y'all are lucky it's an emerald kick i'm on right now and not an oras one because i get weird and feral about how characters in oras are aware of the narrative they're in and react differently to it depending on which game you're playing
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I need autumn to come and save me. I'm such in a shitty headspace right now, I need that breeze and temp drop and fall vibes to come and save me
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Instagram today: "Hello! We see you like hockey! so we're going to recommend a bunch of jack hughes posts! :D"
Me:
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just finished yakuza 0…
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i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((
Banner picture credit: @661ave
possession
noun
the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Word count: 7 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.
A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)
He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.
And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.
He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.
He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.
Family, or friends, that is.
When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?
It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.
There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?
Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.
She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…
And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.
She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.
He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?
He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.
It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.
He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.
When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.
It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.
Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.
It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.
His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.
It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.
Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.
He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?
And god, how he would fuck her…
Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…
He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.
He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.
"Scheisse–"
He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.
She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.
He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.
…
She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.
She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.
Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.
Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?
But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.
He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.
With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.
There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.
What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?
He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.
He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.
The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.
Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.
So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.
She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…
She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.
"I got you something... Merry Christmas."
"Aw… You shouldn't have…"
She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.
"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.
He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.
Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…
"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.
Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.
Well, shit. Fuck.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."
"That’s nice to hear."
"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."
He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.
"You already got me Christmas decorations."
"Yeah, but… You paid for them."
"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"
He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.
"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.
"I truly did."
She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.
"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.
"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."
She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.
"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."
"...What does that mean?"
"It means 'Happy New Year'."
"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"
Shit.
Shit.
Shit…
"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."
She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.
"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.
"Something naughty."
Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.
"Really…?"
"Yes."
"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."
Playful, naughty, dirty.
She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.
Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?
"I want to lick your pussy."
There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.
"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"
"Ja."
It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.
Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.
With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.
When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.
"Go ahead then," she whispers.
He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.
She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.
It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.
Mein.
Mein.
Mein…
He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.
Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.
And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.
He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.
"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"
He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.
To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.
"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"
She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.
The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.
Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.
Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.
And he's only about to fuck her…
"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.
"Oh–oh god…"
Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.
"Wait–"
"I will fuck you now."
"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"
She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.
"Hm. I don't have any."
"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...
But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.
Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?
How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?
She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.
"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.
She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.
"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"
"I am."
He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.
And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.
He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.
"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."
Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.
"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"
It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.
"Ok…"
"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"
The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.
"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.
"O‐oh…?"
"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."
"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"
If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.
"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."
He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.
He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.
"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"
"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"
Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.
He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.
"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"
He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.
She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.
"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"
She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.
"Will you stay? For the night…?"
His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.
"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”
She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.
She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.
“I'm sorry..."
"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.
For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.
He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…
She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.
She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.
He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.
It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.
The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.
When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.
"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."
There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.
And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.
"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"
She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…
"Liebling... Me too."
"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."
"Oh I fear a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Like… flying, for example."
"But you fly all the time?"
"Exactly."
She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…
"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."
She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.
If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.
"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"
"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"
"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."
She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.
He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.
What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.
This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.
"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.
"...What?"
He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.
"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.
"What do you mean.”
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.
"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."
He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.
"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."
Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.
So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…
And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.
But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…
"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"
"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."
"Well, neither am I."
He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.
"No one is."
"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.
"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."
"Liebling…"
"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"
"Of course."
She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.
He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.
Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…
And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.
He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.
But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.
"Are you still afraid?"
He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.
"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."
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𓂃🦄. BSD MEN HITTIN' THAT G-SPOT !
chuuya, dazai, tecchou
tags. x fem!reader, smut, cockwarming, implied/referenced punishments, grinding, controlled sex, (hard) bite marks, almost caught, blowjob under desk, desk/office sex, jealousy, punishments, brats/brat taming, overstim, marking, lewd acts, praising, degrading, cock drunk/pussy drunk, breeding kink, fingering, clit stimulation, squirting, multiple rounds, kinda riding, petnames, multiple uses of profanity, BANNERS/DIVIDERS MADE BY ME.
ps. leave me alone my shit writing is making me depressed.
all credit on this post belongs to @rusmii . don't steal >:(((
rules (for m.list) | taglist: @luvan1 @bfdazai @asqmi @squigglewigglewoo @liviash @doonifox @ishqani @xxcandlelightxx @iheartpieck @ezelium @atsquie
" 'Zai," you whisper into his ear, the soft breeze making him shudder for a brief moment. "Yes, 'bella?" He asks, his eyes still on his suicide book that he was reading. An annoyed sigh came out from you. What made his suicide book that he's read over a gazillion times more important than you? You stood there beside him for a minute, thinking about how to get his attention on you next. Dazai on the other hand knew what you were aiming for. Your skimpy nightwear and lounge gaze was enough to tell him everything. And truth be told, he was also feeling the same way. "Osamu~" You say again, straddling his lap as you do so. "Can I cockwarm while you read? Pretty pleeaase?~"
"Why're you moving, darling?"
A lump formed a clog in your throat. The small question he asks you within a few minutes in already has you wishing that you'd never propose this idea to him. He flips a page, humming as he does so. The usual smile he has when he sees you is present on his face.
His cock sits nice and still inside you. The slight curve of his dick being the main culprit of your squirmish movements. " 'M no- 'm sorry." You can feel Dazai eyeing you, the lie you almost gave him making you swallow the lump inside your throat in fear. For a few seconds, Dazai doesn't do anything, his attention long gone from his book as you burrow your head into the crook of his neck.
Clutching his shoulder that you laid your head on, you could feel slight movement in it. Dazai hums lowly, letting you off the hook this time. "Hm~ Fine. Be a good girl, though, and don't let me catch you humping me like a dog. Understood?"
You clench your teeth. Whew, for a moment there you thought you were fucked there. Punishments with Dazai was unpredictable, and you didn't intend on passing dangerous territory just yet. "Yes sir." — "Good girl," he praises, his warm words making your pussy ache.
Your pussy clenches around his cock, the silent lewdness of the situation made it wetter as time went on. You close your eyes, attempting to focus on Dazai's humming. His melodious tune being able to calm even the scorchest of hot headed men. You sigh, subtly rocking your hips against his. The unreactive Dazai giving you more courage to keep grinding on his cock.
Eventually, you heard the book close. The sound makes you halt and pull away. "You done readin'?" You question him when you see your lover setting the book aside onto the lamp table. Dazai hums, his soft expression calming your beating heart. Just for a moment there, you thought he caught you — "About 56 times." He cuts you off.
What? What was he talking about? You look at him, making eye contact almost immediately. Though he does not say anything, his sly smile and slanted eyes do. Your eyes start darting to anywhere but him, moving to the wall behind him. "My eyes are here," he points to his face, his voice rephrasing what he said earlier, "About 56 times did you disobey my orders."
"I -.." Excuses start piling up inside your throat. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He caught you, and there was nothing you could do about it. " 'I' What?" He mocks, the sinful smile he gives you was enough to have you breaking down. "I - I don't know! I -"
Endless blabber escapes from you. Dazai sits there and watches. Letting you cry out your frustration. He rubs the back of your head, a mocking coo leaving him. "Aw~ There, there darlin'. Don't cry, I promise I'm not that disappointed in you. You did your best, and I acknowledge that. Unfortunately, we both know that you could've done better." Bitter words come from him.
You were at a loss for words. No amount of crying and pleading was going to get you of your punishment now. Dazai doesn't wait for a response from you, though, pushing your chin up using his fingers. He was now eye to eye with you as he leaned forward, his head tilted to the side to line up with your lips. " 'M not gonna punish you too harshly. Despite you disobeying me, your grinding almost made me toss the book," Dazai admits, which makes your mouth drop open in surprise for just a split second.
"And for that - " He thrusts up hard. A loud moan escapes from your lips before you can muster any form of blockage. " - Ride for as long as you want." His smooth sailing words pur into your mouth. His own capturing yours into a soft, passionate kiss that matched the rhythm of your crotches grinding together. " 'Samu! - S- Osamu!" You moan his name, the tip of his dick rubbing against your bundle of nerves.
His eyes never leave yours. Every breathless grunt he lets out only spurs you on to bounce on his dick. The act makes him groan before he stops you from doing anymore. "Osamu..!" You whine, wondering why he stopped you. "No, I said for as long as you want. Not whatever you want."
You nod your head repeatedly, wanting to cum and get this over with. Dazai seems to agree so as well — using his hands to guide your hips. The slow grind making you cry tears of frustration. "Please! Please! - Osamu- Please! Please! - " — " Sh sh, I got you." Dazai reassures you, fastening the pace.
"Mmhm!~ Osamu! Osa - Osamu!!~" You squeal, his dick rutting inside your gushy cunt as he marks your neck made you see white. The tight clench of your walls made Dazai bite down a little too hard, tasting bits of iron in his mouth.
Dazai continues to grind his hips through your orgasm, feeling his own high building up. "Shit - Fuck! - cummincummin - Ghnn~" He groans into your neck. The pressure that had accumulated by your grinding earlier toppled down on his orgasm.
The white ribbon laced your walls deep inside you, the pressure of his dick pressing hard on your g-spot, giving you another orgasm. Hearing your second wave of squeals, Dazai uses a hand to rub your lower back, thrusting up slightly to help you ride out your second orgasm.
"Good - " He pants heavily, his flushed face with swollen lips, " - Good fucking girl, holy shit."
"And for -!" Chuuya hiced. His brain being thrown for a loop as he grips the new paperwork that was given to him by Akutagawa. Said man seems to notice his red face and questions him. "Sir, are you alright?" Chuuya waves him off, "Yeah - just.. - feeling a little hot in this room right now - how high did I set the temp again?" He laughs awkwardly and orders Akutagawa to go check. While Akutagawa is distracted, Chuuya looks down to find his pants unzipped and you sucking the tip of his dick. "Stop. Akutagawa is here. Let's do this when he's gone," he orders you, attempting to swat you hand away from his balls. But before he could do that, Akutagawa returned. "Sir, seems like the temperature is just below average - are you sure you're okay? — "YES! You - You may leave." Chuuya stutters on his words when he feels you engulf his entire dick into your mouth.
"You - " A slam of his hips has you spiraling into moans. " - Fucking - " Thrust " - Brat," he snarls above you. The nasaled expression on his face matching the rhythm of his hips.
"Chu-uuyaa!!~" You squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist as his dick plunges straight into your core — his dick hitting that spot every time he thrusts in. He groans, the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock perfectly could make him cum right then and there. "Yeah? That feel good? Fuck - bet that shit does." He slaps your thigh. "Brats like you shouldn't even be getting dicked down so good," he continues. His hips never faltering its rhythm.
"Good! Feels so good! Please Chu - Chu fuck me!" Affirming his accusations only made Chuuya more bricked than the hardest damn rock. All papers, pens, and other random shit had been thrown off his desk in a haste. He'd care about it when he was done with you. "Mhm..~ Ha! 'Dunno. Should brats like you get fucked like good girls? Hm?" He puncuates every word with a slow, sharp thrust. " 'Cause the whore 'm fuckin' is on Santa's naughty list right now."
You arch your back, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. You roll your head up as more nonsense came from you. His dick rubbed your spot intensely while grinding your crotches together. The sharp, angled, shallow thrusts almost, causing you to nearly shut one eye from losing control of most of your senses.
"Ahnn!~ - Yesss! Pleaaaasse - " You slur on your words, your tongue falling loose in your mouth. Chuuya tugs your arms to him and grips your wrists, sliding your body back and forth across the desk. "Chuuya! Chuuyachuuyachuuya!!!~" — "Fuck - keep moanin' my name like that and I might cum right now," he groans above you. His head was thrown back, face full of bliss.
Chuuya angles his dick again, making sure the tip and side of his length run against your g-spot. He hears another squeal, making a mental note to come back to this angle when he's fucked you silly.
Actually, scratch that — with how you're clinging your vices onto him so tightly, he can only assume that you were cumming right now. "Shiiit." A curse falls upon him when he finally notices the tight clench of your pussy. Chuuya didn't even realize you were having an orgasam until he saw your fucked out, lewd face. "Fuck - Oh fuck.." He grunts, slowing his thrusts as to hold out longer.
"Geez ‐ Shit - [Name], did anyone ever tell ya' how hot you look when you get all fucked out like that?" He asks, a grin spread from ear to ear. As soon as you catch your breath, you hum. "Yeah - you," you release a breathy laugh. "Me? Just me?" He asks again leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Who else would I be letting raw dog me? Not Michi."
The casual mention of your coworkers nickname caught Chuuya's attention. "Michi? Tachihara? Since when the fuck did you and and that fucker get on friendly terms?" A shallow upturn thrust surprises you. "Huh - Gh~ - What? Me and him have always been on friendly terms - Ogh!~"
"That's such fucking bullshit 'n you and I both know it." Chuuya interrupts you, thrusting into your cunt again. "W-wait!~ Chu-uya!" You moan. "You wanted me to fuck you like the dirty street slut you are — I'm gonna fuck you like a damn bitch in heat waitin' for a new batch of litter."
Never one to go back on his word, Chuuya picks up his pace, not caring about his rhythm. He aims for the same spot that has you crushing boulders when poked there. "Chuuya!~ Please! Please! T'much! So - " — " - Cut that shit out, overstim is your favorite pass time activity." His balls slap your ass from how deep he's inside you. "Don't wanna hear you give me that 'too much' crap. Yer' perfectly capable of handling 'nother few orgasms."
He was right. Fuck — Chuuya was so right. The mini act you put on was nothing but a facade of how you were feeling internally.
Lewd images racked your brain. The visual thought of Chuuya breeding you straight up was enough to get your pussy pulsing in a matter of seconds. "Fuckfuck! Chuuya! Please, 'm gonna cum!! Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cummm!!~" Chuuya grunts above you, sweat dripping down him. "Fuck - you feel so fuc-kin' good! Sweetheart ya' feel so fuck - ughhn!~"
At the very last moment, Chuuya angles his dick exactly like how it got you to cum right away. Your jaw drops open, your eyes roll back, and your back arches into Chuuya's chest as he leans down to burrow his head into your neck. "Mhm~ mmm - 'm cummin - shit - 'm cummin' doll." Was your only warning before you felt his cum sticking to your walls. The creamy goop being fucked deeper as he rides out both of your orgasms with slowing thrusts.
A few more shallow thrusts, and you two are whining in overstimulation, Chuuya quieter than you. He pulls away when he feels your legs unwrap from his waist, watching them dangle to the side in exhaustion.
He pants heavily. His face is bright red and messy hair is a perfect image to burn into your memory.
"Chuuya," you call out to him, way out of breath to even talk. "Yeah?"
"You do remember that you were the one who forced me and Tachihara on friendly terms, right?"
"..... Oh yeah." He scratches the back of his head before pulling out to slap his dick on your cunt. "Givin' you a break before we continue," he winks — readjusting the position of your body.
"You wanna what?" Tecchou answers your question with another question. "Wanna get fingered so hard until I black the fuck out," you shrug your shoulders. The request wasn't expected, just a suggestion to spicen up your guys sex life — that was a lie, it was because you saw him flexing his fingers the other day and couldn't get the image of him being past knuckle deep inside your cunt out of your head!
"Hnn!!~" You squeal, the fingers prodding gently against your g-spot pulling the second orgasm out of your for the night.
Tecchou doesn't say anything, pulling his fingers out to stare at it. You glance at him, wondering what he had in plan. "Tecchou?" You get up on your elbows, eyes full of concern. Did you cross a line? Was this too much? Before you could ask any of the questions that popped up in your head, Tecchou slips his fingers into his mouth — fingers coated in your slick.
He sucks on his fingers, his tongue webbing around each one that was inside of you. "Tecchou.. What the fuck..?" You said, shock filling your brain as you watched him finger fuck his own mouth with your arousal.
He hums, his fingers coming out with a pop as he pushes you back down on the bed. "Tecchou, what the fuck was that? Why did you just - " — "Why is this a problem but not my face between your thighs?"
Speechless, you turn your head away. The thundering pump of your heart is not helping with thinking of anything to retort back. When Tecchou receives no answer from you, he drops his hand down to your clit — the gentle press bringing you back to earth. "third round?" He asks as he circles around your clit.
"Y-yeah -" Your breath hitched when he slipped three fingers inside your sopping cunt. The stretch of thick, veiny fingers stuffed up your pussy was almost enough to push in two mini didlos in there. You moan, a loud one that encouraged Tecchou to continue with what he was doing. " 'Gonna slip a fourth one. Can you do it?" A question for consent before he makes room for another finger.
"Mhm," you nod, already feeling the finger joining the others. Hissing, you bit your lip. The pain was mild, but the slight burn of the stretch made your eyes water a bit. "Hm," He hums again. "Relax, you're going to make me hurt you." His fingers still inside, not once moving until he feels you unclench around them. "Mm - I'm trying."
