#and I checked off *get a job* and *leave the state I was living in* and *start driving*

[spade-club]

Reminding myself that I did all of my goals I had for this year. Even if some of them turned out to be mistakes, I've come a long way in the past half a year especially, and even if I am currently struggling with the weight of it all right now, these achievements are nothing to ignore or take value away from.

[moondirti]

featuring: ghoap x nanny! f!reader. parenthood. adoption processes. fluff. slice of life. reader is given an age range

hear me out: simon and johnny transferring to reserve duty – i.e., serving the military on a part-time basis rather than being on active call – once they make the decision to become dads. it comes after a long period of deliberation (and healing on simon's part), but after they're absolutely sure that they want to start this next phase of life together, they call price to get it sorted.

who is thrilled for them, naturally, but warns that they still have a specialised commitment to the task force. if he needs them, then they best make sure they're there. the world isn't a better place yet, and no one can do what the pair does.

fine by them.

so it begins. instead of the complex and ethical choices that come with surrogacy, they opt for adoption and work with an attorney to facilitate the logistics. months of searching come up with a young mother, whose unwanted pregnancy has interfered with her life thus far, and is unwilling to make the further sacrifice that comes with keeping the baby. they must be more understanding, or otherwise less overbearing, than the other candidates – because two months later, they're in a hospital waiting room, anxiously lingering to meet the new addition to their family.

isla riley-mactavish. named after the river where johnny realised he'd be much happier with his lieutenant by his side.

the first few months are bliss. exhausting bliss, but a type of contentment that neither man has known since they first confessed to one another. isla's fussy through nights but they take turns settling her down, and if they have military duties to attend to then it's usually never at the same time. she's spoiled rotten – not just by them, but by the captain and gaz as well, who visit more often than not with bags full of toys they have nowhere to put. a little princess in the eyes of everyone who knows her.

by month five, she's teething and can hold her head up unsupported. simon reads somewhere that it's one of the most pivotal points in her development.

of course the call has to come then.

in the middle of the night, no less, and loud enough to wake her up from her crib. johnny scrambles to calm the bairn down as simon answers, price's grave voice crackling in from the other end. expected to be a long haul. a month at least. state security's at serious risk here, simon. i wouldn't ask you to come out otherwise.

and they made a promise. no matter how much it aches them to leave their darling girl behind.

rdv on base in a week.

he knows that one week is a matter of grace. he can feel the captain itching to hatch the operation as soon as possible, but has staved off to give the boys time to order their affairs. that doesn't mean simon's happy with the timeline, though. seven days is not nearly enough to find a sitter they can trust, especially given their own hindrances.

regardless, they send a job posting for a live-in, 24/7 nanny to close friends – no way in hell are they advertising it to the open internet – and hours later, johnny's sister lets them know of a girl who substitutes at the same primary school she works at. a real darling, apparently. honest 'n' stowed oot of energy, th' weans love her, and she haes experience with bairns too!

promising, but word of mouth isn't enough. they get a name and ask laswell to run a thorough background check. to their relief, it comes out squeaky clean. no arrests, no dui's, no shady travel history. modest socials with only a handful of followers. it's in line with what they know so far, solid enough to encourage them to reach out. so they do: just a brief email, asking what time and place would be best for a face-to-face interview.

they bring isla with them to the agreed meeting spot. a cozy cafe nestled in one of the safest parts of town. it's an early saturday morning and they're scheduled to leave in three days. so far, they've put all their eggs in this basket. johnny has to hold onto simon's hand when he notices the nerves dancing behind his partners usually void eyes. but if he were being honest with himself, he's just as scared.

they notice you as soon as they walk in.

sitting at a table for four, mug of coffee steaming as you bend over a well-loved book. despite your preoccupation, you're observant – they inch in your periphery and your head snaps up, a brilliant smile parting your lips as you spring up onto your feet. simon tallies a point on the ledger in his head. good. alert is good.

as is true for them, it's abundantly clear that you're who they're supposed to meet. johnny can't imagine anyone but a children's educator dressing like that: a gingham babydoll dress over a pair of blue tights, which carries over to the bow in your hair and is juxtaposed by the white oxford lace-ups on your feet. he startles when you extend your hand to shake his and he finds a painted fruit on each of your short nails. positively adorable. and so unlike anything they know.

simon shuffles next to him. isla reaches out from her bugaboo stroller, the colours having caught her eye.

"well hello there! aren't you just the cutest angel i've ever seen? do you like my dress?"

that's another point for immediately engaging with the object of your soon-to-be care. simon watches as you pull out a rattle from your purse, handing it over to the cooing baby. warmth blossoms in his chest, and his apprehension fizzles out in the heat. they hadn't told you they'd be bringing isla – opting to catch you off guard and seeing how you'd deal – so he assumes you carry the toy around for emergency purposes, like anyone else of their ilk would carry a gun.

something about that quirk just screams safe.

"it is a nice dress." johnny pursues, voice smooth in that way it gets when he's flirting but doesn't want it made clear. it took weeks for ghost to attune himself to it – he always just thought the scot spoke like that – but now that he's able to hear it for what it is, he shoots him a cautionary look. not so much mad as he is cautious. wouldn't want to scare her off.

"oh! thank you very much. it's my grandmother's design." you straighten up once isla gains a proper grip on the rattle, patting the skirt like you're basking in the praise. "shall we sit? i assume you have a lot to discuss, and i promise you'll want to try the maple scones they make here."

"please. after you." simon nods.

an hour later, you're giggling into your palm as johnny deviates into a story of the time they took isla to the hospital because they didn't know the soft spot on her head could pulse. simon is quiet in contrast, though not displeased. rather, he's focused on keeping the tally of all the green flags you've exhibited thus far. he doesn't mind that the conversation hasn't followed a typical interview format. in fact, people are more likely to show their true nature when in relaxed settings such as this, which is perhaps why johnny hasn't stuck to the script of questions they'd prepared beforehand. the man is better at social manoeuvring than simon is, anyway. he trusts him to direct this where it needs to go.

"it can be freaky! especially if you've never been around a child that young. i had a similar reaction the first time i babysat my neighbour's infant at sixteen. did you know that they can break out like teenagers? i noticed the poor thing's skin erupt in acne at just a month old and called his parent's crying." you wheeze, wiping the tears along your lashline.

"have ye worked wi' many bairns?"

"oh, yeah. it's been my primary source of income since secondary, all the way through uni. i just finished a master's degree in early childhood education, actually! and i wrote a list of referrals you can call if you need to double check on any of that." you rummage through your purse and pull out an apple-shaped sticky note. "do you mind if i ask what you do? people don't usually look for a full-time nanny unless they're really busy. not that i'm judging! i would ne–"

"military." simon interrupts, ensuring his tone is gentle enough to reassure.

"that makes sense! i mean, for an indefinite amount of time, the pay you're offering is more than perfect. above industry standard, really." you pause, brows furrowing like you're doubting whether you should have said that. "ah– whatever. anyway. isla is wonderful, just the sweetest. and the provided accommodation is an added plus. if you guys have no other qualms, then i'd love to accept the position."

"does i' bother you that there are cameras on the property? porch, kitchen, and living room. jus' for security's sake." simon tests, though he knows he doesn't need to, for extra measure. to someone with bad intentions, CCTV is a massive dealbreaker.

you don't hesitate before answering. "makes total sense! you guys are well within your right to check in at any time."

and they don't have to consult each other to know. johnny is practically buzzing in his seat, muscles flexed with enthusiasm as his gaze flits all over you. lingering on your chest in particular, before he looks over to simon and smiles in an offensively handsome way. simon can't help but smile back, crinkling his eyes more than necessary so the both of you can tell what's going on behind his mask.

it feels a little too good to be true, hopeful in a way that sets off the alarm bells in his head. he's stable enough to recognise that it isn't your fault, though. stable enough not to pin his distrust on you. this is likely the best shot they've got at ensuring their daughter's safety while they're away, and it's come in the form of a vivid, bright little blessing.

(with great tits.)

he'd be a fool to sabotage it.

johnny beats him to the cause. "ye'r hired."

[ next ]

[kissme-suguru]

Baby Daddy! Toji Headcannons

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖Toji Fushiguro x Fem! Reader

Warnings: SFW & NSFW, MDNI, slight smut, strangers to lovers, non curse au, modern au, fluff, Toji is still broke (lil struggle dates), unprotected sex, slight baby trapping, pregnancy, body appreciation, lactation kink, reader is Megumi's mom

A/N: First piece to introduce my blog!! Honestly this was lowkey inspired by Baby By Me by 50 Cent cause tiktok keeps it in my head with the edits. Let's pretend Toji is a present father...

BD!Toji who you bumped into outside a convivence store late one night while he was on the phone with Shiu, seconds away from cursing you out but couldn't help and notice how pretty you were.

BD!Toji who tries to act nonchalant and hide his smirk when you give him your number after talking for a bit.

BD!Toji who texts you a few days later inviting you to his small apartment for your first date and orders pizza. He feels his feelings start to grow when you show no judgement of non-luxurious lifestyle.

BD!Toji who still tries to impress you with little things despite not having stacks of cash to spoil you with. Whenever he did have extra spending cash he would get you something nice to remind you he cares, brushing off your concerns about the price. "Don't worry about it, doll. You like it right? Then that's all that matters."

BD!Toji who practically lives at your apartment since he's there all the time, keeping clothes, shoes and other essentials he was too lazy to go back to his place and get.

BD!Toji who's so charismatic he manages to hit raw on the first time you have sex, claiming you inside and out as the his name rolls off your tongue while he fucks you from behind.

BD!Toji who isn't used to commitment but only fucks you. He had grown so used to the feeling of you wrapped around him and he sure as hell wasn't planning on letting you go. The two of you ending up moving in together after you questioned what you were. "You're mine. Simple as that, doll."

BD!Toji who can't help but smirk slightly when you announce your pregnancy in a panicked state, finding your nervous emotions about his reaction endearing. His arms wrap around your small frame and pull you into his chest to show you how he felt without saying much. "Calm that pretty head of yours, babe. Don't wanna work up our baby."

BD!Toji who becomes even more protective over you in your vulnerable state. He makes you walk in front of him in public, an arms length away at all times. And if you thought he was possessive before it's more now that you're carrying his son.

BD!Toji who gets in the habit of calling you mama.

BD!Toji who takes pride in seeing your body change and grow as you get further into your pregnancy. The sight of your full breasts never failing to draw his attention, often coming up behind you to just squeeze your plump tits through your shirt. When you finally manage to give into his begging he wastes no time attaching his lips to your swollen nipples and tasting the sweet essence coming from your breasts, watching you try to keep your composure. "You like that, mama? I feel you grinding against my thigh like a needy little thing."

BD!Toji who starts taking any job he can get in order to provide for his soon to be family, making sure you two have all the necessary things for the arrival of your son.

BD!Toji who doesn't really know how to help you during the birth but tries his best to make you feel comfortable and give you encouraging praises. Once the soft cries of Megumi echo through the room all the nerves leave his body and he can't take his eyes off him, noticing how much he takes after him already.

BD!Toji who's enjoys watching you preform your motherly duties no matter how small. Looking at you nurturing and loving his son was enough to make his tough shell crack every time.

BD!Toji who you wouldn't expect to go all out when it came to being a dad but did. He would carry Megumi in his strong arms often and always checking on him.

BD!Toji who has to fight off the ladies whenever he's out alone with Megumi. Of course he was a natural flirt but never letting women get ahead of themselves telling them immediately that he has you.

BD!Toji who after dealing with him for a couple years and seeing you care for his son saves up enough money to buy you a nice ring to propose with, wanting you to be his officially for life.

BD!Toji who hates to admit it but he loves being a dad. He takes pride in his son and enjoys watching him grow, raising him better than how he was. Megumi having his father's attitude and smart whit as a child which manages to get him in tiny (jokey) arguments with his dad. that you can't help but laugh at.

"Watch your mouth, brat before I punt you across the room."

"Oh yeah? Try it old man, see if you can even lift your leg up with your stiff joints."

[moonstruckme]

I’d love to see you write James and reader who’ve suffered the ‘never the right time’ trope, and finally, it’s the right time. It’s like so soft and just a moment of peace, like ‘finally, finally, it’s our time’. I have literally no ideas further than that, but I know you’d kill this Mae <3

hope you’re having a lovely day!

Thanks for requesting my love! Also, is that a new theme I see?? It's giving me renaissance vibes, like the clouds are going to part and there'll be an oracle and it'll be you ! I'm so here for it

cw: alcohol

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

Sirius and Remus keep fighting over who gets to play the music. Sirius more pointedly, tracking Remus down every time he has to change the record, whereas Remus just sneaks over while his boyfriend is occupied to switch it out again. Now Fleetwood Mac’s come on, and James can only assume Lily has finally stationed herself by the record player. 

A knock sounds at the door. Someone must have ordered pizza, he thinks. Anyone who goes to these things knows that Sirius always leaves the door unlocked. Being the closest to the door, James answers it. 

He thinks he stops breathing when he finds you on the other side, clutching a dissolving paper bag in both hands and nearly wet through. 

“Oh.” You look as surprised to see James as he is to see you. Which doesn’t seem strictly fair, because the last time he checked, he spends practically all of his time here and you live far away. Have since you took that cushy job right after school ended. “Hi, James.” 

“Hi.” His voice is mystified, tinged with the joy of the smile he can’t repress. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?” 

“Remus invited me.” 

James stares at you. You look somehow exactly the same and yet impossibly more beautiful than he remembers. It’s odd seeing you out of your old school uniform, in a very adult-like coat that comes down to your knees and ties primly at the waist. Your hair is slicked straight by the rain, stuck in damp tendrils to your shoulders, and he swears your face has changed, too, a droplet of rainwater curving over a cheekbone he doesn’t remember being as visible when you were younger. 

“Um, can I come in?” 

“Yes! Yeah.” He steps out of the doorway, and your shoes squelch slightly as you wipe them off on the rug inside the door. James looks around as if for help. He thinks he spots Remus’ head poking out of the kitchen, but then it disappears. “Here, let me take your coat.” 

“Thanks.” You undo the tie for yourself, letting James pull it off your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” 

“You too.” He’s beaming; he can’t stop. “God, I just can’t believe you’re here. Are you in town for a visit?” 

“No, I—” You pause to give him a bemused sort of smile. “Did Remus not tell you? I moved back.” 

James feels like his chest has been hollowed out. Like someone’s taken out his heart and put the sun back in its place. 

“Really?” It comes out more breath than word. He fumbles for his voice back. “You’re back for good?” You nod, biting down on a smile. “When did you get here?” 

“A couple weeks ago,” you say, looking down to step out of your shoes. 

“What?” James’ tone is doing nothing to disguise his astonishment. He’s in no state to try and conceal it. “And we’re not hearing from you until now? You’ve only spoken to Remus?” His hurt goes unvoiced: Why didn’t you come find me?

