?” you annoyingly spat out.

“that when I win this bet,” his hands pulled you away, leaving you at eye level with him as he rubbed his thumb against the heat of your cheeks, “fucking is all we’ll do,” he reminded with a slight chuckle. It was undeniable that your boyfriend did not mean what he said as a simple joke. The tone of his voice could sound comical, but the underlying incentive of his statement was nothing but that. 

It was admirable to see your boyfriend set his boundaries, doing his absolute best to honor the bet despite his pupils being dilated and cheeks rosy. The gruff in his voice when he called out your name and while he took his time to dress you up, were telltale signs that he too was at his wits. His wonton look of desperation was plastered over his face, even the slight tremor of his hands as he cupped your cheeks, one last time, to place a kiss on your forehead before leading you up to your apartment door, was nothing short of love. 

— Day 35.

Satoru woke up, took a shower, and had a cup of his pre-workout before heading down to his gym. He felt light on his feet, absolutely flying through his sets. the pebbles of sweat on his forehead felt worthwhile, and the strain of his muscles made him feel alive. 

He's been feeling good. his body was shaped just right — not too big but finely cut and carved to perfection. He's been putting more effort into his grind, and been more involved and fastidious at work with precision and strategy. while still being your dutiful boyfriend who sent thirst photos, of himself post workout, with a good morning text. 

He goes to work sharply dressed, with his shoes freshly oiled. The slight spark of his watch, peeping out of his cuffs, was the definition of the wealth he assessed. With his thin waists but defined chest, it wasn’t hard for people to know just what he had packed under his clothes. 

Satoru signed off on all his charts, attending every repetitive meeting, and joined in on important business deals with partnering companies. He made Ijichi’s life easier by working more thoroughly and leaving promptly.

The last couple of days of this newfound routine will soon come to an end. And the old will come again. Hopefully, he’ll be the victor between Suguru and him. Finally, a time when he could rub it in his best friend’s ego, that he was, in fact, the better of the duo. 

Sitting alone in his office, signing off his last document before calling it a day, Satoru felt a sense of pride and satisfaction. In only two days, he’ll be able to touch you again, make love, and comfortably be himself with limbs wrapped together under the sheets.

Soon, he’ll be able to enjoy the goodness of love — sex, being the much-added benefit. 

As he closed his final folder, leaning back on his chair, reminiscing about the past couple of weeks, it was no lie, the struggle of trying to keep his dick in his pants was no easy feat. Every morning was a mental battlefield of its own. But he’s grown to succumb to his desires and utilize that frustration in other aspects of his life — career, working out, meditating, daydreaming of his future with you and what he hopes to accomplish.

Sure, not being able to nut was tortuous – painful as his cock throbbed in his briefs every morning and with every thought of you. Not being able to even properly kiss you without being tempted to just have you face down on his whatever surface was near and fuck you good was even worse. Nothing has changed in how his dick reacted on its own, his thoughts still lingered in memories of how you would react when he would touch you at your sweet spots, how your body trembled when he inserted himself in, the warmth of your tight walls enveloping his cock. How good you tasted when you came in his mouth, body tense as he massaged your limbs. 

But he’s been good, though he wanted to throw this useless bet out the gutter and selfishly act on his own will, you were proud of him — told him every day when he dropped you off. And that to him was enough. 

Closing out his office, and walking to his car. Talking the elevator down while the clacks of his shoes echoed in the empty parking stall, where only his and a couple of other cars were present, Satoru couldn’t wait to get home.

To take a warm bath, and decompress while joining you on a Facetime call. These days, those sweet moments are what he looked forward to.

He felt the light vibration of his phone and immediately smiled when he saw the sender.

From: pumpkin <3

Babe have you by chance seen my favorite panties?  I think I’ve lost them or left them at your place ):

To: pumpkin <3

I wish I had them But we haven’t fucked at my place in a while …  … you sneaking behind my back? 😭

From: pumpkin <3

Awww I see! Those were my favorites  You’re ridiculous -_- It’s probably under your carseat or something.

To: pumpkin <3

I’ll get you the same pair (: Let me know when you get home, i’ll be home soon

From: pumpkin <3

Okie dokie sexy

Chuckling as he rolled his eyes, he mindlessly placed his phone on the dashboard and started his car. The rumble of his engine loudly echoed in the dark basement, and the lights of his dash could almost blind a person. He shifted his car to drive, and while he stepped on the gas pedal, his phone slid off the dash and fell onto the carpeted floor. 

Grunting as he reached over to grab his phone, he felt a soft fabric brush against the tip of his finger. That was odd. Satoru liked to keep his car clean. So he grabbed the dainty item and hung it on his finger as he registered what it was. 

Truly, god liked to fuck with him. Because on his finger was your missing laced panty. A memory of your last car sex with him before you slammed him with the “let’s not fuck, and you can’t cum till blah blah blah.”

“Fuck…” Satoru hissed, letting out a gluttonous rasp as he spread out his thighs in his seat.

And beneath his slacks was his bulge painfully starting to outline, the size of his cock so obvious despite the dim lighting of his car.

Clenching onto your underwear, he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t help but unzip his pants and firmly hold his hardened cock, as he unfolded the memory of when he fucked you in his car.

Ten minutes later.

To: pumpkin <3

Ah babe, I think I’m going to get home later than expected. Heavy traffic 

traffic was fine. Satoru just has yet to leave the parking lot.

— A couple hours before D-day.

Dinner reservations were set for 7:30 pm, which meant he needed to be at your place by the latest 6:45. There were countless times when you’ve both missed the reserved time because either one, you fucked one too many rounds at home before heading out, or two, you fucked in the car en route to the restaurant. 

Satoru hoped he would stay sane tonight. All he had to do was endure a couple more hours and when the clock hit midnight, it was game over. 

But when you open your apartment door, it wasn’t a surprise his body moved before his mind could register.

Because when you open the door, giggling while innocently tilting your head to the side as you put on your earrings, the ring on your promised finger sparkling from the backlight, something snapped within him. And despite your lips moving, he couldn’t hear a word you said but the annoying, monotonous ring in his ears as his eyes sharply fixated on you while you made your way to wrap your arms around him.

No, don’t do it. Don’t come.

And in that moment, everything within him exploded.

Before you both even know it, he’s rushing inside your apartment, prying off his shoes while he pushes you onto the wall with his lips desperately smashed on yours. With your wrists caged in one of his larger palms as the other quickly stripped you of your clothes, despite knowing you were on a time crunch, you didn’t necessarily feel compelled to be on time — better, maybe not even make it at all.

“Satoru —” you yelped, only for your voice to morph into wonton moans as his lips suffocated your lungs from the air.

The sound of teeth clashing, hands hunting for more bodily warmth combined with the lewd whines that dissipated from each lips heated your core — just enough to push you onto the edge with your juices pooling in your panties.

His hands expertly slide down your stomach and to the crevice in between your legs. His fingers shove the fabric to the side, exposing your wet cunt that’s just so ready to be played with and touched.

‘Tor —” you barely managed to call his name, his mouth overwhelming with strength as he forced his tongue into yours. With teeth clashing and his hands desperately stripping himself of both your clothes and his, he growled while tugging your lip with his teeth, “I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

“O-our reservation!” you cried out, desperately holding onto him with a leg hooked around his waist, relying on his strength to stand on one foot. With his shirt hanging off his torso, hair now messy and frazzled while he littered your skin with kisses that left you begging for more. 

“Fuck that,” he growled, his breath sounding rough as he threw his freshly pressed shirt on the floor — one probably worth more than your rent itself. 

“It’s nothing new that we’re always late, princess,” he taunted, with his palm placed at the base of your jaw, cupping your cheeks with his left hand while his right unzipped your dress, smirking when it landed on the floor with a thud.

“I told you, angel,” cocking his head to the side as he swiped his tongue upward on your lips, his eyes piercing straight into yours, “ the longer I kept this up the harder you were getting fucked.”

“It’s not over till tomo — ahhh, ” you moaned when his fingers finally played with your folds, and eventually your clit.

“Sorry, I tried, I really did, baby,” groaning as his lips dragged against your neck, his teeth hungrily nipping at your skin while he rubbed circles against your hardened bud. The erotic sound of your slick swirling against his fingers was a combination of embarrassment but also ease – you shouldn’t so readily give in, but oh you wanted to get fucked so badly.

With his vacant hand quickly unhooking your bra and groping your breasts, Satoru kissed his ways down to harshly suck at your nipples, “ but goddamn, i think you’ll actually kill me with this.”

“From not having sex?” you pulled at his hair, both legs automatically wrapping around his waists as he sloppily kissed your mounds, the slime of his saliva coating your areolas to replicate nature’s greatest gem.

“Yea, because my nut’s seriously about to explode,” unbuckling his pants while shimming them down to his ankles, pulling one of your hands down to stroke his heated member, while he pushed your panties to the side, swirling his finger around your clit.

“Gotta take good care of my future children, you know? This is very dangerous, so so dangerous.”

“You’re being r-ridiculous oh,” you moaned out when he pinched your clit, his darkened eyes watching your every expression as he opened his mouth in unison with wonton looks. 

“Shhh pumpkin, aren’t you so cute, ” nibbling on your ears as his sensual breathing made your mind fuzzy and legs wobbly, increasingly more from the soaking sounds of your cunt being played with was ludicrous and naughty, “it’s always over when I say it’s over.”

Humming as he brought his wet fingers up to examine, “god, you’re soaked,” chuckling as he murmurs, “isn’t that fuckin’ cute.” the glimmer of his middle and ring finger enticing him more. “See, you want it too, no? Isn’t my silly girl just ready to be fucked.”

“yes, I want it. want it so, so bad—need it,” you mewled, letting out a soft whimper when he suddenly kissed you, grunting into your mouth.

“but let me release one real quick, ” groaning in between the kiss, "it’s a bit painful," as he palmed at his cock, “where do you want it, sweets?”

“Me…” with cheeks heated, you admitted.

“I asked where,” his words more strained and impatient as the pacing of his palms around his member was getting increasingly faster with more vigor.

And instead of answering, you pointed at the valley of your breasts, pooling your mounds together to catch every drop of his seeds on your skin. 

“Fucking god, I love you,” Satoru cock twitches in his hand, “get on your knees for me, princess,” he ordered before slapping his hardened length on your cheek, “ what my girl wants, is what she gets,” hissing while stroking his shaft, looking down at your sweet position — just ready to take his load. It’s not a surprise that Satoru cums fast, and he comes hard.

When he catches you eyes anticipating for his seeds, to cover you with his release, the knot that’s been burning inside him finally starts to snap. The pleasurable, deep coil of his cum shooting through his slit meshed with your desperate desire to have yourself plastered with every essence of him was enough to drive him off the edge.

“Fuck ‘mma cum, gonna cum so hard baby,” Satoru made a sound between a choked whine and sharp gasp, “gonna cum baby… i —i shit shit…” 

And he does, straight on your chest, splattering bits to the floor and some to your chin, barely making its way into your mouth — a whole fucking mess. 

Panting while he pulled out every ounce of his seeds, thickly splurting out of his sensitive tip, Satoru murmured under his hitched breath, “sorry baby, i—i don’t know what just happened there, fuck.”

“you made a mess,” you chuckle, smiling with a crinkle on your nose.

“Shit… sorry, let me just,” Satoru grabbed his shirt to help clean you off, “but damn such a waste,” you pouted. Annoyed that he didn't get to cum inside you, but also grieving for the loss of his precious seeds going into the trash. 

“It’s your fault,” he murmured, concentrating on cleaning every ounce of his cum off you, “if it wasn’t for that stupid bet, we could’ve done this every day, as much as you wanted,” mimicking your voice with a shake to his head, “but nooo, you had to just bet on my demise.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, “let me have you,” cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, his soft lips that you’ve missed so much, “fuck me, ‘Toru, I want you just as bad — so so badly.”

—

“Fuck you feel so good,” he groaned when he felt the tightness of your hole firmly wrapping a ring around his member. Rhythmically pulsing his hips, slowly gulping down his spit while he closed his eyes, trying his hardest to concentrate so he didn’t pull another quickie and cum prematurely. 

It was a couple hours after he came on your breasts, and a few sessions of sex thereafter that. After multiple positions and fucking in different spaces of your apartment, finally, you’ve made it to the bedroom. 

Feeling your soft walls pulsing and warming his length, just so tightly embracing his cock, inviting him further inside as he settled into you — his home, a place of refuge as he’s held so carefully not only in your arms but also by your cunt. 

He’s eaten you out. Fuck, you tasted so good. His starved appetite satiated with every sucking of your folds, and slobbering of his tongue against your pussy.

He’s watched you squirm and sprinkle the couch, squirting warm liquid while he fingered your cunt. 

He’s seen just how far he can enter when he measured the length of his cock magically disappearing inside you, making you relish in his reign as you shuddered with every impact. 

And he’s felt the warm gush of your cum coating his cock, making a white ring around his length every time he pulled himself out, only to slam it back in. Bullying your wet folds while he painfully swirled his fingers around your clit, satisfied that your cum meshed in with his prior ejaculations were stuffed deeply — fully — inside you.

Your hips buck in tandem with his, matching his rhythm but barely following his pace as he slams into you. His heavy balls slap against your swollen cunt with every thrust of his hips, mildly splattering remnants of his cum off your pussy. And as he buries his cock into you, going as deep as he can, with every thrust you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the depths of your caverns. your abused cunt continuously sucking him in and hugging around him, tempting him for more, as he groans into your neck, his lips now swollen and red. 

You weren’t entirely sure if he noticed, but you sure did. The throbbing of his cock tightly wrapped by your velvet walls, with every move of his body, made your insides churn into a symphony of pleasure, making you desire more for his cock to bully your cunt — especially when his head brushed against your sweet spot.

The friction of your body meshing with his feels sickening. The thick air of the room makes him feel lightheaded as if he’s being baited in between the realms of reality and another infinite dimension, teasing between the boundaries of possibly falling into an unknown abyss or comfortably landing straight home into your arms. 

It’s always been like that for him. Through all the years he’s been with you, he’s been the one that loved more, loved harder, loved desperately. He doesn’t hold it against you nor does he find fault in what type of lover he was. He just — just, doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm, his soul flourishing in your sovereignty. 

Heart lasciviously yearning for more.

“Right there ‘Toru,” you sob, “right there, give me more more” — of course it’s right there. He’s studied you front and back, but it wasn’t just right there. Because as his thumb finds your clit again, pressing desperate little circles to get you over the edge, he knows it’s actually right there when you squeeze on his cock, your eyes falling to the back of your head while your breaths start to stagger.