Tecchou doesn't seem to be happy with that response. "Don't force yourself." Was all he said before you felt him shift his fingers around. What came next was a gasp being ripped from you and another curl to the same spot. "T-Tecchou!~" You moan, feeling your spot being prodded at. The soft pressure he applies every time he presses down makes you squirm a bit. "I can feel you getting tighter. Does it feel good?" He asks, voice soft and gentle.
"Yes! Please!" You bring a hand down to your clit, rubbing it in a way that gives you the most pleasure. Tecchou's speed increases, the fingers curling inside all hitting the same spot. Your hips start to shake, the pressure of your approaching orgasm building up in your abdomen. "Te-Tec-hou!~" Hiccups escape through your sobs. Tears streaming down your cheeks due to the pleasure.
" 'M - cummin' - 'M cummin' !" Your body squirms. Tecchou pins you to the bed, fingering as fast as he can. "You can do it." The first praise of the night being whispered so lightly. His usual blank expression is now a mix of proudness and adoration. "C-can't! T'much! Too much!" You sniffle, pulling your arm back for better support. Tecchou takes it upon himself to do the job for you, using both of his hands, he plunges straight into you — simultaneously adding a fifth finger when he sees the puddle you made. His other hand doing the same gentle circles around your clit.
And finally, after a few minutes — the blockage in your abdomen snapped. The floodgates of your cum squirting out clear fluid as Tecchou re-angled his hand. "Ghhhh~ Ohhggg...!" You whine, your legs threatening to kick as you slightly lift your body off the bed.
Tecchou watches mesmerized by your shot, aiming at his chest directly. The clear fluid dripping down his pecks and into his abs below. "Woah.... That was so hot."
hi was gonna originally write nikolai + fukuzawa but didn't have motivation for them :(... I did start out nikolais but don't even get me started on fukuzawa.... here's a snippet of nikolais
do you guys want me to write a pt2 with fuku+niko??
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Day 19: Marking - Remus Lupin
Summary: Remus accidentally bites your neck too hard and leaves indents of his teeth, and now it's woken something within him, needing everyone to see the mark he's left on you.
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, possessive, biting, thigh riding, keeping quiet, licking, sucking, marking, oral (f receiving), size kink/difference, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, creampie
masterlist 📚
kinktober masterlist😈
AO3 Link
“Remus! You've left a mark on my fucking neck!” you huffed in frustration as you bared your neck further, trying to see the damage your boyfriend had left in your reflection in the cracked mission of the girl's bathroom. It was your favourite place to sneak away to have some alone time which, usually meant fucking against the stall as the bathroom on the third floor wasn’t in use due to the resident ghost, moaning Myrtle, who knew to travel elsewhere when you and Remus came to visit.
Your boyfriend was straightening his tie when he looked up at you, “Shit, did I?” To give him some credit, he sounded genuinely concerned as he came closer, turning your body to face him to inspect your neck. The tip of his index finger and thumb tilted your chin away gently, his forest green eyes dancing over the area of your neck that throbbed slightly. “Oh, I really did mark you up,” he acknowledged his warm breath that smelled faintly of your pussy drifting over your cheek, causing the area to warm in embarrassment. The pad of his thumb brushed over the indent of teeth marks, surrounded by irritated skin from where he’d bitten you during the heat of the moment.
“Does that hurt? When I touch it, does it hurt?” he asked, his voice softening with his gaze.
“No, it doesn't hurt, but everyone is going to see it. I can't exactly walk around wearing a scarf during class; it's the middle of summer”. Stepping away from him, you rubbed over the area of your neck that had begun to tickle under his delicate touch. Looking up into his bright eyes, you noticed they were still staring at the spot where your fingers were now caressing.
Even though he appeared to be in somewhat of a serious mood, especially as his hands hurt you, there was something more, and fear crept up your spine that maybe the area had begun to appear worse. Quickly turning back to the mirror, you inspected your neck but found it seemed the same.
Your eyes wandered back up to your boyfriend, asking, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Remus continued to gaze at your bite mark, his scarred hand lifting to stroke along your jaw. “I don't know”, he admitted, but the deepness of his voice had your eyelids fluttering. “I just like seeing my mark on you. It’ll remind everyone who owns you.” Even though his words were possessive, the smile that peaked on his lips proved he was jesting.
Stepping closer until your neck was aching from a different reason to the mark as you had to tilt back so far to see up into his taller face. “Is that you talking or the possessive wolf?” your smile matched Remus until he was chuckling under his breath as you shoved him against his chest, laughing just as hard. “Asshole, you don’t own me, I am a strong, independent woman”.
Remus dipped his head, laughter still dancing in his eyes, but his words were full of a different type of tease, “Are you sure about that? Weren’t you just saying ‘im yours’ as I fucked you?”
He knew instantly that he’d won when you looked away, body heating in embarrassment. “Not the point”, you huff, returning to looking at your neck in the mirror. “Still doesn’t mean I want to walk around with a giant bite mark on my neck; what am I supposed to do?”
Remus rifles through his school bag until he found the well-used tin he always kept with him as it held a green salve that eased any injuries he’d gain from the full moon. “Come here”, he gently asks, holding out his hand for you to take as he walks into the light a bit more so he can see better. With as much care as he could muster, Remus carefully applied a light layer over the bite mark. You tried not to focus on his fingers' pressure or the intense stare that further warmed your skin. Remus had you wrapped around his little finger, that was for sure, and he could tell by the humming of your pounding heartbeat that he felt as he pressed against your throat.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a knowing smile spread across Remus’ face, but thankfully, he began to stand up to his full height, declaring, “All done, you’re as good as new”. He kisses your cheek dramatically before letting go so that you can return to the mirror. The bite mark had healed entirely, and a light sheen from the salve remained.
“Thank you!” you say rejoiced and relieved. Grabbing his hand, you begin to pull him towards the exit, “Come on, the others’ class should be finished by now.
The remainder of the day was pleasantly ordinary. However, you could constantly feel Remus’ eyes on your neck, to the point that you were checking in any reflective surfaces to see if the mark had returned, but it hadn’t. You weren’t sure if it was the desire you saw in his eyes or sympathy as he tended to regret accidentally hurting you through the rough, intimate moments, even as you pleaded with him that you loved every second.
The first time the two of you were finally by yourselves was when it was time for bed. “Is everything okay? You keep looking at my neck and making me paranoid”.
You’re both squished together in his bed in the men’s dormitory, facing one another and whispering so that the others couldn’t hear; even though the curtains were drawn closed, you both had to keep the volume entirely as silencing spells weren’t as effective in the beds which were only discovered after a highly embarrassing night.
Remus lifts his head to rest on his fist, staring down at you, “I just keep thinking about that mark on you”. Lowering his face, he gently kisses over the area of your throat where your pulse throbbed the hardest.
Sighing gently into the touch, you reciprocated the delicateness by running your fingers through his soft hair. “I kept thinking about how much I liked seeing it on you”. Ever the tease, Remus shifted further over your body, turning you slightly onto your back to allow his thigh to push between yours.
“You…did?” between your legs where Remus’ thigh was pressing on began to warm as he tried to keep his voice hushed, which meant that it sounded even more, hoarser than usual, and each draw of his words sent tingles straight to your core. Remus knew you were becoming more aroused and knew his effect on you. Carefully and without any rush, he cupped both of your hands together from behind his head and pushed them up so they were now above yours on the pillow as he held them in one hand.
He nods in answer to your question as he continues kissing up and down your exposed neck, which you bared fully for him. “I just keep thinking about everyone else seeing it, knowing I gave it to you, that you’re mine, and they can’t have you”.
A smile graces your lips as you say with a hint of tease, “You’re very possessive. Has anyone ever told you that, Mr Lupin?”
He groans deep in his chest whilst being mindful of the volume as his open mouth moves up your chin until he’s hovering over your lips, his breath mixing with yours as he confidently states, “You love it”.
You’re arching to try and kiss him, but he keeps moving away. “I do”, you admit which was all he was waiting for before kissing you deeply, breathing heavily against your cheek as your lips move in synchronised passion. His fingers tightened around your hands, holding you down entirely as your body seemed to react of its own accord, hips rolling and lowering so that your naked pussy could rub against the toned muscle of his thighs. As you ground down harder, your clit was massaged and tweaked against his body.
The kiss was momentarily paused as he dipped his face next to yours so that his lips hovered next to your ear as he asked, “Because I’m such a nice boyfriend, I’ll ask this time. Do I have permission to bite and suck wherever I like?”
You knew that he had more salve left in his tin, so without even thinking about it, you pleaded, “You have permission to do anything you want to me”.
Remus didn’t rush; he’d suffer the consequences of being tired tomorrow, but decided it was worth seeing you all riled up. With every inch of self-restraint, your boyfriend's lips caressed back down your neck, so softly that it tickled and caused your whole body to shiver. Especially as he licked certain areas and blew cool air across them, goosebumps would peak over your skin at the action.
As he reached your collarbones, he teased further but this time with his teeth, nipping sharply before easing the pain with a simple kiss. Lower he moved whilst still holding your hands above your head, his thigh remaining stable between yours so that you could continue to get yourself off. You were breathing heavily, back arched to try and move closer as he hovered about your perked nipple.
Remus licked the very tip of your nipple first to see how you’d react, smiling to himself when you accidentally let an innocent moan out before quickly biting your lower lip to shut up so that the others in the room didn’t hear. Shifting his face so that his mouth was just about your nipple, his mouth lowered and sucked harshly, his chin rubbing against your nipple, adding extra stimulation. Again, he licked over the area that now lightly throbbed from where all the blood had gathered at the surface, knowing it would be tender tomorrow.
He did this to each breast, avoiding your nipples altogether, which only made you feel more desperately turned on, which was evident by the wetness soaking the hair over his thighs. He moved, journeying down your sternum and stomach, leaving a sprinkling of bites and hickeys. The most sensitive area - where he had to hold a hand over your mouth to stop your cries - was the inside of your hips, where he knew you were ticklish, but as he sucked and then bit the area, your thighs trembled as the sensation pulsed desire to your core.
If your hands were free from their restraints, you’d have pushed his face lower, especially as the awkward position meant his thigh had disappeared. Thankfully, Remus knew you were melting in the palm of his hand, so he lowered to where you wished. Keeping one hand still holding your wrists and the other over your mouth, Remus was able to lower his face between your legs, which you spread willingly.
A single kiss against your folds had your eyebrows knitting together and moaning so desperate to be released that for a second, you didn’t care if anyone heard you. Remus wanted to release his groan as his lips were now coated in your juices, and he hadn’t even delved deeper yet.
“Gotta keep quiet for me. Can you do that, Love?” Remus asks so that his breath brushes against your core. You nod your head, deciding to bite your tongue instead of your lip as his hands disappear from both your mouth and hands so that he can grip both of your thighs, pushing them back so that you are spread out wider for him.
With a lick to his lips to taste you fully, he contemplated just getting right into it, but instead, he began to bite and mark your thighs. If he wasn’t biting, he was licking or sucking until you were shaking and grabbing to hold onto his hands that were still holding you. You were thoroughly drenched and begging for him to touch any of your pussy, but you made sure to keep your mouth shut. Even though it was dark in the cramped space of his enclosed bed, Remus could see how much you were losing your mind.
Finally snapping his restraint for holding back, he released his hold on your body and began to crawl up it instead until he crowded around you, all long limbs covering you completely. It wasn’t often that you both fucked in his bed, especially with everyone else in the room, because it was nearly impossible to stay quiet, which is why you both sneak away during the day to shag in a bathroom stool. However, Remus couldn’t deny his best girl from being pleasured how she wanted, now when she was currently coated in his marks.
“Silenco”, Remus waved his wand that had been hidden beneath the pillow, causing the atmosphere to sound as if cotton was in your ears, but even with the spell, the bed would creak, and the gaps in the curtains would leak out noise, but it was better than nothing.
You were soaked enough that he didn’t need lube or even spit as he reached between your bodies to swipe his cock between your folds, parting them to gather as much fluids as he could over his impressively sized cock. As he positioned himself at your entrance, he kept one hand over your mouth and then muffled himself by dipping his head between your neck and pressing his lips against your skin.
Your jaw trembled with the desperation to open it and let out the more pathetic of moans as he slowly thrust in, taking his sweet time to allow you to adjust. Your hands settled over his back, careful of his sensitive scars, before digging your nails into the surrounding areas to pull him closer.
In the random areas across Hogwarts that he was able to pull you into supply cupboards or bathroom stalls, Remus fucked you relentlessly hard and fast until his pelvis was a blur. But, in the dormitory, on the rare occasions that you both did have sex, it was slow, with deep penetrations that filled you up to the very brim.
Every single drag of his cock had your eyes shut, with the overwhelming sensations dispersing through your nerves. It felt like he was touching every single part of you at the same time. Your walls fluttered around him as he moved deeper until the tip kissed your cervix, a sweet touch compared to his grip on your throat. It was almost like he was trying to hold you down like a dog in heat, and it did cross your mind to check whether the full moon was any time soon with how possessive he was being.
You’d cum twice by the time his thighs began to tremble, and he was no longer able to hold his tongue anymore.
“Look so good with my marks on your body, so fucking pretty and desperate for me. Gonna make you mine, so full up and covered in my bites”. His hand rested over your abdomen as he spoke, caressing the area over your womb. “You gonna take it? Like you’ve taken my marks?”
You nod, your hands over your mouth now as you knew it would have been a blubbering sob that would wake everyone in the room if they hadn’t already awakened from Remus's demands. With a powerful thrust that nearly shoved you entirely up the bed, Remus stilled, but you could feel the pulse of his shaft and the way he trembled as his hot seed soaked into your hole.
Thankfully, you were already on a potion for birth control; otherwise, Remus probably would have made his breeding wish come true. After a couple of seconds of catching his breath, sweat coating both of your bodies from the humidity in the enclosed bed space, Remus finally collapsed next to you, turning your body onto its side so he could spoon around you.
You were exhausted and falling asleep before you could nuzzle into the feeling of his lips kissing the marks over your shoulder and neck soothingly. Thankfully there was no noise from any of the other bunks in the room so you assumed everyone had not been woken by the fucking.
The following day, you wake bleary-eyed, and Remus is kissing underneath your ear from where he still lay wrapped around you from behind. Stretching your body and groaning at the sensation of your muscles and joints waking for the day, you giggled as he nipped your ear lobe, “Morning”.
His voice was always so low and husky when he first woke up, but it only made you want to lean into him further, finding his voice soothing and comforting. However, your stomach grumbled to life, alerting both of you to your hunger, which made him chuckle. “I’m hungry too”, he declares, moving further down the bed to open the curtain, shuffling through the clothes on the floor before handing yours over and closing the curtain. From the sounds of it, the other boys were beginning to wake up as Remus changed in the dormitory and you in the curtained-off bed, giving you some privacy from everyone else.
Your muscles ached from the night's activities, but you didn’t think much of it, and it was too dark to notice the darkened areas on your body, which you, too, had forgotten about. Shuffling awkwardly, you eased back the curtain with a sing-song voice shouting, “Morning boys! The sun is shining; what a beautiful day!”
Sirius’ bunk was opposite yours; his curtains were pulled back as he sat up in bed with a soft smile at your morning antics. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he did a double take, looking over your body with wide eyes before it slowly shifted to a deep-set smirk.
Whistling lowly, he glanced between you and Remus. “Merlin Moony, did you try and chew your girlfriend to death last night?”
Your entire body burned with embarrassment as you looked at your knees, which were bare as you’d dressed in a skirt, seeing the apparent marks on the sensitive inner flesh. “Shit!” you cursed before grabbing your neck, remembering how much Remus had enjoyed playing there last night and shouting, “Shit!” again before rushing to the bathroom, thankful no one else was there.
The mirror in the bathroom gave you the perfect view of the thoroughly marked column of your throat. How could you have forgotten? You were mortified, to say the least. Remus casually leans against the door frame, tying his school time as you hide your embarrassed face in your hands.
“I’m never leaving this room ever again, Sirius is going to tell everyone!”
Remus’ warm body slides up behind yours as he eases your hands away from your face, “I’ll tell him not to, don’t worry. Anyway, I told you I like people seeing these marks on you; it makes me want to do more”. He begins to kiss along your jaw, your body instantly melting into the embrace before you snap out of it and elbows into his gut, pushing him away.
“Stop being so possessive and go and get the salve, please”.
Remus playfully rolls his eyes and then leans in close, whispering into your ear, “I’ll get rid of the ones on your neck and knee, but the ones under the clothes are staying”.
He didn’t even give you time to answer before he walked off, and you were feeling warm under the skin for an entirely different reason now as you thought about walking around all day with all his marks over your body. Maybe you would keep a few, you decided, especially when you get to see him riled up like last night.