You look sheepish. “I just ran into him at the store yesterday.” 

“Why didn’t you call?” 

“I didn’t want to assume…” 

You look like you’re trying to shrink away, but James gives chase, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. The cold of your clothes and hair sinks into him, and you both shiver. He only holds you tighter for it, scrubbing a hand up and down your shoulder blade. 

“You should have called,” he says next to your ear. “You know we’ll always want you here, love. We’ve missed you.” I’ve missed you. 

“I missed you guys, too,” you reply, squeezing him back. The paper bag you’re holding digs into his spine. 

James gives himself a couple more seconds before he releases you, taking the bag and unearthing a bottle of wine. 

“Nice of you,” he acknowledges. “Sirius will appreciate it, he loves reds. We should get you warmed up, yeah? Do you want some of this, or I could make you a hot buttered rum?”

You look like you could melt in relief. “A hot drink sounds amazing.” 

“Great.” He grins at you, knowing you have to go but unwilling to let you. If you leave his sight now you might very well disappear for another several years. After a second, his better sense wins and he juts a chin towards the stairs. “Go find something to wear. It’s the last door on the left, and the closet across from the bed should have things that’ll fit you.” 

James sees your protests in your face before they start spewing from your mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t—” 

“If you go into the kitchen all dripping wet, Remus will only bring you up there himself. Save yourself the time, love. He’d want you to help yourself, trust me.” 

You chew your lip, hesitant, but then another shiver takes you, and James gives you a good-natured shove towards the stairs. 

“Alright,” you capitulate, going. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.” 

“No hurry,” he calls up after you. Then high-tails it for the kitchen. 

“I cannot believe you’ve set me up for ambush like this,” he says as the door swings open for him. His two closest friends look up with expressions of equal guilelessness, though Sirius is putting on far more a show of surprise than his boyfriend. 

“I had no idea!” He insists while James stalks to the cabinet, helping himself to a mug and the supplies to make your drink. “Moony kept it from me, you know I’d have told you if I knew.” 

James glances up at him, then shakes his head, reaching over to flick the kettle on. “No, I don’t believe it. You’ve both been colluding against me.” 

“It’s only against you if it’s not good for you,” says Remus. “And I don’t see how y/n being here is all that bad for you.”  

“Yeah, I’d have thought you’d be fairly chuffed about it,” Sirius agrees, forgoing the innocent act as smirk curves his lips. 

“I am.” James blows out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her. I didn’t even know she’d moved back.” 

Remus shrugs, cracking open the oven to check on something inside. “Well, I think she might have been afraid to seek you out.” 

“Why would she be?” 

Amber eyes meet James’ with disbelief written all over them. “You know why,” he says softly. 

The kettle finishes boiling, and James turns to pour it over the contents of your mug. “Well, I directed her to Sirius’ closet as retribution.” 

He hears a gasp behind him. “You prick—”

The door to the kitchen swishes open, and you breeze in wearing one of Sirius’ hoodies. 

“Sirius!” 

“Hi!” He’s all smiles as he folds you into a hug, glaring sharply at James over your shoulder. “Fuck, haven’t you become stunning? It’s been awhile, gorgeous.” 

“It has,” you agree, looking slightly flustered by Sirius’ complimenting. Which, James notes, is an improvement over your school days; you were never able to weather it then. “It’s so good to see you.” 

You go to Remus next, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders fondly. “Glad you could come,” he says. 

“Thanks for having me.” Your eyes move between the three of them, seeming to note their placement throughout the kitchen. “Sorry, were you all busy talking about something?” 

“Actually,” Sirius says, “Remus and I were just canoodling when James interrupted, quite rudely I think. If you’re going to join the party, please take him with you.” 

“Alright.” James takes your drink and grabs a cider for himself, nudging you towards the door. “No need to be a dick, just come find us later.” 

Sirius winks at you both as James ushers you out, Remus sending him a long-suffering look from by the oven. 

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” you laugh, finding a space on the couch for you both. 

“Yeah,” James sets your drink down in front of you, “I doubt those two ever will.” 

“Thanks. Ooh, this is nice.” You take the clear mug between your hands, lifting it up to admire the liquid inside. “When did Remus get so posh?” 

“Well, Sirius lives here now.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, surprise and maybe a little of something else. “Wow, that’s so lovely for them. Then, is this Sirius’ sweatshirt I’m wearing?” 

James chuckles. “You could tell, huh?” 

“None of those looked like Remus’ clothes. Are we punishing him for something?” 

He raises his own drink to his lips, hiding his smile. They’ve always come especially easily around you. “Perhaps.” 

You hum, take a sip from your mug, and hum again. “Shit, this is really good. Thank you.” 

The praise settles comfortably in James’ stomach, as warm and mind-fuzzing as if he’s had a gulp of your drink himself. “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

This time, he notices your eyes flicker away from his at the endearment. “So,” you say conversationally, “how’s Lily?” 

Ouch. James glances behind you to where Lily has pulled a chair over near the record player. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine that’s only a couple of shades darker than her hair, smiling at something Pandora’s saying. 

“She’s good,” he says. Then, somewhat abruptly, “We’re not together anymore.” 

Your eyes flit to his, something almost like guilt twinging across your features. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say. The caring in your face is nearly too much; James wants to take it between his hands and kiss it all over. “Are you okay?” 

He gives you a smile. “Yeah,” he says sincerely. Perhaps with too much feeling, because your eyebrows bunch slightly. “It happened a long time ago. Not long after you left, actually.” 

“Oh.” You nod, and James finds himself watching you more carefully than he normally might. He waits for the sense of bliss he’s feeling to find its way into your expression, but you still appear hesitant. “Can I ask if something happened? You just, you were together for so long…”

It’s true. Most people they knew, even Remus and Sirius, thought Lily and James would be married someday. In the end, it just seemed that they’d been together for so long that their relationship had become a routine instead of a choice. They were cohabitors more than partners, and when they were doing everything they could to spend time away from their shared home, Lily had been the only one brave enough to call them both out on it. 

“We just wanted different things,” James says. Namely, Lily wanted Mary and James wanted you. Had for too many years. 

You make a soft sound. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, come on—you’ve had my update, let’s have yours. How did you like your job?” 

You pair your shrug with a small smile. “Not very well, honestly. I don’t think I really fit there.” James tsks sorrily, and you shrug again. “It’s just as well. I missed you all too much. I wanted to give it a try there and I did, but I’m glad to be back.” 

“Ah, well,” James says. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

It’s a terrible joke, but you laugh, the sound like water trickling over stone. He feels the smile spread on his face. 

“I really have missed you,” he says, earnestness aching in the back of his throat. 

A similar sentiment reflects back at him in your eyes. “Same here.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m glad I am, too.” 

“Would you want to get coffee tomorrow?” With anyone else the invitation would seem abrupt, but your smile looks something like relief. You’ve both been waiting for this for too long. 

“That sounds nice,” you say. 

“Great.” James can hear the love in his own voice. It’s probably written all over his face, too. Just as well. “There’s a new cafe by my place that has really good almond croissants, would you want to meet there?” 

You nod, not trying to downplay your happiness. His heart swells to see it. “I love almond croissants,” you say. 

James remembers. It’s one of the things he’s glad to know about you. There was a small, censured part of him that took satisfaction in knowing those things even when he was with Lily. It’s not something he’s ever been proud of, but a spark of that satisfaction comes back now. 

“Perfect,” he replies. Behind you, Remus is letting Sirius pull him out of the kitchen. Remus folds himself into an unoccupied chair, where Sirius happily sprawls across his lap. They’re both pretending not to be watching you. “How’s one?” 

“Not soon enough,” you say without hesitation. You take another sip of your drink, miming unconcern, but your eyes are playful. “Ten?” 

James feels like his face could split in half. “Ten it is.” 

[muchosbesitos]

stalker/yandere!Miguel x civilian!reader (female)

like this miguel still have his spider man power , and hq but… has an interest in reader who’s is a reporter in NYC. Reader is (I feel like ) a kind sweet person who take care of others. As well as her boyfriend 🤭(that Miguel Is going to kill 😭🤭) but before miguel do SUCH thing. Her boyfriend has problems with going to work late at night (at least saying it was work 🙄) and coming home drunk after night, after night and night, sometimes reader see him with lipstick stains in his pants or smells like perfume , which reader just say ‘it ok there a lot of women who’s work with him’…. which get reader sad and Miguel pissed through seeing all of this through a window.and some day reader get bored and want to her boyfriend to touch her … and you know get little touchy together. But her boyfriend says work is important.and always leave her alone feeling miserable about it. So like it the night where Miguel come late to do his daily visits to stalk-I mean check up on reader. And this night Miguel hear different things and a different in voice of reader. The window was open a Little bit, but to be able to hear sound. And the curtain was open. And the when Miguel saw reader masturbate with a dildo,bouncing on it,while wearing a long t shirt. and that get Miguel hard and some of reader moan was being heard…it was music to his ears ( in fact reader voice was always music to Miguel hear 🤭. ) but reader was moaning her boyfriend name… which pissed Miguel off, it should have been him instead of that cheating shit…but that wasn’t going to take the fun to see reader masturbate . (Miguel pov I feel like 🤭🤭) it going it be me that she screams at. And so after that night of seeing reader masturbate he couldn’t get himself to see reader when ever she come to him to ask questions (reader is doing her report job to Miguel who’s is spider man) which Miguel would just pat her head or signal that he is going to leave or just leave, or just flirt with reader when he has a couple of minutes left before going off.

Omg I can’t wait to see what you can do DAYA! I am COMPLETELY Grateful for whatever you make and how long you make it! bye I hope you have a great day!

should’ve been me

pairing: yandere (?) miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: cheating (not from reader or miguel), masturbation, use of toy, reader gets called a slut, stalking-ish, doggy, unprotected p in v, riding

a/n: i hope i did your request justice 😵‍💫

word count: 4k

Loud gravel clashing against one another, car alarms blaring as debris fell onto them, and high pitched screams broke you out of your thoughts while you were editing one of the latest pictures for the newspaper. While most people made a beeline to get out of danger, you ran straight through it with a camera in your hand. You angled the camera up, trying your best to frame the picture of the vulture-like man crawling up a building. You'd managed to capture a few good photos before you were suddenly taken off your feet into the air.

While you did live in a futuristic world, the need for a reliable news source didn't waver which is where you came in. You worked for the a newspaper that emphasized mostly on providing a non-biased source, given that the company wasn't relying on any government or outside funds to keep going. While your boss wasn't exactly too pleasant to be around, he gave you the opportunity to work the hours you wanted and gave you a decent pay. You worked as a photographer and a reporter, focusing mostly on the topics that would fill you up with a sense of adventure.

That sense of adventure now had you hanging on the side of the Empire State building as Vulture held you for hostage reasons. "Will the spider come out to play?!" His voice boomed, fear igniting in you as he dangled you closer and closer to the edge. A crowd had gathered underneath, their cellphones in the air as they waited for how the events would unfold. You silently begged that Spider-Man would show up soon, seeing him as a hero as opposed to most newspapers in the city who painted him as an anti-hero.

The vulture lunged forward from a kick that Spider-Man delivered from behind, a sadistic grin on his face as he dropped you. The camera hanging from your hands slipped out, landing on the ground as the pieces scattered. You were expecting your life to flash through your eyes, but all you felt was a sense of panic at wanting to stay alive. A loud scream ripped out from your chest as you started to continued to fall, bracing yourself for the impact.

A few feet away from the ground, you found yourself dangling as a spider web wrapped around your waist. Spider-Man swung towards you, your back plush against his chest as he lowered you down on the floor. You felt the adrenaline pumping through your body as you watched Spider-Man swing back up to the building, clawing his way through the Vulture's suit. Once the shakiness in your hands had dissipated, you brought up the spare camera up once more and began taking pictures of the events unfolding.

Once the fight ended with Vulture getting captured, you walked back to the office. you were practically in a frenzy state, your mind overrunning with different headlines and different ways to format the paper as ideas rushed through your head. You were so distracted in how you were going to formulate this edition that you didn't notice that you'd bumped into somebody. You muttered out an apology, stepping back to see who you'd just bumped into.

"Spider-Man, wow! I'm so sorry for bumping into you, I wanted to also thank you for saving my life back there. I didn't get the chance to with everything going on," you told him, speaking quickly out of excitement. "Don't worry about it, I understand. I actually had something to ask of you if you didn't mind," he told you, his imposing figure looming over you.

"What's up?" You inquired, looking up at the blue mask almost like you were trying to read his expression through it. "I want you to be my personal reporter of sorts, the other ones paint me like i'm evil or something. I'd give you a heads up before the fight got started," he responded, completely taking you for surprise. "Sure, I'd love to," you replied, his request being the easiest thing you could've said yes to.

You got back home from work to see a package awaiting for you on the front step. You looked down at the box, checking to see if it had your boyfriend's name on it but it was blank. You opened up the box to see a brand new camera inside along with a tripod, a note attached to the side. 'From your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man', his handwriting came out rushed but you appreciated the fact he took time out of his schedule to do this gesture for you.

Ever since then, Spider-Man made sure to inform you when a fight was going to occur beforehand to make sure you were first at the scene. This partnership between the two of you gave your newspaper surged the rise of revenue and in exchange, Spider-Man could patrol the cities without getting a hot dog thrown at him. He even gave you some exclusive interviews when he had the time, the sessions feeling more like you were talking to a friend than the hero of Nueva York.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna show up Spidey," you told him as he dropped into your balcony, a small smile on your face. "Wouldn't miss hanging out with my favorite reporter. Where's your little boyfriend?" He responded, leaning against the balcony a bit. "He's not that little, you're just a giant. But he texted and said he'd be working late today," your face dropped a little as you speak, having a suspicion in the back of your mind at your boyfriend's infidelity.

You remembered that Spider-Man was still there, waiting for you to start the interview with him and you quickly schooled your expression back to normal. "Sorry about that, come on in," you told him, opening up the porch door before stepping back inside your apartment. Spider-Man followed suit, shutting the door behind him before sitting down next to you on the couch.

You turned on your recorder, giving him a thumbs-up to Spider-Man just to give him the heads up that you'd started. "So this interview's kind of a twist, I didn't come up with the questions but the people of Nueva York did," you told him, waiting for a couple seconds before you started with the questions. "So they want to know if our hero is single?" You asked, watching as the eyes on his mask narrowed slightly. "They had the opportunity to ask anything and they ask that? But I am single, yes."

The questions continued until further in the night and you couldn't help but feel just a twinge of worry that your boyfriend wasn't home yet. Almost as if calling out to him, he showed up through the door with lipstick stains on his pants and evidently drunk. "Hey, you're home late. Was work okay?" You asked him, helping him onto the couch. "It was, sorry about the mess. Some girl fell over at work and her face conveniently landed by my crotch," he slurred his words as he spoke, his admission striking a feeling of disgust in you towards him.