That’s — that’s when you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “S-satoru,” you gasp, “fuck, k-keep going."

But that — that was a shocker. 

Normally he’ll ride out his orgasm after he’s seen you finish off. But, strange… when he sees the needy glint in your eyes, the tremble of your lips as you used every ounce of your strength to pull him in while you cupped his face, your legs mercilessly bouncing with every thrust of his hips while your thighs were firmly pressed into your chests. 

Murmuring under your breath while you encouraged him to keep going, the invitation has him quickly falling into his own — hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, shooting in waves with every twitch of his cock, with every groan pulled from his throat that soon formed into sweet whimpers that he harmonies into your neck, while fucking his load into you and as you held him in your arms, purposefully clenching to edge him off. 

But still, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he cums. Even more embarrassing is how he’s currently withering in your arms, trembling from the aftermath of pumping his hot seeds into you, desperately holding onto you with his face planted into the crook of your neck. 

The way his cum spills out of you and coats his cock, it’s perfect and feels just right. Despite your eyes about to fall shut, you can’t help but think how perfectly he fits intertwined with your body, his slowly softening cock nestled just perfectly inside you as he slumps on top of you, panting from the prior tumultuous rounds of fucking like rabbits as he cages you in his arms.

It’s warm — not only inside you, feeling the clumps spilling out, but love. 

Loving him was warm. Loving him was right. 

Groaning on top of your body, “Don’t ever ask me to do this again.” You can feel his cock slowly start to take its shape again inside you, it was quick but the viscous lumps of his fluid quickly slipped out to make more space for his cock to fill you again.

More — he wanted more. 

“B-but I could’ve treated you out —” your voice was almost gone. You’ll probably get a noise complaint from your neighbors the next morning. 

“babe, the best way you can treat out your baby girl,” Satoru rasped as he fully slipped himself inside you again, eyes rolling to the back of his head for a short moment before carnally staring into your eyes, “is letting him fuck you whenever he wants —”

“Wait wait!” you covered his lips with your hands, cheekily looking up as you then cupped his face, amused as you watched the discontent growl plastered on his expression morph into a pout.

Grumbling, Satoru huffed, “That’s all I've been doing this past month —” 

“I said wait!" stifling his whine, pulling him closer to your bosom to place a kiss on his forehead, delighted to hear the small ring of your phone jingle in tune.

“happy birthday loser,” you cooed.

“You’re the worst for making me go through this,” he chuckled while caging you in, his arms surrounding your head as he brushed his finger against your cheek, his thumb lingering against your swollen lips that were softly smudged with lipstick, “but thank you, 'm getting older, but i’ll fuck you even harder,” he proposed with a wink.

“Wow…” unbelievable that he still had energy, “even with a month of no sex, you’ll still so horny.”

“Yea, because we gotta make babies now,” Satoru chirped, his lips making its way to your swollen nipples, sucking on the tips.

“Thought you didn’t want kids?” 

“Eh, I figured… having a little gremlin like Megumi or Tsumiki-chan wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Just admit it,” running your hands through his sweaty hair, “you like them a lot more than you’ll admit.”

Suddenly propping his head up like a groundhog, with spit trailing down his chin, he corrected, “False, I like them only to an extent because I get tabs on their dad.”

“Tabs about who he’s dating? Why are you going to sell that to the tabloids?” 

“Exactly, Tsumiki-chan always spill the tea, and plus that fart needs some action.” 

“Even though you’re my boyfriend, you really are something.”

“Eh, i’ve gotten better compliments,” he shrugged, his attention going straight back to your nipples.

“ ‘Toru… d-do you think Suguru made it?” a moan slipped from your lips while you positioned yourself more comfortably under him, getting yourself ready.

Letting go of your nipples with a sharp pop, “That fucker wouldn’t lie to me — oh fuck” your boyfriend released a gluttonous moan as he furrowed his brows, hissing while clenching his stomach from absolutely losing it right then and there, “d-don’t clench so suddenly like that.”

“Gotta keep up with the pace, baby girl,” licking your lips while cocking a brow. “So… are you going to fuck me,” clenching while you tugged his hips down to your pelvis, hearing him hiss on the impact made your guts tighten while you watched him melt from the pressure surrounding his heated length pulsing inside you. 

Using all your strength to turn your bodies around, now saddling your legs against his hips as you watched his stunned expression from above, it felt nice being in control. and fully sinking onto his cock as you started rolling your hips in repeated motions, in between wanting breaths, you asked,

“or am I gonna have to fuck you, pretty?” 

— next morning.

Ding!

From: Asshole

so did you succeed? 

To: Asshole

nah, fucked last night. you?

From: Asshole

nice.  but happy birthday, bro.

To: Asshole

thx so, you pulled through?

From: Asshole (5 hours later)

nah, we fucked the day after making the bet.  fucked again just now, too :P

author's note: omg... first sooo sorry for the lack of editing on this. holy smokes, it was way too long and i didn't dare to read through all of this. but if you have, thank you! i greatly appreciate you

#ae.writes #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[roseykat]

TITLE: How they are when they eat you out

SUMMARY: OT8 blurb version of the title.

MASTERLIST

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions of orgasms, sex positions, again nothing too major.

TAGLIST: @xhakumeix

A/N: here is another spicy blurb/work of mine! Thank you everyone for engaging with my posts, messaging and following! I really appreciate y’all 😭💗 also side note again, I’ll spellcheck this when I get home!

BANG CHAN

Deliberately goes slow. He likes foreplay but also teasing you. Thrives off of feeling your legs shake around his head as he goes down on you. If you can’t handle the overbearing intensity of pleasure, he’ll snake his arms around your thighs, gripping and holding you there to ensure that you will take everything he gives you.

However, Chan is a firm reinforcer of edging and uses his mouth to achieve that. He’ll have you squirming and trembling every single time he brings you to the edge. Whenever you try and inch closer towards his tongue, he’ll pull away, leaving you frustrated and angry. But edging has a high purpose, and that’s to make you cum ten times harder than you usually would.

“I know how much you want to cum right now,” Chan says. “So lie back and let me get you there.”

-

MINHO

Eats pussy for sport and will make you cum as hard and as fast as possible and as many times as you’ll let him. He’ll tease when he wants but for the most part, he wants to watch you writhe and shake. Hearing you scream out his name is a phenomenon that he can never get over. Minho also likes eating you out in positions that will have you screaming and where you’re bound to cum - literally.

He will have your legs bent at your sides, tied up so you can’t move, and will eat you out for an hour or two, otherwise until you’re crying from how much pleasure you’re in. In those positions, there’s nowhere for you to go or move other than the surface of his hot tongue.

“Like cumming on my mouth don’t you?” Minho asks. “I’ll make you cum again, and again, and again - until you start to forget your name.”

-

CHANGBIN

Eats it like he means it. Will make you cum more than once with his mouth and won’t settle for anything less. He will have you in tears from how intense the orgasms are that he gives you. It’s a real contrast to how tender and nurturing he is when it comes to taking care of you afterwards. Nonetheless, Changbin will eat you out like it’s the last thing he’ll do.

He doesn’t stop unless you want him to. Sometimes you give him free rein which, in all honesty, is a terrible idea sometimes because Changbin will cease at nothing to make you cum so hard that you start seeing stars. What’s even better is because of his strength, it’s near to impossible to squirm away from his mouth, rendering you to cum hard regardless.

“Look how pretty you are when you cum,” Changbin sigh’s exasperatedly.

-

HYUNJIN

Is very attentive. Studies every reaction that he brings out of you as soon as his mouth is buried in between your legs. Hyunjin also has the tendency to overstimulate the shit out of you. Half of the time he doesn’t actually mean to. He just gets off on the change in pitch of your moans, how you sometimes go silent when you cum, or when you grip onto his hair as tight as you can.

His method of making you orgasm multiple times ensures that your legs will be shaking and your moans will fill the space around him. The only unfortunate thing for him when it comes to eating you out is that he can’t see your entire body, especially when you cum.

“You’re shaking baby,” Hyunjin points out. “Feels that good, huh?”

-

JISUNG

Is sloppy, but in the best way possible. He’s unfazed about how wet you are, how much of it gets on his face, if it’s on the bed, the floor, the kitchen counter - whatever. That’s applicable to every situation where he’s eating you out, even when Jisung feels lazy. In saying that, there are two sides to him, and he can go either way; he’ll either eat you out like he’s been deprived of it for months, or if he’s feeling lazy but still wants to go down on you, he’ll eat slowly.

If that’s the case, he will ask you to just sit on his face. It’s convenient for him to lie back and eat you out that way. Hell - he’ll even let you use his face to make yourself cum however many times you want. Jisung will say it so casually that it sometimes turns you on more. Despite him feeling lazy, that doesn’t mean to say that he isn’t into it - he is definitely into it.

“I’m horny as fuck,” Jisung says before smiling. “Sit on my face?”

-

FELIX

Going down on you is already a task that’s intimate enough as it is, but Felix’s entire aura seems to enhance that even further, to the point where you feel so good that it’s emotional. Almost every time - guaranteed - Felix will interlock his fingers with yours when his head is buried between your legs. He’ll kiss your inner thighs, softly on your clit, delicately sucking and licking to slowly build you up to a peak.

He analyses what you like so well that every time he goes down on you, he makes sure to follow that routine to achieve the same results if not better. It’s almost like one of his games to him, except the rewards are better in every aspect. Lix just wants to make sure you feel good.

“Can never get enough of you,” Felix says. “Wanna make you cum as much as you’ll let me.”

-

SEUNGMIN

Is a tease. Even during foreplay he’ll edge you with his mouth. He’ll never give you exactly what you want when you want it. If he’s going down on you, and you’re ready to cum, Seungmin will stop right before you start tipping over the edge just so he can fuck you in order to make you cum on his cock instead. Then again, if he feels generous, it’ll be his mouth that makes you cum, especially as a form of reward if you can go a day or two without being an absolute brat.

But that’s the side of Seungmin who likes to be dominant. There’s the other face of the coin where he can be very tender. In those instances when he is going down on you, expect to see a lot more affection from him. He won’t just focus solely on your clit, he’ll go slow, check in on you, and make you cum more than once because he’s also a gentleman.

“I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” says Seungmin. “Nobody else can make you cum the way I do.”

-

JEONGIN

Knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to eating you out. Jeongin chooses to go slow whenever he does because of how attentive he is. He wants to make sure that each second his face is buried in between your legs that your body feels good. Every now and then it’s a bit frustrating because all you want to do is just cum as quickly as you can, so as you squirm or grip his hair to try and make him go faster, that’s when he’ll decide to intentionally tease you and go slow.

He likes to hold around your thighs, gently squeezing them to hold you firm around his head. The struggles you have when it comes to putting up with his tongue is next level. He has the technique to make you cum in under a minute minimum. He’s unassuming but he’s just that good at it.

“Can feel your legs shaking,” Jeongin says. “I want to feel them shake even more.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #rosiewritesskz #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut #i.n x reader #i.n smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #changbin smut #hyunjin x reader #bang chan x reader #felix x reader #lee know x reader #seungmin x reader #han jisung x reader

[endlessthxxghts]

Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be. 

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did. 

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one. 

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place. 

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off. 

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did. 

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly. 

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts. 

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask. 

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered. 

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face. 

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face. 

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out. 

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in. 

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest. 

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?” 

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.” 

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at. 

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish. 

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh. 

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?” 

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you. 

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat. 

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.” 

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move. 

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud. 

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you. 

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated. 

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been. 

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird. 

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.” 

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened. 

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone. 

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds. 

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent. 

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?” 

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside. 

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you. 

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today. 

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core. 

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh. 

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin. 

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob. 

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs. 

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips. 

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.” 

“I can fucking build it later.” 

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear. 

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration. 

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?” 

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great. 

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind. 

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him. 

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more. 

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him. 

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager. 

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound. 

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact. 

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start. 

“Get up,” he cuts you off. 

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you. 

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself. 

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall. 

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already. 

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now. 

“Then bend over.” 

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own. 

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure. 

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards. 

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning. 

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.” 

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing. 

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go. 

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love. 

“Baby, please move,” you pant. 

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright. 

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.” 

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you. 

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass. 

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax. 

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end. 

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in. 

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you. 

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters. 

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch. 

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you. 

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth. 

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours. 

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully. 

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?” 

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him. 

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?” 

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between. 

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core. 

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright. 

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

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[wcters]

𝟳 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬/𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗨𝗧𝗘 (𝗣𝗟𝗨𝗦 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧)

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: you find a video of a series of clips that someone found of you and chris being cute

warnings: established relationship, swearing, kissing, covid (yes, it has to be a warning because it is horrible)

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise when you saw the title 7 minutes of Chris and Y/n being cute. You had just been scrolling on YouTube while sitting on the couch of the triplets house, waiting for the boys to be back from filming. You had started on Instagram, catching up on family and friends, and liking some posts that you were tagged in. You then moved to YouTube after getting bored and there was nothing new on your feed.

You never expected to see something like this besides the five to ten second clips on TikTok when you’re caught in the back of a video or posted on someone’s Snapchat story, but you were surprised and entertained that someone had gotten a whole seven minutes. You weren’t an influencer or content creator of any kind; you worked a menial job and only posted on Instagram and TikTok, and rarely featured in the boys’ videos. You knew you would be in the public eye when you and Chris started dating, but you didn’t expect your relationship to have a following.

You ended up clicking on it, interest taking over and the amount of views reeling you in. You wanted to see why the video was so popular . . . And maybe show it to Chris when he came home. The first thing that greeted you was an intro, and then the clips started. The first one was from a recent video where Nick, Matt, and Chris travelled to Texas for a Sam and Colby collab. You tagged along, wanting to go to a couple stores and also offered to help film for the duo’s video. The clip was where Nick decided to wake up you and Chris with Lemonade. You barely remembered that happened as you were so drowsy, and are still confused why the oldest brother thought it was so funny.

Nick walked towards the bed where you and Chris were laying down. Chris was on his back with his head facing the direction of the camera. You were on your stomach, head tucked into the boys neck as your arm was sprawled across his chest. Chris opted to sleep shirtless even though it was insanely cold in Texas while you were wearing a sweater and some spandex, your leg peeking out of the comforter. When you and Chris cuddled when you slept, he always ended up burning hot and you subconsciously slip some part of your body out of the covers.