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@bringinsexybackk69: can i please request dad simon with a boy? like yeah he has all his girls and then there's either the youngest or the oldest and it's his only son? i can just picture like the girls are jealous cause he gets new clothes not hand-me-downs, he gets to do his own sports with out his siblings, he gets to go shooting with the 141- just like totally sibling rivalry and fighting over who is dads favorite?!
youngest.
simon is over the fucking moon when he finds out it's a boy - he's one of them dads in american gender reveals who says “i think you're a girl but i need you to be a boy" 💀
instant attention all goes to this kid, because A) he actually knows how to do it now and B that's his boy. that's his fuckin lad.
the kid looks like you. boys look like their mums, girls look like their dads n all that but christ does he have simon's quietness.
a complete observer like his dad. will be in silence while the girls argue, quietly exchanging glances with simon who internally feels like fucking high-fiving himself for creating a kid who finally understands him.
however the clothes are admittedly down to you, you love buying shit. any excuse. and having a son instead of another girl gave you great reason. though you did go too far sometimes. credit card bills rocketed.
he gets his own room too. straight off the bat, fresh into this fucking world and he's got it all. or that's how your daughters seen it.
“how does he get everything."
“give him a fucking chance." mumbling something about how he's only a week old. the dad sigh strikes again.
him and simon fuck off together a lot. they'll be away camping somewhere, simon teaching this (probably half uninterested) kid how to do all the survival stuff since his girls were never interested.
and when he gets older, maybe around seventeen to eighteen he's so game for that stuff. realistically, was probably in the school cadets n all 💀
when he's able enough, he'll maybe tag along on a run with 141 or summat. this is an incredibly humbling experience to say the least, though uncle soap is there to make everything a laugh n slow the run. "boys, boys, give the lad a chance eh?"
gets into his dads routine of the gym in mornings too, simon watching his workout from a distance before giving him pointers - hands on hips before stepping back to see if he's doing it right or not.
although, simon does not let him apply to the army. all fun n games till it wants to happen isn't it padre?
probably applies behind simon's back ngl. resulting in a huge fuck off argument once a letter comes in stamped under british army branding under the kids name instead of his own. yikes.
classic son x father shouting match.
i’m probably going to get asked to write that now aren’t i? happily, gladly, don’t get me wrong. sorry i haven’t been writing much but i do enjoy talking to you lot in the inbox.
simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123 @ellies-girll @paperbag-prncs @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon
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Death is a Debatable Thing-Obey Me x Reader
Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as an angel, as per usual; chaos ensues.
Word Count: 6.9k
Warnings: Mention of Death, Cursing, Torture (mentioned, no torture happens) Michael is featured heavily in this, I just made up a personality for him, I don't play NB a lot (it makes me too sad) and I think he shows up there so if this is different to how he's portrayed there then L for me. Everyone except Luke was written as and can be read as Romantic(/platonic if you prefer)You can read Michael as Romantic, but I wrote him more Platonically.
post dividers from @saradika-graphics on tumblr (their dividers r really cool check them out if u havent fr (sorry for tagging you btw i just wanted to give credit)
"Absolutely not." You say, looking at your new found wings. "I did not die just to be reincarnated with the ugliest clothing I've ever seen."
"Would you have preferred to have been reincarnated as bare as Eve was in Eden?" The man you'd come to know as Michael. His dark skin shone in the blessed light of the celestial realm, his thick curly hair was pinned back in such a delicate fashion you wanted to unpin all the ornaments in it. Your fingers twitched at your sides.
"Isn't that against modesty rules or something...?" You paused, Simeon was an angel, he essentially had his ass out at all times anyway. Whore.
Michael stares at you weirdly, before playing with one of the loose strands of his hair, pulling the tight coil until it was completely straight before letting go and letting it spring back up again. Now you really wanted to mess up his hair. Just to annoy him.
"So anyway..." You start, sitting on a cloud that you fall through. For a moment you think you're about to pull a Lucifer and fall through the sky, but you manage to grab onto something and pull yourself up. That something is Michael's ankle and he's laughing at you, wiping a tear from ruby red eyes that shine just like that of his fallen brother.
"Stop laughing at me! Anyway, when can i go to the Devildom?" You inquire, watching Michael's face turn stern. He glares down at where you're lying, still gripping his ankle
"You're not returning to the Devildom anytime soon." He says sharply.
Your breath hitches. "Why not?! I have to let the brothers and Dia and Barbs and Sol and everyone else know I didn't die!"
"You did die. Why do you think you're an angel." Michael sighs, "and no. You're not letting them know you've returned."
"Why not?!" You repeat, outraged.
"No offence though MC, but you´ve just died."
"So?" You reply with indignation.
"So," Michael says in a mocking tone, pitching his deep voice up high before letting it fall down the octaves once more. "You're barely able to walk on clouds or do anything yet. Letting you down to the Devildom is the equivalent of sending a baby bird into a den of lions."
"But...they'd protect me." You said softly, Michael's tone softens as well, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"They'd also over-protect you, they've just lost you. I don't think you're ready for that smothering just after your death."
You nod. Michael's soft expression turns devious, "Plus, this way, you have plenty of time to think about how youre going to scare my broth-...the brothers and everyone else whilst proving you're alive...well an angel..."
You grin too. "Amazing point Mr Michael."
He plays with his golden locks again, an idiosyncracy. "Anytime" He grins before beginning to walk again, you grab onto his ankle tighter. "Oh and Mc?"
"Yeah?"
"Call me Mr Michael again and I'm shaving all you hair off. And trust me. Angel hair does not grow back." He smiles evilly. You shudder.
Well it turns out Michael is a fucking liar.
After being a little bit too bored during your second month of being an angel and first month of learning not to fall through the clouds in Michael's private garden that consists purely of clouds and a singular harp he stole from some poor Irish Deity, you go bored and snipped your unnaturally long angel hair up to your waist. You didn't want to go too short just yet.
In the time frame of a week you learnt two things.
One: Angel hair does grow back, maybe a tiny bit faster than human hair, and Two, Michael was babysitting the harp. Turns out the Deity was called the Dagda and he was visiting France on holidays for some reason, poor man, having to go to France and deal with all the French People there. Turns out he left the harp in Michael's hands, something about Fomoranians not being smart enough to see this one coming.
You just nodded and slowly backed away. Michaels red eyes followed you. He and Lucifer had to be twins.
Another day passed. The more you thought about it, the more Michael and Lucifer had to be twins. After having cut your hair to just below your shoulders, you found a piece of unnecessarily fancy parchment paper and a quill on Michael's desk
Holding the black quill in your hands you felt a sense of familiarity wash over you. Was that?....
No fucking way.
Michael was using one of Lucifer's feathers as a quill. You cackled.
After much deliberation you'd realised you could not write with a quill, but also that you were very good at ripping paper and making blotches of ink on said paper with a quill.
You decided to snoop in Michael's desk for a pen, instead you found a drawer titled, 'LUKE ONLY' in cursive letters, the label was stuck to the drawer so obviously you opened it.
Colouring books, letters written by Luke from the Devildom, Report Cards, Crayons, Drawings, and a pack of stickers were left in the drawer, a notepad lay next to it, Michael's cursive handwriting all over it 'Activities to do', it had things like 'Bowling' and 'Baking' and 'Gardening' and 'Teach him how to knit' and 'Arts and Crafts' and 'Prank Jesus' and 'Take him to Human Realm Cinema' and and anything else really. You cooed, your ivory wings rustling happily.
You grabbed a crayon and began to write.
WHY MICHAEL AND LUCI ARE TWINS
one; same eyes
two; both evil
three; both hot
four; satan is basically luci's son if you think about it and michael has blond hair too, if luci and michael are twins that means that blond hair is in the gene pool and thats how satn has blond hair even though luci has black hair
five; both like wearing dramatic cape coat things
six; both of them baby luke
seven; they ha
"What are you doing?" Michael asks, startling you, and ruining your next point of 'they have hands', "Why is my drawer open?" He grabs the parchment from you, reads it and bellows out in laughter.
"We are twins you could've asked." He smiled, "also put the crayon back thats Red and Luke likes colouring in Teddy Bears red."
"Yessir."
You were a master conspiracy theorist.
In the end, you and Michael had decided on visiting the Devildom for 'diplomatic' reasons, but upon seeing the glint in his eyes it was probably more for 'dicklomatic' reasons seeing as he's an utter dickhead.
You had a veil covering your face, seeing as you were still kind of legally and widely believed to be dead.
You know, the usual.
You walked behind Michael, attempting to kick at the back of his knees, it never worked sadly. You took a deep breath as you reached the RAD council room doors.
Michael grabs you by your shoulders whispering into your ear. "Now remember MC im going to use you as a bargaining tool, so keep that veil on till i say so, got it?" He grins.
You nod, knowing that 'bargaining tool' in Michaelish translates to 'im bored and want to see a dramatic reunion'
Michael opens the doors.
You walk in with him but stand at the door awkwardly, steeling yourself so you don't immediately run into any of your idiots' arms.
Luke apparently had the same idea, as when he saw Michael, he let out a happy 'yip!' kind of sound similar to a puppy's and then ran from where he stood beside Simeon and Solomon into the Archangel's arms.
Michael catches him happily, petting his head as the young angel nuzzles into his hair, blabbering on about who knows what. Asmo takes a photo of it, everyone else stares with varying levels of fondness, awkwardness and 'meh'.
Sadly for you however, once Simeon is done greeting Michael, and Michael is now distracted by Luke introducing him to Barbatos who is apparently the 'bestest baker in the world!' (you could agree with that sentiment), Simeon walked over to you, his serene smile on his face.
"Hello, I'm Simeon, forgive me for asking, but do I know you? You have a familiar aura."
You shake your head.
"Oh, never the matter" Simeon smiles, "What's your name then. my friend?"
You clear your throat and put on a deep american accent, "Rupert...Pleasure to meet you...Simeon.."
"Are you sure we haven't met before?"
"Certain." You say in the same ridiculous voice.
Simeon nods, he excuses himself after Solomon calls him over, you turn to glance at Michael who is carrying a now sleeping Luke in his arms and gently stroking the boy's golden hair while stressing out Lucifer with questions. Satan looks on with a smirk on his face.
Glancing around the room you see similar scenes, Mammon and Levi are playing a game on the latter's switch, Asmo, Solomon and Simeon are talking, sometimes glancing at you. Barbatos and Diavolo were watching Michael annoy Lucifer, with both sometimes adding their input, causing Michael to laugh loudly then stiffle it, so as not to wake up the sleeping baby in his arms. Beel and Belphie were near the others but still off in their own twin world, Belphie was awake and watching Michael bully Lucifer from where his head laying sleepily on his twin's leg.
Raphael, Thirteen and Mephisto had been sent out on a top secret mission the day before, Michael had said it was because he didnt want to die and also did not want his death to be put in the RAD Newspapers, especially a picture of him that was less than flattering.
Even though everyone seemed joyous, you noticed an air of sadness, like something was missing. Looking at your old seat in the student council you see the amount of flowers set on it.
Against your better judgement, you walk towards it. Not noticing a few pairs of eyes following you.
When you reach your former desk, you notice a photo of you framed, it was you and everyone, a family photo, everyone was either in their demon, angel or reaper forms, you wore really cheap red horns with a halo you shoved on one of them whilst also wearing an old reaper robe. It looked ridiculous, you loved it.
"Enjoying yourself? Rupert.~" a honeyed voice startles you. Asmo, although, somethings in his voice, maybe anger, maybe suspicion.
"Uhhh.." You say in your fake american accent.
"I'm Asmodeus, avatar of lust.~ Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Guess so." You shrug Americanly, thankful once more the veil covers your whole face.
Asmo's eyes have some hurt in them, he seems...catty, probably because you, who he thinks is a random stranger is just standing at his dead loved one's desk.
L.
You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out, especially not when another familiar voice is added to the mix.
"Well hello. I don't believe we've met before. The name's Solomon. You must've heard of me."
Oh shit.
"Oh...I have, briefly! Hello Solomon, my name's Robert." You say in your fake deep american accent voice.
Asmo tilts his head, "I thought your name was Rupert?"
Shit.
"Oh. Yes" You quickly bullshit, "My name's got the hyphens, Robert-Rupert." You avoid eye contact despite the fact you have a veil covering your face that only lets you see out of it, so the sorcerer and demon can't even make eye contact with you, even if they wanted to.
This was getting awkward.
"You seem very familiar Robert-Rupert." Solomon says, you did not like that crafty smile.
"I get that a lot." You nod before walking away.
You walk towards Michael who, has a now awake but sleepy Luke in his arms, he sits on one of the sofas in the council room beside Simeon, with Barbatos, Diavolo and Lucifer facing them on the other sofa. Atleast you'll be safe from Solomon over here. As you walk, you notice Satan, Beel and Belphie have left. Either Lucifer was going to get pranked or Lucifer was going to get pranked but not as prankily because Beel unknowingly made puppy-eyes. Mammon and Levi were bickering quietly in a corner (shocking they could do it quietly) about who won the lat round of Devilio kart.
When Michael saw you approaching he waved you over, beckoning you to sit down in the empty space beside him, "This is an angel I'm currently training, their name is.....Steven."
Simeon tilts his head "I thought their name was Rupert?"
Michael clears his throat awkwardly.
You make your voice the deep horrible American accent, "My full name is Robert-Rupert-Steven...it's hyphenated."
Michael nods aggressively.
Lucifer, Simeon, and Barbatos side-eye eachother. Something was going on here.
"So, Robert-Rupert-Steven," Barbatos begins, his polite smile a little jagged at the edges, "I saw you at MC's desk earlier, how so?"
At the mention of your actual name, everyone there tenses up, Luke, thankfully is too sleepy to have realised, Michael quickly stands up with the small angel in his strong arms, knowing if he heard the conversation about to occur he would be upset, "I should probably go, give this one a walk around to wake him up a little. Simeon, would you like to come with me?"
Simeon nods, Michael and Him leave the council room, with Luke sleepily holding both of their hands and walking slowly along with them.
Now you were stuck with the Prince of the Devildom, the Scary Butler and the Scary Single-Dad. All of which haven't realised that it's you, and all of which thinking you are a random stranger.
"Well, Robert-Rupert-Steven?" Diavolo asks, his friendly demeanor the tiniest bit strange,"What captivated you to go towards MC's desk."
"Who's MC?" You decide to play it dumb. Bad decision, seeing as all three stiffen, Barbatos' being the most unnoticeable.
A very long 3 hour conversation went by, wherein, Diavolo, Lucifer, Barbatos as well as a certain Mammon and Levi who joined 10 minutes in, and an Asmo and Solomon who joined 12 minutes in talked about you, for 3 hours straight.
'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.' was an accurate reprenstation of your mental state actually.
The urge to just rip your veil off right there was almost stronger than the urge to dropkick Maddi anytime you remembered she existed. Keyword being almost.
You just about made it out of the council room with your life. Now for your master plan. Scare the absolute shit out of the Anti-Lucifer-League. That'll get them back for never listening to your amazing prank suggestion of leaving random origami swans around the house in random spots. It was genius!
Breaking into the House of Lamentation was always easy when you knew that Mammon hid his emergency house key behind the garden gnome that now you saw it....kind of looked like a really bad rendition of Michael. With its dark skin, A DnD-esque robe and, a horrible smiley face painted on it, and the worst crime of all, bright yellow, almost neon hair, and also a princess tiara.
You almost cackled.
Taking the key you slowly open the door to the kitchen and sneakily sneak in. Sadly for you, it was they key to the kitchen door to the outside of the back of the house, which meant it opened in the kitchen, and since it opened in the kitchen, you awkwardly waved at Beel, who was having a midnight feast.
Beel tilts his head. "You're the Angel from earlier. What are you doing here?"
You once more, fake your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice and say, "I have Materials for the Anti-Lucifer League as they've suggested."
You are such a good liar.
"Oh," Beel nods, normally he wouldn't let a stranger into the house, but something felt...familiar...and safe with you. "Okay then, do you know where you're going?"
"Yes."
Beel nods, and goes back to eating the pudding labelled 'MAMMONS: BEEL DONT TOUCH THESE'
After much searching, you do not find the Anti-Lucifer-League, but you do unfortunately, open the door to Lucifer's office. The place where Lucifer currently is.
He looks up immediately on guard. You are not prepared to die a second time,
"What are you-" He begins, in demon form and standing up.
You interrupt him, making 'woooooh!' sounds and waving your arms about, and in your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you say "Wooooh! I am the....ghost of christmas past!...Woooh! and I am..." You pause, not noticing your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice has began to slip away, and your natural one has taken its place. "I am here to tell youuuuu.....to woohhhh! Take breaks more! Woooh!....and not overwork yourself! Woooh!"
Lucifer pauses, the danger in his eyes fades into disbelief. He knows that voice. He's spent the better part of a year listening to recordings of that voice and praying to his Father for the first time since the celestial war for that voice to return to him.
"..MC?.."
You've been found out. Quickly you put your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice back on, except it's gone up 12 pitches. "Who's MC?! Haha! What a weird thing to sa-"
You don't get to finish, as Lucifer pulls your veil off. His breath hitches upon seeing your face.
Your covers been blown. All because you pretended to be the ghost of Christmas past. Great.
Lucifer immediately pulls you into a hug, arms tightening around you, as if he's afraid you'd disappear. He chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes, his frame shakes. "I thought-thought I'd lost you forever...I always thought your face was angelic...-...it's fitting."
You hug him just as tightly.