You helped him get cleaned up and changed, leading the way for him to go lay down afterwards. As you lay down in your bed next to him, you can't help but think about just how plausible his story was. You found it a bit silly that you were even questioning it, knowing that he worked with a lot of women and it was quite likely. You even felt a sense of guilt for even thinking that, knowing how hard he worked to provide for the two of you. Eventually, you managed to fall asleep after tossing and turning in your bed uncomfortably.

The following day, you were off from work and you decided to try out a new lingerie set in order to initiate some kind of intimacy between the two of you. Your boyfriend didn't do as much as blink twice when he got through the door, taking off his coat as he hung it up on the wall hook. You didn't allow yourself to be deterred by his reaction, approaching him as you placed small kisses up his neck. "Baby, can we please have sex? Or if you're not up to that I can just give you a bj," you spoke up, his loud groan causing for you to step back.

"I just came back for a change of clothes, I have another shift at the office today," he told you, making a beeline for the bedroom to get changed. You followed suit, putting on a oversized Spider-Man shirt you bought a while ago. "You like that insect so much it's scary. Anyways, don't wait for me," he told you, leaning into press a small kiss on your forehead before he left. You curled up into a ball in your shared bed, holding his pillow close in an attempt to replace the absence of your boyfriend.

You got up a little while after, feeling an ache growing in between your legs. The dildo in the back of your closet had become your best friend throughout the course of this relationship, something you often had to resort to. You placed it on the ground, squirting some lube onto the toy before lowering yourself down to it. The sleepwear shirt that you had on bunched up around your thighs as you sunk onto the dildo. You started fantasizing about a scenario with your boyfriend, allowing yourself to paint him in a romantic light as you clenched around the toy.

Miguel had told himself that he was checking up on you solely because he was worried about you, even though it was something that he found himself doing more than he'd like to admit. He heard your moans through a crack in the window, his first reaction being to check if you were in pain. He looked through the window, seeing you bounce on the dildo as your fingers went under your shirt to play with your breasts. He felt his cock harden up with every moan that you released, the hitch in your breath as you bottomed out. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at seeing you wear the shirt, wishing that he would be the one to make you scream like that.

Miguel felt fury coercing through his veins as he listened to your sweet moans of your boyfriend’s name through the walls, the sound going straight to his cock. He felt that it should be him making you moan that way, knowing that your boyfriend was off having sex with some random woman instead of focusing his time on devoting you the way you deserved. He forced himself to leave that rooftop once you finished, struggling to maintain a calm demeanor as he roamed the streets of Nueva York. Police sirens blared throughout the city along with cries of help, but all he could think about is how you would feel underneath him.

Miguel was approaching the end of his patrol when he saw your boyfriend walking down the street, slightly swaying from side to side as he made his way to your apartment. He saw a hickey blooming on the side of his neck along with a couple lipstick stains on his shirt, practically seeing red as he dropped down in front of him. "Spiderrrr-Loserrr," the man slurred, pointing a finger at him. Miguel pushed the man into a dark alleyway, his body blocking any chance of him getting out.

"I want you to break up with her," Miguel spoke, the man's brows furrowing until he realized who he was referring to. "This is all about that stupid slut? You're doing me a favor by asking that," the man responded, going into a tangent about how you weren't good enough to be with him. Miguel felt himself growing even more furious as he heard him speak of you that way, knowing what a good person and how giving you were towards those around you.

Miguel grinded his teeth together under the mask, turning around as he tried to calm himself down before deciding to disregard it. He punched the man in the face, his fist knocking out a few teeth in the process. "End things and don't ever speak about her that way again," Miguel told him before leaving, the man sputtering out blood as he cursed Spider-Man and his existence. Regret washed over him for all the wrong reasons, concern mostly just the fact that you would be the one to deal with this when he got home.

"Oh my God! What happened to you?!" Your face morphed into one of complete shock as you looked at your boyfriend stepping in through the door, so focused on his face that you disregarded how disheveled he looked. "Your little hero happened to me," he grumbled, stumbling onto the sofa as he held his mouth in agony. "What? No. Spider-Man wouldn't do that," your response had come out more defensive than you would've liked at the moment and you saw your boyfriend's anger shift towards you.

"You're so naive, aren't you? Always thinking that people have the best intentions when they don't," he huffed out, giving you the feeling that he wasn't just talking about Spider-Man at the moment. "What do you mean?" You asked him, handing him a bag full of ice for the swelling in jaw. "You're so stupid it almost makes me want to break up with you," he grumbled, snatching the bag as he placed it up to his face. "It's because of that other woman, isn't it?"

You expected him to deny your accusation right away, bracing yourself for the impact that his words would leave, but you only received a bitter laugh in response. "See what I mean? Fucking stupid. There is no other woman because you are the other woman! You're only a distraction when my wife can't stop bitching around!" He told you, standing up as drool leaked down his chin. "You were supposed to be an easy play-thing for me to have but you're more complicated than her! I’m done with this shit," he grumbled, grabbing his coat jacket and leaving.

Miguel felt his heart drop as he listened to the conversation unfold, your sniffles melting through his exterior. He knew that he'd done you a favor by getting you out of that relationship, but that didn't mean that he still got some satisfaction from hearing your cries. He wanted to go in there and comfort you, to tell you that you deserved more than that scum but he was also aware of the fact that he shouldn't even be here right now. Despite the fact that everything in him told him to turn around and go hug you, he left and went back to HQ.

You'd never felt so alone before the week that followed your breakup, spending your days either at work or at home. While you mourned the loss of your relationship for a little bit, you'd cried so much throughout the entirety of your relationship at justifying his actions that it didn't hurt so much after a while. What did hurt you the most was that Spider-Man no longer tried to make stupid banter with you or even look you in the eye after he was done fighting. He'd simply pat you on the head to acknowledge you or give you a sideways glance, never speaking to you directly.

That night you decided that you were tired of Spider-Man ignoring you and you decided to do something stupid, willingly placing yourself in danger in order to get his attention. You put on the shortest skirt that you owned and a crop top before walking out the door, keeping a small can of bear mace in your bag just in case he didn't show up. Before you even got the chance to make it out your apartment building, a hand gripped around your arm.

You turned around with bear mace in hand, not expecting to find Spider-Man standing there so quickly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" His voice practically boomed throughout the empty street, his anger seeping through the mask. “This is the only way I could get you to even look me in the eye, Spidey," you responded, his grip on your arm loosening a bit. "I didn't mean to ignore you, but let's go inside. It's too dangerous for you to be out here."

You changed back into your pajamas once the two of you stepped into your apartment, coming back to see Spider-Man without his mask on. you instinctively covered your eyes, not wanting to break that boundary between the two of you but he pulled your hands away. You looked up, meeting his auburn eyes while he held you close to him. "I'm sorry for making you think that you had to put yourself in danger just to see me," he told you, holding your chin up as he met your gaze. "Why'd you avoid me then?"

The question hung in the air for a little bit and you could see that he was hesitant to answer, taking in the way that his eyebrows scrunched up. "I've been sort of looking out after you and I came over to find you when you were using the toy. I wanted that to be me so badly but you were calling out for your ex boyfriend," he responded, avoiding your gaze. You were the one holding up his chin this time, bringing your face closer to kiss him.

The way that you kissed him wasn't something out of romance book, it was something that you'd done out of need and neglect. A feeling of intimacy that you'd craved. Your hand was buried into his hair as your teeth and tongues clashed together and you took the opportunity to lead him into your couch. "I've missed you so bad Spidey, please. I need you," you told him, his mouth attaching itself to your neck as he sucked and kissed on the skin there. "Call me Miguel."

Miguel took your shirt off in one swift motion, his suit following soon after. He kissed your collarbone, leaving some marks in his wake as he made his way down your breasts. He sucked your nipple through your bra, his tongue swirling around it as the nub hardened up underneath. Your hand came down to his messy hair, tangling itself in it while he did quick work to remove your bra. "Don't know why you stayed with that bastard so long, he didn't treat you like you deserved," he spoke up, his voice coming out muffled from your breast in his mouth.

His hand came up to play with the other one, giving it the same attention as the other one. He swirled your nipple under his finger tips, tugging it gently before kissing his way down to your navel. "Auch pretty little panties and he didn't even look at them twice," Miguel took notice, sliding his finger underneath them before sliding them off. You looked down to see his cock was already hard, bracing yourself for having him in you. He was not only bigger than your toy, but also thicker.

He pushed his cock into you slowly from behind, your hands gripping onto the side of the couch while your wet cunt engulfed him. He pushed deeper when your walls stopped fluttering enough, your cunt stretched out beyond its limit as he slid in. "Look at that, your pussy was practically made for taking my cock," he mused, finally bottoming out as his heavy balls slapped against your ass. His hand came to your shoulder, gripping it as he retracted his cock before pushing it back in a swift motion.

Even though he was taking it slow, you felt the tip of his cock brush up against your cervix every time that he thrusted in. His hips snapped against your ass, starting to move inside you with much more ease. Your walls were still clenched around his cock like a vice, but it wasn't too difficult for him to slide in and out. "Tell me what you want me to do you," he spoke in between thrusts, his voice wavering a bit as he spoke. "Treat me like your slut, Miguel. Please, I just wanna be fucked like the slut I am."

Miguel's eyes darkened a bit once you finished talking, his hands now coming to each side of your hips as his thrusts got faster and more punishing. The grip he had on your hips was bruising, but he knew that a part of you would be happy to see these marks tomorrow. "Yeah? Pretty pussy's just been neglected for so long," he responded, watching as you nodded dumbly to his words. "Always taking care of everyone else but no one to take care of you."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt the sting of his hand on your ass, a loud moan escaping from your lips. "Just like that, Miguel!" You pleaded with him, his hand delivering another slap on your other cheek. Your nails were digging on to the couch as he continued to push inside of you, the sensation much better than what your stupid toy could provide. "Go on and ride me, sweet girl. Want to see you work for it."

His head leaned back on the couch as you got on top of him, watching you intently as you aligned the tip of his cock with your cunt. The two of you let out a collective gasp as you bottomed out, his cock nestled inside of you. Though you struggled a bit to move on his cock, you made the attempt to push yourself up before coming back down. His hands were on either side of your hips, giving you some assistance as you moved slowly.

Your mind was all fuzzy as his cock hit your g-spot in this position, the pleasure almost overriding the soreness in your thighs. "You need me to fuck you, princesa?" He asked you and you nodded, your hands resting on his shoulders as he started thrusting his cock into you. You couldn't help but pout at not being able to do the task correctly but he chuckled, kissing you to get rid of the expression on your face. "You did so well for me, don't worry. I understand it's a bit of an adjustment."

You couldn't help but laugh at the cocky bastard, the sound quickly turning into a moan as he pushed into you faster. "I'm not fucking you right if you're still making fun of me," he noted, his grip on your hips tightening. You brought your face down to his, chasing his lips as you kissed him. "Don't worry, I understand it's a bit of an adjustment," you responded, using his words against him. ahis hips snapped into yours, his thrusts deeper and much faster.

He brought his hand down your clit, rubbing the nub at the same rhythm that he was thrusting into you. Your back arched when he brought his face forward, taking your breasts into his mouth. You clenched around his cock tightly, your vision blurring at the ends as the euphoria inside of you built up. He'd successfully fried every thought in your mind, your only focus being on cumming around his cock. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you reached your peak, your release coating his cock providing him with extra lubrication while he sought out his own release.

His thrusts started to stutter a bit the more that he moved inside of you, feeling that he could come just from looking at you so blissed out. Miguel let out a loud grunt, coming inside of you as his cum painted your walls white. His thrusts came to a halt, your body simply just pressed against his as his cock softened up. You got off from him, watching as he made his way through your apartment like he owned the place. He came back with a rag in hand, cleaning up the cum leaking onto your thighs and the couch. "Thank you," you mumbled weakly, reaching over to get your panties from the floor. "Don't mention it, it's the least I could do," he replied, going to clean up the rag.

"Yeah, but I just never received that before so thank you," you told him, pushing the shirt over your head before fixing it. "Just because your boyfriend gave you the bare minimum doesn't mean I will. Get used to the little things," he told you, his arms wrapping around your torso as he pressed his lips against your forehead. “Should kill him for the way he treated you,” he murmured, a small chuckle erupting from your chest. “Nah, he’s not worth it. I have better ways you could be spending your time.”

[generalllimaginesss]

"I'm not letting you drive home in this condition” with Nico. I feel like he gives off protective energy. I’m imagining friends to lovers vibes. He falls first but they’re best friends. Maybe they met when he joined the Devils. Like randomly met somewhere and have been close ever since. And she has a really bad day at work. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And she’s crying driving home and drives to his instead because she doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe he makes dinner (idk if this man can cook tbh) and then she’s still upset but tries to leave so he can get on with his night and he insists she stay because he doesn’t want her driving upset. And that’s when she realizes she’s in love with him. Like she drove to his place unannounced because she knew he was the only one who could comfort her and the only one she wanted to go to.

I’ve realized that I’m a sucker for Nico. He gives off golden retriever vibes and I feel like he would be such a nice person to be friends with. I hope you like it!!

••

You didn’t realize when you picked up your friends shift, now making you a double, that you would make very little money and the tables that you served were horrible. Not to mention your anxiety was at an all time high while you were waiting on a letter to tell you if you were accepted into the graduate program to your dream school. When all of these emotions combine, it makes for a shitty day.

Twelve hours after you clocked in, you were only up $150 dollars and finally were able to leave, your last table staying almost an hour after closing. There was dried sauces all over your uniform, your hair was disgusting, and you just felt heavy. With your emotions clouding your judgement, all you wanted to do was go to sleep.

As you made your way to your car that was parked behind the restaurant you worked at, a couple of notifications from your email caught your eye. The emails came from the two schools that you were betting your future on…

You decided it could hold off, the tears burning the corner of your eyes took priority, and you didn’t know if you could handle what the emails revealed.

While running your hands through your tangled mess of hair, tears freely fell, the product of being completely exhausted. The one person that kept flashing in your mind, however, was Nico. The devils played Anaheim and you weren’t able to keep up with the score, so you wanted to congratulate him on the win.

As much as you hated your job, you always reminded yourself that it was temporary, and most of all that without it you wouldn’t have Nico. The one person in the world that felt as lonely as you at one point on a rainy afternoon 6 years ago.

When Nico had first gotten to New Jersey, he didn’t feel close to anybody. Sure, he was the first overall draft pick. Sure, people loved him. But at the end of the day he felt like he had nobody. He felt like he had to keep this persona of “Mr. Tough Guy” up to prove himself.

He found himself all alone in the restaurant you work at, managing to snag you as a server. He must’ve sat at your table for hours, always finding something else to talk about every time you checked on him. He stayed until you got off and proposed the idea of going out to grab a drink or two, to which you happily obliged, finally hopeful that you found a friend.