“Chris do you want a sip?” Nick’s voice was heard as he tilted the bottle of lemonade towards you both. “Y/n?” You made a ‘hm’ sound and Chris lifted his head up, delirious but still making sure not to knock your head. He put it down once he saw his brother. He shuffled a little bit, turning his head. “Do you want a sip or no? Are you thirsty?” Nick continued, tilting the bottle even more? This time you had opened your eyes, looking up at your best friend. “Nick . . . What?” You questioned, confused. “Of what Nick?” Chris’s voice came from beside you, hoarse from sleep.

“Lemonade. Do you guys want some?” The oldest triplet continued. You curled more towards Chris and tightened your arms around him as you made a sound of annoyance. “Nick, I’m tired. Please.” You begged him, shoving your face into the crook of your boyfriends neck again. “Are you fucking stupid?” Your boyfriend asked, awake enough to realize what was happening and get angry. “Leave us alone.” Nick raised his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. It’s over here if you want it,” he spoke as he placed it down. “Go away.” You murmured as you fell back asleep, Chris turning towards you.

The next clip was the boys on the podcast. They were talking with Nate about childhood memories and growing up together in Boston. The camera flipped from Matt to Chris as he was doing something on his phone. “━━ I’m sorry Matt. Chris . . . what are you doing?” Nick interrupted the boy as he faced towards Chris. Chris lifted his head in surprise. “We’re literally doing a podcast. Who are you texting?” “Probably Y/n.” Nate guessed as the whole table started to laugh except for Chris. “No, I’m not.” He denied as he covered his face with his hands. “You totally were.” Matt argued. “Okay, fine, I was. It was about something important though so let’s drop it and get back to what we were talking about.” Chris shut the conversation down and placed his phone on the counter face up.

“Alright. Matt, what were you saying?” Nick turned to Matt. The topic was dropped but every once in a while Chris would look at his phone. The group must’ve been really into the podcast as no one noticed your car pull up, or the door opening and you walking in. You had placed the cases of Pepsi and Doctor Pepper on their counter before opening the Pepsi case, grabbing one, and heading upstairs. Nate was in the middle of talking about hockey when they heard your footsteps. Everyone swivelled their heads to see you walking into the room with a can of Pepsi. “Oh. My. God. Chris.” Nick gasped as he saw you. “Hi,” you waved, “sorry to interrupt.” “It’s no problem babe.” Chris responded, grabbing your body as you got close and put you in his lap.

“Did you call her all the way over here to bring you Pepsi?” Matt asked, clearly shocked. Chris blushed out of embarrassment in response. “You think he wouldn’t?” Nate butted in making everyone laugh. “I also got Doctor Pepper,” you shrugged, “I was also getting off work.” Your boyfriend pointed to you. “Like I said, it was important.” Nate was laughing as his best friends stared at their bother in shock. “Alright, I’m going to head out. The cases are downstairs. Anyone want one?” You asked, getting up off of Chris. There was a chorus of ‘no thank you’s’ from around the table. “Thank you.” Chris smiled at you as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun!” You waved as you headed downstairs.

The first time you had really been “revealed” to the fan base was on a livestream . . . And it was by accident. This clip was shorter than the rest, but it was probably the most popular if you had to guess. You had been dating Chris for awhile and this live was around the time when they started to get attention and more followers on their social media. It was back in their house in Boston. Nick had started a livestream for whatever reason and Matt had joined it after a couple minutes. You and Chris were watching a movie in his room so you didn’t participate ━━ and the fact that people didn’t even know about you. You didn’t even know it was happening, the boys didn’t text and warn you guys, so when you went downstairs with Chris to get some popcorn and drinks, both of your figures were shown in the background.

Nick and Matt didn’t even notice you guys until you appeared in front of them and were in the middle of opening the fridge. They looked to the chat to see if they saw you . . . And they definitely did. Not enough to identify you because all of the comments were asking who you were, but still enough to let people know Chris had a girlfriend. The two boys looked at each other before muting the live. It stayed on for a minute or two before they had ended it with a quick ‘goodbye’. Next thing you knew, #chrissturniologirlfriend was trending on your twitter with pictures of you and Chris from the live plastered over the tweets. That’s what led to the soft launch Instagram post and your presence being known, as well as you making your Instagram private for awhile.

A certain clip had you smiling and blushing like a little kid, remembering it happening and the whole trip. It was when went to Vermont for their annual family holiday and Chris had asked you to come along, as well as Nick and Matt. You said yes, but we’re nervous. I mean, you were going on your first trip with his parents? They ended up loving having you there, but you were scared shitless. Nick was holding the camera showing Matt feeding some of the Alpacas with Chris in the back.

You could see the brunette go slightly out of frame before he comes back, you trailing behind. “Come on,” he said to you, “just try it.” You playfully rolled your eyes before he passed you some of the feed and you held it out. You let out a noise of surprise as the alpaca started to eat it. “Oh my god.” You whispered, looking at it before pulling away. You were clueless to the camera showing you and Chris whispering while you were holding each others hand. “Do you want to do it again?” Your boyfriend asked you. “I think I’m alright.” You laughed. “Here’s a couple change to get some more food though.” He kissed your cheek as you passed him some coins from your pocket. “You’re the best,” he said before quickly kissing you and going back to the machines.

You never knew how they get their hands on them, but so many clips of Chris and Matt playing lacrosse ended up on your for you page and feed on Instagram. You didn’t even know those were on the internet except for Mary-Lou’s socials. There were so many edits of that clip of Chris taking his helmet off and them posing for a picture with all three of them and their mom, but you had yet to see this one. It was practically the same, all four lined up while their picture was getting taken. Then Mary-Lou made a ‘come here’ movement with her hand and you appeared on camera next to Chris. You remembered that moment and being so proud, but not video taped.

You posed for a couple pictures with them, then just you and the triplets. They were also your best friends, you even came to the game with Nick and Mary-Lou. You three had gossiped while watching the game and taken so many videos. Then, the two brothers moved away and Mary-Lou moved into frame with her phone up. It was just you and Chris posing this time, and it caught you licking your finger to get some of the leftover face paint that was a little messed up off his face. Chris had made a weird face but let you do it anyway. You would’ve slapped his hand away if he even tried. You think you said something along the lines of “you’ll thank me later.”

You had watched Larray after you had seen some of his vines on a vine compilation while YouTube was just filled with those. You were so excited ━━ and jealous ━━ when the twins got noticed and met up with Larray for the first time. You were even more excited when you met him. You had watched him for years, through all his phases, so you recognized when one of his videos popped up.

“Where would you want your first date?” Chris had asked Larray. They talked about Larray’s choice of waffle house before Chris said “I want to go to Topgolf.” “You want to hit balls with your girl?” Arrington replied, looking at Chris. “Well, I didn’t have a chance to take Y/n on a first date in LA, and we’ve only went with Matt and Nick, so I’d want to go to TopGolf with just her,” Chris explained, “our first date back in Boston was at some mini golf place. I’d like to take her to remind her of our first one . . . And because we both like TopGolf.” “That was so cute.”Larray chimed in, covering his mouth with his hand. “It’s one of the only times.” Matt joked which earned a slap from his brother. “That’s so not true.” He argued. “Either way, it’s well deserved. She’s amazing.” Larray praised you.

You remembered watching this with Chris when it came out and literally standing up in shock, hitting him when you got up. “You got more excited over Larray complementing you than me being cute and talking about us?” Chris asked in shock. “You think I wouldn’t?” He nodded at that. “Still upset, but that is true.”

The last clip was one of you and Chris like the rest . . . But also Nick and Matt. Nick had had a cold the last time you saw him, Matt, and Chris. He didn’t think it was anything but a cold, but it turned out it was COVID. Chris let you know as soon as they figured it out, and then Matt tested positive. You felt bad because they were stuck in the house for at least a week . . . And they’re not the best at cooking food for themselves, all they did was just order in or go out if you didn’t bring over some food or cook when you’re over there.

Since you weren’t over there, you figured you would go over and drop off some pre-made food and some other drinks and necessities like medicine, toilet paper, masks, tests, etc. You had had the weekend off so you had time to go over and help them. You didn’t know they were vlogging so you were surprised when you knocked on Chris’s door with a mask and a bowl of soup and he greeted you with a camera in your face. “Y/n? What are you doing here?” He asked you, tilting the camera down a bit. “I felt bad because you guys - no offence - eat like shit and thought you would want some homemade food.” You laughed, giving him the bowl as he put the camera down.

“Thanks. I miss your cooking and you over here. It’s so fucking boring.” He told you. “I’m sure you’ll survive. On the kitchen counter there’s some medicine, masks, tests, and some other stuff that you might run out of. If you need anything else.” He nodded. “I wish I could hug and kiss you but I’m sick and don’t want to get you sick.” “How am I going to survive?” You teased, smiling at him from under the mask. “I don’t know. Well, anyway, go save Nick and Matt too. I’m sure they’ll appreciate you.” Your boyfriend smiled at you as he waved and closed the door.

It was almost the exact same situation with Matt and Nick. Door opening with a camera in your face and surprise written in theirs. You had given them your soup and the same rundown you gave Chris. They said their ‘thank you’s’ and Nick promised to give you a hug. This was all caught on camera and added into the vlog, with an edit from Nick saying “you saved our lives.”

#emma writes #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #x reader #x fem!reader #imagine #youtube #youtube imagine #fanfic

[theharddeck]

do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone. 

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit. 

But. 

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app. 

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do. 

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play. 

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones. 

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena. 

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you. 

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy. 

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter. 

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering. 

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.  

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip. 

Why did guys in real life never moan? 

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure. 

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low. 

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only. 

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you. 

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste? 

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy,  acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin. 

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.” 

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his. 

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?” 

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper. 

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you. 

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper. 

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him. 

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?” 

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds. 

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you. 

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly. 

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl. 

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy. 

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?” 

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against. 

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded. 

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.” 

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect. 

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there. 

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow. 

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.  

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to. 

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear. 

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set. 

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you. 

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door. 

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time. 

Some might even say, with a pep in your step. 

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed. 

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat. 

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly. 

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on. 

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing). 

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person. 

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets. 

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration. 

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze. 

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too. 

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise. 

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips. 

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago. 

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.” 

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock. 

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms. 

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it). 

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal. 

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before?? 

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot. 

A knock on your door startled you. 

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically. 

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door. 

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused. 

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. 

He looked the same. 

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you. 

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills. 

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them. 

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral. 

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away. 

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse. 

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room. 

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced. 

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t. 

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room. 

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again. 

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it. 

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep. 

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react. 

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation. 

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again. 

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you. 

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly. 

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him. 

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob. 

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway. 

Of course he did. 

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately. 

Objectively, Bob was the best. 

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you. 

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you. 

He pushed himself off the bed. 

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either. 

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay. 

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it. 

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question. 

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break. 

You kissed him. 

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer. 

He was so soft. 

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him. 

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention. 

“Can I show you?” you asked. 

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry. 

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely. 

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous. 

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him. 

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard. 

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.  

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on. 

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze. 

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently. 

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you. 

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually. 

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked. 

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob. 

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered. 

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them. 

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett. 

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard. 

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him. 

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need. 

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch. 

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission. 

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations. 

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing. 

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing. 

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it. 

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric. 

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob. 

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again. 

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob. 

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering. 

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob. 

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking. 

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did. 

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled. 

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him. 

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.” 

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him. 

It was better with him. 

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing. 

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good. 

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there. 

You felt like you were floating. 

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him. 

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he? 

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life. 

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right. 

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips. 

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you. 

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself. 

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner. 

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin. 

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin. 

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned. 

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.” 

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had. 

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless. 

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered. 

He wasn’t done, either. 

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…” 

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses. 

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man. 

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace. 

You loved the feeling of his skin. 

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you. 

Fuck. 

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders. 

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric. 

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself. 

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him. 

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick. 

Holy. Shit. 

He looked like a work of art. 

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl. 

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky. 

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat. 

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again. 

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it. 

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact. 

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you. 

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him. 

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them. 

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking. 

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster. 

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much. 

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly. 

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot. 

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you. 

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more. 

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn. 

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect. 

Fuck, he felt so good. 

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon. 

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked. 

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.  

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.  

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything. 

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop. 

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.  

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying. 

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core. 

He knew, somehow. 

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising. 

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…” 

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him. 

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back. 

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop. 

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant. 

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him. 

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips. 

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you. 

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you. 

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips. 

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher. 

And then. 

And then he got close. 

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you. 

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it. 

When you came back, you were on your side. 

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.  

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction. 

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

//

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

#bob fucks #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd #misskielwrites #International Bob Floyd Fucks Month

[starry-eyedblog]

see what you do?

merry christmas to those who celebrate! this is my gift to you guys. i was able to motivate myself to write out a small drabble based off of this image i posted the other day, enjoy!

warnings/tags: john price x reader, 18+ suggestive content

it’s late at night, the two of you getting ready for bed together. you’re currently stood in the bathroom alone, cleaning all the grime off from the long taxing day. you’re dressed in a simple long sleeve pyjama top and cute underwear, stood on your tippy toes to stare into the mirror, your hips pressed to the marble counter. you don’t notice john walking into the dimly lit bathroom, your eyes shut as you clean the soap off but you feel him, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“hiya baby,” you say softly, dragging the cloth down your face gently to wipe off the remaining soap from your cleanser. he doesn’t respond, instead pressing his face into your shoulder to take a discrete sniff of your scent that he can never get enough of. “ready for bed?” you ask, opening up your eyes, eyelashes fluttering a few times to focus on your partner’s face in the mirror.

you chuckle softly at the sight, heart melting at how content he seems with your body flush to his. he’s currently only dressed in grey boxers, his usual attire for bed leaving his warm, hairy chest pressing into your back. “always look so good like this love.” he mumbles into your shoulder and you flush pink. “m’jus gettin ready for bed john, nothin special.” you usher out, grabbing the tub of your nighttime moisturizer and unscrewing the lid.

as your fingers dip into the soft white peaks, you feel john press his body impossibly closer to yours. “miss me that much huh?” you smile as you smear the moisturizer onto your face and rub it in carefully. it doesn’t take you long to massage it into your skin, and soon your placing the tub back onto the counter near the sink. “fuck sweetheart, you really don’t know what you do to me.” he mutters, his voice low and sending a shiver down your spine.

before you can even respond, he’s twirling you round causing your left arm to grab the counter behind you to steady yourself while he gently takes your right hand and guides it down to his crotch where he hold’s your hand there with both of his hands, dwarfing yours. that’s when you feel it, how achingly hard he is. fuck, he’s practically leaking through the fabric.