But ever the menace, after about an hour or so, you look up at the Avatar of Pride, "Say, Luci?"
"Yes, my dove?"
"Wanna help me prank the rest of them?"
"Perhaps...I might help with...some setups..." He pauses, "You are telling Barbatos outright though."
You shudder. "Of course I am. I don't have a second deathwish."
Lucifer's grip on you tightens slightly, you kiss his cheek in apology. "Sorry," You grin, "Too soon?"
"Try again in another century dear."
The next day, the first thing you and Lucifer do is travel to the Demon Lord´s Castle.
Barbatos greets you in the Entrance Hall, "Oh, Lucifer," He nods in greeting at the eldest of the brothers (second eldest actually, seeing as Michael enjoys bragging that he's older by a whopping total of 2 minutes) he turns to you, who put the veil back on, "And Robert-Rupert-Steven, Welcome to the Demon Lord's Castle, although, I must ask, why you have shown up today?"
In your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you accidentally, against your better judgement, and rather impulsively state; "I'm here to assassinate Dia-...volo."
A portal opens, dragging you through it, and you land in the feared rumoured dungeons. Barbatos follows gracefully, now in Demon Form. Leaving a sighing Lucifer in his wake in the Entrance Hall. He decides to just journey to Diavolo's office and discuss things related to work. Barbatos wouldn't hurt you when he found out it was you so he really had nothing to worry about. Maybe you'd finally learn to stop joking about assassinating Diavolo, especally when other Noble Demons were around at Balls.
Sadly for you, you were now alone in Barbatos' Dungeons. Now what's scarier than being alone in Barbatos' Dungeons? Being alone with Barbatos in Barbatos' dungeons.
Time to run away.
As it turns out, running away isn't very easy when magic chains pin you to the wall. In your panic, you blurt out, "You know, I'd rather you pin me to the wall haha!" in your normal voice. The fear forcing your horrible puns and jokes to slip out.
Barbatos, who had been approaching menacingly calmly with a torture device pauses so fast it gives you whiplash. (Better than getting whiplash from the whip he was previously holding.)
In some display akin to a cockroach kind of squirming about after you crush it, in your chained up state you manage to twitch enough that you were able to pinch a piece of your veil's fabric just enough that it falls to the ground.
Immediately, the magic chains fall away, strong arms catch you as you stumble. "Hi Barbs..." You say breathlessly.
Barbatos looks like he'd seen a ghost. (You were an Angel, thank you very much.) After your death he had tried and tried to pull a you from another dimension. It would never work, some force stopped him each time. (To be fair, it was probably your jealous ass. No way in Diavolo were you being replaced by yourself from another dimension.)
His bottom lip trembles, much like the rest of his body, as he leans in, "May I, my dear?" You nod, giving him your consent as he kisses you so gently, as if he feared you would break or fade away.
He murmurs apology upon apology for the fact he had no doubt frightened you, he couldn't risk a threat to Diavolo, your 'death' had left him a little...tethered and emotional.
You close your eyes and kiss him again, now noticing you're in the kitchens and not in the spooky scary dungeon.
"Wanna bake cookies? Like we always used to do?"
Barbatos nods softly. "You do have to tell Lord Diavolo you're actually alive though, little lamb."
Your eyes light up. "We could make a cake! And hide me inside it!"
Barbatos sighs, but looking at your puppy eyes, he agrees. Gently he picks a stray ivory feather from your wings, making them rustle at the touch. Devil...you looked angelic.
Baking with Barbatos was always fun, but sadly he did not agree with your attempt at throwing flour at him.
"MC?" He catches your attention, bringing an ungloved hand to caress your face, "Have I ever told you that you shine brighter than all the stars in the Devildom?"
You blush and try to cover your face when he turns away to add more eggs into your batter only to find flour on your face. That sneaky bastard! Psychological warfare is illegal. And that sure felt like it.
It was on.
Apparently it was only on for you though. Though you did get a speck of flour on Barbatos' apron. That was a win, especially if you ignore the fact that your face and apron were covered in the white powder, which you were ignoring! So take that Barbatos!
In the end, the cake was beautiful, Barbatos helped you into the cake, and cut out a you shaped hole out of the layers made.
He then helped you out again, and the Flour War began again only this time with icing.
Hiding in a cake is quite a fun experience. Especially when you can take bites of your hiding space. Yum yum.
You feel Barbatos' wheeling of you stop as he reaches Diavolo's office, he knocks on the door, and as you requested, begins to film on his DDD (you had to promise the video would never get out of your hands.)
Diavolo sat alone, Lucifer had had to leave an hour before, Beel had went on a rampage in Hell's Kitchen again apparently.
"My Lord, I feel you have been feeling down, so here is a treat." Barbatos says, "And as a special treat, I will allow you to cut it yourself." He nods at Diavolo who you can just picture has stars in his eyes as you hear the demon butler walk to a corner of the room, still filming.
Diavolo brings the knife to the cake, as it cuts into it, you grab the blade and pull it forward. Upon hearing Divaolo's confused murmurs, You peek through the tiny hole the knife made, seeing Diavolo distracted, tilting his head like a child and asking Barbatos what he should do now.
You however know what you should do now.
Quick as a flash, you shove your hands through the cake, reach for Diavolo's arms and pull him in face first.
You didn't even care if it was probably treason. Diavolo's suprised screaming and Barbatos' slight surprised chuckle was so worth it.
It was worth it for Diavolo even after 4 hours, as he held you in his big arms, whilst the both of you were still covered in cake. Barbatos, the traitor, snapped photos of this and sent them to Lucifer.
On a great note, Diavolo agreed to help prank the rest of the brothers with you, much to Barbatos' dismay. (The butler was definitely going to help you with a certain sorcerer, however)
After a night and day at the castle and a very extensive bath, you recollected your veil, and snuck out (read: Barbatos and Diavolo waved goodbye to you and gave you some left over cake for the journey home) of the castle, you began your walk to Purgatory Hall.
Michael was staying there, and you needed to tell him everyone's reactions so far.
It was also a Saturday, meaning that Solomon would be out in Sorcerer's society meetings all night and morning.
When you got there you made use of the tree there and climbed up it until you saw something in Luke's room. You paused your climbing and looked in through the window.
Two figures were in the Young Angel's room.
As Luke lay tucked in in his bed, cuddling the dog plushie that Mammon had given him at a carnival last year that he claims to have thrown away, Michael and Simeon sat on his bed, the nightlight on the boy's bedside table created a gentle glow that the two elder were using to read the storybook strew across both of their laps aloud, they appeared to be acting it out ever so slightly. When Luke finally drifted off. Both Angels kissed his forehead then dimmed the nightlight down slightly, dim enough where it wouldn't hurt the boy's eyes but bright enough that the dark wouldn't scare him if he woke up in the middle of the night, keeping the curtains open for added light.
You cooed silently, your white wings rustling.
Snapping out of it, you scale across the wall before finding the spare room Michael was staying in and breaking in.
"Hello Motherfucker." You greet the Archangel.
"You couldn't pay me to fuck your mother."
"Harsh. And here I was about to tell you my escapades..." You sigh dramatically. Michael immediately smiles sweetly. Buttering you up. You cave.
After about an hour of Michael laughing at you specifically, and then changing your contact to 'ghost of christmas past' the bastard finally fell asleep.
Feeling thirsty, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen to get a drink, and also a sharpie so you could draw a mustache on Michael's face. Not bothering to put your veil on seeing as no one would be awake anyway.
As you filled up a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter drinking it, lost in your own plans, mainly of who to prank nest and how to do it.
You don't hear the little pitter-patter of feet until it's too late.
"MC?" A sleepy Luke stands in the doorway in cat themed pajamas no doubt gifted to him by a certain someone, he holds his dog plush loosely as he rubs his eyes with a tiny fist.
He walks slowly towards the cupboard, pouting sleepily when he realises he can't reach it, you immediately grab his favourite mug,(the one with the red tractor on it) knowing to put milk and some sugar in it before placing it in the microwave for 2 minutes.
Luke walks over to you still half asleep, resting his face on your side, you bring him in for a hug. "Simeon said you went to a happy place after you left, he always got sad when I asked when you were coming home..."
You bite your lip and speak softly, "My flight got delayed for a little while," You lie. Luke didn't need to know you died, Simeon hadn't told him in the best of ways to shield the young boy, that worked out in your favour.
You catch the microwave before it beeps, taking the warm milk out and stirring the hot-spots out of it before handing it to Luke. With his teddy now in the crook of his elbow, he sleepily took the mug before putting his tiny hand in yours.
"C'mon Luke, let's get you back to bed." You say softly, he nods tiredly.
"Will you tuck me in? And read me a bedtime story?" He yawns quietly.
"Of course."
After closing his curtains and tucking Luke in, he snuggles up to you and you read him a bedtime story, after drinking his warm milk, he falls asleep quite quickly, so do you.
A mistake, really. Seeing as in the morning when Simeon comes in to wake the small angel up and sees you there he lets out a shriek very out-of-character for him.
A shriek which wakes both you and Luke up.
Luke smiles toothily, "Oh Simeon! MC came back last night! Did you not see?"
Simeon collects himself, "I must've been asleep Luke, why don't you get dressed then come down for breakfast? Michael and I made pancakes. M-MC, why don't you come downstairs now?"
Luke nods and gets up dutifully.
As soon as you leave the room and Simeon is sure you're both out of the earshot of Luke, he pulls you into a hug which you return.
"I thought I'd lost you.." He breathes out softly.
"Me? C'mon Simmy...you know I'd never let death keep me." You laugh, he laughs breathlessly.
"I suppose not...." He captures your lips in a soft innocent kiss before leading you downstairs, hand-in-hand.
When Michael sees the two of you he offers you a pancake, far too casually for Simeon's taste.
Simeon looks between the two of you and glares at Michael. "You knew about this."
"Haha! Funny story actually! I need to go help Jesus! He's gone and ventured into another desert!" Michael laughs nervously before booking it, only coming back when Luke appears, knowing then he's safe from Simeon's wrath....
....for now.
You took out your super serious napkin and crayon that you stole from Diavolo (read: Diavolo gave you) and crossed out Simeon's name.
Your list was now as follows:
Purgatory Hall
Simeon
Solomon
House of Lamentation
Mammon
Levi
Satan
Asmo
Beel
Belphie
For Satan and Belphie, you could knock out two Anti-Lucifer-League Birds with one stone. It felt a little mean to prank prank Levi and Beel...Mammon and Asmo were debatable, but you were going all out on Solomon. That'll teach him to turn you into a sheep that one time 2 years ago.
After careful deliberation and planning, (20 seconds of thinking.) You'd decided to sneak into the Sorceror's society and jokingly attempt to assassinate Solomon, and maybe fully assassinate Maddi if she was there. Not maybe, definitely.
Veil over your head, you walked in, when the sorcerer guards stopped you, you just pretended to be Michael then walked further in. Apparently they were terrified of the Archangel. Damn this society needs better sorcerers securitying it.
After stealing schedules you realised Solomon would be in a meeting right now with a bunch of no names. Oh well.
You crept into the meeting and attempted to plunge the butter knife Barbatos' gave you from the castle kitchens specifically for this in his neck, knowing he'd dodge. "This is for the Sheep Potion you Rat Bastard!" You screech like a Bean Sídhe. After half a millisecond of shock and slight anger, Solomon realises who it is behind the veil, laughing he grabs the arm you're holding the butter knife in and drags you into his lap, gently ripping the veil off of you and giving you a peck on the forehead, before he turns to the shocked and slack-jawed sorcerers that looked older than he did.
"Sorry all, my adorable partner," He puncuates the word partner by pulling you closer to him, "missed me a little too much. and has-" He kisses you on the lips passionately for a moment, leaving you very much breathless and him very much chuckling, "-strange ways of showing their affection."
Bastard.
Some time into the meeting you whisper, "How are you not more shocked?"
"Well Robert-Rupert," He whispers teasingly back to you, "Remember that binding spell we did back when you were alive? It never broke. I knew the moment I saw you."
Your heart stops. "Did you tell anyone else?"
"I debated telling Asmo, but I suppose you wanted to on your own terms." He teases.
"I should've tried to stab you with a sharper knife."
Solomon laughs, "Oh and MC my love?"
"Hmm?"
His eyes glint predatorily, "You look absolutely ravishing as an angel. I can't help but want to corrupt you..."
You bury your face in his chest to hide your blush.
Bastard.
On the bright side, now a rumour that Solomon the Wise and Michael the Archangel are secret lovers has spread around the Devildom. You're counting that as a win.
Purgatory Hall
Simeon
Solomon
House of Lamentation
Mammon
Levi
Satan
Asmo
Beel
Belphie
After your encounter with Solomon, you'd decided learning to just hide your angel form was the best course of action. Luckily it was fucking easy and you could've done it ages ago. Strange how Simeon and Luke never mentioned it....meh. You're pretty sure Luke just thought Michael thought you were super cool so he made you an angel. You weren't telling him anything otherwise.
´Satan and Belphie watch your fucking backs.´ was the pedal note of all your thoughts currently, you´d snuck back into the House of Lamentation, thankfully Beel was not in the kitchen, he was at Fangol at this hour.
Walking through the halls stealthily, you heard whispers as two sets of feet seemed to enter the room at the farthest end of the hallway. Lucifer´s room.
You fucking caught them.
No time to be caught in Lucifer´s room, seeing as if you were there long enough and Lucifer caught you, you would not be leaving for a good while.
So you crept up to the attic, the official Anti-Lucifer-League headquarters, you climbed the pillars to get on the roof and you waited.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, snickering could be heard coming up to the attic. Satan opens the door, letting Belphie in, both brothers in various fits of sniggering as they walk into the room.
"He'll never see this one coming!"
"This is our best one yet."
From your place on the attic ceiling, you spot Lucifer filming on his DDD from the shadows of the doorway. Of course he found out about this.
"Of course it's our best one yet!"
You swing down off of the ceiling beam, swinging lightly upside down. "And you didn't invite me?" You pout.
Satan and Belphie scream, clutching onto eachother, before noticing that it's you and running to pull you down and clutch onto you instead. You notice Lucifer chuckle and put his DDD in his pocket before leaving. Traitor.
You cuddle into your two Anti-Lucifer League Brethren, maybe this wasn't so bad. (Of course it wasn't, you loved your idiots.)
Safe to say, you didn't leave the attic for a long time. Apparently people need time to process that you're not actually dead. What madness.
House of Lamentation
Mammon
Levi
Satan Asmo
Beel
Belphie
You had long unentangled yourself with a sleeping Belphie and Satan, making sure to leave a:
it wasnt a dream dont worry lads im alive.
note on their chests just in case.
Sitting in the attic with your napkin and crayon in hand, you ripped the Purgatory Hall part off of it and used the back of it for that note, you scanned through the list. You should save your First Man for last, so your next options were Beel, Asmo and Levi.
Seeing as you've shown yourself to Belphie, it's only natural your gentle giant is next.
Watch your fucking back Beel. Literally
Speaking of, it's been a few hours, Beel should be coming back from Fangol practice any moment now.
As was routine at this point, you crept through the House of Lamentation's halls and quickly ran into Beel and Belphie's shared bedroom.
As Beel walked into the room, his Fangol bag slung across his chest and a pile of after Fangol snacks in his hands, you braced yourself, made a run for it, anf landed right square on his back, arms around his neck to keep from falling.
"Oh hi MC!" Beel hummed cheerfully, before his eyes widened and he dropped his snacks. "MC?!"
"Hi!"
Quick as a flash, Beel maneuvers himself in 'dying cockroach you in Barbatos' dungeons part two' and grabs you into his arms.
"I thought you died..." He said, smelling your hair as he cuddled you.
"I did. I just came back as an angel."
"Really?" His breath hitches, "Can I see?.."
You take a deep breath and your wings and halo pop out, he strokes them gently.
"You're beautiful..." He whispers, enraptured...."I think...out of all of Father's creations over the years since the celestial war...you're the most precious...."
He speaks softly, always the gentle giant, the moment lasts for just a moment, before the moment, like all moments do, has passed. Beel's stomach rumbles and you giggle.
"You should eat your snacks, Beelie.."
"They always taste better when we share." He nods seriously.
House of Lamentation
Mammon
Levi
Satan Asmo
Beel
Belphie
Levi or Asmo? You bit your crayon in thought then immediately made a face. Crayons did not taste nice.
Speaking of things that did not taste nice, you remembered that one time you tried to eat Levi's controller because you were bored.
Levi it was!
You had to time this perfectly, waiting in the shadows until Levi went down to get a snack, you snuck into his room, saying the answer to his password out of pure habit, before sitting on his gamer chair and maneuvering it in such a way he would not be able to see anyone on it from the door.
When Levi walked into his room, a bag of crisps in hand, he took a few steps before you swung around "Boo!" and he screamed. Dropping his crisps.
After convincing him you were infact not a ghost (Unlike Lucifer's), you sat with him in your arms, watching anime, and getting caught up on the new episodes released.
You cuddled up to him in his bathtub that night. You grinned evilly. This gave you an idea.