Where Nico felt lonely in hockey, you felt lonely in school. Making friends in college was hard, especially when you’re from out of state and aren’t in Greek Life or in any extracurriculars. Your roommate and you had hardly had 10 conversations in the first year you lived together, so your studies became your main priority.

When Nico and you realized that you had a lot more in common than you thought, the friendship just developed naturally. When you were off work you supported him at his games. When he had a day off he helped you make flash cards and study. And on the rare chance that you both had nothing to do, movie nights were your thing.

Six years later and he was your very best friend. You told him everything. Every detail of your life was known by Nico and vice versa. You weren’t dependent on Nico for emotional support, but he was sweet to have around.

Tonight, however, was going to be one of those nights where you just needed somebody. You just needed Nico.

The tears cleared your eyes long enough for you to send Nico a quick text letting him know that you were headed to his apartment. He immediately responded with a thumbs up.

While you were driving, just about every depressing Olivia Rodrigo and Gracie Abram song played, reminding you of your relationship that had ended almost a month ago. You felt bad because Nico already had to deal with the mess you were then, and here you are again. Driving to his apartment, an emotional wreck and tired of the world.

You parked beside his car and walked up the flight of stairs that led to his door. You barely were able to knock when he opened the door and saw the state you were in. He could tell that you had been crying, probably only stopping when you parked, and that you needed somebody.

“Come here,” he held his arms opened in the doorway, enveloping you in the coziest embrace, the smell of his body wash lingering from his shower. Since he towered over you, he gently held your head against his chest and rested his head on yours, placing light pecks to the crown of your head.

He held you like that until you pulled away and made your way completely into his apartment, him closing and locking the door behind you.

He watched quietly as you made yourself at home, taking your shoes off and untucking your shirt from your pants. He chuckled to himself when he saw that you were wearing completely mismatched socks. He loved the quirky things that you did.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to congratulate you on the win,” your voice was nasally since you had been crying so hard and your nose was stopped up.

Nico smiled sadly, not wanting to make you feel worse, but aware he should probably tell you the truth.

“We lost, actually. Five to one.”

You groaned, disappointed in yourself that you didn’t bother to look up the score to make sure they won.

“I’m sorry. I worked a double and wasn’t able to watch. I just assumed with Anaheim’s record that you all would win.”

“Yeah, well, it just didn’t end up in our favor. They played pretty physical. You should go back and watch it,” He winked at you, a smile stretching from one corner of his mouth.

“But anyways, what’s wrong? I know you didn’t come here to just congratulate me on ‘winning,” he looked you up and down, taking note of the exhaustion that spewed from you.

“It just wasn’t a good day. I didn’t make money and then on the way over here music that reminded me of-” You tried to finish, but Nico immediately cut you off, reminding you of a relatively new rule that he had made.

“We don’t speak his name,” his eyebrows raised, warning you to not finish your sentence.

You sighed, “Ok, well you know who I’m referring to.”

Nico walked to his sofa, plopping down and patting the spot beside him , offering it to you. You happily obliged, tucking one leg underneath you and the other tucked into your chest.

“They emailed me back…the schools,” you announced, to which Nico instantly perked up.

“And? Did you get in?” A part of him wanted to see you live your dream, but he knew that with you getting into your dream school would mean you would be leaving New Jersey. More specifically, leaving him. The thought of not having you only 15 minutes away made him want to punch a wall. He had let himself fall for you, knowing that while New Jersey was home for him, it was merely a checkpoint for you. It was one step closer to you taking off in life.

“I didn’t look. I’m scared to,” You admitted, pulling out your phone and handing it to him.

“Please read it for me.”

He clicked on the email, his expression hard to read.

He didn’t want to read the news to you. He didn’t want to be the one that told you that you had been waitlisted by the two schools you were betting on, but he knew it was better for him to read it to you than you read it alone.

When you figured he had ample time to read both emails and he wasn’t telling you anything, a pit in your stomach began to take place. Tears quickly puddled, spilling over your bottom eyelid as if they were a never ending fountain.

“I didn’t get in, did I?” Your voice broke, in return breaking a little piece of Nico.

“Waitlisted by both, but that’s not a no,” He tried to make you feel better, but when your body started shaking and the tears turned into sobs, he knew you needed to be held. He obliged, wrapping his arm around your side, pulling you closer to him and rubbing your side soothingly.

You instinctively laid your head on his side, wanting to curl into him as closely as you could, as if he could protect you from everything that’s wrong in the world. Everything that felt like it was out to get you.

“Have you had anything to eat?” He knew as soon as he asked it that you wouldn’t want to eat. He also knew that if you had been working all day that you wouldn’t take the time to stop and eat.

He felt you shake your head side to side, confirming what he already knew.

“I was about to make a quick dinner. I was thinking breakfast? Maybe some pancakes, eggs and bacon?” He ran his fingers through your hair, deciding to take your ponytail holder out and place it on his wrist. You sighed, the relief from the tension of your ponytail helping you feel slightly better.

“Please,” you said, knowing he was going to ask you if you wanted some either way. No matter if you made it into your dream schools or not, you still had to eat.

Nico slowly peeled himself off the couch, finally realizing how exhausted he was. Back-to-back games finally catching up with him.

You followed him to the kitchen, claiming stake to one of the barstools, watching him as he began to prepare the food.

“I know you probably don’t know, but what’s your backup plan? Are you going to apply to other schools?” He asked, cracking eggs into a bowl with pancake mix.

“No. I’ll have to wait until next year. I’m stuck here for another year, Nico,” your voice was strained and scratchy, but he understood you.

“That’s not all bad is it? I mean I’m here,” he attempted to make you laugh, but it was to no avail.

“My roommate is moving back home and I literally have no one else who I think I could room with. We both planned on this being it for Jersey,” you laughed, not out of humor, but at the thought of how much has gone wrong in 12 hours.

“What about staying with me?” He asked the question before he could catch himself. Would you see straight through to his true feelings for you, or would you just think he was extending a friendly offer to one of his friends who needed a little help.

“Nico, why the hell would you want me to move in with you? Have you met me?” Your puffy eyes made eye contact with his sweet ones.

Oh, how absolutely clueless you were. It would have been cute had it not been his feelings for you in the mix.

“You’re not that bad. I’ve definitely had worse roommates.” He smiled as he flipped the pancakes on the griddle and placed the eggs in a pan on the stove to cook.

“I can’t accept your pity offer,” you reached across the counter for a paper towel to catch the snot that was creeping out of your nose.

“Don’t think of it as a pity offer. Think of it as…what’s that word for when it’s not a parasite, but both things benefit?” He looked to the ceiling as if it held the answer to his missing word.

You laughed, finding it cute that he sometimes can’t think of the right English word he’s looking for.

“Mutualism?” You pitch the word to him, to which he points to you enthusiastically.

“That! Think of it as that. I mean, I could use a little help around here,” he motioned to his apartment.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’d have to think about it,” Your tears were becoming manageable with him trying to make you feel better. You’d internally think about everything that went wrong and tears would brim again, but when Nico talked it made it better.

“Well think about it,” he said, his bacon looking a tiny bit burnt as he transferred it from the pan to a dish to serve to you along with some scrambled eggs and a pancake.

You began to dig in to the food, Nico following close behind you as he fixed his plate and sat beside you. The two of you ate in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a peaceful silence. It allowed for you to think and for him to think about you. He wanted to feel sad about you not getting into the graduate program, but a whole extra year with you? He couldn’t be too upset.

The two of you finished eating and washed your dishes, putting them up, Nico returning to the living room on the sofa and you putting your shoes back on.

“What are you doing?” Nico asked, his eyebrows raised inquisitively as he watched you tie your shoes.

“I’ve got to go home,” you said as you stretched your back.

“I’m not letting you drive home in this condition,” He started, ready to pitch his case for you to stay the night.

“You’re tired, upset, and you don’t need to be by yourself right now. Stay with me,” His eyes were practically begging you, but his tone was stern, evident that he would not be budging.

“I have no clothes-”

“I have some t-shirts.”

“I need to wash my hair and I have no shampoo or conditioner.”

“Nina left some here, use hers,” Nico had a solution to all of your excuses, making you realize that there really wasn’t a reason why you couldn’t spend the night.

“Just stay,” His voice was barely above a whisper, wrapping itself around your heart as you caved into him.

“Fine,” you sighed.

He showed you where all of Nina’s products were and laid out one of his old t-shirts on the counter in the bathroom. It was long enough to be a dress on you, swallowing you whole.

He ran the water for you and left you in the bathroom by yourself, causing you to let out a few silent sobs before getting in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the things you have no control over. You tried to think about the positives. You had Nico for another year.

Nico. Nico Hischier that held up your table all of those years ago. Nico Hischier that helped you study for every stupid exam you had. Nico Hischier that always ran to you first after every home game. Your Nico. Your best friend. The one that always had an open shoulder for you to cry on and open arms when you needed a hug.

Did guys treat girls like this that they just loved as friends? You sure as hell had never had one like him.

While thinking about all that Nico has been there for, tears begin to fall. It hit you like a ton of bricks, the possibility that Nico could be more than a friend. Would he feel the same? Would these newly discovered feelings be the downfall of your friendship?

Just as quick as the feelings surfaced, you shut it down. Nico meant too much to you for you to lose him over selfish feelings. Everything was perfect with him and your stupid little crush would not ruin that.

While you continued to shower, Nico changed the sheets on his bed, putting on fresh ones from the dryer so that you would be warm when you got in. He decided he would take the couch.

The smile that he had hidden while consoling you appeared as he prepared his apartment for you for the night. He thought about the possibility that you might move in with him, relishing in the idea that he could see you everyday when he woke up and at night when he went to sleep. Never ending movie nights and having his best friend 24/7…what possibly could be better?

You being his girlfriend. Would that come in time? Did he need to tell you his feelings or keep them to himself?

He had always been able to conceal his feelings, the fear of losing you greater than the pain of only being your friend. That had worked out fine, but when you rounded the corner of the hallway into the living room with his shirt hanging right above your knees and a pair of his long socks bunched on your leg, his breath hitched.

He let his eyes take in everything about you. The way your hair curled at the nape of your neck from the water, the random bruises that decorated your legs from being clumsy, a few pimples that dusted your face, only visible when your makeup was not, the random bit of mascara that you hadn’t managed to wash off.

He wanted you. He wanted you forever. He wanted you as his wedding date, his girl at the games. He wanted to share holidays with you, exchange anniversary gifts and plan birthday parties with you.

Everything in life he wanted to do with you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” He announced as he walked over to your small frame.

You were confused, about to open your mouth to ask him what he meant, but as soon as you realized he was leaning down to kiss you, your eyes grew wide in shock. His kiss cleared up what he meant.

He cupped your face with his hands, each thumb resting on your cheekbones as he very slightly pulled you closer to him.

Your lips moved in synch, making up for years of him loving you.

He noticed that you had a chapped spot on your lip, but he didn’t mind. The taste of strawberries from your lipstick from earlier lingered, causing him to deepen the kiss, never wanting to forget that taste.

You pulled away, needing to breathe. His eyes were still the soft brown ones that you loved, but you could tell that they looked at you differently from how you thought they did. Just standing in a t shirt and socks, they made you feel like the prettiest girl in the world.

A smile pulled at your lips, causing him to follow, his dimple making an appearance on his face. His scruff itched your face, but you didn’t mind.

“I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m upset you didn’t get into school because I’m not. Call me selfish or whatever, but I need you. You keep me grounded. I want you here with me. Move in here, find something to do while you wait to reapply. I just know there’s nobody else that I love the way I love you,” he ended his confession with a kiss to your forehead.

“Ok,” You whispered, not wanting the warmth of his body to ever be far from you.

“I love you, little lady. A lot more than you realize,” He smirked at the blush that spread across your cheeks, the rosy pink that highlighted your skin revealing the effect that this boy has on you.

He pulled you into him, hugging you as if you would be gone any second and he couldn’t let you go.

When he finally did let you go, you both hopped into his bed and began watching Harry Potter, starting with The Prisoner of Azkaban since he knew that was your favorite one.

You fell asleep first, your head resting on his chest as he scratched your back. When he noticed the soft snores escaping your mouth, he smiled to himself. This was how it was meant to be. You and him.

*

*

*

*

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

The last few people had logged off the server, leaving it in its burnt, damaged state.

She knew where Gem would be.

Cleo scaled up the ladder and clambered up to the rickety roof of Joel’s tower — where you could look out on the entire server.

Sure enough, Gem was perched on the railing, sitting on the edge with nothing to support her but the wind, staring in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

Cleo looked around at the short cobble walls. Grian had told her that he’d hid away here. Not a bad strategy, overall. You could shut yourself here and forget everywhere else existed.

“Hey, Cleo.”

“Am I that loud?” Cleo joked weakly.

“Who else?”

Cleo watched as the last remains of the green flesh flaked off Gem’s skin, leaving her regular human tones. “No more zombies now, then? Good job, anyway. Killing people left and right.”

“Not you, though.”

“Not me. Only way I’m going out is my way. I’d rather die on my own stupidity than someone else’s callousness.” Cleo allowed a hint of pride to enter her voice. “You were great zombies, though.”

“We weren’t zombies.” Gem turned and hopped down from the railing.

Cleo noticed that unlike the other zombies, or even Scott or Grian, Gem didn’t have a single scratch or injury, save one neat bandage that no doubt was due to Scar’s reckless arrows.

Which meant the blood splattering her face wasn’t her own. “What do you mean?”

“That’s not how zombies work. No offence, Cleo, but most zombies aren’t sentient.”

Cleo blinked. “No worries, I know they aren’t. I kill plenty of them at night.”

“So you should know how they work. They’re mindless. They lurch along, they kill without thinking, they probably bump into trees.”

Gem tilted her head. “They don’t set TNT traps, or betray their teammates, or ask for permission to kill their wife’s perceived murderer.”

Cleo’s mouth was dry. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying the apocalypse wasn’t zombies, Cleo. It was human.”

Horribly, incredibly human.

Cleo remembered when they were up on the tower, staring at the others down below, condemning them as monsters.

Somehow, it was better to think of them as a mindless horde and not people she’d been laughing and arguing with a session ago.

Gem was watching her. “You know I’m right. Look at Pearl. Was running from us, convinced we were infected or something but once she realised she had permission to kill, she went in. Even unleashed a warden, or two. That’s how quickly we switch.”

Ironically, Cleo realised, the roles had been swapped this session. The humans were chasing the zombie, but it hadn’t been any different.

“That’s not true,” Cleo said, “It’s not all bad. Did you know, Grian snuck down from this tower to check on his magma pet, and I was there too. And so was Etho. He didn’t kill us.”

Irritation flashed across Gem’s face. “He didn’t kill you? If he had, or, like, told us your location or something, we could’ve all just gone after Scott, and, and, the task would’ve succeeded…”

She trailed off, and looked at Cleo. “Is that the point you’re trying to make here?”