“see what you do?” he rasps, looking up from where your hand is resting to stare at your pretty face. you slowly trail your eyes up to meet his, a pink flush settling on your face. “that jus from me getting ready for bed?” you ask, voice quiet and almost strained. he nods, neither one of you moving your hands. “everythin’ you do turns me on love.” john purrs and his hands squeeze around your right hand gently.

you’re in a state of surprise and arousal, unable to comprehend how he’s this hard just from watching you do your nighttime skin routine. but god, is it hot. “why don’t we take care of it then?” you whisper, giving his hard cock a nice squeeze that has hips bucking up slightly and a groan tumbling from his mouth. “fuckin minx,” he gasps before he’s letting go and quickly pulling you over his shoulder in a fireman lift, bringing a quick swat down on your arse that has you squealing.

“you’re not gonna be sleeping for awhile princess.” john states, carrying you into the bedroom with ease.

@bjornthebearguy

#john price #john price x reader #john price call of duty #john price cod #tw suggestive #price call of duty #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare

[wonderlandwalker]

A Hero on Socks | Virgin!Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: You've always known your now boyfriend Eddie was a virgin, but with how worked up you've been while teasing him recently, you're not gonna let the first time be over that quickly

Content Warnings / Tags: Smut, mdni, virgin!eddie, established relationship, wrap it before you tap it obviously, overstimulation, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Couldn't resist my Eddie Munson fixation any longer. The title comes from a Dutch expression and it basically means someone who seems courageous but is actually a nervous little shit and it seemed perfect for Eddie. I haven't written in a little while so I hope this is still good <3 (This accidentally posted early so enjoy xx)

The two of you had been dancing on a delicate line of 'just friends' for a while now, and you're not even entirely sure what the turning point was, but eventually you crossed it, now officially being able to call Eddie Munson your boyfriend.

He made heart eyes at you every time you walked in a room, and not a single one of your friends failed to point this out when you told them you got together, none of them the slightest bit surprised. 

It might be a new relationship, but you have known each other for years now, and you knew how to get what you wanted from Eddie. So yes, you knew he was still a virgin, but you failed to see how this would make a difference to you, you didn't care, people shouldn't have to worry that others will hold that against them. What you hadn't counted on, however, was how shy he actually turned whenever you started to tease him.

While you were still friends he would flirt with you unrelentingly, constantly making suggestive comments and touching you in one way or another. But maybe the fact that nothing was supposed to come of it gave him the boost he now seemed to have lost, because whenever you slipped your hand underneath his shirt when you were on the couch next to him, every moment you tried to heat up a kiss, he would go rigid, you would feel his body tense as he ceased any and all actions to create some distance between you. 

You asked him what was going on, asked him if he didn't want to have sex with you, and you had never seen him swivel his head in place so fast, his eyes wide with confusion as he looked at you, sputtering to tell you that wasn't the problem at all. And that's when you learned that the dungeon master of the hellfire club was in fact nervous. 

And really, it was quite cute to see the blood rush to his cheeks when you took your top off, his Adams apple bobbing as you sucked on his pulse point. The boy was downright bashful. 

As the days passed, you found more and more ways in which to get a rise of out him, in more ways than one. From walking into the chill living room without a bra under your t-shirt to not so subtly grinding your ass into him while standing closeby, but your plan began to backfire as you just wanted him more and more yourself, wondering how much longer your patience would hold up. 

The silent curses and groans had you losing your own mind with lust as the days passed, up until the moment he had finally snapped, dragging you into his bedroom in frenzy, trying to get you on top of him as fast as he could.

All of your hard work had led to this moment right here, you could hear his panting from underneath you, his breath becoming more shallow as the muscles in his abdomen started to twitch, and if you weren't so lost in pleasure yourself, you might have teased him for how fast he was becoming undone. 

It's only been a few minutes, and there's a heat creeping up on his neck, you can't resist bending over to meet his lips in a searing kiss. When you move on to mouth at the soft skin of his neck, delicately sucking hickeys into it, the sounds that leave him are nothing less than sinful.

His hands have a death grip on your hips, trying to ground himself but miserably failing every time you grind yourself further into him. You're trying to figure out what he's saying, but it's no more than mumbling in-between his moans of your name, and with how hazy your head is you don't have it in yourself to figure it out. It's only when he suddenly slams his head back against the pillow, face screwed up in a way you can see the small crease between his eyebrows as he curses wildly that you pick up on the fact he wasn't just close, no, he just came. 

At any other time you would have found it adorable, you would have giggled and coed at him softly as you assured him with a sweet kiss that it's okay, but not this time. This time you've been getting yourself worked up from teasing him, from leading him up to this, from the feeling of finally, finally  getting his dick inside you. So no, not this time, this time you won't let the feeling in your stomach fade away, won't stop just yet. 

You feel his cum coating your walls, and the feeling only keeps you going further. It takes Eddie a few seconds to catch on in his state, heavy breath he's trying to catch and a permanent look of pleasure now etched on his face, but you know the exact moment he realizes from the small twitch his dick is already giving again.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He sounds almost close to tears, but he looks at you with nothing but amazement in his eyes.

"You might be done Eddie, but that doesn't mean that I am" youre starting to get a little out of breath yourself, the sentence caught between small whimpers, he scrunches his eyes shut again when you tell him, and the most heavenly moan leaves his mouth as you continue to roll your hips. 

You knew deep down that if he truly wanted to, he could easily get you off him, even in a euphoric state, and so you knew that he is enjoying himself just as much as you are.

His eyes snap back open as you start to go faster, chasing that warm feeling bubbling up inside you, his dick is fully hard again inside you, and you don't doubt it has turned an angry red colour by now. 

"It's too much baby, I can't-" he doesn't manage to finish his thought from the guttural groan that follows him, and you can't deny it only turns you on further to see him this blissed out. 

He's struggling to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch you but gettig lost in the vision of it. Torn between pleasure and pain, the two merging together as you keep going. You can feel the satisfaction of it tugging at your heart as you keep moving, feeling his throbbing dick inside of you as you change the rythm. Eddie is still a mess underneath you, whimpering and groaning for anything, for everything, and it’s too fun not to tease him further.

“What do you want Eddie, tell me and I might give it to you.” You wonder if it even matters what you’re saying, sure that at this point he’s far beyond reach, but he doesnt dare leave you unanswered. 

“You’re so warm baby fuck, just please, please”

You lean into him again, leaving a trail of kisses down the spot on his neck you know make him go weak. “Please what, finish your sentences honey, or I’ll stop right now” The both of you know it’s an empty threat, you’re too close yourself to even dare abandon your goal, but the mere thought of it is enough to make Eddie give you anything you’d want, youre decently sure you could ask for the moon right now and he would go out to catch it for you.

“Please let me cum, I wanna cum so bad holy shit” He can feel you tightening around him as he asks, another pornographic moan leaving him, and you would have made fun of him for it if you weren’t basking in the fact you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

“Alright baby, because you asked so nicely, go ahead, cum for me.” you whisper the response in his ear, and it takes him mere seconds to find your lips, hiding away in the sweet escape of your tongue against his. For the second time you can feel his cock pulsing his cum inside of you, desperate for the realease. And it’s that feeling exactly, the feeling of his pleasure, that tips you over the edge yourself. The ecstasy taking over your mind, helplessly keeping rocking against him as you slump over, moaning his name as you cum. He catches you in his arms, already tracing patterns in your skin as you’re still riding out your orgasm. 

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to earth, stars twinkling in your vision. You can feel Eddie’s steady breathing underneath you, his heart still thumping rapidly as you listen for his regular pattern of breaths, mimicking it in order to catch your own. 

“You alright?” His soft voice soothes you, always so gentle, even if most can’t see it. It makes you chuckle this time around, amused at the irony.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” He mirrors your expression now, a grin breaking out across his face.

“Never been better sweetheart” He accompanies his words with sloppy kisses all over your face, smacking his lips against you in a manner that has you giggling against him.

“Was worried it was too much is all” You look down when you tell him, and he cups your jaw, silently asking you to face him again

“There isn’t a world out there where there could be too much of you.” He kisses you slowly this time, not rushed, not chasing anything, simply enjoying the moment as it is.

You lift yourself up slightly, feeling him leave from inside of you, and when he does you already miss the feeling again. You feel his seed dripping out of you, revelling in how he filled you up until you were so, so full. He’s watching, and you can feel his dick make a small twitch at the sight as he’s holding his breath, completely fixated on it.

“Fucking hell-” he still can’t seem to tear his gaze away, and you’re not immune to the effect itself.

“Give me a few minutes and we can go for another round” You’re laughing at his antics now, his nerves seeming to have fully disappeared and the Eddie you know so well has made it back to you.

He coaxes you to the side to lay down next to him as he slides his arms around you, your leg tangling over his as you snuggle up beside him. Your limbs feel like jelly as he holds you, his fingers still delicately moving across your skin as you can hear his heartbeat evening out from where you're lying down on his chest. This was Eddie, your Eddie, a guy who put on a big show for everyone, but when he was with you got to see his true self, and it only made you love him more.

#eddie munson #eddie #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie x reader #stranger things smut #eddie stranger things #eddie smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #eddie fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie fic #eddie fanfic #virgin!eddie munson #virgin!eddie

[vivid-ink]

Kinktober #31 - A/B/O Omegaverse "I See You"

fem!Sub!OmatikayaReader x dom!Alpha!Neteyam

Story Summary: Neteyam is your best friend & he seems intent on keeping you that way only... But he's the only alpha male that you truly desire... Will you succeed in convincing him to let you in, to let you show him what a perfect omega you could be to him, while he battles with his inner demons to resist you?

Note: No use of 'Y/N' in this - I've given the reader a name. So, your name in this is 'Leiko'.

Based off THIS REQUEST and incorporated with the Kinktober Omegaverse prompt.

Warnings: 🔞Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 10.4k Content: Smut, rough sex, squirting, slick, knotting

Author's Note: I know this prompt is early, it's not quite the 31st yet. However, I'm heading overseas and I won't have my laptop or the internet to post this after today. So, here is the full piece! Thank you to all those who showed their interest from the teaser snippet I posted! I believe I've tagged all of you who asked to be below (and a few others who might be interested 😋). Enjoy the ride! 🥰 Thank you to @cinetrix-deactivated20231007 for the render of Neteyam I've used in the cover shot.

Tag list: @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @taintedlovesworld @vintaqestar @ntymavtr @plooto @rav3nh3aven @crazy4books1 @investedreader @qcswrites @neteyamssyulang @neteyamsyawntu @glimmering-darling-dolly @erenjaegerwifee @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @daeneeryss @nilsavatar @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @wheneclipsefalls @adrianarose7 @tallulah477 @itchaboi-itchyboy @neteluvr @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @bluecooki3 @pandorxxx @notnat02 @spicymayyo @iman-lu @creepytoes88 @flyingspacewhale @justonesadlonelymoth @oasiswithmyg @luvteyams @teymars @akoyaxs @c-h-i-l @ele-sme

***~~~***

It was getting more and more difficult for Neteyam to smile politely in acknowledgement at the women who lingered around him. Their loitering presence was becoming a nuisance and his patience was wearing thin. He attracted them all currently, alpha, beta and omega alike. Their delicately twitching noses sniffed the air around him and his scent told them everything they needed to know.

An unmated alpha male in his prime, approaching the time of his rut, was a very juicy temptation for females indeed.

The women batted their eyelashes at him, lips dancing in demure smiles. Their tails skimmed his calves interestedly as they passed him and several bolder females even made direct offers of assistance, hoping he would accept. However, Neteyam turned them all down.

The females were only doing what was natural to them, what was instinctual. After all, his body was emitting pheromones that called to them like bees to nectar and his own instincts were urging him to respond in kind, his body also acutely aware of how good they smelled and how appealing their slender bodies were.

Smaller, softer bodies that would so willingly bend under his… arched backs and flushed faces… rumps pressed against the front of his thighs as he rutted into the sweet heat of them…

Neteyam vanished the thought.

No. He rebelled against his instincts, protested the impulse to give in to his animalistic desires like a creature with no sense or thought. He hated feeling out of control and that was exactly what he was during his ruts, wild and unrestrained. His ruts were an agonising dichotomy that made his body war with his mind. How could something that felt so unbelievably good also make him feel like a complete stranger to himself?

Neteyam quickened his pace, hastening on the path back to his family’s kelku (home). The sooner he got back, the sooner he could get his dose of suppressant tincture from Kiri.

A long-suffering sigh sounded from behind him and a firm hand clapped him on the shoulder, “Honestly bro, it’d be so much easier if you just agreed to see out your rut with a woman. There are plenty of females who’d be more than happy to assist.”

Shrugging his brother’s hand off, Neteyam continued his speedy trudge, “No. I won’t be a slave to my hormones and treat a woman like a piece of meat for three days.”

Lo’ak snorted and scoffed, “They enjoy it. What about that don’t you get? They get pleasure out of it too. I mean, I didn’t see Mali complaining after that one rut she saw you through a couple of years ago. She’s offered again since, hasn’t she?”

Neteyam chewed on his bottom lip and his forehead wrinkled in a deep frown. He remembered that rut. It’d been his second one. Ruts started in males around the age of eighteen and occurred approximately once every year. The first one usually came on suddenly and unexpectedly with little lead up. As a result, most males spent their first rut alone in one of the clan’s designated havens. Thankfully though, first ruts were also milder in general as the body slowly accustomed itself to the potent rush of rut hormones.

Despite the milder intensity of his first rut, Neteyam still remembered it being an unpleasant experience. Hot, bothered and painfully aroused with no partner to slake the burning of his flesh, he’d struggled through it to ease his elevated desires on his own. So when the symptoms signalling the impending arrival of his second rut had surfaced the following year, he’d gratefully accepted Mali’s offer of assistance.

Mali was a fellow hunter-warrior and they were familiar with each other, having worked alongside each other for years. She was an attractive beta female and he got along well with her. Overall, the one rut he’d spent with her could be called a success. She was warm and willing and despite him not being able to knot her due to her beta designation, the sex had still been incredibly satisfying and it had done a lot to soothe the raging lust in in his veins. However, there’d been an unexpected side effect to his experience.

All through the lust-filled haze of his rut, his body riddled with aching desire, Neteyam had felt feral and unbridled. He’d felt so detached from and unlike his usual calm and measured self, that it had alarmed him. It’d felt like being trapped in a stranger’s body, looking out through his own eyes and yet unable to stop himself from behaving like an untamed beast. He’d demanded and performed so many lecherous acts on Mali and while the pleasure had been intense in the moment, he’d been revolted by his own behaviour after his rut had passed.