House of Lamentation
Mammon
LeviSatan Asmo
Beel
Belphie
It was no secret that Asmo bathed a lot. Funfact, Angels can hold their breath for 30 minutes!
As Asmo was busy picking out which pajamas he wanted to wear after his bath, you tiptoed behind him and slowly got in his bath, hiding under the bubbles.
It took a total of five minutes before Asmo closed the door to his bathroom and got into his bath, this was your chance! Reaching out, you grabbed his foot and pulled him under.
He screeched, when got back above the surface of the water, he grabbed your hand and pulled you over.
He squealed this time, hugging you tightly.
"Oh MC darling!~ I thought you were...well never the matter~...." He punctuated each word by kissing your face all over, leaving you squirming in his grasp out of embarassment. "How naughty!~ Sneaking into my bath like that...~...not that you arent always welcome my lovely!~"
"A-asmo," You say, your clothes soaked, though you couldn't find yourself caring. "Asmo, I love you..." your voice is soft and the Avatar of Lust coos.
It was a nice night.
Time for your final victim. Your First Man. Feeling nice, you decided not to do something too mean.
Painstakingly, you made a trial of grimm from the front door to your First Man's room, more specifically; to his bed. The plan was to hide behind the door and jumpscare him while he was busy collecting the grimm.
Unfortunately for you, seeing as you weren't sure when Mammon got off his modelling shift, you'd finished far too early, and since you and Asmo were up the entire night, you were quite sleepy.
Surely a little 5 minute nap wouldnt hurt?
You woke up hours later to a sobbing Mammon on top of you, cuddling you in his arms like his life depended on it. It seems you'd falled asleep on his bed, more specifically in his nest.
In the nest you would normally sleep in while alive. (While Human technically, seeing as you are alive, just not human.)
You bring a hand to his snowy locks, he sobs harder. Like his brother, kissing all over your face softly, "Thought I lost ye' forever Hum'n" he gasps for air, his sobs quieting down, "Though' you were gone....I prayed ev'ry nigh'...." he says, voice barely above a whisper as he strokes your cheek, looking into your eyes. "I prayed ta Fath'r ev'ry nigh' since ye' died...that he'd bring ye' back te me...."
"And he did..." You say just as softly, bringing your hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, sharing a soft kiss with him. As always, your greedy lovable bastard would want more, and you'd want nothing more than to give them to him.
And the next day when you told Michael you'd be staying in the Devildom he cheered, then told you to include him in this 'Anti-Lucifer League business' because it 'seemed fun'.
Wow. Now you knew where Satan got it from. Poor Lucifer, he just barely got away from Michael in the Celestial realm, and now he has to deal with Michael 2.0 in the Devildom.
Satan and Michael really were kind of similar....maybe it's a good thing they've only met in passing.
Moral of the story kids. Death sucks, don't do it. If you do do it, reincarnate. Bam! Problem Solved.
This is the longest ever fic I've ever wrote and probably does not make a lot of sense so I apologise for that. I also apologise for any ooc behaviour i'm still learning how to write characterisation😔✊
also i love thinking of Michael being a father figure to Luke and its very obvious
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a diamond's gotta shine ꨄ lance stroll smau
lance stroll x fem!reader
pic credit: pinterest
i know lance is daddy's money through and through (and i love a nepo baby sorry), but he is so 'my love language is gift giving so i'm going to spoil my girlfriend with everything i can' boyfriend material so here's that basically
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yourusername he ALWAYS let me drive the truck... sorry taylor
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lance_stroll it is not a truck and PLEASE stop eating in the aston martin
lance_stroll at least stop eating in it without me
chloestroll wouldn't want a matcha date with anyone else 💗
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username imagine just casually eating fruit in a literal aston martin??? i dont even eat fruit in my car in fear of everything getting sticky 😭
username i want her life so bad
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lance_stroll spent the last 2 years with her shoes in my hands after nights out, hoping for a hundred more
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yourusername i am SO obsessed with you
yourusername even after 2 years, gonna be obsessed with u forever
lance_stroll wouldn't have it any other way
username the toaster and i have a hot date with the bathtub tonight
username the things i would do to have lance stroll hold my shoes in his million dollar hands after a night out :(
username i want someone to love me even half as much as lance loves y/n ugh
chloestroll i taught you well
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yourusername all i asked for was a picture, and he decided to give me 2 years of his life and his heart. i'll love you til my lungs give out.
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username all she asked for was a PICTURE 😭 and he gave her his heart 😭 and she'll love him til her lungs give out 😭
username im literally throwing up, sobbing, screaming, dying at this caption
lance_stroll my heart has been yours since the day you blew my breath away
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username i usually hate lovey-dovey couples but these two... girl they got me wanting to be adopted frfr
username im calling it... girlypop's gonna have a ring by year 3 for sure
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lance_stroll yeehaw
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username this is such a look... are we sure this man isn't from alberta
yourusername i will save all the horses if it means i get to ride this cowboy
username y/n....
estebanocon there are children on this app
username i was literally waiting for that y/n comment... these two are disgustingly unhinged
yourusername has added a story
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replies
lance_stroll why didn't you post the pic of both of us in the bath :(
yourusername i wasn't trying to traumatize your family my love
lance_stroll u posted that you're going to 'ride this cowboy' but a pic of me in the bath is too much?
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yourusername do you think i get to meet emily in paris or am i stuck with lance
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lance_stroll i just bought you that croissant and coffee and this is what i get as thanks????
yourusername i am so obsessed w u im sorry my favourite cowboy 🥺
username this is so wholesome lance is so boyfriend coded im crying
username y/n is literally living her best life ever i want to be her so bad
scottyjames31 i just know all of these photos were taken at least 75 times
yourusername mind ur own business scotty
lance_stroll and yourusername
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lance_stroll watching you walk down the aisle will make me the luckiest man alive
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estebanocon did you pay her to say yes?? congratulations you two 🥂
chloestroll even though i helped plan this entire thing i STILL cried on the phone. so happy for you both!!
username this man bought her like 5k worth of goodies and then put a RING that's probably worth my yearly salary on her finger??? god has chosen his favourite
yourusername im so lucky to be the one you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with. je t'aime 💗
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♡☆ KEEP IT ON THE DOWN-LOW☆♡
matt sturniolo x reader (based on this request)
word count: 1.1k
(NOT PROOFREAD!!)
tags-@xyzstar @iliterallydontexistlol @wenvierismycomfort @ssturniolo @frankenstein101 @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @222-lia @gabbylovesreading @aliciacat20
let me know if you want to be added or removed < 3
A/N: i literally wrote this for the wrong person the first time HELP, but tysm for the requested it was so cutesy! i think i like this one but we'll see! enjoy loves<3
You, Nick, Chris, and Matt were all lying on the triplet’s couch watching as the credits scene of nice guys rolls onto their TV screen. You were placed on Matt's lap with your head resting on his chest. His arm wrapped around your back slowly dragging his hand up and down your spine in a calming manner. You smiled into his chest before you hear nick say,
“Fuck this, i’m bored now, what do you wanna do?”
You laugh at him before responding with a half hearted shrug. You guys sat in silence for a minute, all of you trying to think of something, anything, to do.
“What about a board game?” matt says
“What are we, 50?” Nick rolls his eyes
“fuck you, im just trying to give some ideas,” matt scoffs.
“What if we go live or something,” Chris suggests.
“ohh yeah!” you say excitedly.
“yeah sure,” Nick agrees.
“I'm down,” Matt nods.
Matt pats your leg, silently signaling for you to get up. You hastily move off of his lap, crossing your legs beside him.
You see, you haven’t exactly told people that you were dating Matt. It was partially because both of you were trying your best to avoid getting hate about the two of you being together. You knew that you could handle the hate though, you had been getting it for a couple of years after all. You and the triplets have been best friends ever since Elementary school, and you guys were inseparable since the 1st grade. Then around 8 months ago you and Matt started dating and you’ve never been happier. You’ve made an appearance in quite a few videos. People definitely knew who you were to say the least. Even though you and Matt hide your relationship pretty well, people still catch the “glances” that you and Matt send each other.
-
“Jesus these guys can make an edit out of anything.” you told him one night, when you saw an edit of you and Matt making eye contact with the song heart to heart by mac demarco playing over it.
-
“Nick can you go get me a Pepsi,” chris whines.
“No bitch get it yourself, i’m not your servant,”
Chris groans and uses all of his left over body strength to pull his body off of the couch. Matt pulls his phone out of his back pocket and pulls up instagram and clicks some buttons allowing him to go live. And before you knew it 12k people had already joined.
“Hey guys,” Chris says from the kitchen as he opens the fridge door grabbing a pepsi from inside.
Chris made his way back to the couch and plopped himself down, right next to Matt. Nick goes to stand behind the couch that you three were sitting on and waves to the camera.
You copy Nick's actions and say hi. As soon as people realized that you were with them comments started to pour in ten times faster.
antonia_34 HELP she’s always there 😭
ilove(wo)men OMGG Y/N MY QUEEN
idkifrogot nah there's no way they’re not dating 💀
jackchampsgf they’re all lowkey kinda hot
hotpotato what are you guys doing up it’s like 2am
i’mchrizz i ship them so much lol
You both look at each other for a second and start to giggle, eventually the giggles turn into you guys laughing so hard you were almost crying.
“Alright, let’s calm down now,” Nick says, taking the phone from Matt's hands and going on a long rant about how there was a “creepy ass” bird that flew into the vans windshield the other day. You guys spend another 20 minutes on the live doing random stuff and talking about whatever topic comes to mind. At one point you ended up hanging off Chris' back with his hands holding your legs making sure you didn't fall. He ran and jumped around the house carrying you upside down on his shoulders as you screamed for him to put you down. (AN i'm pretty sure i did a shitty job explaining this so just go to 0:40 on this video to see what he was kind of doing cause i got the idea from big hero 6 💀 https://youtu.be/JpUPv4B-pxQ)
Chris had let you let you down so now all four of you were in the kitchen answering questions that the chat had for you guys. there were countless that asked you the same thing over and over and over again, are y/n and Matt dating? you both had decided to ignore that question for now.
“Okay guys we’re gonna end the live, see you later,” Matt said yawning.
“Bye,” Nick and Chris said simultaneously.
“Love you!” you said excitedly blowing the viewers a kiss.
Matt ended the live and made his way back to the couch face planting into the cushions making sure you knew he was tired.
“Someone needs their sleep,” you laugh
“I think I need some too,” Chris groans walking up to his room. “Night!” He yells
“Good night, Chris,” you say back.
“I’m gonna stay and edit for a bit,” Nick tells you.
“Alright, I think we’re gonna go to bed.”
“Yes please,” Matt mumbles into the pillows
you smile and shake your head.
“Don’t stay up all night, Nick,” You say. You pull Matt’s head up and cup his cheeks in your hands. “I think it’s time to go, hmm?”
Matt just nods in response so you hold out your hands for him to grab onto, and pull on them to help him stand up. Once you get to Matt’s room he slumps onto your back as you open the door.
“Matt!”
“mhmm?”
you drag him over to his bed and jump next to him. He instantly snaked his hands around your waist and nestled his face into the crook of your neck, leaving a soft kiss there.
“i think they’re onto us,” you grin
“who?” Matt asks confused
“your fans”
“Well then maybe we should tell them soon,” you hear Matt say against your neck.
“awe, but I like it like this! we have a sort of, will they won't they vibe,” you whisper into Matt’s hair. He pulls his head away from your neck looking up at you to give you puppy dog eyes. “Soon though,” you smile softly.
Matt smirks and gives you a quick kiss, then shoves his head into your neck once more.
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Rodeo | lmh (m)
𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader
𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable.
𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249
𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something
𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part.
𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.
𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)
𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024
𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
| Masterlist | Ask | Tag List Request Form | Song Inspiration
Any work is good work.
Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building.
Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor.
Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.
Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down.
“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co.
“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.”
“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.”
The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.
Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers.
He’s so goddamn sore.
Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket.
While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.
The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.
Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows.
At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.
Whichever comes first.
Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward.
He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep.
Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.
The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways.
He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy.
Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever.
As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes.
He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife.
No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.
It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.
When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery.
A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious.
But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over.
The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get.
Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it.
A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top.
Any work is good work.
Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop.
Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable.
“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch.
Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards.
They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.
True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.
Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.
Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure.
Nightcrawler.
Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood.
And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.
Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic.
Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.
Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat.
“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth.
His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.
“I don’t like when you call me that.”
Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”
The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?”
“Who is to say?”
“Just tell her I’m here.”
“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.”
Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars.
When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass.
A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.
“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”
“But you’re so pretty.”
A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.”
The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door.
Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top.
The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.
Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.
Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand.
“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”
He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.
Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver.
“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.”
That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face.
Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data.
Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face.
“When is the last time you slept?”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”
“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”
“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.”
“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.”
His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on.
Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow.
Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft.
Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns.
Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver.
You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches.
Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her.
That, and that she chose to leave him.
Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.”
You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.”
With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt.
Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him.
The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.
He’s not in danger here.
Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in.
He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises.
The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
-
A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.
He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock.
“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.
A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.
Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”
He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”
“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.”
Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.
You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.
That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.
“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.”
“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.”
“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?”
Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.
Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.
Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently.
Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that.
Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.
Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time.
He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.
Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection.
When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy.
In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.
Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.
You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why.
As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.
“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.
Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”
“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”
“My watch?”
It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.
An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.
He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal.
Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web.
Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.
Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.
“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”
“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”
“What’s the point, though?”
You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.”
Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”
“And purple?”
“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”
Minho stares. “What?”
“What part didn’t you get?”
“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”
“Do you see a price tag?”
“You can’t give me this for free.”
“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”
Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know.
It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.
Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of.
Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you.
“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.”
You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.
“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.”
Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces.
The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.
Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.
Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave.
It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood.
So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface.
As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop.
Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it.
Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now.
The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses.
Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go.
Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be.
It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring.
“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.
“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”
“Collection accepted.”
The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.
Any work is good work.
Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.
-
The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less.
The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.
Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself.
If the knife had been one of yours…
A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts.
Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.
What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made.
Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating.
Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way.
Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel.
Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.
Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates.
The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl.
DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process.
Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.
The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline.
It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him.
There was crazy, and then there was that.
Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.
He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you.
Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true.
Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.
He remembers almost every one of them.
Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team.
Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl.
Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.
He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch.
-
The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling.
Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.
Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”
“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”
Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.
It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history.
Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning.
Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing–
Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill.
Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection.
Irreversible.
Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.
Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed.
Now he’s supposed to murder you?
Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.
Will he or won’t he?
Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.
He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning.
The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit.
What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth.
What was it that Jisung said about panic?
It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again.
Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room.
Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves.
There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave.
It’s clinical.
Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.
Any work is good work.
Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers.
Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.
That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list.
Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure.
From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman.
Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments.
Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too.
So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone?
Maybe it’s even a combination.
Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway.
The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.
From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.
Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him.
The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops.
Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible.
Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside.
Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair.
It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door.
“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”
Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.
An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf.
Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”
“I need to speak with her.”
“No.”
“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers.
“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”
“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.”
“Listne, Nightcrawler-”
Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”
“I’d never hurt her.”
“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”
“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?”
“You’d be surprised, Collector.”
Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.
He’s that confident in beating me.
United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.
“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.”
The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd.
Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force.
Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking.
Act of faith.
Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable.
Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires.
Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him.
Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes.
“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”
“Is there a way through that door?”
“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.”
“Does she have a way out the back?”
“No, then I would have two doors to watch.”
A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.
They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together.
“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”
“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.”
“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”
Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.”
The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn���t very large.
Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“That’s hardly less settling.”
“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”
“One is legal, for starters.”
Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”
Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.
It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun.
The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.
Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise.
“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.”
Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.
Then there’s you.
You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun.
“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does.
“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.”
No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.”
It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little.
The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.
You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.
Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over.
Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel.
Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.
“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face.
Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face.
“I was never going to kill you.”
“Hard to tell with you.”
“I… don’t have an argument.”
And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.
“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”
“They’re on the house?”
“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?”
“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”
“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”
A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again.
“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”
“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”
Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin.
Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down.
“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.”
You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.
Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.
Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.
Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light.
Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours.
Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark.
“What is this?” he asks, looking at you.
It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”
“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?”
“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.”
You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not.
Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?”
“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”
Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly.
-
Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t,
An act of faith.
It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust.
Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers.
You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens.
Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?”
Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.”
“Who owns that place, anyway?”
“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.”
“You keep unusual company.”
“Better than none.”
That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”
“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”
“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.”
“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”
He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing.
“Where are we going?”
He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”
“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”
“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”
“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”
Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”
“What is it now?”
“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.”
“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”
“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”
“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.”
Minho bites back a grin.
By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline.
They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence.
Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern.
Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.
With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh.
You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist.
“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”
“It’s a kind of art.”
“I suppose it is.”
Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation.
He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive.
“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”
Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”
“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.”
“I’m not a child!”
“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”
You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.”
Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?”
“Of course. Swan likes strays.”
“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”
Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.”
“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.”
You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side.
Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.
Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something.
Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching.
A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.
You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide.
Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does.
You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean.
The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.
For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse.
You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane.