Cleo shrugged.

“Alright, I get it,” Gem grumbled, “No need to rub your holier-than-thou alliance and great morals in my face.”

“Well, no one asked you to put your task over your bandmates.”

Gem didn’t say anything to that.

“It’s not as if I’m exactly a paragon of morality either.” Cleo continued.

“I guess not.” Gem gave a short laugh. “Neither am I. You know, all the murder and stuff? I don’t feel bad! In fact, I feel great. I feel proud of myself for it.”

“…I feel you should be a little less bloodthirsty.”

Gem smiled at Cleo, an innocent, cheerful smile that would have been such if not for the circumstances. “Oh, no.”

Cleo was suddenly feeling very unsafe on the highest platform on the server. She wished Etho was here, or even Grian.

She knew Gem couldn’t take any lives, not now, not when the session was already over. But still…

Cleo raised her sword to stop the axe swing that came, but it was a feint, and her sword hit nothing.

Gem dramatically swung her axe back into her inventory.

“You really thought I would attack you?” Gem said.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Cleo retorted curtly.

“That’s true,” Gem conceded. “But the curse is just so- it’s so freeing, Cleo? Can’t you see? You could do anything.”

“Uh- no thanks. Session’s over, anyway,” Cleo pointed out.

“That’s true. But I’m still kinda cursed, you know.”

In response, Cleo warily raised her sword. But all that Gem did was deliver a mock salute before logging off with a chirpy “See you next week!”

Cleo stood silently. There had been one zombie on the platform just now. Her.

And thinking about it, she wasn’t sure if there hadn’t been two.

[mxmmyprentiss]

Bad Mom

Summary: Emily has always been better at this mom thing than you are. Sometimes, you actually envy her for how good she is at it. She was a natural while you’re a disaster. And maybe your daughter knew that. Genre: Fluff Pairing: Emily Prentiss x female reader Warnings: none Word count: 1.6K

A/N: Just some little fluff piece I wrote to get back to writing. It's not proofread so forgive me for mistakes and errors. Likes, comments and shares are welcome. Enjoy! :)

AO3

You and Emily Prentiss have been married for over five years now. You dated for two years prior to your marriage. And in those years that you’ve been together, both of you have gone through ups and downs together. Emily has never left you to deal with your problems alone.

Except today.

And that problem was your 3-year-old daughter having temper tantrums at breakfast.

“I don’ wike t’is!” Eleanor, your daughter, slammed her tiny hands on the dining table. She was clearly furious at you for trying to feed her vegetables instead of her requested chocolate cereals.

In your defense, it’s all she wanted to eat lately and you just didn’t want her to be diabetic early (or at all). 

“Ellie, please. This is yummy and healthy, baby. You can have cereal again tomorrow.”

Ellie shook her head and continued slamming the table. Her face was flushed from yelling and arguing with you for the past ten minutes or so. “No, mama! Ce-yals today!”

You sighed weakly. Ellie was such a good, easy  kid most of the time but can be a real pain in the ass when she wants to be. And in those times, only your wife can get through her stubbornness. After all, she is Emily’s daughter too.

“Mommy will be mad. Do you want mommy to be mad?”

“Mommy not he’e!” She pouted.

“I know, but she will be mad once she finds out you’re giving Mama a hard time.”

Ellie folded her arms to her chest and displayed a sulky pout. “I wan’ mommy!” She fiercely yelled at you. “I wan’ mommy he’e!”

“I want mommy here too, baby, but she is fighting bad guys and she will come back to us soon.” You tried to offer her another spoonful of mashed vegetables. To your surprise, Ellie grabbed the spoon and tossed it to the floor. “Eleanor Prentiss!”

“Mama bad! Bad!” Ellie screamed before storming off to the living room and played with her puzzles.

Your eyes fell to the mess your daughter made on the table and the floor.

God, you wish she was here. Emily has always been better at this mom thing than you are. Sometimes, you actually envy her for how good she is at it. She was a natural while you’re a disaster. And maybe your daughter knew that.

After cleaning up the mess, you gave up and fed her cereals instead. It’s still better than Ellie not eating anything at all.

Your phone buzzed and it was from your wife.

Emily: Hey, babe. Just got back from Chicago. How are you and Ellie?

You: Ellie and I are enemies at the moment. She’s not eating her veggies and she’s asking for you.

Emily: I’ll be home in 30. Just have to finish this last paperwork then I’m out.

You: See you later, babe. I love you.

Emily: I love you too and that little self-willed kid of ours.

You have no doubt about that. In all the years that you’ve known each other, not once did Emily make you feel that you didn’t matter to her. Even when she had to leave you for days or weeks to travel to different states for her job. She never made you feel that her job was a priority over you; it’s just something she had to do. Emily would call you every night to check on you. Most times she would have food delivered at your door or at your workplace so she’s sure that you’d eaten. And when your wife comes home to you, a bouquet of hydrangea - your favorite flower - would be found on your bedside table.

But when you and Emily decided to adopt Eleanor three years ago, everything changed.

Emily was just promoted as BAU unit chief six months before Ellie’s adoption while you stayed home for a while to take care of your newborn. Your wife managed to spend less hours in the office and made a strict rule to not be interrupted during her off days. During some of these days, you would caught her teaching Ellie different languages and the then two-year-old girl was just staring at her wide-eyed.

Your wife had made sure to spend her annual leaves with you and Ellie. Emily would take you and Ellie to Disneyland and other theme parks she researched about. She would never bring her family to places she deemed unsafe and family unfriendly, especially places the BAU has worked abduction cases with. 

Long story short, the change in your routine was all for the better.

Emily is a great mother, the best even. And she is just as great as your wife.

The problem lied with you though. You can’t seem to get through to your daughter like Emily did. It feels as if Ellie didn’t like you, or just liked her other mother better. Of course, you still loved that kid to death and you would do anything for her. But sometimes, at times like this one, it feels like you’re a failure of a mother to her.

Ellie was still ignoring you and your attempts to play with her. If you had a bingo card of her mama no’s, you would have won by now.

Maybe your daughter hated you.

You settled on watching your daughter have a tea party with her stuffed animals. Her dark curls tangled with the golden plastic crown she wore and her dark brown eyes focused on her white bunny. She was doing her best in re-telling them the bedtime story you told her last night.

The front door opened and Emily entered the living room, holding a big bouquet of pink and lavender hydrangeas and a tiny bouquet of white lilies.

“Queen Emily has arrived!” Emily announced, referencing the last story she told Ellie the night before she left for the case. “How’s my lovely sunshines?”

“Mommy!” Ellie exclaimed and ran to Emily. The little girl tightly hugged her mother’s leg. “Miss you, mommy!”

“Aww, I missed you too, sweet cheeks.” Emily knelt down to kiss her daughter’s cheek. She handed her the small bouquet. “This is for you, baby girl.”

Ellie jumped in joy and hugged Emily. “Thanks, mommy! They pwetty!”

“Yes, they are. Just like you, little one.” Emily playfully pinched her nose. When Ellie ran back to her tea party - boasting to everyone about the pretty flowers that her mother got her - Emily turned to you. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Please, I’m a mess.” You said, smiling faintly.

“Oh, you could be wearing a trash bag and I’d still find you the most beautiful woman on the entire planet.” You couldn’t help the blush that crept on your cheeks. Damn, this woman. Emily planted a kiss on your lips then handed you your bouquet. “This is for the best wife and mom in the world.”

You gratefully accept her gift. “Best wife? Yes. Best mother? Hmm, you’ll have to ask Ellie that.” You kissed Emily’s nose. “Your daughter hates me.”

“Our daughter,” Emily corrected you, slightly offended that you would ever say otherwise. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s just a stubborn little girl.”

“Wonder who she got that from.” You teased, earning an eye roll from your wife. “I made breakfast for you in the kitchen. You should eat.”

“Best.” Emily pecked your lips. “Wife.” And another peck. “Ever.” And another.

“I better be ‘cause I’d be the only one you’re getting for the rest of your life.” A smirk formed at your lips.

“One and only, babe.” Emily winked at you.

You and Emily spent the entire day playing with your daughter - having tea parties, dressing up her barbies, Emily making up silly stories about your family running an entire kingdom of stuffed animals. Eventually, your wife made sure that Ellie eats the mashed vegetables you prepared for her, proving only a stubborn could get past another stubborn.

Later that night, you and Emily tucked your daughter in. Emily was carefully brushing her hair while you set up her starry night light. Like most kids her age, Ellie didn’t like sleeping in the dark.

Ellie looked up to you. “Mama, pwease tell me ‘nother stowy?”

Your eyes met Emily’s. She smiled softly and nodded at you to go along with your daughter’s request.

You’re about to grab a book from Ellie’s cabinet when she stops you. “Don’ wan’ books. Wan’ mama and mommy stowy.”

“Our story?” Emily clarified. Little Ellie nodded. “Oh, mama, she wants to know our story.”

“I’m telling this one because we cannot trust mommy to tell the whole story, right?” You giggled as you tickled your daughter. “Okay, where do we start, hmm?”

“Start when you saw me across the room and fell in love with me.”

“I think that was the other way around, honey.”

“Touché.” Emily carried Ellie on her lap and hugged her. “Mama’s just so pretty that mommy cannot help but fall in love with her.”

Ellie giggled. “Mama pwetty!”

“That’s right, she is.” Emily smirked. “Mommy’s lucky.”

“Mommy, you pwetty too!”

You grinned. “She is. And you are our pretty little baby, Ellie.” You leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I love you so much.”

Ellie reached out and hugged your neck. “Wuv you, mama.” She planted a kiss on your cheek. “Sowwy I stubbo’n ‘bout veggies.”

Your heart swelled with love for your daughter. Emily squeezed your hand when she noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s alright, honey.” You said.

After telling your daughter more of how her mothers met, with a little too much protests from your wife about the inconsistencies about your story, Ellie eventually fell asleep hugging her stuffed giraffe.

“I told you she doesn’t hate you.” Emily spoke once you’re both in your bed, snuggling from behind and wrapping her arms around you. She planted a kiss on your exposed shoulder. “Don’t ever think that you’re a bad mom. Ellie is lucky to have you, and so am I.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you relaxed in your wife’s embrace.

And you believe her.

[mechaknight-98]

Caiju Clean-Up Crew (NSFW) Ft: Momo

When you first came to Earth you were surprised at how kind the Earthlings were, despite being in a constant war with the kaiju. It was endearing, to say the least, but that was two, or three no 5 years ago. Now you were fully integrated and couldn't leave all that cleanly, so you got a job at the Kaiju defense force clean-up team and lived with your friend Momo Hirai, a highly loved and popular anti-Kaiju fighter.

While at work a new employee approached you asking to go to lunch with you. You tell the lady politely that you already have plans to have lunch with your roommate and she sighs before leaving you alone. You finish cleaning up the pieces of Kero Kero, and check your watch,

“Okay, lunchtime,” you say. You wave your friends off and jaunt over to the office. Mono is waiting for you outside in her civilian clothes and mask. So she wouldn't be mobbed by adoring fans

“Ready?” she asked. You nod as you follow her.

The both of you go to the garden of the Anti-Kaiju Defense Force Headquarters. You open the lunch boxes you packed for the both of you. Momo smiled as you handed her food.

“You know what I love most about your cooking Dai-san?” Momo asks you

“The fact that I don't have to make it,” Momo said before taking out her chopsticks and digging in.

“Oh Daihouzan sensei.” you hear a voice come. You groan as if it were the new worker from earlier. She was pretty, too pretty she drew too much attention to herself and it didn't bode well for the flying under the radar you had been doing for the last year.

“Uh Yeah Mrs Chou.” How can I help you?” you asked Mrs Chou

“Oh so polite, but please call me Chewy everyone does.” you nod at Chae’s request

“Okay, Chewy how may I help you,” you respond

“ I heard you got the highest recorded score for the aptitude test in the history of the AKDF. I was wondering if you could help me as I'm retaking it in three weeks and I'd like to move from clean up to the frontlines and I figure who better to teach me than the prodigy himself.” Chewy says to you. You sigh seeing the optimism and hope in her eyes, but before you can dash little Chewy’s dreams Momo steps in.

“I'll work with you,” she says with a rare smile you recognize as a challenge. You cock an eyebrow at your roommate. “Besides you don't want Dai-san as a teacher, he will overload you with information you don't need.” Momo teased.

“Hey they had to change the test because of me,” you said defensively with pride.

Momo rolls her eyes and then faces Tzuyu. “We’ll get you in top shape regardless,” she says

Tzuyu smiles and then thanks the both of you before leaving. You turn to your roommate confused.

“Why are you getting her hopes up? You know how the AKDF are.”

“Because we need more lady front liners and you are too pessimistic,” she says

You tilt your head and reply, “Well if everything was not so engrossed in politics I would have helped her, but the higher-ups they'll eat her alive.”

“Good thing we're going to make sure that doesn't happen,” Momo stated matter of fact

“What do you mean we? You agreed to tutor her,” you called Ge

“Please Dai-san that big ole heart of yours is going help and you know it.”

You groan as the both of you finish up lunch and then head back to work.

The rest of the shift lacks considerable amounts of excitement so Momo and you are both able to head home rather easily and earlier than normal. You and Momo arrive home within seconds of each other. You sit on the stool by your shared countertop when she opens the door. She smiles at you seductively. She grabs you in a hug. You can feel the stress in her body intertwined with her body as much as her curves are.

“What happened today ?” You ask

“What?” Momo responded

“Your tension. It's like if someone injected cortisol into every part of you.” you follow up

“What?” Momo said

“The stress chemical,” you explain Momo nods.

“I always forget how smart you are because of how lazy you are,” Mom says.

“So you're just going to ignore my question? What's up? Is something wrong.”

“No big dog everything is fine. It's just I have been testing a new anti-kaiju weapon, and it's been quite…what's that word you use when something makes you tired tolling?”

“It's probably taxing. Or you could mean it taking a toll.”

Momo clapped and said “The first one.” you smiled at your roommate.

Momo yawns before looking to you for comfort

“I know it's my turn to do dinner and lunch but Dai-san can you do it? I am so tired Dai-san can you help me shower too? I'm too tired after today's fight,” she says with a teasing smile. You consider her words. Your roommate was gorgeous by both Hyperion and human standards so you couldn't complain seeing her body you were also drained from your work today so it was not as enticing a proposition, but when you saw her fall asleep standing you knew she was exhausted. You catch Momo luckily before she falls and she smiles at you. “Thanks Dai-San.”

you smile saying “Any time.” you pick up the slightly older woman and carry her to your apartment’s shared bathroom. You sit her on the toilet before readying the bath and boiling and grabbing all the ingredients for a quick 30-minute meal out. You head back to the bathroom where Momo is already asleep again. Her breathing is fatigued something you have seen before many nights when the two of you would study relentlessly during training camp for the AKDF. You smile as you get up and help her undress. As you leave her grasp to let her get into the tub she grabs you.