“Bro,” Lo’ak said when Neteyam didn’t answer, having clearly gotten lost in his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

Lo’ak pursed impatient lips and gave several disapproving clicks of his tongue, “See? The rut fog is starting.”

“I haven’t got rut fog.” Neteyam grouched, “I’m just thinking.”

“Mm hmm,” Lo’ak didn’t sound the least bit convinced, “Yeah right. You’ve been spaced out for days, bro. You can’t keep staving your ruts off with the suppressant. Something’s going to have to give, sooner or later.”

“I know.” Neteyam snarled tetchily, “I’ll just get through this week’s work and then I’ll just get it over and done with after.”

“And you need to let a woman help you this time.”

Neteyam emitted a soft growl, “No, bro. I’m going to see it out on my own.”

“For the love of Eywa! Why are you such a stubborn ass about this? No other alpha male sees his ruts out alone. It’s unheard of!” Lo’ak cried in exasperation, “Why would you suffer through it on your own? It’s fucking horrible, especially when there are so many willing women, willing omega women who are eager to help!”

“I feel so out of control during my ruts that I don’t recognise myself! And the things that I did to Mali…” Neteyam exclaimed before he paused, his face twisting into a grimace, “She’s a person, and I didn’t treat her as such.”

Lo’ak would have rolled his eyes and proclaimed his brother a righteous asshole, but he knew Neteyam wasn’t behaving like this to be better than everyone else or to prove he had more control than other alphas. His brother had spent his last two ruts on his own and Lo’ak knew they’d both been difficult and harrowing experiences. No alpha male would suffer like this for the mere sake of sanctimony. As an alpha male himself, Lo’ak knew this for a fact. Neteyam was genuinely distressed by his own behaviour.

“This is going to sound so bad, but the women want to be used and abused. The omegas want to be pinned down and knotted.” Lo’ak offered mildly, maintaining quick strides to keep up with his brother, “They wouldn’t offer otherwise. You’re the most sought-after male in this clan. Future olo’eyktan. The opportunity to be noticed by you and potentially chosen by you as a mate is very enticing.”

“I don’t want to do to another woman what I did to Mali.”

“You didn’t do anything to Mali, you did things with her. She was perfectly happy and she’d do it again.”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ in the word was uttered with an audible pop of Neteyam’s lips, “You’re not changing my mind, Lo’ak. Drop the subject.”

Lo’ak had never been a quitter though and being annoying was his forte, “You know, what you need is an omega to knot. Mali’s a beta, maybe you wouldn’t feel like that now if you’d been with an omega female during your first rut. Great Mother, knotting feels so fucking good-”

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam’s hiss was a warning.

“Seriously, bro. Maybe try an omega you’re familiar with. Leiko is an omega-”

Lo’ak’s didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. His words died on his tongue when his brother whirled around to face him with an aggressive and rumbling growl, “Don’t even say it! She’s my best friend!”

Hands held up in surrender, Lo’ak dropped the subject, “Alright, alright!”

Reaching the threshold of their family’s kelku, Neteyam pushed the entry flaps aside testily and strode into the space. His mother was stirring a pot of what smelled like sturmbeest stew over the central hearth and his sisters were seated not far from her, chopping vegetables and grinding herbs. Muttering a greeting of return to them under his breath, his eyes sought Kiri’s and he tipped his chin up at her twice in an unspoken query.

Kiri knew exactly what her brother was asking for and she shared a disapproving look with their mother. Neytiri merely shook her head and breathed out a deep sigh, noting how her eldest-born son was studiously avoiding her gaze.

Kiri rose gracefully from where she was crouched to rummage through her chest of medicinal supplies. Finding the bottle she was after she uncorked it and decanted a dose of its contents into a small drinking vessel. Approaching Neteyam she held it out to him, her nose wrinkling uneasily, “It’s losing efficacy. I can smell you from a mile away.”

Tipping the vessel’s contents into his mouth, he ingested the full dose in one astringent gulp. He grimaced at the foul tang of it, “Thanks. I know. I just need more time.”

The sudden sound of wood clattering harshly echoed in the kelku, shattering the previously peaceable atmosphere. All eyes turned to their mother, who’d intentionally slammed the wooden ladle she’d been using onto a platter at her side.

Neytiri was irked, her ears pinned and her breaths were deep, “How much longer will you deny your nature, son? This is the path the Great Mother has chosen for you to walk. You are an alpha male! Your ruts are a natural part of you. Your strength and dominance, your virility, they are all gifts to be embraced, not repressed!”

The Sully children collectively winced at their mother’s bark. It was at times like this that Neteyam was reminded of his mother’s own alpha designation. Female alphas were not extremely rare, but they were uncommon, as were male omegas.

Females typically presented as betas or omegas when they came of age, and males tended to present as betas or alphas. Though out of the three classes, betas were the most common. Alphas were inclined towards more dominants traits and behaviours, while omegas displayed more passive traits. Betas were a mixture of the two.

Individuals were free to mate whoever they wished, and while you did see alpha-alpha matings and alpha-beta matings around (like their parents, their father being a beta male), betas typically mated other betas and alphas tended to mate omegas. The physiological presence of an alpha male’s genital knot appeared to influence this, with only omega females possessing the bodily capability to be knotted and tied.

Neteyam clenched his jaw and shuffled apprehensively on his feet, “I understand that, sa’nu (mother). But the hunter-warriors have a busy week this week and I have duties to tend to at work. It’s only for the next couple of days until the new week begins. I’ll stop the suppressant then.”

Neytiri gave a reproachful hiss of frustration, “You are grown now. I pray to Eywa that she will bring you a good match soon, a good omega female to take care of you. She will bring you comfort and such a match would breed strong children to ensure the clan’s line of succession.”

Taking the empty drinking vessel from Neteyam, Kiri huffed and grumbled something under her breath as she moved to re-pack the medicinal chest, something about him being stupid, blind and stubborn. Annoyed, Neteyam was about to demand that his sister repeat what she’d muttered aloud, but another severe glare from his mother stopped him. Neytiri wouldn’t take kindly to any bickering from her children under her roof when she was already in a fractious mood.

The Sully children knew that if they wanted dinner, they’d better be on their best behaviour or there would be nothing but twisted ears and empty bowls awaiting them.

***~~~***

You sat on the woven mat in the tsahìk’s hut, grateful for the quiet day. Mo’at was out visiting her usual schedule of older patients in their homes and apart from a little one who was recovering from a particularly nasty bout of fever, there were no other patients about and no one else had come through to be tended to. The little boy was napping in the far corner behind a wooden partition while you and Kiri milled about peeling fruit, steeping roots and making herbal pastes.

It would’ve been a wonderful opportunity to catch up with Kiri, perhaps indulge in some girlish gossip, but Kiri was not in a chatty frame of mind. She hadn’t whined, she hadn’t grouched, but you knew her like the back of your hand and you knew she was grumpy. You were close with the Sullys. Your parents had been fast friends with Jake and Neytiri since their younger years. You’d grown up alongside the Sully children as a result and you were closest in age to Neteyam and Kiri.

Being the oldest of four yourself, you and Neteyam had gotten along well, bonding over the mutual responsibilities of being the eldest and having to simultaneously watch your siblings. You’d both pursued different paths from an early age; Neteyam knew he wanted to be a hunter-warrior, whereas you’d always found solace in nursing and healing the sick and injured. Despite these differences in schooling and interests, you remained close friends as you both grew up. You were close to Kiri too, but Neteyam was your best friend. Not a single day had gone by where you hadn’t hung out and spent time with each other.

Until the day you’d officially presented as an omega a few moons after your eighteenth birthday…

Neteyam had started putting more distance between you then. It had been three years since and while you were still close to him, it wasn’t every day that you hung out anymore. It was more like once a week, but you both made the time still and blamed everything else on the busyness of adulthood. While that wasn’t untrue, you knew that it was also his alpha designation and your omega designation that caused him to distance himself.

“You’re cranky.” You pronounced playfully, a small smile dancing on your lips as you watched Kiri sigh over her bowl of mashed roots.

“I’m cranky because everyone at home is cranky, and everyone is cranky because Neteyam is cranky.” Kiri complained, her beautiful face wrinkled and pouty in annoyance. “Honestly Leiko, you need to talk to him. He won’t listen to any of us. Not even Grandmother.”

You chewed on your bottom lip pensively, knowing full well the reason for Neteyam’s touchy demeanour, “You know that I’m the last person he wants to see right now given his circumstances.”

Kiri decanted her masticated blob of roots into a bigger vessel and testily plopped more boiled tubers into her bowl to begin the mashing process all over again, “Yes well, unfortunately you might also be the only person who can convince him to stop his madness and accept the nature of his designation. I’m not saying that you need to be the one to see him through his rut. It can be anyone else! He just needs to let it happen!”

Kiri’s exasperation was clear and you frowned in sympathy, “I don’t know, Kiri.”

“The both of you are close. Best friends right? That’s what you always say?” Kiri pleaded, “He trusts you. He listens to you. See if you can talk some sense into that skxawng.”

You pondered Kiri’s request, hesitant because it was a very touchy topic between you and Neteyam. You’d confronted him once, years ago when the distance between you had first begun to grow. You’d been hurt and confused by his avoidant behaviour, and you’d eventually cornered him one night after communal last meal. You’d sought him out for two reasons. One was to confront him around his strange behaviour and the second was to ask him to see you through your next heat.

You’d had your first heat the year before that and as it had come on very suddenly, another alpha male in the clan had seen you through it. Even prior to your official presentation as an omega, you’d known that it would be your likely designation. There had been signs in your behaviour and your manner. Neteyam’s own alpha designation had been similarly predictable and he’d never shown any sign of discomfort at the idea. In the back of your young mind, you’d always known that you wanted Neteyam to be your heat partner.

Gentle, responsible and charming Neteyam... You knew he’d take care of you… You recognised back then that your feelings for your best friend had grown into more than friendly. However, when you’d cornered him that fateful evening and confronted him, what had followed was the most heated row you’d ever had with your best friend.

Neteyam had confessed to you what had happened during his second rut with Mali. He’d condemned his behaviour, rejected his designation, and told you he wanted you both to spend less time around each other, especially when either of you was approaching a heat or a rut. Shocked and confused, you’d called him silly followed by all sorts of stronger words when your argument had continued to escalate.

When you’d offered to see him through his next rut, thinking the close bond you shared might quell his uneasiness, Neteyam had recoiled with such aversion to the idea that it had stunned you speechless. And you’d been quietly hurt by it. He’d been so adamant. Perhaps it was your natural submissiveness, or the fact that you’d been so afraid to lose his friendship, but you’d acquiesced and pushed him no further. Needless to say, you never asked him to see you through any of your heats after that.

Even now the thought was sore, but you buried your feelings and carried on.

“Please?” Kiri’s voice beseeched, interrupting your train of thought, and you realised that you hadn’t answered her yet.

“He won’t want to see me. We have an agreement that we keep our distance at times like these.” You countered, tucking one of your stray braids behind your pointed year. You resumed your task of peeling, avoiding Kiri’s eyes in the hope that she would give up on her attempt to convince you.

Kiri sagged in defeat and her expression turned troubled, “It’s unhealthy, what he’s doing. He can’t change what Eywa has given him.” She was growing in upset, her large doe-eyes shining with tears, “I just want him to be happy, and he’ll never be if he can’t accept this part of him.”

Hating the sight of Kiri’s distress, you reached out to pull her into a tight hug, “I’ll try, OK? I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Neteyam.”

***~~~***

You weren’t a hunter or warrior by any means, but here you were, rather successfully stalking one of the clan’s apex warriors.

To be fair, the rising intensity of Neteyam’s rut hormones were likely clouding his senses, dulling them, but you gave yourself a mental pat on the back nonetheless. You may have ultimately chosen to pursue the art of healing under the tsahìk, but all young clan members were required to learn survival basics as part of passing their rites, and those skills were not entirely lost on you even after all these years.

The mossy bark was both soft and rough in parts against the skin of your front. You kept your torso low against the large tree bough you were perched on and the tuft of your tail weaved in a mischievous dance behind you. You raised yourself a little on your forearms, watching your prey as he moved in the woodland glade below you.

Neteyam’s hair was pulled back and secured by a loose tie, which was very unlike his usual preference for having his braids free. However, the tie kept his hair away from his neck and you could see the swollenness of his scent glands on either side of his neck, raised and sensitive. You watched soundlessly as he knelt on the bank of a small clearwater spring, cupping handfuls of water and splashing his face, chest and forearms, likely trying to alleviate the prickling burn of his skin, another symptom of his impending rut.

Neteyam had retreated from the rest of the clan after last meal and you’d trailed him here. You’d called on every single lesson you could remember around the basics of hunting: soft and sure feet, quietly measured breaths, keeping enough of a distance etc. You’d ensured to stay downwind from him the entire time so that your scent would not carry towards him and alert him of your presence.

However, staying downwind from him meant that his scent was washing over you in a constant stream in the light breeze and Great Mother did he smell amazing. He was on the brink of his rut and his elevated alpha pheromones beckoned to your omega senses like the most delectable fruit; sweet, spicy and juicy. But Neteyam was forbidden fruit to you... He’d set that boundary, clear as day, all those years ago. You were his best friend… And he appeared to want to keep you that way only.

Your lips turned into a small pout and your face twisted into an unhappy moue at the thought. Deep in the darkest, most hidden part of your soul, you knew he was the only alpha male you truly wanted. He was your best friend and you loved him as such, but you wanted to love him too as more than that…

Your last two heats had been spent with another alpha male, Nalu. While Nalu was lovely and being knotted by him served to assuage your raging heat hormones well enough, it was always Neteyam’s face and form that you fantasised of in place of his. Another alluring waft of Neteyam’s scent drifted up to your nose and you reminded yourself sternly of Kiri’s assignment: Convince him to accept a partner for his rut and nothing more. 

Deciding that now was as good a time as any other, you shifted to balance yourself on all fours, creeping back along the large bough towards the tree’s main trunk to climb down to the forest floor. You intentionally shuffled noisily as you descended, not wanting to startle Neteyam.

“Who’s there?” His deep voice called.

“It’s just me.” You replied calmly, letting go to hop to the ground once you were low enough. Approaching him gradually, you could see he wasn’t pleased to see you. You attempted to broach conversation with a light-hearted jibe, “Gotcha! I’ve never been successful tracking you unnoticed before.”