The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.
“Minho, there’s a-”
“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”
“And you were sure that was going to work?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.”
It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive.
Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them.
The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night.
Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island.
Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.
It is the most unprepared he has ever been.
A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within.
It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge.
At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him.
Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house.
“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.
No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities.
“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.”
“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”
A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home.
Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.
The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto.
Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed.
After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.
Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.
A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.
Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you.
Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay.
Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel.
A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling.
Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.
“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.”
He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.
Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.”
“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”
“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.
You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder.
A little braver.
“I never had a chance to thank you.”
“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”
“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”
“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”
“And now?”
“I realize it was silly.”
“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.”
He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look.
“Why’d you offer me that armor?”
“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?”
Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist.
You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his.
Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans.
Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous.
You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane.
You.
The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else.
Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth.
The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.
Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple.
Fuck.
He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too.
Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes.
Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead.
Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in.
“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.”
“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?”
“Need it.”
He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.
Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger.
“Hmm. Sweet.”
“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is.
“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.
Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.
One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.
It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth.
He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.”
The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart.
He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.
“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”
Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.
You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left.
Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it.
Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating.
Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.”
“What a stuipd man I am.”
“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”
That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together.
You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.
It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again.
Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.
How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen.
No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.
But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there.
“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”
When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.
Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you.
Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.
His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.
Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down.
Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in.
“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”
“What is it with you and rodeos?”
“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”
“Oh?”
“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”
He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.”
You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling.
“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”
“That joke was terrible.”
“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.”
You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo.
-
TAG LIST:
@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako
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CAMERAMAN CHOSO
cw: reader is a porn star, reader has sex with another porn actor (m), choso is pining, masturbation (m), oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, afab reader, cowgirl pos, unprotected sex
tags: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @bloompompom @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @hehehehesthings @thecookiebratz @chocoyanchan @niko-ash @hinata7346 @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @ploylulla @131patpat @etlftl @doestalker @chariottethecat @jottositto @missphanosaur18 @darkstarlight82 @sodoney @xocherishxo @ilysmmdouma @sousblogga @xukoii @viisgrave @mriixxx @iminlovewqr0w @luv4th3m @sheluvzeren @prettymoonlightsworld @anubisisthebomb taglist form
more content on my masterlist.
a/n: trying to use a much simpler format for hcs to help me post a little more often! I have no idea where I got the mdni banner below. it's been in my phone for weeks so if it's yours and you need credit, just let me know :)
Cameraman! Choso who finished film school very aware that he would immediately be working on blockbuster movies and was ready to work his way up the ladder of the film industry to achieve that type of job so, in the meantime, didn’t mind working on a few odd jobs to keep up with the cost of living and build his resume up.
Cameraman! Choso who is almost too hesitant to take the job that’s offered to him, filming on a porn set but, when he sees the amount, he’ll be paid up front, can’t refuse – although he’s not sure if he’ll be able to add this to his resume. He guesses it doesn’t matter. He’s got student loans to chip away at and he’s just itching to shoot something... anything.
Cameraman! Choso shows up to set early and eager to film but he’s still plenty nervous. He can’t lie though; he’s always wondered what it’s like behind the scenes of any porn video. Sure, he watches porn. What guy doesn’t? He never thought this was where he would land directly after school though. Despite showing up early, things don’t really set into motion for about an hour. Then people are bustling around, setting the scene and getting the lighting under control. He’s instructed on what’s expected from him – nothing he can’t handle. He’s sure he’ll hit all of his marks. Then hair and makeup make it onto set and the actors follow suit. The male actor is handsome, the typical type of guy he’d usually see in porn and nothing really special. Then his eyes land on you.
Cameraman! Choso almost feels bad for his first thought of you. He first thinks that... you’re too pretty to be here. Not when you could easily be a model in all of the top mags. His eyes stay glued to you, the female actor in this shoot. He can hardly concentrate on adjusting his camera without stealing glances at you as you let your makeup artist dust your cheeks to make your skin glow. The crew works around him as he watches you chat with the artist. Choso can tell that you’re the friendly type. You have that energy that shows that you really get along with everyone.
Cameraman! Choso has to clear his throat a few times to speak back to you when you approach him with a question about the lighting over the bed you’re about to get plowed on. He doesn’t exactly know the answer to your question but gives you his best guess and the waver in his voice really gives away his inexperience in this kind of thing. You carefully survey the unfamiliar camera man. Although you haven’t been doing porn for that long, you feel like you would’ve remembered Choso if you’d ever seen him before. He’s too pretty to forget. You’re never shy when you’re on set and the idea of the raven-haired beauty being the one behind the camera only makes you even more excited.
Cameraman! Choso listens carefully to what the director of the set tells him and then watches as everyone gets into their places. His eyes stay glued to you, even when he’s pointing the camera at something else. You fall into your scene so naturally, he’s almost unable to tell that you’re acting. He watches as you run your arm down the bare chest of your male counterpart and give him your ‘fuck me’ eyes, a sensual gaze you’ve perfected with experience.
Cameraman! Choso can tell that you know you’re sex on legs. He can tell that you know you’re the sexiest person in this room. You probably know that you’re the sexiest person in most rooms. He feels his eyes sting with the way he refuses to blink, watching you work. You get to your knees and take the head of the guy’s cock in your mouth, humming around the tip as if you’ve just licked the side of a candy apple. You maintain eye contact with the guy as you take him all the way into your mouth and suck his cock with enthusiasm. You throw your head back and really get into it, bobbing your head before the actor grabs the back of your head and begins bucking into your mouth.
Cameraman! Choso cringes when he hears you gag. Everyone on set sees how rough the actor gets with you, pulling your hair and snapping his hips forward with purpose. It takes all of his restraint not to stop rolling and rush onto set to pull you away from him. He wonders how he’s gotten so protective of a random porn star like you and why it’s strong enough to lapse his professionalism. Last night, he stayed up wondering exactly how he was going to keep it together watching some hot chick get drilled in front of all of these people and promised himself that he wouldn’t let it get to him. He’s here for a check. He’s got expenses piling up and they aren’t gonna wait for him to wait for him to get his foot in the door in the film industry.
Camerman! Choso is finding that goal hard to reach. You look so good, despite being face down ass up in the queen-sized bed. He can’t tell if you’re acting or if this guy’s uncoordinated thrusts are actually meeting your sweet spot. Fake moans or not, Choso finds himself breathing heavily as he focuses the camera on where his cock is pushing into you – making sure to get closeups where he’s expected to. He tries to channel everything he’s learned in film school but he’s not prepared for the moment you wiggle out of the actor’s grip and put him on his back.
Cameraman! Choso watches you impale yourself on the actor’s cock and ride it like it’s yours. He studies you when he realizes that he was right. That guy wasn’t pleasing you. You’re pushing his tip into your own g-spot, doing all of the angling yourself and your moans are sounding more genuine now that you’re in control. He throws all dreams of professionalism out the window when he focuses on your glistening hole and finds his own dick hardening in his pants. Choso struggles to fight the urge to reach down and squeeze himself in front of all of these people though.
Cameraman! Choso’s dick is so hard it hurts by the time you all wrap up filming. He’s watched you squirt on the guy's cock at least ten times, soaking the bedsheets you’ve been on for the last hour, and you look exhausted. Before he gets the opportunity to initiate another chat with you, not even sure what he’d say to a sexy confident woman like you, the editors are asking for his footage so they can do their job and get the video uploaded soon. When he turns back to the bed, it’s void of you and the cleaning crew is getting to it.
Cameraman! Choso scans the set looking for your pretty naked body, but he only finds clothed crew. His heart sinks when he realizes that you didn’t waste any time getting off of the set and he’ll probably never see you... in real life. He can’t focus on anything until he gets rid of his erection though, shamelessly jerking his cock in the bathroom and stifling moans into his palm.
Cameraman! Choso isn’t done getting off to you even when he finds himself in the privacy of his apartment. He opens his preferred porn site and types in your stage name. His eyes blow wide when he realizes that there are hundreds of videos available, all starring you. Choso gets off to every snippet he finds of you, fucking his own fist until his cock is positively raw and then some. He can’t stop himself. Every time one video finishes, his hand moves without his permission and presses play on the next one. He can’t get enough of your face, the way you moan (fake or not, doesn’t matter). Your sounds of pleasure fill up his bedroom and he spend hours rubbing loads out and moaning your stage name, fantasizing about you being there to worship his cock the way you do for other men.
Cameraman! Choso has developed a routine of only getting off to you over the next week or two. It’s pathetic, he knows. But he’s beyond help or self-control. He gets paid for the project, glad for the money, and even gets a new job offer. Choso just knows that if he takes another offer to shoot porn, that’s exactly where he’s going to stay. It was fine as a one timer but doing it again? He’ll get too comfortable and never make a name for himself in the movie industry with a reputation like that. But then, his obsession with you comes to mind. You’re an itch that he’d give anything to scratch. On the off chance you happen to be filming on this project, he accepts the job, wanting you more than any dream job he graduated film school in hopes of earning. The cameraman only wants to shoot films you star in, x-rated or otherwise.
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steddie | rating: m | wc: 955 | tags: established relationship, use of cake as a metaphor, they're so in love your honor | art credit: @firefly-party
Eddie Munson celebrates two birthdays every year: the day he was actually born, December 19th, and the day he woke up in the hospital, April 8th. Funny enough, the latter is usually a bigger celebration. Family and friends that no longer exist in separate groups come together with all of Eddie’s foods and drinks, small gifts and sometimes, a bigger gift from the collective.
Try as they might, they’ve yet to top the Metallica tickets.
But today is Eddie’s original birthday. December 19th— the one that’s usually swallowed up by the holidays, the one that really doesn’t mean all that much to him because, well, compared to waking up after saving the world, why would it? The last few celebrations have been tight-knit, mostly just himself, Wayne, and Steve either at Wayne’s trailer or the tiny little apartment Steve and Eddie managed to find for themselves.
This year, it’s just the two of them with no one to blame but Mother Nature. A blizzard drops nearly three feet of snow over northeastern Indiana and no one is going anywhere, least of all Wayne whose getting up there in years. We'll make up for it later, Eddie assures him when he calls with a stream of apologies.
How can he complain though? Wayne will make up for it, he’s snowed in with the love of his life, and the apartment smells like his favorite pasta sauce, the one he knows takes Steve hours to simmer. So no, he’s not disappointed. Not in the slightest.
“Sorry your day got snowed out,” Steve sighs, plopping down onto the couch and draping an arm along the back of the couch, toying with the ends of Eddie’s hair. “I did get you a surprise though.”
Eddie’s brow furrows, knitting tightly above his nose. There’s been no mail for two days, and their apartment doesn’t exactly lend itself to keeping secrets. “A surprise? What kinda surprise?”
“Well,” Steve smirks, confident in the way that always makes something stir in Eddie’s chest. “It’s not a birthday without a cake.”
He’s so fucking lost.
“A cake? We’ve been snowed in since Sunday and I would’ve smelled you baking in here. Also, I would’ve tasted it already, or at least demanded to lick the spoon so— wait, what are you doing?”
Steve stands up and walks around the back of the couch, just behind Eddie. “Just close your eyes, okay? Or do I need to blindfold you?”
He can hear Steve’s smug grin without even seeing his face and now it’s not just his chest stirring. Eddie shifts I’m his seat.
“No, no I can just close my eyes. Put a pin in the blindfold idea though.“
With his eyes closed, all he can do is imagine what the rustling is behind him, scenarios that will never compare to the sight he sees when Steve gives him the all clear.
“Okay,” Steve says, his voice now coming from directly in front of Eddie. “Open.”
Very funny, brain, he thinks. My entire life since the demobats has to have been just one long, final burst of dopamine before kicking the bucket because there’s absolutely no way this is fucking real.
Steve’s standing in front of him, shirtless, in nothing but some of the tightest shorts he’s seen Steve wear since the time he blindly walked into Scoops Ahoy asking for rum raisin and instead, got a fucking show. They’re dark maroon in hue with the word Cake printed in white script across the entirety of Steve’s ass. Moles litter his skin from the base of his neck down the flesh of his thighs, and the small indentation in his lower back is highlighted by the low waistband. Barely noticeable cuts in the sides expose what looks like black lace detailing.
“Holy shit,” Eddie groans, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the soft, cotton material.
“Yeah?” Steve looks over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “You like it?”
Eddie fingers trace the font and he doesn’t even dare to blink. If it is a coma dream, he doesn’t want to risk waking up. “Do I like it? If I ever say no to that, Steve, take me into a field and off me because I’ve been replaced by the body snatchers.”
Steve laughs and Eddie pulls him in closer, one hand on Steve’s hip and the other working its way up Steve’s thigh and beneath the fabric.
“Y’know,” Eddie starts, swallowing with a dry mouth around the lump in his throat. “There’s just one little problem with this birthday cake.”
“What?” Steve looks back over his shoulder again, this time confused.
He gives his right cheek a light tap, just enough to relish in the way the plush flesh moves. “It’s not finished.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it need?”
“You know I need my cakes frosted. And c’mon,” he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s hairy thigh, just below the hem of the shorts. “Where’s the candle?”
Steve turns with a teasing grimace. “Did you just compare your dick to a candle?”
“Sure did. Is it working?” He smiles with his bottom lip between his teeth as he stands and places both hands in Steve’s hips.
“I can’t believe it, but yeah, it kinda is.” Steve’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and back up.
Eddie can barely get his thoughts in order, placing both hands on either side of Steve’s face and kissing him between words.
“Best.” He kisses his forehead. “Birthday.” He kisses his nose. “Ever.” He kisses his lips.
They make their way back to the bedroom and no one can blame him for leaving Steve’s ass littered in purpling hickies and love bites.
It’s a cake, after all.
art by @firefly-party to celebrate @sidekick-hero's birthday today! here's a little collaboration to honor our favorite Cake Enthusiast! Sandy, we love you and hope you have the absolute best day. go give her some love, everyone!
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Hi!! Can i please request thoma and kaeya putting a fem!s/o in a mating press position?
I feel like one is more flirty then the other but they're both soft in their own ways, at least in my head so this'll be interesting to write.
Pairing: Kaeya, Thoma x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, mating press, creampie, whimpering, praise, pussydrunk Kaeya, pussydrunk Thoma, flustered Thoma
A/N: Kaeya and Thoma are some of my absolute favorites in Genshin, I love writing for them so much.
KAEYA
"Can you take me like that sweetheart?" He coos against you as he pushed down on you, his cock slipping inside you with no resistance at all. In this position he can see everything, your pretty face, how your nipples harden under his hands, your exposed clit giving a needy throb as his cock bottoms out in your pussy.
This position might have been your idea but damn if he hasn't fantasized about it many times. Being sheeted in your tight little hole entirely, feeling you pulse around every inch of him, it's a miracle he hasn't exploded yet.
"I'm gonna fuck so much cum into that pretty cunt of yours, make it nice and full with my seed." You see a wild spark flash in his eye as he starts his pace. With every stroke you can feel him getting harder inside of you, "You chose a very nice position, look, you can see how much you love this, see how your pussy tightens around my tip like that?" Don't worry he won't leave you empty for long, he never does, in fact with each stroke you can feel him slipping deeper, his cock staying a moment longer.
For Kaeya nothing can quite compare to the warm, slick feeling of his cock sliding home, of feeling you spasm and tighten around him as you whimper and moan his name, begging him to make your pussy his, to show you he owns it, that he owns you, "Anything." He cries out, "Keep taking me like that, keep saying you're mine. Squeeze me tight, let me know how much of a cumslut you are."
THOMA
"Uh, like this?" Thoma is as red as his jacket as he gets into position, his hands under your knees to keep your legs up, "Oh. This is... I see." He can't help but grin down at you when he feels you clench your thighs for him. "You're pretty tight my love, loosen up, don't you want my cock?"
You sigh and will yourself to relax. You wanted this but it's more embarrassing than you though it would be, to be pushed into such a vulnerable position, to be so... open. To his credit Thoma has always taken it slow with you when it comes to trying out new things. He loves seeing, and feeling, your reactions, to know he's doing a good job.
"Good girl. See? You take me so easily when you wanna. You're so pretty, you know what you want, this... little hole knows it wants to be used by me. I'll take good care of it, of you." His voice is so soothing, yet his cock and the way in which he fucks you is anything but. His hips push against yours with every thrust, the only thing that keeps you still are his hands.
He never could get enough of you, as much as he'd love to think otherwise but he's completely addicted to your pussy. He can act shy and respectful all he wants but once he's inside of you there's no stopping him until he makes you come. "Are you gonna milk me dry again? Sure feels like it. That's alright my love, you take what you need, I've got plenty to offer you."
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Against All Odds part 2
The GIFs are not mine; credit goes to the respective artist/creator.
Summary : After the ‘incident’ on the gym with Bucky, now you had left with some unanswered questions about your relationship with him. You decided to confront him about it.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (No mentions of body type or ethnicity other than the reader being female)
General tags : Slight smut and pure angst
TW: Strong language, Masturbation (f), Hurt, Heavy angst, Bucky an asshole
Word Count: 7k
A/N : Hey there! Guess who's back? This is the long-awaited Part 2. My apologies for the delay; I've revised the plot about three times to ensure its genuinely angsty. It's about to get tougher before it gets better! Get ready for the emotional rollercoaster!