“Please stay,” she says.

“But.” You try to respond but Momo counters

“Please” You knew she had you when her eyes did that big pleading thing where she looked at you like a small animal. Helpless and vulnerable. So you relent. You undress as well which causes Momo to blush.

“What? I’m not wasting water if you want me to stay with you, we are showering together like old times.” Momo chuckled as you took your shirt off.

“Wow, you’ve let yourself go.” She teased.

You cock an eyebrow before saying, “Hey watch it. One more snippy comment and I’ll leave.”

Momo nods then shuffles slowly to the bath. As the two of you clean the other off she sighs and says, “I have been so tired lately.”

“Me too and going to sleep doesn’t help as well.” You agree

“Yeah, I keep having this dream of being chased by a giant kaiju.” Momo states

You turn to her, “Wait really? What kind?”

You ask her and she briefly describes the same Kaiju who had been chasing you as well in your dreams. You groan and get up. Momo looks at you confused.

“I’ll be right back.” You say

“Wait why?” Momo asks

“We might have an infestation.” You say. Momo snaps to attention and follows.

The two of you get dressed and head outside of your apartment. You notice every acting progressively more sluggish and tired. This serves as only more fuel for your theory. You walk out of the building grab a big rock and throw it at a window. When the window doesn’t break you turn to Momo. She nods and heads back to HQ. Not wanting to waste the time though you find a quiet place with no prying eyes and take out your rizer. You use it to transform into your Hyperion form where you see the leaching kaiju attached to your building. You grab the camouflaged kaiju and slam it safely away from your building. Without wasting any time you use your Special particle beam to kill it and fly away looking for a safe place to go. Change back into your human form. On the way back to your apartment you pick up one of Momo’s favorite sodas to allay suspicion.

When you arrive back at the complex Momo is there she turns at you.

“Where did you go.”

You hand her the soda and she takes it graciously.

“Hyperman showed up and killed the kaiju for us,” Momo says relaxed. You nod. “I know I was not a fan of his but I do appreciate his return. At least this once.”

You nod and say, “Well at least we can rest now.” Momo raises an eyebrow

“I’m feeling rejuvenated. We should spar.” Momo said shadowboxing your way. You smirked at her but eventually let her have her way. You follow her back to the HQ. The two of you badge to the surprise of the attendant waiting

“Oh, Mrs. Hirai good to see you.”

“Great to see you, Mina.” You wave at the attendant

“Good to see you Mrs Myuoi.” You say. The attendant who was also a frontline fighter on leave for mental health smiled

“Please Daihouzan you don’t have to call me that.”

“I do when you outrank me.” You tease

“Oh please we both know half our defense team wouldn’t be here without our “Friend-Father”” Mina fires back.

You shrug. “How’s Dahyun?” You ask.

“Oh, she’s good. She has been working hard for her next promotion so she can join us in the frontline fights. You should reach out she misses you.” You chuckle.

“She knows where my office is, and my open-door policy hasn’t changed.” Mina nodded and said that she’d tell Dahyun then. The two of you walk to a sparring room that should have been empty but was full with Drill Instructor Jihyo teaching a group of recruits. Jihyo’s stern facade instantly melts when she sees the two of you.

“Dai-San Momo Unnie.” Jihyo greets you and Momo with a smile. Momo and you hug Jihyo before she asks if you guys are looking to use this sparring room. Momo nods.

“Wow just like old times. I can’t believe it’s been 4 years since graduation.” Jihyo says. Momo and you have since reminded me of the slow creep of time never stops.

“Well I’m done with this class do the two of you have any advice for them?” You scratch your facial hair at the wide mix of students before saying “Learn Kaiju anatomy. It will increase your combat effectiveness with less expenditures of energy and resources. One well-timed hit at a Kaiju’s weak point will do more than 100 rounds of Arakami bullets.” Momo laughs at your correct statement.

“Stay well rested. Kaiju attacks can happen at any time and even though Hyperman has helped us with a lot of battles we can’t rely on him for every major battle.” Momo says Jihyo agrees with that more than your advice which stings a little since the two of you used to be so close. If you were the dad friend she was for sure the mom friend. but you didn’t hold it against her. As the class leaves Jihyo turns to the two of you and says, “Try not to tear the roof off this time.” You assure Jihyo that you’ll keep Momo in check

“Hey, it’s not my fault the new Kaiju weapon was so powerful,” Momo said defensively.

After that, it was just the two of you again. You get into a fighting stance. Momo looks at you surprised.

“That’s Hyperman’s fighting stance.” she says You shrug and Momo stops, “No you just can’t shrug that off,” Momo says. You worried your cover had been blown.

“Take this seriously. Hyperman’s style is sloppy and too showoffy.” Momo said. You stood there taken aback for a moment, not sure what was more surprising.

“Hey, he’s not lost a fight so he must be doing something right.” You challenge

Momo rolls her eyes again before saying “Fine have fun getting beat up.”

“You can try.” You say.

Her first attack is predictable. She opens with one of her famous kicks. You roll out of the way and trip her still-planted leg. She looks at you wide-eyed. You look at her and raise your hands. Momo's twin kicks to recover her footing. You back up and she does three flips to lead into a chop. You dodge and grab her arm before slamming her (gently) into the mat. You back up and retreat to your ready stance.

Momo was not lying when she was rejuvenated she came at you for 3 more hours of sparring. It went about the same as the beginning Momo would do an offensive move you’d block or dodge then gently reset to neutral. This frustrated Momo to no end making her sloppier and wilder as the match went on. Eventually, she grew tired of your guarded and defensive style. So she decided to adopt a mirror stance to yours instead of engaging she planted her two feet down. You smiled as she tried to taunt you into charging

“Come on make a move. You scared. See anyone can just durdle and play defensive.” She yelled. You smile and switch stances. Momo looks on in concern. You approach slowly. You make one strike which she guards but due to the sheer force, she still stumbles back. You give her time to recover. She makes a measured and calm strike. you block and make an open palm strike at her chest. She falls back. You wait for her to get up and change stances again. You begin to circle her slowly. She strikes at you with another powerful kick and you turn and return with a kick of your own, she received the hit and lands on her butt. She finally taps before you help her up. You turn back to see you have gained a crowd watching the two of you spar.

“Alright shows over,” Momo says as the two of you walk out.

The two of you arrive back at your apartment where you begin cooking again. Momo still having restless energy begins feeling you up while you cook.

“Ugh, I hate how good of a house husband you are,” she says

You turn to her confused

“It's an expression, don't they have those in America?” you hesitate as you nod as being “American” was your cover for the time being.

“It means you are good at doing stuff around the house. Considering how many times I haven't had to go hungry because of you looking out for me.

“So what's your point?”

“Oh come on. I'm not doing it for you. I have been practically throwing myself at you the last few months.”

“Oh well excuse me for remembering when you said. I like you but not like you as a friend.” You tease Momo. Momo smirks

“Can't a girl change her mind?” she cooks. You roll your eyes at her. Which causes her to smile before bringing you into a heavy kiss. What caused you to snap out of it was the burning sensation from the stove your hand was on.

“Ahhh. That hurts.” You grimace.

Mono smiles before saying, “I just wanted to give you a taste of what's to come.” to further her point she seductively puts her finger into the pan you are using where the food is and erotically takes a swipe before putting said finger in her mouth.

“Delicious as always.” Mom exaggerated before sashaying away. As her body moves you are mesmerized by the way her ass looks in her tight battle outfit. You feel the blood rush to your other head as try not to think about all of the less-than-virtuous things you'd do to her. You finish cooking without any disasters and set the table and food for Momo and you. “Momoring food is ready,” you say curious as to what she's doing.

Momo walks out of her room in her bra and underwear which isn't an uncommon occurrence. What she usually wears is a sports bra and boy shorts, but today she opted for a bold and brazen red and black lace lingerie set. You blink three times before your self-control shatters. You get up and kiss Momo with passion and emotional build-up you've had since you met her 4 years ago. When you break it her pupils have dilated so intensely there is hardly any brown left.

“Whoa someone is pent up.” Mom teases as she begins to caress your clothed erection.

“Shut up,” you say taking off your pants. Momo smiles. She even giggled when you picked her up, but that all changed when you put her in a mating press. She groans as do you as you penetrate her for the first time

“Ahh ugh.” she moans luridly

You begin to thrust and Momo yells “Oh god yes. This cock is filling my tight pussy so well.”

“Oh you like it?” you tease

Momo moans as you fill her, “God I love it. Why have you been hiding this cock from me for so long?” as you thrust her womanhood clenches your manhood with the clinginess of an anxious lover.

“You're so tight Momoring, why are you worried I'm going leave you.”

Mom turns to her face to you. Those gorgeous brown eyes glare fiery and passionate.

“I guarantee I gotcha.” she purrs before initiating a torrid kiss. She regains dominance over you by forcing her tongue down your mouth when you break the kiss she smiles caressing your face. “Cum for me honey.” she teases causing you to erupt violently within her walls. You scream from the intensity of the orgasm. When you regain your senses you set Momo down and you use the countertop to steady you. Mom stares you down as she dips a finger into her pussy where your cum is trailing out of her. She smiles and traces a line of semen with her finger before bringing it up to lick it.

“Hm, you taste good as well,” Momo says with a voice made husky by the overwhelming erotic pleasure she felt. You give her the time-out gesture which makes her laugh. She sits down to eat the food you made with a smug grin.

“Don't tell me you're all tuckered out,” Momo says with a mischievous tone.

“Listen when you have 4 years of emotional catharsis built up and then released by your unrequited lover then you can talk.” you fire back. Which causes Momo to take a step back,

“Wait we've known each other 4 years?” she says confused

“Yeah I know I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you, but how could I not? You came into my life like a battle angel, full combat gear the mecha suit wings. It was stunning.”

Mom smirks then smiles you sit down and begin eating with her.

“So you have liked me all this time?” she asks again. You nod before she gets up walks over to you and starts stroking you to hardness. When you're aching again she plants herself back on you. You groan still sensitive from the last time.

“Tell me what you love about me!” she demanded as she began to ride you with a tortuously glacial pace.

“I love your tenacity and enthusiasm for your craft. You work so hard and it just fills me with pride and admiration for you,” you respond. Momo speeds up

“More.” she moans

“You also aren't consumed by the job you still maintain your identity in all of this and it makes me ahh,” you say as you trail off her pussy is dripping wet but she is still oppressively tight if not tighter with each praise from your mouth.

“Come on I’m almost there.” she groans as she expertly grinds over your cock.

“You're such a good girl, you are so kind and helpful to all of those around you,” you say also nearing another climax as she continues to bounce on top of you. You do notice an intense string of tightness from Momo when you call her a good girl so you go all in

“Oh, you like being my good girl? (her pussy vice grips you driving you feral) well, I like you being my good girl too. (you squeeze her ass) My good girl has the nicest ass. My good girl has the prettiest brown eyes and the tightest pussy.” that last line sent her over the cliff and she exploded all over you.

“Oh god. Oh god, I'm cumming” she moaned as she came. You feel her squirt all over you and her pussy attempt to milk you for all its worth. As her orgasm raged on she continued riding you before saying “Come on baby cum for me I need it.” her words set off a cascading effect causing your second orgasm and pushing her into another one of hers. As the two of you cum for what feels like hours (it's actually like 7 minutes.) the two of you make out and paw at the other desperate to keep the high going.

When the two of your bodies finally calm down Momo asks, “Do you have any of your kaiju clean-up supplies? Because we made quite a mess.” you roll your eyes, and she gives a hearty laugh.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Come Back - Daniel Ricciardo

<word count - 663>

Yet again, another morning that you had to get out of bed. It may have been winter break for Daniel, but not for you. You still had to work. The sun had just barely risen as you checked the clock on your bedside table. 7:00. 

You clambered out of bed, hearing a grumble from behind you. "Baby, come back..." Daniel mumbled, patting the empty space beside him. He opened one eye to peek at you as you stood in the doorway and looked at him. 

"I've got to go," you chuckled as he rubbed his eyes, even if he was still half asleep. 

"No you don't, come back," he whined, opening his arms to you as a signal to snuggle back up with him. He had always maintained that you could quit your job and he'd pay for you to live, but you liked having a sense of independence.  

"I'll be back later," you smiled, turning to walk downstairs. Behind you, you heard the rustling of the sheets and footsteps on the wooden flooring. "Go back to bed, Daniel," you laughed, knowing he'd just come and sit in the kitchen with you and beg you not to leave. 

"No," he flatly stated, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and stopping you in your tracks. "You're not going," he said into your ear, then pressed his face into the crook of your neck as the two of you stood there. 

"I've got to go," you reiterated, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but it was to no avail. "Daniel, come on, love," you tried to coax him off, but he still wasn't for budging. 

"Staying in bed with me for five more minutes won't make you late," he mumbled against your neck, knowing you'd cave eventually. But you feared that if you went back to bed, you really wouldn't end up going to work. 

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. "Is that a yes?" he asked, and you could feel his triumphant smirk against your skin. 

"Yeah, it's a yes to five more minutes," you told him. Within the blink of an eye, he had picked you up bridal style and started walking you back to your bedroom. "I can walk myself, you know," you chuckled, snaking your arms around his neck. 

"Why should you walk when I can carry you? Besides, I like having you in my arms," he plainly stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You just shook your head, thinking that you probably should have guessed that that would be his answer. 

Gently placing you back down in bed, he wasted no time with crawling in beside you and pulling you as close to him as he possibly could. He tugged the covers over the two of you, and instantly felt much more content and calm. 

"Your five minutes has begun," you told him, and he just grunted in response. That basically meant he hadn't listened to a word you said. Well, he had selective hearing at times, and now was one of them. He would simply choose to ignore your countdown. 

The feeling of having him right there next to you was wonderful, and you couldn't think of anything that would make you more comfortable. It was the feeling of pure safety, contentment, the feeling of home. 

You shuffled to reach for your phone on the bedside table. "No, it's barely been a minute," he scolded, tugging you back.

"I'm calling in sick," you told him, and his arms loosened around you, but he still kept his hands on your waist. 

"That's my girl," he smiled, glad that his plans had worked. He knew you like the back of his hand, and he knew he'd get you to stay home with him one way or another. Now, you'd get to spend the rest of your day, lounging around with the man you loved, and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

A/N - I have finished Reckless Driving, What A Shame Part 2 (a request), two more Lando things, one Charles thing and a... Wait for it... Charlos thing. I couldn't help myself. I've been doing this thing over the past few weeks where I've just written little bits when I have time, and it's wracked up into all this being finished. But recently, my down time hasn't been watching TV or whatever, it's been writing. Henceforth, you've seen a little more from me. This is just a short little thing I felt like whipping up, so hope you enjoyed. Requests are open as usual.