Neteyam’s tail was stationary, hanging stiff and straight behind him. His ears were pinned so flat you almost couldn’t see them and his nostrils were flaring intermittently. You maintained your cautious approach. Little rivulets of water were cascading down his muscular chest from where he’d splashed himself earlier and you quietly rebuked yourself for ogling. But he looked so good, so perfectly alpha male… And he needed you… His pheromones were screaming for you, for an omega…

“What are you doing here, Lei?” The words were ground out tightly from Neteyam, but a soft part of you thrilled at the use of his shortened nickname for you. Only he called you that.

Stopping just over an arm’s length away from him, you felt saliva pool hungrily in your cheeks as his alpha male scent swirled around to envelope you in an invisible embrace. His scent was so concentrated at this distance and it was making gooey warmth pool in your tummy and farther below. Your eyes met his and you saw his jaw was clenched tightly, his nose wrinkling and twitching involuntarily. He could definitely smell you too…

“Kiri asked me to try and talk some sense into you.” You stated in as even a tone as possible. You wanted to reach out and touch him, trace the pads of your fingers over the hot skin of his brawny chest and impressive biceps.

Neteyam’s sigh was mixed with a growl of frustration, “We’re not going to talk. We agreed that we wouldn’t go near each other at times like this.”

Steeling yourself you fixed him with an obstinate glare, “I wouldn’t be here if you listened to Kiri and your family. Take a partner this time for your rut. You’re being ridiculous riding it out on your own like this every year. It’s not healthy for you to do this.”

You watched while Neteyam pawed vexedly at his eyes, irritation scrawled across his usually handsome and charming face. His fingers moved to press at the scent glands on his neck and you knew, no doubt, that they were aching.

“Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be lectured. I’ve ridden things out on my own the last two years. This one will be no different.” Neteyam grumbled tightly. He turned then and began to walk away from you.

Nope, you weren’t having that.

Striding after him, you snagged at one of his wrists to stop him and Neteyam recoiled, wrenching his wrist from your grip with a snarl. An apology was quick to leave you when you realised you’d grazed the other set of sensitive scent glands on his inner wrist in the process, “Sorry! Just stop walking away!”

“I can’t be near you right now! You should know better than to come and find me!”

“I’m worried about you! As are the rest of your family!”

“I’ll be fine. Leave me be!”

The tension was rapidly escalating between you. Neteyam was growing more and more agitated with each passing second, but so were you.

“This is part of you, Neteyam!” You scolded, purposely stepping into his path so he came face to face with you, “I know the rut you spent with Mali was disturbing for you somehow, but what you experienced was completely natural!”

“It’s natural for me to be a mindless brute?! Out of control and like an animal?”

You had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes and tug at your hair in exasperation. The healer in you bullied its way to the forefront of your mind and you exclaimed, “Yes, that’s why it’s called a rut! Your hormones need to peak in their cycle and they will influence your actions and urges. This is the Great Mother’s way of ensuring future generations!”

Neteyam’s laugh was caustic and he spat in response, “Ugh, you sound like my mother.”

“Well, your mother is right!” You pressed, and your clenched fists mirrored Neteyam’s own as you both stared each other down.

“No. It’s not who I am! I don’t want to use a woman’s body like that!”

This was the same battle his family had fought with him for the last two years. You didn’t understand where Neteyam’s distress came from. It was unusual; no other alpha male behaved like this or had any qualms about undergoing their ruts. Kiri had a theory that perhaps Mali’s beta hormones hadn’t gelled with Neteyam’s the way an omega’s might have, resulting in an out of kilter experience that had harmed more than helped him.

“Kiri thinks things might be different if you let an omega help you this time! Please don’t be stubborn!”

“Oh, and I suppose that’s why my sister sent you along to convince me?” Neteyam hissed, his face marred by a disgruntled scowl. To your surprise he stepped towards you, his much larger frame looming over yours.

“No, that’s not why she sent me. It’s because I’m your best friend and she’s hoping you’ll listen to me.” You muttered quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. He was so close to you, his chest heaving while his deep breaths fanned over you.

You could feel your own omega instincts taking hold of you. An alpha was in need of an omega; your chosen alpha… The alpha that your inner omega had craved for the last few years… You wanted to yield to him. You wanted him to dominate you, bend you into a mating press and slake his rampant lust with the use of your body, and to hell with the rest of it.

Neteyam gritted his teeth and he backed away from you then, shaking his head, “No. I’m done talking. Leave.”

“I can help. Let me help you.” You entreated. This wasn’t part of your plan, but your instincts were working in full force now, urging you to serve your alpha, “I don’t want you to suffer. It’ll be different this time.”

A tormented groan left Neteyam and he pressed his hands to his face in aggravation. His tone was brusque and he was clearly losing his cool, “No, go awayLeiko!”

“Neteyam please-”

“NO! What part of ‘go away’ do you not understand?!” Neteyam bellowed harshly, “I DON’T WANT IT TO BE YOU!”

The alpha-tone was clear in his command and you flinched hard at his shout. You shrank from him, hurt by his words. You would have sunk to your knees in complete submission if not for the last shred of your dignity that you were desperately clutching on to. He’d refused your offer to see him through his ruts once before. Despite already knowing his outlook, hearing the words again didn’t dull the sharp sting of them.

He didn’t want to be your alpha and he didn’t want you to be his omega… Your arms intuitively wrapped around yourself and you kept your head bowed in submission while your vision blurred, your eyes pooling with unbidden tears.

You fought the sob that was making its way up your tightening throat and you stammered out, “It doesn’t h-have to be me. There are other omegas who are willing. I spoke to Nani earlier. She’s on standby if you want h-her instead.”

You swiped at your eyes with the back of your hands, desperately trying and failing to hold back the streams of wetness that were determined to trace a path down the planes of your face. Your mortification at being so plainly rejected burned hot on your neck and cheeks, but even so, every fibre in your being was compelling you to convince Neteyam that he needed you, that you would be a good omega for him, that you could be everything he needed to soothe and satisfy him during his rut.

The scent glands on your neck and wrists tingled emitting your own potent scent into the environment. Your closed stance and bent head screamed your submission, and you heard Neteyam grate out a harsh and muffled curse. Lifting your gaze a bit to peer at him, though your head remained dipped, you saw that he appeared to be fighting a battle of wills within himself. His face was a grimace, but the pupils of his eyes were dilated wide and you didn’t miss the way they scrutinised your body hungrily.

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on your chest and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. The conscious effort of restraint was evident in his voice when he spoke, “It’s not that you don’t appeal to me. That’s not what I mean when I say that I don’t want you to see me through my rut.”

A little frond of hope unfurled inside you and it gave you enough courage to lift your chin to look him in the eyes. Perspiration was beading along his hairline and his breathing was too controlled, almost as if he was resisting the urge to pant.

Meekly, you asked, “Then why won’t you let me help you? I want to.”

His expression turned aggrieved, “Because I don’t want you to see what I’m like. You’re important to me, Lei. You’re my best friend and I can’t bear to have you think less of me.”

You shook your head at him slowly, your feet shuffling closer to him, “This is only one part of you. I would never think less of you for doing what’s only natural.”

Neteyam didn’t move and he showed no objection to you inching closer to him. His eyes tracked yours as you drew nearer until you were so close that he was looking down his nose at you, your forehead a scant hand’s length from his chin. With the height difference between you, your head was tilted a fair way back to maintain the eye contact.

Eywa, he was so much bigger than you… Neteyam had always been taller, but his alpha hormones had really taken root in the last few years. He’d shot upward, his chest and shoulders had broadened, and his torso had filled out with bulky muscle. He was the very epitome of an alpha male: Strong and dominant, protector and provider.

The omega in you would do anything and everything to please him if it meant you’d have a chance at mating him one day, a chance at him fathering and raising young with you. Of course there were societal customs that had to be abided by too. Having children outside of a mated bond was frowned upon, so while instinctual heat and rut cycles had to run their course, there were various medicines that could be used to prevent conception.

In alpha-omega pairings, conception was also at its most potent when both male and female were simultaneously in heat and in rut. It was not uncommon in mated alpha-omega pairs for the female’s heat to trigger her mate’s rut and vice versa. And while conception was still possible outside of this mutual spike of fertility, it was less common. Your last heat had already been and gone a couple of moons ago, so the risk of pregnancy was low. Not that this in any way diminished your inner omega’s desire to see Neteyam through his rut and enjoy the mindless pleasure you knew would come with the experience.

Parting your lips, you let your breath sip in simultaneously through your mouth and nose, smelling him and tasting his captivating scent on your tastebuds. Neteyam’s lips were parted too, no doubt scenting you the same way.

“You reek.” Neteyam’s statement was frank, but despite his undesirable choice of words, his tone was unconvincing. His words came out like more of a rough moan than a growl.

Unable to resist your yearning to touch him any longer, your fingertips grazed the jut of his hip bones where you settled your palms against him. You whispered in response, “You smell really good too.”

You stepped right up to him, slotting your feet between his wider-placed ones to press yourself against his front. Your fingers tantalised his sides and you splayed your hands against his ribs, relishing in the feel of his scorching skin beneath your palms as you smoothed them up towards his shoulder blades. You hugged him, rubbing your cheek and jawline against his shoulder, marking him with your own scent glands. You could smell nothing except the heady and enthralling aroma of his pheromones now, and your thighs clenched with your rising desire for him.

A quiet and strangled sound escaped Neteyam, “Last chance. Get out of here.”

In spite of his words, his body was playing a very different tune and you almost laughed at the contradiction. One of his arms had shifted to snake around your back, trapping you against him, and his other hand had slid down to squeeze at one plush round of your derriere. He was nosing through your hair, sniffing you, and you could feel the unmistakeable hardness of his arousal pushing against your abdomen.

You sighed out a breathy moan. The solid strength of his body against yours wasn’t enough; you wanted his heavy weight bearing down on yours and you wanted to be entangled in the cage of his strong arms while your bodies joined and moulded to each other’s in the most carnal of ways. Intoxicated by your primeval craving for him, one of your hands skimmed down to caress the skin of his hip while the other encircled his tail near its base, stroking it in a crude mimicry of what you could be doing to his cock instead.

Angling your head up you nuzzled at his jaw, “I don’t want to get out of here. Take me. I’ll be good to you, Neteyam.”

Neteyam’s tail tensed, arcing into a stiff curl towards his upper back as he enjoyed the tormenting stroke of your hand over one of the most erogenous zones of his body. His pelvis rolled lightly, rubbing the clothed length of his erection against you. His breathing was coming in harsh pants by your ear now and his frame juddered with barely reined control.

The fragility of his restraint was palpable in his voice when he growled out a final warning, “I won’t be gentle or patient. I will use you, fuck you and knot you until you’re overflowing with me, in your hands, in your pussy, from your lips; you’ll taste me on your tongue for weeks.”

You pushed your nose into the crook of his neck and took a deep inhale of him, followed by a daring lick of your tongue right over one of his scent glands. Your response was a wanton hiss, “Yes, alpha.”

You both felt and heard Neteyam’s restraint snap. He crushed your slighter frame to his with a coarse growl that sent hot shivers prickling through you. The thin ties of your delicately strung top strained against your skin for only a brief moment before they gave way in a burst of beads, feathers and leaves, as he tore the garment from your body to expose your breasts.

Your nipples kissed the cooling night air and your gaze tilted skyward when he fisted one hand in the braids at the base of your skull, bending you backward with a strong arm around your waist to support your weight entirely. You only managed a glimpse of his eyes, ravenous with lust, before he delivered a swift and biting kiss to one of your breasts. The rasp of his tongue over the pointed bud made you cry out and molten heat began to liquefy at the junction of your thighs.

You’d succeeded in awakening the rutting alpha and you knew that you would be devoured tonight and for the next three or four days until his rut subsided.  

Neteyam’s hands were vise-like around you, clutching you to him as you arched backward, partially suspended in the secure cradle of his hold. You had one leg hitched around his hip while the other remained grounded. He growled feverishly as he feasted on your breasts, nipping, sucking and leaving purpling love bites that would mark your skin for days. You could feel yourself descending into a lust-filled haze of your own and a sense of urgency speared through the deepening fog when you remembered you were both in the middle of a glade where anyone could walk in on you.

Your fingers squeezed at the firm muscle of his shoulders and you urged him with a gasp, “We need to get to a haven.”

Neteyam’s only response was to scoop a forearm under your bottom to lift you upright and back you against the trunk of the nearest tree. The skin of your neck was the next location of his desirous assault. His tongue laved against your scent glands and when he sucked on the sensitive spot in an open-mouthed kiss, you felt the first gush of slick wet your inner thighs. One of his arms loosened from beneath your rear and he palmed at one cheek of your bottom with his freed hand. His fingers snaked towards your core to probe at the drenched fabric over your pussy and you felt more than heard the animalistic rumble of approval in his chest.

“You smell so fucking good.” He remarked, his voice deep and gravelly, “Bet you taste good too.”

You gave an involuntary squeal when two of his fingers pushed roughly past the side-seam of the fabric to penetrate you down to his last knuckle. Though sudden, the entry was easy, your slick making your core slippery as a river eel. Your pussy clenched down around his fingers, welcoming them into your snug heat. Neteyam pumped his fingers several times and your head lolled, thudding back onto the tree bark behind you, your eyes rolling into your skull at the pleasure.

Your inner walls pulsed and throbbed while his fingers worked and when he withdrew them moments later, the whine of protest you let out was pitiful. Through half-lidded eyes you watched him bring his fingers, shining with your slick, to his mouth where he then sucked the digits clean with a primal groan of satisfaction.

He fixed you with wild eyes as he licked his lips and smirked, “You taste like the sweetest nectar.”

You whimpered at his salacious action. There was no trace of restraint left in the burning amber of his eyes. He’d succumbed fully to the impulse of his rut and there would be no stopping him now. You needed to get to a haven or he’d take you with wild abandon here on the forest floor of the glade.

You squirmed against his hard body, still thoroughly pinned between his torso and the tree, “Neteyam, let’s go. There’s a haven not far from here.”

He brushed your comment off with a scoff, busying himself with nibbling at the delicate shell of one of your ears instead. He murmured, “No, I want you here. Now.”

Great Mother, you wanted to just give in to him… But the risk of being walked in on was only one of your concerns. Neither of you would be thinking straight soon and it was dangerous out in the open where predators lurked. Havens provided a safe and sheltered space for individuals and couples to weather the blissful storms of heats and ruts. They were also well-stocked with food, fruit and plenty of water to last several days. It went without saying that a lot of moisture was lost during these liaisons, so water to rehydrate was of great importance.

However, convincing a rutting alpha male using logic wasn’t going to work, so you had to work smart.

Gathering what was left of your wits, you purred to him, “Yes, alpha. Take your tewng (loincloth) off and have me then.”