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3
If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here
These are the aesthetic for part 2 (solely for visual representation of what going to happen on the story, this meant no representation for body type or ethnicity)
You were panicking as someone could see you in such state, strangely, Bucky seemed unfazed, his expression steady despite the unexpected interruption. Then, your heart skipped a beat as the doorknob turned.
The person outside attempted to open the door, but they couldn’t. Relief flooded you, thank God Bucky had locked the door. "Is someone in here? You know you can’t lock the door," the voice outside the room chastised, followed by insistent knocks.
"Fuck." Bucky muttered, frustration etched on his face. "Who's interrupting us now?" He released you from his embrace, standing up abruptly. "We need to leave." His hand found yours, offering support as he helped you to your feet.
Your legs felt wobbly, but Bucky steadied you as he handed over your clothes. "Here," he said, helping you slip into them. "Put these on."
Bucky was about to pulled up his pants, when he saw your panties in his hand. A mischievous smile formed on his lips. "Hold still."
Confused, you questioned, "What are you doing?"
He playfully stuffed your panties into his pocket. "I'm keeping these as a little souvenir."
"You can't just take those!" you protested, your face flushing with embarrassment.
Bucky simply shrugged, his expression unapologetic. "Sure, I can," he said, enjoying the playful banter despite the urgency of the situation.
Before you could retort, the voice from outside grew more impatient. "Hey! I can hear you in there. I'm coming in if you don't answer me," it warned, the threat clear in its tone.
Bucky's expression changed, growing serious as the sound of keys jiggling reached his ears. With a swift nod, you both understood it was time to make your escape.
"We have to go. Now." He said, ushering you towards the other exit, his arm protectively wrapping around you. "Just keep quiet."
You finished putting your clothes back on. Bucky held onto you as he walked across the room, looking for your shoes. You were about to put on your shoes, when you heard the same person call out. You could hear he was picking keys to opened the door.
Bucky glanced over at the door. "He’s going see us. We should go."
But you halted his hasty retreat, pulling him back toward you. "Bucky, wait," you said, you blushed. "I don't think I can walk." You admitted.
He grinned, a look of pure male satisfaction on his face. "Here hop on," he turned his back to you. "I'll give you a piggyback ride."
"What? No, that's embarrassing." you protested, even though you really did need help walking. You felt stupid for feeling so excited, but the thought of being carried by him, made your stomach flutter.
Bucky was persistent. "C'mon, I’ll carry you." he motioned for you to climb onto his back.
"Bucky... I don’t know...," You argued, blushing as you looked down at the ground.
"Oh, please." Bucky scoffed. "I can bench press 500 pounds without breaking a sweat. You weigh nothing to me." He reassured you, his arms outstretched as he bent down.
"Fine," you gave in. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hopped onto his back. Bucky hoisted you up, wrapping his hands underneath your thighs. "This is kind of weird."
"You better hold on tight." He grabbed your shoes with him and went to the back door. "Ready?"
“Yeah.” You tightened your arms around him.
Then you remember, "Wait! I haven't got my phone. It's still on the floor." You protested.
Bucky groaned in exasperation. "You know, that's what's going to get us caught."
"Yes, but then they’ll know it was me in here. Turn around and grab my phone.” You ordered him. He did as you told him even though he wasn’t happy about it, gabbing your phone from the floor.
Bucky started walking towards the door. The sound of keys were being turned, it looked like he found the key. "Hurry, Buck!" You said to him.
"Don't worry, I'll get us out of here."
He pushed the door open and stepped out. You had made it halfway through the alleyway when you saw someone coming. "Shit, run."
Bucky bolted down the alley, with you holding onto him. You both were safe until you reached the elevator, and then you could relax. Once you inside the elevator, Bucky kept you perched on his back. He refused to let you go until the doors closed.
Are we good now?" you asked, your voice still tinged with the adrenaline from the escape.
"Yes," Bucky answered. "We're good now."
"You can put me down now, Bucky." You suggested.
"You sure?" He looked back at you. "You're not as heavy as I thought."
"Gee, thanks," you muttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood.
He chuckled softly as he carefully lowered you to the ground. You reached up and felt how your hair had become all tangled. Your lips were swollen from his kisses. And you couldn't even begin to imagine what your eyes looked like.
"Thanks for the ride," you said, a weary smile gracing your lips as you recalled the unconventional piggyback escape.
"Anytime, doll," Bucky responded with a hint of amusement, his relief palpable.
You smoothed out your clothes and fixed your hair. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath.
"Hey," Bucky said, his voice softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder, his eyes searching yours. "Are you okay?"
You offered a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." However, curiosity crept into your voice, "But earlier, when we were... interrupted. Who was it?"
Bucky hesitated before admitting, "No one, I was just messing with you."
A wave of relief washed over you upon hearing his words. You stood next to each other, neither one of you saying a word. The air between you was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. You were glad you had finally slept with him. You had wanted it for a while now, but he was so hard to read.
You wondered what happened now. Would things be awkward between the two of you? Would he pretend like nothing happened?
You were about to break the silence when the elevator door slid open, interrupting your thoughts.
"After you," Bucky said, offering a gallant gesture, indicating for you to exit first.
"Thank you," you replied, stepping out of the elevator. Bucky followed you, and you both began your walk down the corridor in the direction of your room.
In the midst of the silence, Bucky took a deep breath, as if mustering the words he wanted to say. "Listen, Y/N."
You turned to him. "Yes?" you responded, ready for the conversation you knew was coming.
However, as Bucky was about to speak, Steve entered the compound, heading down the same hallway toward both of you. A twinge of frustration shot through you as you silently cursed Steve for his untimely intrusion, just when the conversation appeared ready to take a more serious turn.
You couldn't help but wonder, 'What is he doing here?' as your irritation simmered beneath the surface.
"Y/N, about—" Bucky started again, his words cut off as you held up a hand.
"Hold that thought," you interrupted him, your gaze fixated down the hall where Steve was approaching.
"What's wrong?"
"Steve's coming," you replied, your irritation evident. The interruption was untimely, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at the universe's sense of timing.
Bucky followed your gaze, and his face fell as soon as he saw his friend. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath.
You both watched as Steve drew nearer, his pace slowing down as he approached you and Bucky. "Hi, Buck," Steve greeted his friend, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glanced over at you, then back at Bucky. “I thought you left hours ago."
"I did, but I had some stuff to take care of," Bucky replied swiftly, his expression unreadable. You sensed an immediate shift in Bucky's demeanor, a return to his cold, distant self in the presence of his friend.
You were about to question Steve's unexpected presence, considering he was supposed to be on a mission with the rest of the team. However, Bucky voiced the query before you could. "Has the mission ended? Where’s everyone?"
Steve nodded, his expression serious. "It hasn't, but I had to drop something off, and I'll be heading out again soon," he explained. "Mostly things had been wrapped up, just one last loose end."
"Alright, good to hear," Bucky said, acknowledging the update.
Steve's brows knitted together, his lips curving into a frown. "You look a little disheveled. What were you doing?" he asked, his suspicion evident in his tone.
"We were training," you chimed in, your voice steady, a lie slipping from your lips without hesitation. The lie rolled off your tongue with ease, and technically, it wasn't entirely false – you and Bucky had indeed been ‘sparring’ earlier.
"Oh, I see." Steve nodded, seeming satisfied with your explanation. "I'm glad you're getting some one-on-one time.”
"It was a pretty intense session," Bucky replied, his tone flat, his eyes avoiding Steve's scrutinizing gaze. You couldn't help but conceal a smile; indeed, it had been an incredibly intense workout, but not in the way Steve was imagining.
Steve raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Well, alright. As long as it was a good workout," he said, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion, although he ultimately seemed to dismiss his concerns, not pressing further.
Steve then turned his attention to you, his expression laden with guilt. "Y/N, about the mission..." He hesitated, clearly burdened by a sense of responsibility, though you knew all too well there was nothing he could have done differently.
Your patience wore thin, not this again, you thought, feeling your mood sour. "It's okay, Steve," you said, your tone carrying a hint of annoyance. "I know it wasn't your fault."
Steve managed a smile, though the unease lingered in his eyes. "Thanks, but I still feel responsible."
"Drop it, Steve. It really wasn't your fault," you insisted, your tone firm.
Sensing the conversation wasn't going anywhere productive, you decided to retreat to your room, especially now that Bucky seemed to have reverted to his usual self and showed no intention of continuing the discussion you'd been having.
"Well, I guess I should get going. See ya later," you said, offering a half-hearted wave before making your exit. As you walked away, a sense of disappointment settled in your chest.
You could barely walk, your thighs aching as you began to walked away. Unbeknownst to you, Steve's eyes followed your limping form, "What the hell happened to her?" he wondered aloud, his concern evident. You blushed deeply, hastening your pace in an attempt to avoid further scrutiny.
Overhearing Steve's question, Bucky replied, his tone nonchalant, "Don't know."
Once you made it to your room, you sighed in relief as you closed the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.
"I can't believe we just had sex in the gym," you mumbled to yourself, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of the pillow. Replaying the events in your head, you couldn't help but wonder about Bucky's behavior. "Why does he act differently around the team and then like this with me? What's his problem? Does he want me, or does he not want to be seen with me? Is he ashamed of me?"
You're worried that the whole "fuck and don't talk" thing is going to be the new thing. You couldn't help but wish it wouldn't happened in the future. It was great sex, but it would be even greater if there were actual feelings involved.
"What do I do?" You asked the pillow, knowing the inanimate object wouldn't respond. Exhausted from both the training session and your ‘sparring’ with Bucky was tiring you even more, you decided to take a nap, planning to contemplate your next steps once you had some rest.
The nap was short-lived when a soft knock echoed through the room. You rolled over in bed, and then you heard, "Y/N, are you asleep?" Wanda's gentle voice seeped through the door, causing you to frown as you sat up.
Recognizing it was Wanda, you got up from your bed and opened the door. "Oh, sorry, you were indeed asleep," she remarked, noticing your hair messed up. "I apologize for waking you up."
"I wanted your help," she said, her fingers fidgeting as she sat on the edge of your bed. "Vision's birthday is in two days," she explained, leaving you wondering how this concerned you. "And I want to give him something nice."
You let her finish, nodding in understanding. "I want to buy him this present, but I'm embarrassed," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
You furrowed your brow, trying to grasp her dilemma. "Embarrassed?" you prodded, waiting for her to elaborate.
"I've never been to a sex store, I've never bought... you know... that sort of thing before. I thought if you could help me, it would be a bit less awkward," Wanda confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
You were taken aback by her request, feeling both bewildered and unsure how to respond. "A sex store?"
She blushed deeper, her words tumbling out in a rush, "Well, Vision and I have been experimenting, and we've tried a lot of things. There's something new I want to try-"
"Wait, wait, wait," you interrupted, raising your hand to stop her. "I don't want to know any details.” You put a hand on her shoulder. "What you do with Vis is your business, and I'm glad that you're both happy."
You continued, your confusion apparent, "Wanda, why are you asking me to help you? Why don't you ask Natasha?" You hesitated, admitting your own unease about the situation. The idea of going to a sex store was equally embarrassing to you.
"I trust you," Wanda said earnestly. "I love Natasha, but sometimes she's too wild, you know? She'd probably buy me something that would end up on the Pornhub." Her reasoning made sense, and you recalled Natasha's tendency to be overly candid about her sex life.
"Besides," she added, "Natasha's on a mission, and she won't be back in time. By the time she and Vision return, it'll be too late." Her plea was both desperate and hopeful, and you couldn't help but empathize with her situation.
"Why can't you just go alone?” You inquired, trying to grasp her hesitation.
"It’s too embarrassing.” Wanda admitted, her eyes dropping to her lap. "People recognize me, and I'm worried about what they'll say, what they'll think." She hesitated before continuing, "I mean, people don't recognize you."
Ouch that hurt, but you knew what she meant.
Wanda quickly realized her blunder. "Y/N, I'm so, so sorry. I-I didn't mean it like that. You had a mask with your costume, and your name is a secret, so... I'm just nervous. I'm sorry," she apologized, her tone filled with regret.
You chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "It's fine, I get what you mean," you reassured her, rubbing the back of your neck. "I don't like the idea of people recognizing me either."
There was a brief pause as you considered her request. "Um... I don't know, Wanda. It's not really my area," you said, hesitant about getting involved in such a personal matter.
"Please, Y/N. It would really mean a lot to me. I'm nervous about going by myself. I've never bought these kinds of things," Wanda pleaded.
You were about to decline her request when she dropped a bombshell. "I wasn't going to use this on you, but you leave me no choice," she said, her tone taking a sly turn.
"Uh, okay? What did you see?" you asked, frowning in confusion.
"You and Bucky," she smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I know all about the secret affair."
Your heart skipped a beat as you heard her words. Trying to maintain your composure, you feigned innocence. "What secret affair?" you responded, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Wanda continued to wear that knowing smirk. "I saw you and Bucky in the gym," she added, not letting you off the hook.
You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse quicken. "Oh, we were just sparring," you said, attempting to provide a reasonable explanation, though your voice sounded weaker than you had hoped.
Wanda gave you a look that said, 'Yeah, right.' "Sure, you were.” She continued to smirk, “If by mean sparring involving his tongue down your throat and his dick in you.”
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, "Wh-what?” Trying to play it off coolly, you added, “You must be mistaken. We didn't..."
Wanda chuckled, her amusement evident. “Don't lie to me. Bucky's eyes met mine." She teased, her playful demeanor breaking the tension in the room. She continued, "and you, my friend, looked so fucking hot."
You blushed harder, but you felt a bit proud, "Well, you can't blame me. Bucky's so hot and so damn sexy, he can make any girl go weak in the knees."
You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, focusing on the more pressing issue at hand. "But seriously, how did you see us? Why aren't you on the mission? But Bucky said no one else entered the gym today." A flicker of confusion crossed your face as you recalled the locked door. "How did you even get in?"
Wanda chuckled, her amusement undeniably genuine. "Relax, you're like a storm of questions. Let me break it down for you." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes glinting with mischief. "First, the mission? Turns out, I'm a bit too unpredictable for Tony's taste. He thinks my powers might mess up the plan. So, here I am, stuck in the compound."
You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Tony Stark's cautious approach. Your sympathy for her situation grew.
"And about the gym door," she continued, her tone casual, "well, that's where my power come in handy. I can open any door with a wave of my hand and step right in, undetected."
"I'm sorry," you said sincerely. "About the mission, I mean. I couldn't go either. Maybe that makes you feel a bit better."
Wanda offered you a warm and forgiving smile. "No need to apologize," she said, dismissing your apology with a wave of her hand. Leaning in closer, her tone took on a mischievous edge. "Now, let me continue," she said with a sly grin. "I was getting ready for my gym session earlier, and then I heard some interesting sounds coming from this room. I peeked in, saw you and Bucky having a heated argument, and I was about to step in."
You squirmed in your seat, mortified by her revelation.
Wanda continued with a sly grin, relishing the opportunity to tease you. "And then... he kissed you," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and I instantly knew things were about to get intense. It was quite the show by the way,"
Your face turned various shades of red as you tried to process her unexpected presence during such an intimate moment.
She chuckled, her tone playful. "But here's the kicker, after Bucky noticed me, he didn't bother slowing down. He kept on kissing into you, while he was looking at me. That's when I decided it was my cue to make a graceful exit.”
You were taken aback by that revelation. "Wait so you only saw us kissing? You didn't see what happened next?" you asked.
Wanda raised an eyebrow and nodded. "That's right, just the kissing. But the way you were moaning, I had a pretty good idea of where things were headed."
You hid your face in your hands, unable to shake the embarrassment that had washed over you. "Wanda, you witch!" She was playing you so good. She was just guessing about it. If you played it cool, maybe you could salvage the situation. After all, Wanda didn't know the extent of your involvement with Bucky.
"What? Am I wrong?" she said, grinning slyly.
"Maybe?"
"Liar, I know I'm not." She said. “Now I know you fucked each other.” she concluded, raising an eyebrow mischievously, thoroughly enjoying the newfound power dynamic.
"Okay, we were caught in the act," you sighed, defeated. You blushed a little, "What are you going to do about it? Tell on us?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone about you lovebirds, if that's what you're worried about," Wanda assured, her expression surprisingly understanding, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Your embarrassment surged again, "Lovebirds? We're not..." you began, attempting to deny any romantic involvement.
She cut you off with a knowing grin. "Oh, please. I've seen enough romantic tension to recognize it when I see it. And you two? Well, let's just say, your 'sparring session' was more intense than any training I've witnessed."
"But it was probably a one-time thing." You tried to sound nonchalant, but even you knew it was a stretch. "That's just physical attraction. Nothing more."