Also, can we just appreciate the beauty of this beige mum looking ass header? I can't lie, I kinda love it. Not quite as good as the one I did for Watch Your Mouth, in my opinion, but it's still pretty nice. Anyway, love you lots, have a brilliant day/night, and stay safe 💖

|masterlist|

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Tasha

orc!Tasha x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: You and Tasha meet in the museum after the visitors leave.

The museum is buzzing with life. The sound of footsteps and quiet conversations echoes against the carefully polished marble floors and tall walls. The place is lit by the sun streaming through the glass dome at the top of the lobby. Everything is bright and lively. You can't help but smile at the sight of people coming and going through the grand entrance. Most of the visitors are tourists with backpacks and cameras or families with excited kids running around their parents' legs. You really love days like this. When everything is busy and you don't even notice how quickly the time passes while you work.

You are standing at the reception. Your hips against the counter while you wait for your next group. Your fingers play with the brochures in your hands. "Your break is over already?" You recognize Tasha's voice immediately. Your heart jumps into your throat, and excitement runs through your spine. You almost scowl at your own reaction. "Yes," you clear your throat, letting yourself look at the orc a few steps away from you.

Tasha stands tall and confident. The black trousers she wears stretch on her legs, following the firm line of her bottom. Her white shirt is similar to yours, tucked in under the belt adorning her slim waist. The fabric highlights her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The sleeves are folded up to her elbows. Your gaze pauses at the swell of her breasts. You try to tell yourself you are only looking at her name tag and the security company she works for above the plastic card, but you are lying.

Damn, nobody should look this good in a simple guard uniform.

"My eyes are up here, little human." Damn it! "I know," you gasp, snapping your eyes up to her dark brown ones. Her tusks make her smile even more smug as she stares at you intensely. You feel the heat creeping up to your face. "I have to go," you continue after a few silent seconds. "You know, work and…" And? She is amused at your flustered state. It makes everything worse for you. "Okay," she smirks. "I will see you later." "Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah."

The museum is like a maze where the walls are adorned with carefully curated artworks, artifacts, and information displays. Spotlights illuminate the exhibits on your way through the rooms full of history. Each room you enter presents a new chapter in the narrative of human creativity, achievement, and knowledge. Sculptures, skeletons, and hundreds of years old items follow you among the columns as you lead your group.

The group of kids you guide are excited and loud. Their teachers are constantly busy to keep them in line. They have dozens of questions about everything you show them. The weight of history hangs in the air, and you are more than happy to connect them with the past and its wonders.

You can't help but notice Tasha every now and again, even though the children around you keep you occupied most of the time. You see her helping the visitors and doing her job while stealing a glance or two your way.

The female orc can barely tear her eyes away from you. Happiness and enthusiasm radiate off of you in thick waves. You smile and laugh as you talk about history. Her chest warms up at the sight. And she can still see your flustered state in her mind. She wanted to steal you away from the crowd to a dark corner where nobody could disturb you.

Hours pass by while both of you are busy with work. At some point, Tasha has to go back to the security room and check on the cameras while her coworker goes on their break. She sits at the desk, watching the black and white screens. She notices you here and there, guiding your group through the exhibitions. She feels almost ridiculous.

You caught her eyes the first day you started working at the museum. You were excited and sweet. And you stuttered every time she talked to you in the first few weeks. She couldn't get enough of you.

And she still can't.

Her thoughts are soon disturbed by the quiet knocks on the door. "Come in," she calls out.

The voice is muffled by the door, but you still know it's Tasha, and your nerves immediately jump to the roof. After she caught you staring at her chest, you hoped you could avoid being alone with her for a few days until your humiliation lessened.

Well, no such luck.

"Hey," you greet her quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "Oh!" Tasha is surprised but happy to see you. "Did you miss me?" She smirks. "No," you reply. "Yes." Her smile widens, and you already feel hot in the small space. You want to stay alone with her and run away at the same time. "How can I help you, Meggy?" She asks in the end. "One of the kids lost one of their shoes somewhere," you tell her. "Could we rewatch the recording?" "A shoe?" "Don't even ask," you shrug. "They are kids. It happens." "Okay," the orc hums, still surprised. "But yeah, we can look for it, sure." When she turns back to the monitors, you move closer to see the screens too. As you lean over her shoulder, her scent hits you across the face. She smells like the shampoo she probably uses on her dark red hair that highlights the soft green shade of her skin. It's spicy with herbs and something else you don't recognize. "Do you have any idea where they lost it?" "They said they had it when we saw the dinosaurs." Tasha nods.

You know you should focus on the screen, but it's harder and harder with each passing second. Tasha's scent fills your senses, making you forget why you are even here in the first place. Your fingertips tingle with the need to touch her hair. Her red locks are in braids and twirls with beads around them. And now that you are so close to her, you notice the light freckles across her cheeks. They are just a few shades darker than her skin. You force your eyes to move back to the computers. You don't need her to catch you staring at her again.

"There," you gasp out, leaning over her broad shoulder even more to point at the little kid. They take off their shoes for no reason at all, and when one of the teachers calls out for the small group, they run after their classmates without looking back at the shoe.

You only notice how close you are to the orc when you turn your head to look at her. Your upper body is pressed against her shoulder, and your faces are just a few inches away from each other.

Blood surges in your veins, and the room seems even smaller. "Thanks!" You squeak, and without looking back, just like the kid, you run out of the security room.

A long week goes by without you and Tasha talking to each other for more than a few words. The museum is busy with schools coming for their yearly field trip and people trying to enjoy their free time and learn something new. You guide groups through the exhibitions several times a day.

You meet the female orc again for more than a few minutes on a Friday night. It's already late, and you are one of the few who are still in the museum. It's quiet and peaceful. You always enjoy going through a few rooms after the doors close in front of the visitors. You often find something new and interesting. It's like the museum changes every now and again without anyone really noticing it.

"Didn't you see that enough times already?" The familiar voice asks from behind you. Your gaze from the painting goes to the orc immediately when you turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. You shrug. "I like it." "You should go home, little human, I'm sure you are tired." "I'm on my way to the changing room," you tell her, but none of you move. Your eyes are locked, trying to come up with something to continue the conversation. "You know," she starts, looking around the room. "I never really looked around here." "What?" You are shocked. "What do you mean? You work here." "But I'm always busy with the visitors." "I can give you a private tour if you want?" You suggest. Tasha has to force her thoughts to stay on the right path. When you say private tour, she imagines entirely different things. "Only if you have time. I don't want to keep you here." "No, it's fine. I have nothing to do." A grimace pulls on your lips. Maybe you shouldn't admit you have nothing to do on a Friday night.

So you and Tasha continue your way through the rooms. You stop here and there to show things to her and talk about their past. You bombard her with names, dates, and locations. There are times when the orc worries that you don't even breathe while you talk but never tries to stop you. She often sees you with visitors but has never seen you this close while you speak with so much passion. It radiates from your voice.

"I have no idea how you can remember so many things," she says after a while. You look at the sculpture in front of you, but she watches you. Your eyes are bright, and your smile is constant. "I talked your ear off, didn't I?" You grimace, starting to feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I-" "Don't be sorry," Tasha cuts in. "I enjoy it. It's sexy." Heat rushes up to your face at her last words. "Well," you clear your throat. "Thanks?" She laughs at your reaction. You can barely look at her. She moves closer. "Do I make you nervous?" There is no point in lying. "Yes." Your eyes fall on the plastic name tag on her chest. "Is it good or bad?" Tasha is amused and too entertained with your current state. "Good." "Can I kiss you, Meggy?" Her next question makes you forget how to breathe. Your head snaps up to look at her. "Yes," you croak out. There is no way you could say no to a woman like Tasha.

She leans closer, and in the next second, her lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle and slow. She lets you warm up to her closeness. Her tusks are hard and, at first, a bit strange against your skin, while her lips are soft and warm. She licks your lower lip once, twice, three times, and before she can do it for the fourth time, your mouth opens. Her tongue slips against yours, and her arms curl around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss gets heavy and searing.

"Oh," you breathe out after a few seconds. "Oh?" She asks back, smirking. "I need more than that, little human." The moan out of your lips before you can stop it. Her brow lifts with interest. "Do you like it when I call you that?" She asks. "Yes." "How much do you like it?" She already knows the answer but wants to hear it from you. "Very much," you clear your throat. You can't think straight when the orc is so close. Her arms are still around you, and her breath fans over your face. "Do you get wet?" She asks shamelessly. "Tell me, Meggy, does your pussy clench when I call you little human?" "Yes," you reply, barely louder than a whisper. Your breathing is heavy and ragged. Your fingers tug on her white shirt, opening a few buttons until you can clearly see a part of her breasts. She doesn't wear a bra. "Show me," she says, putting her own hand into yours. "Guide my hand to your pussy, Meggy. Let me feel your wetness and your hot cunt."

Oh god.

Your fingers curl around her wrist. Your hold is weak and trembling as you easily pull her hand under the waistband of your skirt. "Ah-ah," she hums. The orc flicks your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. She can already feel how wet you are, but she wants more. She wants to feel your flesh, wet and hot, under her touch. Tasha doesn't have to say anything else. You lead her hand into your panties until you feel her warmth on your aching cunt. She draws a few teasing circles on your clit, watching your reactions. Your eyelashes flutter as your mouth falls open with a silent moan. Your fingers tighten around Tasha's arm to keep yourself on your feet. Every twist and rub of her fingers sends you higher and higher. Your thighs close on her hand until she can barely move.

It doesn't stop her, though.

"Fuck, Meggy," the orc groans. "You soak my hand. I can smell your pussy, you know that, right?" Oh god. Your reaction is barely noticeable, but she can still see it. A bit of shame and much more hunger glint in your hazy eyes. "The c-camera," you gasp out, looking over her shoulder to the small device hanging in the corner. "Don't worry about it, sweet girl," Tasha replies, leaving your clit to slide through your folds until she reaches your entrance. Your whole body shudders with anticipation. "They can see nothing from this angle." There is a big part of her that wishes otherwise. The orc wants a video of you coming undone in her hands and clever fingers. "Fuck, Tasha!" You cry out when she pushes inside. Your nails dig into her skin. One of her fingers is enough to stretch you. The heel of her hand rubs against your clit. You don't even know where you should concentrate anymore. "It's okay, little human," she hums against your ear. Her voice is deep and smug. "Cum on my hand. Make a mess on my finger so I can taste you." "T-Tasha!" Your scream is hoarse and ragged. Your eyes fall shut when the burning coil in your lower stomach snaps with force. Your muscles twitch with pleasure, and for a long second, you can't even breathe. "So sweet," Tasha hums, watching you the whole time. You are even more beautiful during your orgasm than she imagined. And she imagined it a lot. "My sweet girl, my pretty girl." The orc eases you down from your high softly and slowly. Her embrace cocoons you into safety and warmth while her voice brings you back to reality. When you open your eyes, you see her lifting her finger to her lips, licking down your juice, shining on her green skin. Your blood already feels like lava in your veins, and the sight doesn't help. "You taste as sweet as you look," she says, leaning down to kiss you again. You can taste the faint taste of yourself on her tongue. "Tasha," you breathe out her name but can't continue. You are not sure what you should say. She just made you cum in front of a camera, even if you are safe behind her large body, in the museum where both of you work. "Come home with me?" She asks, helping you out. "We could order some food, and if you are okay with it, I would really like to taste your sweet pussy." Excitement bubbles in your chest again. Your pussy throbs with the need to let Tasha do whatever she wants to do to you. "Okay," you force an answer out through your tightened throat. "I would like that too." A smile spreads across her face and softly tugs you against her side. "That's my sweet little human."

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

[ageingfangirl2]

Do Not Disturb! Shanks (OPLA)

After a night of drinking, Shanks is annoyed and you are sent in to see what's wrong. You put your foot in your mouth and Shanks lets out his frustrations. Shanks x Reader (female) SMUT

Y/N

It was a hot day, and there was one benefit of being a female pirate, you could swap your trousers for a skirt. Your skirts were practical, resting just below your knees with a small slit on the side making movement easier in a fight. You put on your normal white blouse and a brown skirt to match your new brown boots. Living on a ship full of guys you didn't wear makeup, so you simply brushed your hair and put it up in. a ponytail so in the heat it didn't stick to your neck.

This was your second day docked on an island you couldn't remember the name of, your first day and night was a blur due to partying and drinking. Maybe today you could explore and do some shopping.

You walk onto the deck and shield your eyes from the sun. Most of the crew had already left but Benn was standing looking over some documents while smoking.

He looks over at you and smirks, 'looking pretty little lady. You heading off as well?'

Benn was a charmer and your smoking buddy, 'I'm going to grab some water first. Can you get me some smokes and I'll pay you later? You always get the good ones.'

Benn winks at you and goes to head off the ship, 'I'll always get you the good stuff, nothing is too good for my little lady.'

You go to head to the kitchen when you hear Benn call out, 'Can you check on the captain, his conquest left earlier and he's been silent.'

You roll your eyes at the request. Why did it always fall on you to check on Shanks? You were convinced before you joined the crew that most of the guys had seen each other naked so it shouldn't be a shock to them. A few times they sent you in when the hookup hadn't left yet because Shanks couldn't get mad at you. The girl who'd been all over him last night was a prostitute and not a high-class one at that from the way they dressed, but pirates weren't fussy. Before you turned in for the night you checked on Shanks who had called you jealous because he wasn't paying attention to you.

It was common knowledge amongst the crew that from time to time you and Shanks slept together, they even sent you in to calm him down. You might have also given Benn a blow job when drunk and you were out of cigarettes, but other than that you took care of your own needs and hooked up whenever you docked somewhere. There was no real title for you and Shanks, but you weren't jealous because you weren't together.

You knock on Shank's door and get no reply so put your hand on the handle, 'I'm coming in Shanks,' you call out.

The room was dark, the curtains still drawn only letting in a crack of light to illuminate the space. The bed was a mess and your eyes focus on Shanks who was butt naked leaning over his desk with his back to you, giving you a nice view of his ass.

'Captain, Benn wanted me to see if you were okay. You're alive so I'll go,' you say calmly, before turning to leave.

Shanks growls stopping you in your tracks, 'THAT BITCH STOLE FROM ME!'

You can't help but throw your head back and laugh, 'and you called me jealous. You need to get yourself better standards, wait until the guys hear about this, the great Shanks robbed by a cheap whore.'

Shanks's head snaps towards you and immediately you stop laughing and back up, but bump into the small sofa he had. Shanks stalks towards you, something dark behind his eyes, you were his prey.

'Then what does that make you?' he chuckles darkly.

Next thing you know he's spinning you around and pushing you over the arm of the sofa, your face hitting the worn leather leaving you back exposed. His hand pushes up your skirt and you squirm feeling the cold air on your backside.

'Oh shit!' you gasp, Shanks grabbing your ponytail and pulling your head up.

'I asked you a question, answer me,' he states, voice deep from sleep and alcohol.

You gulp, 'Err a girl in the wrong place at the wrong time captain.'