Neteyam’s grin was a leer of endorsement at your suggestion and he shifted to remove his clothing. The moment he stepped back enough to allow your feet to touch the earth, you seized the opportunity darting out to the side away from him and broke into a run towards the nearest haven. His roar of outrage at your escape was thunderous and it echoed through the canopy above.

You pumped your legs as hard as you could, knowing that you were ultimately no match for his warrior athleticism and male strength. He would catch you sooner or later. You could see the thatched roof of the haven hut in the distance and you could only hope you reached it before he caught you. His heavy footfalls were swift at your back and your body thrummed with exhilaration at the chase. Your pussy throbbed and tingled in anticipation and another gush of warm slick trickled down your thighs. Your loincloth was ruined you were sure. You didn’t think any amount of washing was going to remove the pungent scent of your arousal that had thoroughly soaked its fibres.

Neteyam’s growls sounded like they were right behind you and you didn’t know if it was your imagination, but you swore you could feel his hot breath against the nape of your neck. Your nipples prickled, erect, as your pert breasts bounced while you ran. A little spark of triumph burst in your chest when you realised you’d succeeded in getting Neteyam to accept a rut partner. The fact that you’d seduced him into accepting you as the partner in question was just an added bonus.

Eywa you couldn’t wait for him to touch you and consume you in his desire… You’d fantasised about this countless times…

Reaching the draping flaps of the haven, you burst into the space just as you felt Neteyam’s limbs tangle with yours when he reached out to grab you. You tripped over one of his feet, falling to your knees when he didn’t manage to grab your upper arms in time to stop your tumble. The woven rug on the haven floor cushioned your knees, thankfully, and apart from a slightly painful thud from the impact, you were otherwise unhurt.

Spinning on all fours to face him, you were forced back onto your haunches when you found him looming over you, barely an arm’s length from you. His chest was rising and falling deeply, but it wasn’t because he was out of breath. No, a warrior’s stamina was unmatched. His uninhibited desire was the cause of his heaving breaths. He was completely naked, having managed to rid himself from his loincloth, and his arousal was clear from the jutting length of his impressive erection.

Still on sitting on your heels, you peered up at his towering form. The look in his eyes was voracious, feral, and you thrilled in anticipation. Eywa help you, his cock was gorgeous… It was long and girthy, and abeautiful striated blue with swirling tanhì adorning its length. You could see the beginnings of his knot at the base of it, though it hadn’t yet begun to swell. His cock was topped with a fat and blushing mauve head, its slit already dribbling a tantalising string of pre-cum.

Neteyam approached you, his teeth gleaming in the diminished light of the haven’s interior. He grouched petulantly, “Don’t you fucking run from me again.”

“I-I thought it was best that we settle here.” You stuttered in response, your eyeline still very focused on his rigid cock as it neared your face with his approach.

“You thought it best, huh?” Neteyam mocked, and his expression turned wicked as he proceeded to run the head of his cock against the seam of your lips, “I think it’s best if I stuff that mouth of yours, omega.”

Your mouth popped open in unrestrained agreement and you moaned when he pushed the fat tip into your eager mouth. You felt your jaw stretch to its limit as he pushed the remainder of his length past your lips and you fought your gag reflex as the head of him hit the back of your throat. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen an alpha through his rut. Your arrangement with Nalu was a mutual one; he saw you through your heats and you assisted with his ruts. So, the deep blowjob wasn’t new, but Neteyam wasn’t small by any means. Like his tall stature and brawny frame, he was proportionate here too.

The taste of him was tangy and musky on your tongue while you swallowed him down as best you could. Neteyam’s groans of pleasure rang out around you, and he threaded the fingers of one hand through your braids at the crown of your head while his other and cupped your cheek. His hips began to piston, fucking your face in a slow and deliberate drag of his hard flesh in and out of your mouth. You encircled the base of his cock with one hand where the bulbous tissue of his knot was burgeoning.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock.” Neteyam hissed tightly, his upper lip curled upward in a carnal snarl of enjoyment.

You groaned around him and your free hand moved to tweak at one of your nipples, which sent electrifying jolts of pleasure straight to your clit and core. Your slick must be pooling on the rug beneath you now, you were certain. Your pussy burned with molten pleasure and every nerve ending there was impatient to be touched, but you had to serve your alpha first.

Neteyam picked up the pace of his hips and tears stung in the inner corners of your eyes as you concentrated on breathing through your nose while choking on his cock every time he bottomed out. You continued to massage his knot, loving the way the length of him pulsated in bliss in your mouth.

“You’re a good girl. Good little omega. You like choking on your alpha’s cock, do you? Yeah, that’s it. Reach down into that tewng and play with yourself for me.”

Great Mother, Neteyam’s dirty mouth was so sexy… This certainly was a side of him you’d never seen, the alpha male side that he’d fought so hard to keep hidden from you. You loved it… This was better than any fantasy you’d ever had…

You loosened the ties of your loincloth with your free hand, letting the sodden fabric peel away from the hottest part of you. When your fingers ghosted past your swollen clit you whined wretchedly, earning a strangled grunt from Neteyam as your whine vibrated around his cock. You rubbed at your clit whilst intermittently fingering your sopping pussy and the bliss your actions wrought on your core caused another squirt of slick onto the rug.

You could feel Neteyam’s pre-cum sliding down your throat as mumbled words of encouragement spilled from his lips, telling you how good your mouth felt, telling you how he loved that you were so slick for him.

“Oh I’m going to fill your mouth up so good and then I’m going to fuck and fill your slick-drenched pussy up too.”

You knew his first release was nearing by the way his cock hardened impossibly further and you gripped his swollen knot tightly, squeezing it to coax his first orgasm from him. It worked almost instantly and he tensed with a final thrust into your mouth, a choked cry escaping him as he spilled his seed down your throat. You rubbed frantically at your clit, thanking Eywa when you were rewarded with a small orgasm of your own.

Neteyam withdrew from your mouth and you swallowed down the remnants of his release, gasping a little for more breath now that you were able to fill your lungs fully. Reaching for you, Neteyam clasped hold of your upper arms and hauled you to your feet, and your loincloth slipped off your hips and tail to fall to your ankles.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb stroking your cheek, “You’re being such a good girl for me. Do you want me to fuck you now? Do you want me to knot you, little omega?”

Your legs were wobbly and you almost wanted to cry from the relief of his question. Of course you wanted him to fuck you… You wanted to be stretched out and locked onto his knot… So it was an easy answer, “Yes please, alpha.”

Neteyam’s mouth found yours in a fiery kiss and you opened your mouth to allow him to plunder it. His tongue swept against yours as your heads twisted and melded, flooding your mouth full of his alpha pheromones.

An alpha’s saliva was sweet and saturated with rut pheromones that could bring on an omega female’s heat if she was close enough to that part of her cycle. In other cases, the pheromones would signal the omega’s body to produce a copious amount of slick to aid and enable the knotting process. Not that you needed any encouragement, mind you. Your pussy was clenching and squeezing impatiently and your slick was already running down your thighs to your lower legs.

You’d daydreamed before of what it would be like to kiss Neteyam. Somehow you’d always imagined it to be soft and sweet; maybe after an evening meal in the fading light of the bonfire on your birthday, on his birthday, or maybe just one day in your dreams when he decided that he wanted you too. Perhaps it was his adamance in the past that the two of you would never share heats and ruts together, but you’d never envisioned your first kiss with Neteyam to be like this; passionate, wild and full of unbridled lust. The reality far outweighed your dreams, you decided.

Your fingers scrabbed for purchased at his shoulders as you pushed onto the balls of your feet to return his ardent kisses. Neteyam had looped an arm around the small of your back again, securing your front to his, and the drag of your pebbled nipples against the skin of his chest was torturous. He slipped a hand between your bodies to run the flat of his hand over your core, deftly letting your swollen clit slip between two of his fingers while he stroked you back and forth.

A high-pitched keen was your reaction and your hips bucked into his teasing touch. Your pussy ached to be filled and stretched to full capacity. You felt desperate, almost more desperate than Neteyam appeared to be, which was unexpected considering he was the one in rut. However, the roguish smirk on his handsome face while he watched you pant and whimper told you that this alpha enjoyed a bit of a build-up; he liked to play with his toys.

“Alpha, please.” You importuned, your body releasing yet another squirt of slick as Neteyam rubbed insistent circles around your sensitive bud, “I need you. I need your knot.”

He hushed you with a kiss, whispering a taunt against your lips, “So eager, you poor girl. Does it hurt that I’m making you wait?”

“Yeah,” Your voice was breathy and unstable, and you backed your response with several nods of your head. It was so agonisingly good, what his fingers were doing, rolling and rubbing your sweet nub.

“Show your alpha where it hurts, go on.”

Neteyam gently pushed you away from him, indicating with an upward tip of his chin towards the lush pile of bedding behind you. You backed up towards the little nest of blankets and mats, and you hastily settled yourself on your back in the centre of it all. Spreading your lithe legs wide and hitching your knees up as high as they would go, you put yourself on display for him. You didn’t need to look to know your pussy was puffy and swollen, glistening with slick.

A harsh groan grated out from him and you watched as he began to stroke his still erect cock. That was the thing with ruts. Alpha males had little to no refractory period during this time. They were able to copulate multiple times and ejaculate repeatedly without issue. Neteyam’s knot was an angry-looking purple now and his cock was littered with veins and ridges that stood out along its shaft.

Your fingers found your core again and you penetrated yourself with all three fingers of one hand while its twin took care of your clit. The squelch of your pussy was lewd, your slick pouring out of you now as your inner walls clamped and released with pleasure.

With a whimper of his own, Neteyam knelt between your parted thighs, fisting his cock furiously, “Is that all for me, sweet thing? You hungry for my cock?”

Your answer was barked out in desperation, his teasing too much for you now, “Yes, just fuck me now!”

The pressure low in your pelvis was unbearable where your fingers pressed and rubbed at your g-spot inside you. And you squeezed your pelvic muscles outward, forcing a gushing squirt to splatter all up Neteyam’s front. You might have made even more of a mess, but it did the trick.

Neteyam surged over you in the next instant, slamming his pelvis into yours within the cradle of your hips. His elbows and forearms caged you on either side of your head as he settled over your body. You could feel the thick tip of his cockhead probing through your slippery folds, and with a sharp and unforgiving thrust, the full length of him breached you, tip, shaft and knot.

Your scream of gratification was hoarse, as was his cry of pleasure. His knot was swollen but not yet to its full extent and with each brutal roll of his hips, the bulbous flesh of it pushed in and out from your lower lips with a fleshy pop. As a healer and spiritual priestess in training, there were many times that you gave thanks to Eywa, but never more so than in this very moment. The extreme pleasure was dizzying, the ridged girth of him kneading against the walls of your pussy while his knot continued to stretch your entrance.

“You feel like heaven.” Neteyam moaned by your cheek and you turned your head to claim his lips again in a searing kiss.

He was hot and hard over you and your inner omega revelled in the sensation. You never wanted this to end as his hips continued their onslaught. His thrusts were becoming slowly becoming shallower. He was deep inside you, but the main point of friction between you was focussed on his swollen knot pulling and pushing from your tight entrance. Your nipples were hard, tingling peaks; your pussy was fluttering, your clit was throbbing and even your toes were curled inward tightly.

“Alpha, I’m close.” You mewled, clutching at his torso, your fingernails scoring lines down his back, “I’m almost there!”

With a fluidity and an ease that was testament to his brute strength, Neteyam sat back onto his haunches and without pulling out of you, he threw one of your legs over him and manoeuvred your hips to elevate them. Your rump was raised high in the air while he knelt behind you. You moved onto all fours to accommodate the new position, but you felt him reach forward to grasp your kuru (neural queue) tightly and push your face back against the bedding.

You emitted a soft cry of discomfort at his tight grip on your kuru, but you bore it because the pain only seemed to heighten your pleasure. Neteyam set a brutal pace of thrusts then, rutting into you roughly. The furious snap of his hips against your bottom caused a series of jarring wails to leave you, the lascivious sound muffled only because your face was partially obscured by the bedding beneath you.

“Fuck, you good little omega. I’m going to knot you so hard after you cum for me.” Neteyam vowed, rumbling curses and growls falling from his lips as he sped you both to your inevitable climaxes.

His knot was bigger now, engorged to its maximum and when the bulbous round of it slipped past your entrance on his next thrust, your orgasm slammed into you. Your pussy squeezed and clamped down hard around his knot, locking him into place within you as several streams of squirt spurted from you with each glorious pulse of your climax.

Neteyam’s roar of ecstasy was uncontrolled and ear-splitting. His strapping frame collapsed over yours, his front aligned with your back, and his thighs quaked against you while he ejaculated. His knot left you both tied to each other and prevented any of his semen from escaping your locked bodies. You felt the viscous build-up of it within you like an aching heat in your lower pelvis.

Thoroughly spent for the moment, Neteyam gingerly rolled onto his side, taking you with him into a spooning position. Your tail lay limp over his hip and your breaths were noisy while you recovered from your high. Immense contentment and satisfaction washed through you and you smiled to yourself and brushed several damp strands of hair from your cheek. His knot still pulsed lightly, emitting more semen periodically into your body.

You both lounged in blissful silence for a while until Neteyam spoke.

“Lei?” Neteyam’s voice was quiet, meek almost, and the sound was a stark contrast to how he’d just been.

Craning your neck back as comfortably as it would allow, your turned your head to look at him. His gold eyes were wide and anxious, and there was a clarity in them now that was absent before in the raging heat of his rutting. There was always a period after sex and knotting when an alpha’s rut hormones would wane, before escalating again to repeat the entire cycle. Neteyam was clearly experiencing this moment of lucidity.

“Hey you,” You breathed with a shy smile, “Feeling better?”

Neteyam swallowed tightly and his forehead was wrinkled in a worried frown, “I’m sorry, was I too rough? I couldn’t help it. I don’t know what came over me, I just- It’s so-”

Silencing him with a gentle nibble of his bottom lip, you soothed him, “Shh, it’s alright. You weren’t too rough. It was wonderful and natural, and everything it should’ve been. Don’t apologise. I enjoyed it a lot.”

“Not so gentlemanly after all, am I? Now you’ve seen what a brute I can be.” Neteyam fretted and his shame could be heard in his voice.

“Hey, stop it!” You hissed, rebuking him sharply, “This is only one part of you. It doesn’t define you. You’re still my charming and gentle Neteyam. You’re my best friend, I know you. I see you.”

Neteyam’s frown faded, relief colouring his handsome features. He rested his forehead against yours and returned the sentiment tenderly, “I see you. You’re my best friend too. Maybe a little more than that now?”