"Really?" Wanda gave you a skeptikal looks. "It looked like there was something more going on between the two of you than just fucking. I saw the way he looked at you when no one was looking. It was different. Like you were his. Like he didn't want anyone to touch you, and you were his and only his."
"Wanda, are you serious?"
She nodded, "Yes! I know there's something more between you and Bucky, and I also know you have feelings for him, too."
You hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I don't know... we haven't talked about it." You sighed, "I don't think he wants more than just sex, anyway."
Wanda gave you a confused look, "Are you serious? Did he tell you that?"
You shook your head slowly. "Well, no, not really. He hasn't mentioned anything, and it's not like we've had the chance to discuss our relationship."
"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you this. Bucky will kill me if he finds out, but I'm going to say it anyway," she confessed. You chuckled inwardly, the most powerful Avenger, being cautious of Bucky.
Intrigued, you leaned in closer, your curiosity piqued. "What's going on?"
Wanda continued, "He told me not to tell you that I saw you two kissing because he didn't want you to worry about it. And when I asked where you were, he said you were probably sleeping, and I should let you be."
"He said that?" You felt your heart swell. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach.
Wanda nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Yes, and that's why I'm sure there's more to it. I can see it in his eyes. I know he has feelings for you."
"He does? How did you know?"
"Y/N, I know people. I can read his mind if you want, but that would be an invasion of his privacy," Wanda explained, her tone reassuring yet firm.
"Yeah, of course. I won't let you do that," you quickly responded, appreciating her respect for boundaries. "But thanks, Wanda. I appreciate you telling me."
"Now, let's go back to my problem.” she said, steering the conversation back to her original request. “Come on, Y/N, please help me go to the sex store.”
You hesitated, considering her request. Then an idea struck you. "How about we just order online?" you suggested. "That way, neither of us has to go near the place. We can discreetly make the purchase online."
"That does sound like a better plan," she nodded eagerly. Then, with a hint of desperation in her voice, she added, "But, please, make sure it's addressed to you and not me. I really don't want anyone to know I made that purchase," she implored.
You raised a valid concern. "What about me? People will still find out if it's shipped to me."
Wanda leaned in, her voice low and reassuring. "But they don’t know your real name, Y/N. No one knows except us and the Avengers."
You sighed, feeling a mixture of annoyance and reluctant agreement. "Fine," you conceded, rolling your eyes. "It will be addressed to me. But please, Wanda, promise me you will keep your mouth shut."
"Of course, Y/N, you can trust me. I won't breathe a word to anyone," Wanda assured you with a genuine sincerity. "Your secret's safe with me, I swear."
Relieved, you allowed a small smile. In response, she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you, Y/N! You're the best person ever!" she exclaimed, squeezing you with enthusiasm.
You chuckled awkwardly. "You're welcome, I guess." Returning the hug, you hoped that your decision wouldn't lead to unexpected complications.
She broke the hug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'll send you the link later," she said, her tone tinged with excitement. Rising to her feet, she continued, "I'll leave you to rest now. You must be exhausted after your workout, aren't you?" She smirked knowingly, her gaze flickering towards the door, "And I bet Bucky play a big part on it too, didn't he?"
"Shut up." You grabbed a nearby pillow and playfully tossed it at her. She dodged it with a laugh before heading towards the door.
"Bye, Y/N," she called out, her voice fading as she exited the room.
Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile at her audacious attitude. She was certainly something, and you knew this secret shopping mission of hers was bound to be an adventure.
You stepped into the shower to get rid of the smell of sweat. The water hit your back and you felt so relaxed, your hand trailed down between your legs, you thought about how good it felt to have his cock inside of you, how he fucked you in the gym.
You stepped on the shower to get ride of the smell of sweat and sex that Bucky left you with. When the cold water touched your skin, it brought you back to the real world.
"Ow! Ow! Shit, shit!" You said under the shower and quickly turned it into warm water. "I forgot how much this place is always cold." You whispered, and began washing your hair and body.
Now you felt relax as the water fell on your head and back. The memory of the moment that happened not even an hour ago played on your mind, like a movie. 'That's right doll, take my cock' and the sound of his low and raspy voice echoed on your head.
Your hand trailed down your body, and when you got to your pussy, you rubbed your clit. "Fuck" you hissed.
You could feel your arousal growing as you started fingering yourself. You leaned your head against the shower wall and moaned his name. You thought about how good it felt to have his mouth all over your neck and body.
The water was hot and steamy, but not enough to cover your moans. Your breathing was ragged and uneven. You imagined it was Bucky who was there with you, touching you. You closed your eyes and tried to recall every detail of the encounter.
Your fingers were now deep inside your pussy, pumping hard and fast. You could still feel his tongue on your clit, licking and sucking. You knew he liked to watch you squirm.
You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure in your stomach was getting stronger and stronger.
"Cum for me, doll." He whispered in your ear.
"Bucky! Fuck!" You screamed. You arched your back, your eyes rolling back. Your whole body shook with pleasure, waves of pleasure coursed through your veins.
You stood under the shower and breathed deeply. You didn't want to move, the hot water felt nice against your skin. But eventually you got out, wrapped yourself in a towel, and walked to the mirror. "God, look at that" you said, examining your neck.
There was a hickey where Bucky had sucked on it, and another one on your chest. It was too obvious for the others to see, but you didn't mind. You enjoyed it, and the memory made you smile.
As you saw yourself smiling like a fool, you slapped your cheeks lightly, "No, Y/N. Get a hold of yourself. You are not doing this again." But you knew you wanted to do it again.
As you dressed and settled on the bed, your phone chimed, and you saw Wanda sent you a link. Tapping on the link and the site appeared on your phone. You saw a variety of different vibrators and dildos and other stuff.
You tapped on the vibrator and it was in different colors. Black, red, pink, purple, etc.
"Oh wow." you breathed, your eyes widening as you scrolled through the available choices. As you delved deeper into the product descriptions, your intrigue grew.
'Great for solo or partnered play, its shape is flexible so it can be inserted easily, the base is wide enough so it won't slip out and the curved end is made to hit your g-spot, this vibrator is the best and you can't go wrong with it, you will always get pleasure and will leave you satisfied.'
You scrolled through the page, your eyes widening at the sheer array of options. " Jesus Christ, there are so many," you muttered, marveling at the variety.
You didn't know what to pick. So, you decided to take a screenshot and sent it to Wanda. "Wanda, I'm so confused. Which one should I pick?" You texted her. "What kind do you want? The purple one? Or the black and white one?"
Her response came swiftly. "Get both, also the lingerie. Oh, and make sure to get some lube, I need a lot for the toys," she texted back.
"Damn, Wanda, I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl," you mumbled to yourself, amused by her boldness.
"Ugh, gross, I’m going to need therapy after this," you quickly replied, feeling a mix of amusement and horror.
"And I need to bleach my eyes after seeing you two," she replied, her response laced with playful sarcasm.
You chuckled and continued browsing the website. "So much stuff. How can people use all these? Is this the kind of thing people use?" You whispered. You couldn't help but wonder which ones Bucky might enjoy.
There was this one that caught your attention. You clicked on the image, the vibrator popped open, and a description appeared. It was an eight-inch g-spot vibrator and anal vibrator with a remote control. It was a dual action toy that stimulated both the vagina and the anus.
'This 8 inch dual action toy is an ultra powerful vibrator that delivers powerful stimulation to both the vagina and the anus. The soft and silky material makes it a perfect beginner's toy, and its strong motor and wide bulbous tip makes it great for experienced users too.
With a curved end that will hit your g-spot and an insertable length of 8 inches, it's sure will give you a powerful sensation and will leave you screaming in pleasure. It also has a strong motor and 15 different speed and vibration patterns.
This toy is also waterproof, so you can enjoy it in the bath or the shower.'
Then you saw a video of a woman using it. The sounds were really loud and it sounded like it was being used for the first time. "How can she handle all that noise? It sounds like a jet taking off." You thought, watching the video.
Wanda's text jolted you back to reality. "Have you picked the items yet? I'm waiting," she inquired, her impatience coming through.
"Yeah, I already put them in the cart. I'm about to buy them."
"Okay, thank you! Good night!" she messaged, her excitement palpable.
"Good night," you responded.
Exhaustion began to weigh on you, your eyelids growing heavier by the moment. You were utterly spent, and as you settled into the comfort of your bed, sleep swiftly claimed you.
The next day, you woke up early, your throat was dry, scratchy, and sore. Part of it was Bucky's fault, he fucked your throat too rough hitting the back of your throat.
He's a beast.
You then recalled, ‘you loved choking on my cock huh?’ As Bucky's dirty words rang in your ear. You had to admit, that was the best blow job you've ever given. You didn't know why, but something about the fact that he was using your mouth for his own pleasure excited you. You found yourself wanting to please him.
"Fuck." You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, the darkness soothing your sore eyes.
You walked into the kitchen to get some water, you took the bottle of water from the fridge and drank it. You wondered if Bucky stayed to keep an eye on you and Wanda since now both of you were considered as a threat.
You still haven't discussed about what happened with Bucky. What's the relationship now? Were you just fuck buddies? Was that one-time thing? Or does he want more? Your heart raced at the thought of having more with him, you've never been in a relationship before, but with him? That sounds amazing.
After finishing your water and tossing the empty bottle into the trash, you decided to pay a visit to Bucky's room. However, when you arrived, you found his bed empty. Disappointment washed over you, and you wondered if he had been called away on a mission.
As you exited Bucky's room, you bumped into Wanda. "Morning, babe," she greeted you cheerfully.
"Hey, Wanda. Have you seen Bucky?" you inquired.
"Yeah, he's in the gym," she replied with a knowing smile.
"Great, thanks," you said, feeling a renewed sense of hope. You exchanged a few quick words with Wanda before she set off for the market to gather supplies for the day's meals, and you headed off to find Bucky. Wanda wished you luck before parting ways.
You went to the gym to see Bucky. When you reached there, the gym was empty, there was no one there.
“Bucky?” you called.
"Yeah?" His response came as he walked out, wearing only a towel. Despite the serious conversation on your mind, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the way his abs looked after the shower, water still dripping down his torso. "What's up? You good?" Bucky asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay.” You said, clearing your throat in an attempt to regain your composure. "Just wanted to talk."
"About?"
"Us," you said, meeting his eyes. "About what happened last night." He had an unreadable expression, the look on his face didn't make it seem like he was happy about this conversation.
Bucky let out a sigh, his face expressing a clear desire to avoid the topic. "Y/N, can we not? I'm not in the mood." He began putting on his clothes, his movements brisk and uneasy. He clearly uncomfortable with the conversation at hand.
But you couldn't let it go. The events of the previous night hung between you, an unspoken question begging for an answer. "No, Bucky, we can't just ignore it. I know things have been weird between us," you began, "What does it mean for us? I mean, is it going to happen again?"
He ran a hand through his damp hair, his jaw clenched. "Y/N, stop." He warned, his tone growing stern for you to drop the conversation.
You sighed, looking at him with sad eyes. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep pushing me away?" You asked, your voice determined, refusing to let the matter rest.
"I don't want to talk about this." he hissed, his patience fraying as he continued to dress, his movements becoming more agitated. "I have important stuff to do right now, so no."
"I want to know why the fuck you're acting this way!" you snapped, getting frustrated with his behavior. "Stop being a dick and just tell me. Are we going to do this again or what? What does this mean for us, huh? Is it a one-time thing or something more?” you demanded, raising your voice.
"God damnit Y/N! Just fucking stop! What's wrong with you?!" He yelled, his frustration boiling over. "Just fucking leave.”
Your heart sank, but you refused to back down. "No, not until you explain what our relationship is now," you insisted, your voice steady, though your hands trembled with the intensity of your emotions.
His glare could have frozen hell over, his eyes radiating cold anger, "We are not in a relationship. We have nothing. Do you understand? Nothing." he stated bluntly, his gaze piercing through you as he threw his duffle bag to the floor in a fit of frustration, its contents spilling out.
The look in his eyes...there was no emotion there. Just the cold stare of someone who no longer cared, and it felt like a stab to the chest. "You want to talk? Fine. Let's fucking talk. We fucked, that's it. It was a fucking mistake.”
The impact of his words hit you like a bullet to the chest. You felt a lump form in your throat, choking back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "What…?" holding his glare as you tried to mask the hurt in your expression. This was worse than any outcomes you had ever imagined.
"A mistake, Y/N. I shouldn't have done that. It was a bad idea. It happened because I was stressed and needed to release some steam." His voice growing colder, "it was the only thing that got my mind off of everything.”
The finality of his words sinking in. “It was a fucking mistake. You happened to be there and I happened to be horny. We fucked. End of the story. Nothing else. Now fucking leave."
You had expected this to be just a one-time thing, and you thought you could handle that. But what he said was far worse, leaving you feeling utterly devastated, the weight of his rejection crushing you.
"I just happened to be there for you to fuck? To release your steam? You think of me that way?" You asked him.
He remained silent, refusing to look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. Why were you still standing here, allowing him to strip away your dignity? Yet, a part of you desperately clung to the hope for an answer.
Every word carved a deeper wound into your heart, yet you pressed on. "No, I need an answer," you insisted, your voice growing more desperate. "Was it just sex?”
He met your question with a nonchalant shrug, his indifference cutting deeper than any rejection. "That's all it was. Yes."
"So, it meant nothing, I'm just another girl you fucked?" you asked, the pain in your voice evident as you tried to make sense of his words.
He continued to re-packing his bags, "What more do you want me to say, Y/N?" he retorted, his anger rising once again. "That I made a mistake? That I fucked up? That I regret it? There, happy? Or do you want to hear me tell you that I used you?"
Your heart broke into a million pieces as the truth of his words struck you like a hammer to the chest. You had given your heart to him, only for him to break it. You couldn't speak, could barely breath.
"It meant nothing to me, Y/N," he continued, his voice filled with disgust. "It was a moment of weakness, and it should never have happened."
You wanted to scream, to lash out, to strike him, but instead, you stood there in silence, unable to move. Bucky's words were like daggers, piercing your heart, leaving a deep wound that would never heal. You felt numb, the pain and betrayal too much for your body and mind to handle. You knew that you would never be the same, that a part of you would always be broken.
"I thought we had a connection." You asked, your voice small, the tremor betraying your vulnerability.
His response, devoid of any sympathy or remorse, struck like a knife to your heart. "Well, you were fucking wrong. You're a fucking mistake, Y/N. You should have known better than to expect anything from me. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
The finality of his words was a slap to your face, the sting of his rejection leaving a deep, jagged scar across your heart. You would never forget his words, or the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with hatred and disdain.
You couldn't comprehend why he was acting like this. Was this the real him? He was cold, emotionless, completely different from the person you thought you knew in the gym, making you question whether the person who had shared that passionate moment with you was real.
You should've known better. You shouldn’t listen to Wanda on the first place, her suggestion was ridiculous and it led to this mess. Your heart was broken, the pain was unbearable. You were alone.
You had no one.
But the rawness of the rejection stung. It was time to leave, to salvage what remained of your wounded pride and self-respect.
"Fuck you, Barnes.”
"You already did, sweetheart.” You saw a slight smirk, “Unless you want more, I can give you that. You have a body to die for.”
Fed up with his disrespectful attitude, you turned to leave, your hand gripping the doorknob. However, something compelled you to turn back and confront him. As you faced him again, you noticed his gaze lingering on you, catching a flicker of something in his eyes, perhaps regret? But then, his expression hardened once more returned to its cold, distant state.
Summoning your strength, you said, "You really know how to hurt people, Barnes."
Bucky's response was laced with bitterness and self-awareness, acknowledging the pain he had caused, "I know, I'm a master of it." He said without looking at you with expression that you couldn't quite read, as if he wanted to say something more. Yet, he remained silent.
The room grew quiet, a heavy silence settling between the two of you, neither one willing to speak first. After what felt like an eternity, you averted your gaze, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, and whispered your farewell. "Goodbye, Barnes." With that, you turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind you, the sound echoing the finality of the moment.
As you left the gym, your steps heavy and your heart heavier, the weight of the emotional wounds settled in. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you made your way back to your room. There, behind a locked door, you allowed your emotions to spill out. You collapsed onto the bed, your sobs echoing in the room. You didn't know how long you cried, but it was enough time for your head to hurt. You wiped your tears, feeling the exhaustion set in.
Bucky was mean, he was really mean. You thought he had changed but apparently not. Not anyone was capable of changing. As you cried, you made a silent promise to yourself: you wouldn't let him hurt you again.
E/N : I apologize for leaving you hanging with another cliffhanger, but I didn't want to make Part 2 too lengthy and risk boring you. I acknowledge it might not be as good as Part 1, and for that, I apologize. Rest assured, I'll make it worth the wait in Part 3 (I promise)! On a positive note, who's excited for the groveling trope? I certainly am! Get ready for some intense moments! intense moments ahead!
All the sub-plot with Wanda will start to make sense in Part 3 as it intertwines, and you can expect some moments of jealousy and possessiveness from Bucky as well.
Don't forget to show your support by leaving likes and comments; I'd love to hear your thoughts! 😊📚
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