“No more stubbornness.” You declared matter-of-factly, though a delighted grin stretched your cheeks at his words, “You’ve filled me to the brim once now, might as well do it every time you need a partner from now on.”

You smirked wickedly at him then and intentionally clenched your pelvic muscles around his knot again. Your action forced another round of ejaculation from Neteyam and his groan was piteous as pleasure wracked him once more. His knot wouldn’t subside for at least another hour and you settled back against him, comfortably tied. Your eyes felt heavy and you knew the smart thing to do was to take a little nap to recharge. After all, that was only round one. There would be many more rounds over the next several days and you planned to enjoy them to the fullest.

***~~~***

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading! 😘 Your support means the world to me. As always, your reblogs, comments & likes are all very appreciated. Much love to you all. 😍 (Reblogging especially helps circulate content better, so remember to always reblog an artist's work if you enjoyed something.) I'm going to head off on my trip now & while I won't have much internet, I'll check in periodically. Gosh I'm going to miss ya'll until I'm back! xx

#neteyam smut #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #atwow neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar neteyam #avatar james cameron #atwow smut #lunaskinktober2023 #alpha neteyam #omegaverse #atwow #avatar movie #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader

[jinnie-ret]

heatstroke

stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: fluff, angst

content warnings: heat stroke, vomiting

word count: 1.9k

summary: y/n suffers from heat stroke on the day of their performance at lollapalooza

As voted by you!

It's finally here! Sorry it took me a while to post this after the poll ended, but I hope you enjoy!

As always, like, reblog if you enjoyed, and my asks are open for any requests you may have. And let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I post :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

They had made it to Paris. Y/N couldn't believe how big the crowd would be for their performance at the festival 'Lollapalooza'. The sun was shining, and all she wanted to do was fully appreciate the nice weather. Although, where there was a Changbin, there was always chaos.

"Hwang Hyunjin!" Changbin called from opposite Y/N in his deck chair.

"Why do you keep calling me? Wae? Wae. Wae?" Hyunjin loomed over Changbin in a hoodie and sunglasses, wondering why the older member wanted his attention.

"Jinnie how are you wearing a hoodie right now? The sun's out, it's boiling," Y/N raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's not that hot," he shook his head at her, probably side eyeing her from behind his shades.

Each to their own, Y/N thought.

Somehow they came onto the topic of noodles but Y/N wasn't really fussed, she had ramen all the time back home.

She was more trying to relax, and she couldn't help but fall asleep from the comforting warmth of the French sunshine.

"Y/Nnie, wake up, you look like a tomato," Jeongin shook her awake, and as she became fully aware she realised her arms and neck was feeling quite hot.

Shit, she forgot her sun cream.

"You good? Your arms are so red," Chan peered at her, concerned.

"Mmm, my neck feels hot too," Y/N sits up in the deck chair, brushing her hair back so the boys could see.

"Aish that sunburn looks bad, you should have put on some suncream," Felix lightly brushes his finger over her red arm, making her wince.

"Gosh, I'm going to look like a tomato when we perform," Y/N laughs as she looks down at her arms.

"At this rate you won't just look like a tomato, you'll look like the whole garden," Lee Know smirks, proud of his joke.

"Ha, ha, very funny Lee Know," Y/N pats his cheek in a jokingly patronising way, smiling back at him.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Y/N," Chan looked over her, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Channie, I just wanted to enjoy the nice weather," Y/N pouted.

"You do realise you can get skin cancer if you burn too much?" Seungmin pointed out, taking a sip of water from his bottle.

"Yah, Seungmin don't say things like that I'll get paranoid," Y/N whacks his arm lightly.

"Hey I'm just saying, your skin will age faster too," Seungmin shrugged.

"I'll look like an old woman next to you guys and I'm the youngest!" Y/N laughed, Han appearing with aloe vera out of nowhere and gently rubbing it into her skin, letting out quiet apologies when she winced.

"That's why I'm helping you, don't want you to look like a 60 year old next to us whilst we still look the same," Han laughed loudly.

"Haha, that would look kinda funny though," Y/N laughed at the thought. Perhaps she'd look like grandma I.N with the rest of the group alongside her.

"You know what else would be funny?" Changbin wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"What?" Y/N asked curiously, shifting her body to stand and face him.

"To see you dancing on stage like a tomato, everyone going crazy because of how big and red you are," Changbin maniacally giggled.

The boys burst out laughing at the statement and Y/N's face.

"Huh? Big?!" Y/N gasped laughing.

"I was talking about your cheeks, they're really big and red right now," Changbin laughed, waving his hands in defense of how what he said had sounded.

"Haha, I'll introduce myself like, hi! This isn't Y/Nnie, I'm tomato today!" Y/N put on her stage voice, pretending to introduce herself to her fans.

The members all laugh at her, Jeongin walking up to her and tickling her sides.

"Hey! Are you the new mascot for ketchup?" he cheekily grinned, eyes disappearing through his smile.

"Yah! Jeongin!" Y/N guffawed from his remark.

"Ah, our tomato is blushing so much," Lee Know pats her head smirking.

"Stop, stop," Y/N waves them away.

"Haha, seriously though, come inside the tent for a bit, you should stay out of the sun," Chan guided her into their tent where they were setup before their performance.

"Yeah it's not like we're performing until a few hours anyways," Lee Know nodded, as they all sat around inside.

"Aish, I'm tired," Y/N laid her head down in Han's lap, his hand brushing through her hair out of habit.

"You were literally just napping," Hyunjin raised a brow at her.

"Yeah but..." Y/N closed her eyes feeling relaxed at the familiar feeling.

"Drink some water first," Hyunjin put a bottle of water with a straw in it to her face.

Still with her eyes shut she took a sip and then relaxed. It wasn't until a couple of hours later that she was woken up and ushered to the stylists and makeup artists to get ready.

The crowd was insane. And really, they were the only thing keeping her going as she could feel her energy depleting. She didn't notice the glances from the boys throughout the performance, occasionally spotting her swaying yet she still managed to keep her vocals stable as they performed Superbowl for the first time ever, and Item for the second time ever.

The euphoria running through her veins began to leave her once they reached backstage. With a smile she listened to Felix end their set to hype the crowd with Seven Nation Army. But she couldn't help her slumped figure as she sat down after her desperate search for a chair.

"You good, Y/Nnie?" Chan patted her shoulder, trying to get her attention.

"Hot," Y/N panted, tugging at the collar of her leather jacket that she had been fitted with for the stage performance.

"Take it off then," Changbin helped her shake it off, now feeling concerned at her heavily sweating state.

"What's going on with Y/N?" some of the other members asked as they walked over.

"Ugh, my head," she groaned, now leant forward as she gripped onto her knees for some stability.

"Have some water, silly," Seungmin encouraged her to take his own, yet her shaky hand wasn't very reassuring to the others.

"Y/Nnie, you can't even hold onto it, are you dizzy? What's the matter?" Felix poured out questions, worried about the state she was in.

"Mmm," Y/N nods, as Jeongin helps her sip from the water bottle.

"Ah that's not good," Hyunjin shakes his head, frowning.

"Here, come on, let's get you relaxed somewhere else," Changbin helps her stand, yet as her body becomes upright she stumbles, Lee Know helping to support her balance.

Y/N suddenly tears up, feeling scared about how she was feeling. It was all too overwhelming, and everything felt too hot.

"C-can't feel my arms," Y/N whimpered as tears fell down her cheeks, the boys murmuring amongst themselves worriedly.

"You can't feel your arms?" Felix asked, a scared look on his face, and that made Y/N feel worse, she didn't want the boys to be stressed out for her sake.

"I'm sorry, I..." Y/N trailed off, still panting as she was guided back to her chair, the boys deciding it was for the better for her to rest for now where she was, instead of moving her somewhere else.

"You're okay. Everything is going to be ok, sweetheart, we've got you, yeah?" Chan hushed her soothingly, Han rubbing her back in small circles.

"Should we call a medic?" Jeongin asked, eyes wide with uneasiness.

"Yes, good idea, Innie," Lee Know nodded at him, as they both went to look for some help.

"Y/N, you're ok, you're going to be ok," Hyunjin quietly comforted her, a light grip on her hand as he knelt down beside her.

Y/N groaned again from her headache getting worse.

"Where are those medics?" Changbin asked, looking around frustratedly with his hands on his hips, wondering what was taking so long.

"Don't... worry... don't waste... on me..." Y/N could barely get her words out, especially as a wave of nausea overcome her.

"Yah, it's not a waste, you're clearly not well right now Y/N," Han looked sullen, now fanning her face with a piece of paper he had found.

"S-sorry... ugh, feel... sick," she mumbled dizzily, slumped in the chair.

"You feel sick?" Hyunjin worried.

"I'm gonna... ugh," Y/N, with all her willpower, lifted herself out of the chair, yet it wasn't enough to keep her standing as she collapsed to her knees on the ground and threw up whatever was in her system. The boys were unable to catch her and yelled out as she fell.

"Y/N! Shit!" Changbin held her against him.

"Where are the medics?!" Chan yelled angrily, stress consuming him as their maknae was on the ground.

"Ah, ugh, I'm, ah I'm sorry," Y/N whimpered, tears running down her face from her own panic and the feeling of throwing up.

"You don't have to be sorry, it's ok, just take a deep breath," Han held her hair back, looking around at the boys with his eyes shining with his own tears as he feared she wouldn't be ok.

Y/N threw up again, gasping for breath.

"Is that all of it?" Hyunjin whispered from beside them, Y/N tearily nodding as she slumped back in Changbin's arms, feeling dazed.

Lee Know and Jeongin suddenly rushed over with the medics, both of them seeming angry.

"Finally! Where were they?!" Chan asked them, sighing disappointedly.

"Packing up, they were ready to go even though we only just finished performing," Lee Know gritted his teeth as the medics lifted Y/N onto a stretcher and took her through to a medical room, much cooler with air conditioning blasting through the room.

They held a wet cloth against her forehead and against her burns to try and lower her body temperature. The boys couldn't do anything but wait anxiously as they saw their youngest laying down and getting treated.

"Her temperature is dropping, that's a good sign," the medic said out loud to the boys.

Half an hour had passed and Y/N was now more aware of her surroundings, the medics clearing that she could head back to the hotel with the boys, telling them that if her condition worsens again that they need to call an ambulance immediately.

"I'm sorry," Y/N sleepily muttered as they helped her into the company cars.

"Don't apologise, we were more concerned about you," Seungmin informed her, an arm wrapped around her waist as he and Hyunjin guided her into the back of the car.

"That's why I feel bad," Y/N bit her lip.

"It's ok, you can rest now, don't worry about it ok? I know it's easier said than done but we'll make sure you're ok, and we're doing that because we care about you, yeah?" Chan said from the front seat.

"Ok, ok," she yawned, head leaning against Hyunjin's shoulder.

Once they arrived back at the hotel they didn't let her stay in her own room, as she instead was looked after by Lee Know and Jeongin in another, the two of them making sure she was relaxed and not too hot as they kept the air conditioning on. It may have felt a bit cold for them at one point but they didn't mind, they'd do anything for her. All of the boys would.

tagged: @skz-streamer @oo-li

#skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz angst #skz fluff #skz x reader #straykids imagines #skz fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz 9th member #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #stray kids 9th member

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands. 

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely. 

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach. 

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place. 

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within. 

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin. 

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes. 

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit. 

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.” 

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp. 

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.” 

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads. 

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’ 

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!” 

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.” 

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching. 

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?” 

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.” 

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?” 

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.” 

“I do not know, lady,” you answer. 

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.” 

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.” 

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.” 

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded. 

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies. 

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!” 

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings. 

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.” 

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--” 

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.” 

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--” 

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!” 

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries. 

“Father, please, is it a husband?” 

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.” 

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.” 

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.” 

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa. 

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?” 

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.” 

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.” 

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.” 

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.” 

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.” 

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner. 

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers. 

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment. 

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s. 

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt. 

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost? 

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow. 

“One of ya,” he grits. 

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women. 

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate. 

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows. 

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance. 

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia. 

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top. 

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces. 

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it. 

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...” 

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--” 

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you. 

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.” 

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.” 

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight. 

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?” 

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor. 

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down. 

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch. 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #au #medieval au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

[sailorrlino]

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. 

-

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

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

[sunny44]

Would you?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Wife!reader

Warnings: mentions of going to make sex

Summary: Lewis asks his wife if she would still love him if he didn't have a British accent.

I know how much my wife loves my English accent because she told me several times how sexy she thinks it is and that it's certainly one of the things she finds most attractive about me and that's why I decided to record a video asking her something since fans complain that there isn't as much content with the "best Hamilton" according to them.

“Hey honey I have a question for you.” I said when she exit the bathroom.

“Yes?”

“Would you still love me if I didn’t have a British accent?” I’ve asked and she stated giggling.

“Of course I would.” She smiled. “Just a tiny bit less.”

“I knew it.” I’ve said and we laugh. “You are naughty.”

“I just love it so much but I would still love you.”

“And you'd still marry me?"

“I don’t know.” She pretends to think and then laughs as she walks over to me, putting her arms around my shoulders. “Of course I would, I didn’t marry you because of the British accent. Even though it was one of the things that I found most attractive about you.

“Yeah I can see that.” She laughs. “What else attracts you?”

“Your voice, the Tattoo’s, the braids, your body, the way you are such a gentleman and a lot more things.”

“Yeah?” She agreed. “Well in that case I think I can show you all these things in our bedroom.”

“I think that’s a great ideia.” She say’s and I threw my phone on the sofa and picked her up and practically ran with her to our room.

I threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her, who was looking at me anxiously.

“God I love you so much.” I’ve said while kissing her neck.

“How about you show me how much you love me?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Bonus scene!

Y/nhamilton instagram post

Liked by @pierregasly, @lewishamilton, @mercedesamg and others 292710

Y/nhamilton But god I love the English

Tagged: @lewishamilton

Lewishamilton yeah and I know how much

Liked by y/nhamilton

LewisHamilton love you too babe

Y/nhamilton 💜💜

User44 we love a good Taylor Swift reference

User01 we needed more Lewis and y/n content

Lewishamilton wait until I post the video of me asking her if she would still love me if I didn’t have a English accent

User01 holy shit he answered me

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 #f1 instagram au #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton art #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton headers #lewis hamilton icons #lewis hamilton wallpaper #lewis hamilton fanart #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton edit #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton instagram au #lewis hamilton aesthetic #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton fashion week #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton masterlist #lewis hamilton moodboard #lewis hamilton lockscreen #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #Lewis Hamilton imagines