He grunts and releases your ponytail before his hand comes down swiftly on your cheeks making you scream because you weren't expecting this.

'You're funny,' one more smack, 'you're not a cheap whore, you're simply a whore,' another smack, 'at least a cheap whore gets paid,' a fourth smack, 'you're a whore for you captain.'

With each smack, you thrust against the sofa biting your lip. Shanks wasn't lying, his words didn't hurt you, they turned you on.

'then fuck away your problem captain, that's what I'm here for,' you say shakily, your breath catching a little.

Shanks pulls down your underwear and you shift to shed them completely, your clit pressed against the cold leather, 'Beautiful,' he whispers.

You moan loudly as he aligns himself, feeling his tip rubbing against your opening, 'fuck me, captain,' you beg, no shame in your voice.

There weren't many attractive guys on this island so you had to get your release somehow.

Without warning Shanks thrusts, and you take all of him inside you, walls clenching as your hips buck. Shanks grabs your ponytail again as he slams into you more forcefully than the last.

'The ships empty, I want to hear you, we both know you're quite vocal,' Shanks mocks.

'YES...OH FUCK...' you moan loudly, 'FILL ME UP CAPTAIN!'

Shanks continues to fuck you, his grunts mixing with your moans as the only other sound in the room was skin-on-skin contact. You'd hooked up enough times to know when both of you were close.

'CUM FOR ME!' Shanks commands.

You come undone around him, your eyes rolling back as you try to catch your breath. His thrusts become sloppier until he unloads inside you. He keeps his dick inside as you both come down together, if the heat outside didn't make you a sweaty mess, you were a sweaty mess now.

'Good girl,' Shanks coos as he pulls out.

You get back to your feet and pull your skirt back down which was now crumpled, when Benn saw you he'd know what happened. Shanks leans down and kisses your forehead, all the anger from earlier gone.

'Feeling better?' you ask, fixing your ponytail.

Shanks smirks, 'I am now. God, you're too good to me y/n, I guess I can't mope forever.'

TIMESKIP

SHANKS

It was evening when I saw y/n again, their skirt still wrinkled from our morning activity. They said they wanted to explore the town. Benn who was sat next to me on the deck bends down and picks something up before throwing it at them which they catch with ease.

'Thank you, Benn, how much do I owe?' y/n asks, eyeing the box of cigarettes in their hands.

Benn waves them off, 'This one is on me y/n.'

y/n blows him a kiss, before walking past me, they pause, 'I got something for you captain, I'll leave it in your quarters,' they whisper.

I enter my quarters later on and see two things on my desk. One of them was my stolen compass, and the other was a bag of money. I can't help but laugh at the fact that y/n also got me my money back. I didn't want to know what they did to get this back to me, but it was better to have them on your side.

[gingiesworld]

Fatal Attraction

Chapter One

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader/ Wanda Maximoff x Jarvis Stark

Warnings : Fluff. Angst.

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop

18+ MINORS DNI

Wanda Maximoff, was known as Jarvis Stark's new wife, and NYU graduate, that was all. Once Jarvis had gotten a job at his father's company, Wanda had quickly adjusted to the stay at home housewife. Even after she had done her morning chores and meal preps, she wasted a majority of the day either sitting on the sofa watching TV or just staring out of the window at the bustling city below. Even her latest conversations with Jarvis made her want to retreat from him.

"I think we should try for a baby." He told her as her eyes widened.

"What?" She almost yelled across the table from him.

"We're married now." He stated.

"Barely." She told him as he shrugged.

"I have a steady job and income, we can provide for a baby Wanda." He smiled at her as she shook her head no.

"I don't want a baby Vis." She told him firmly. "I am not ready for that sort of commitment."

"We're already married, Wanda." He told her sternly as Wanda started to clear the table. "I think not being ready for commitment has already passed."

"No." She told him as she squeezed her eyes closed. "Being married is different to starting a family. We are both 22 for crying out loud."

"All the more reason to do it." He told her. "By the time they will be off to college we will just be pushing passed 40, an age to start living our lives again."

"I said no Jarvis." She snarled as he just sighed.

"Just think about it." He requested before he retreated to their shared room. Wanda knew exactly how she felt about the whole children's situation.

Did she see herself as a mother at some point? Yes, just not right now. Not when she has a lot of living to do.

So she made it her mission to reject every advance Jarvis had made. Denying his every need to have intimacy with her. She couldn't really sneakily go on birth control as they now had shared health insurance.

So she had done the next best thing, she had made several resumes and sent them out to multiple organisations, hoping that she may just get herself a job and a way to earn her own money and not have to rely on Jarvis's family fund.

Every day she checked the mail, hoping that she may get an acceptance letter, only receiving polite rejection letters.

"I bet you're going to tell me what the others have said huh?" She questioned as she sat with the envelope in her hand. Taking a deep breath before opening the letter and reading the black ink.

Dear Ms Maximoff

Thank you for your resume, and I am afraid that all departments have been filled. Although, I do have an assistant about to go on maternity leave. It is only a temporary position. If you may be interested, please contact me as soon as possible.

Many regards

Y/N Y/L/N

CEO

Wanda was fast to dial up the number provided, although she had waited for half an hour until she was put through to Y/N.

"Y/N Y/L/N, how may I help you?" They answered.

"Hi, Mx Y/L/N, it's Wanda Maximoff." She rambled nervously. "I was just calling up about the temp position you have available?"

"Hi, Ms Maximoff." They spoke cheerfully. "I do have a full week this week but maybe if you can stop by the office at noon? I have 30 minutes spare for lunch if you're free to do your interview then."

"Yes." Wanda answered excitedly. "Of course."

"Perfect." They answered her. "I shall see you at noon. Don't be late." With that they hung up, just before Wanda squealed. She was excited to have a job prospect so soon, but her excitement didn't last too long when Jarvis came inside with one of her resumes in his hand.

"You know, we have been looking to fill some spots in our tech department and when I noticed this on my desk of potential candidates, I thought that couldn't be my Wanda Maximoff but there is only one Wanda Maximoff in New York." He slammed the paper on the table before him. "What are you even doing Wanda?"

"I am looking for a job." She told him.

"You don't need a job." He told her.

"No, but I want a job." She told him. "I am sick and tired of living the same routine every day. It gets extremely lonely."

"Maybe if we try." He started as Wanda interrupted him.

"I already told you no Jarvis!" She yelled. "I am not ready to be a mother!"

"No one is truly ready to be a parent dear." He tried to approach her when she stepped back.

"No." She told him firmly. "I don't want a baby. Not now."

"Wanda! This is something that is expected when we marry." He told her as she laughed.

"We are not living in the 50s!" She told him. "It is my body and I do not want a child."

"It has to be done Wanda." He told her.

"No it doesn't!" She shouted, starting to get angry with every second he wasn't listening to her. "I am 22, freshly out of college, I should be out partying with friends, working a job I hate to try and make ends meet."

"But you don't have to do any of that." He told her.

"Because we have your father's money?" She spoke with a raised brow. "I want to be able to earn my own way Vis, so please just let me." He just nodded as he walked away, leaving Wanda to clean up the dinner that neither had the appetite to eat.

The next day, Wanda was getting ready for her interview with Y/N. She was extremely nervous as she hasn't had a job since she worked part time in high school at the local cafè. So she made sure she was at the building earlier, sipping on a coffee as she waited for Y/N, already being informed that they were in a meeting.

She soon perked up when a door opened and a large group of people left the room. Waiting to see what Y/N looks like.

"Ms Maximoff." They spoke up as they spotted Wanda. "Follow me." She was fast to follow them into their office. Admiring the view from behind them as they sat at their desk. "So, your resume was quite."

"I know, I haven't really had a job since high school." She told them. "But I graduated at the top of my class in college."

"And you are married." They pointed out as they noticed the gold band on her finger. "And you're 22."

"My husband and I have been together since high school." She told them as they smiled softly.

"Well, he is a very lucky guy." They told her before looking at her seriously. "So, why do you want this job?" They asked her.

"Well, I want to be able to make something of myself, earn my own way." She told them. "It's just that Jarvis expects me to stay at home and birth his children but I don't want that."

"You want to be independent." They pointed out as she nodded. "So why did you marry him?"

"I love him." She answered easily, although at that moment, the words felt like a foreign language on her tongue.

"As easy as that." They pried before realising Wanda's unsure gaze. "Forgive me, that was out of line."

"No." She waved them off before looking up again.

"Well, I guess I can have you start on Monday, Jean will show you the ropes before she leaves on Friday." They told her with a smile.

"I got the job?" She asked them, with shock and confusion in her eyes.

"You got the job." They smiled as she squealed. "Just leave your details, social security number and bank account details with Jean."

"Thank you so much Y/N." She stood up as Y/N walked around the desk.

"Be here Monday, 8am." They smiled at her before opening the door for her, the two approaching Jean. "Do you have the files for my next meeting?" She handed them an A4 manilla file. "Also, can you sort out Ms Maximoff's details for your temporary replacement. She will be shadowing you next week before you leave us to have this little guy." Jean nodded with a smile before Y/N had disappeared down the hall and into the elevator.

"They aren't the easiest to work for." Jean told her. "They are perfectionists."

"I can see that." Wanda smiled as she handed over the appropriate papers.

"But they are loyal to their employees." Jean told her. "That is one thing I can say about them." Wanda was fascinated by them, only meeting them briefly but seeing how smart and sophisticated they seemed. It only drew her in, needing to know more. She found herself thinking about them, even when she was laying in bed at night beside her husband. Her thoughts were innocent but she still felt guilty.

[imaginebeautifulworlds]

Loved By Seven | Chapter 5

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Poly!AU, Mate!AU, romance, fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Human!Reader, Peacock!Seokjin, Serpent!Yoongi, Hawk!Hoseok, White Tiger!Namjoon, Merman!Jimin, Leopard!Taehyung, Wolf!Jungkook

Summary: Hiking was just an activity to get you out of the apartment, the last thing you imagined was ending in a whole different world by touching a jewel. That not being enough you end up meeting seven hybrids, and they all claim you shared the Connection with each of them making you their partner for life.

Notes: Hi! This is the first part of the 200 followers celebration, the fifth chapter of this story; the second part is a one shot from my masterlist, I already have one in mind that I hope you'll like it. If you have any idea for what I should do when we hit 300 followers you can leave an ask. Thank you so much for the love the seires has been receiving, I'll try to mantain the same rhythm for the updates. Likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated. English is not my first language so pardon me if anything is misspelled or grammatically incorrect. Also the main idea came from a webtoon but I can’t remember it’s name. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Support me?

With Taehyung at work and full from breakfast, you and Jiwoo explore the apartment and now you know it's way bigger than you imagine it; which makes you think that here getting a place to live is cheaper than in your world or Taehyung makes a lot of money What can be his job? I mean it definitely allows him to live quite well. You find out there are four rooms, the main one (the one you basically throw him out of), two guest rooms (with a bathroom each) and a huge library; aside from a big kitchen, the dining room, a grand living room and a laundry room. "Wow you're boyfriend lives quite good N/N" "He's not my boyfriend!" "Yet" Jiwoo chuckles at your bright face "But I do wonder what his job is" "Or the real state here is better than ours" Jiwoo adds.

Checking exploring the apartment on your list, you guys go back to the main room to take a shower "Hey Ji, can you help me unwrap this? So I can take a shower" "Sure" she sits down on the bed next to your ankle and starts taking off the bandage. With the bandage off, she goes to the drawer your clothes are in and takes the only stuff you have left "Well, we should use that washing machine we found otherwise we won't have anything to wear" Jiwoo says, taking out her clothes, and you nod at her words. Before going to get you, she puts your clothes on top of, what she thinks is, a shelf to organize your clothes to put them on after a shower or a bath Damn this is rich people type of stuff; and takes out a towel from a drawer in front of the sink.

"Let's go" Jiwoo exits the bathroom and helps you up, to hop to the bathroom; once inside you take oof your clothes, relive yourself on the toilet and enter the shower It would be nice to take a bath but I don't want to impose more than I already have. I'm sorry Taehyung I'm using your stuff again you think when you pick up a bottle of shampoo and start massaging your scalp, rinsing it out, you pick up a gel shower bottle and start spreading it on your body, but by doing that your thoughts go to the fact that you're in the same place where Taehyung's been naked just like you're now No no no no F/N don't think stuff like that, you're taking advantage of his kindness by thinking that you cover your red face with your face, and rinse all soap as fast as you can, with cold water.

With your feet really dry, to prevent more sprained ankles, you hop to where your clothes are and hop again towards the toilet to sit and dress yourself like you undressed the night before, sited. Already dressed, you hop to the sink and wash your face with Taehyung's face soap, rinse it and apply his moisturizer. You open the door and Jiwoo's waiting for you at the end of the bed to help you hop to the bed. She sit next to you to help you bandage your walk but you say with a smile "Jiwoo go wash yourself up, I got this" "Are you sure?" "Yeah, go" you point with your head towards the bathroom "Okay". By yourself, you apply the ointment and try to wrap up your ankle, it's not as good as how the doctor did but it's tight That's the important thing right? For the bandage to be tight no matter how it's wrapped up.

A few minutes later, Jiwoo's done with showering and asks, "Well, what we do now? There's nothing to eat, and there's nothing to do" "Well, we can't go out. We don't have keys, we don't know this city. As for food, we'll just have to wait until he comes back. He must have a TV somewhere, and we have to wash our clothes and the dishes from breakfast. " You two exit the room with your clothes on hand "Okay. I'll leave you at the laundry room and I'll go to wash the dishes" Jiwoo says "Deal" and you hop to the laundry room.

Jiwoo leaves you, and now you're in front of two very advanced machines Okay, I can do this, if I cracked the old washing machine at our place I can figure this ones out. You read what it says on the buttons, and look around in hopes to find a manual, which luckily you do Oh well, it's definitely easier than ours you also spot a laundry basket kinda full I should also wash his clothes, as a thank you for all the troubles you smile when picking out his clothes and putting them inside, by doing it you smell something delicious, curious by the source of the smell you bring a t-shirt to your nose it smells like white chocolate Maybe he ate something covered in white chocolate and the shirt got impregnated with the smell leaving it at that you finish with the clothes and start the machine, the cycle spends an hour washing the clothes.

Knowing it would be better to wait for Jiwoo you sit on the floor, trying not to put pressure on your ankle. After another 10 minutes Jiwoo makes an appearance "Ooohhh, you made it work" "Yeah, Taehyung left the manual handy and it was very easy, at least easier than the one at home" you chuckle "That darn thing" she grumbles "How about I leave you at the living room and when this is done I come and pass the clothes to the dryer" "I'm gonna take the offer for the lift but I want to finish the entire chore, otherwise I'll die from boredom" you pout at her "Okay" she chuckles.

Hopping to the living you still don't see anything to entertain yourselves with, not even a TV "Does he not have a TV here? Are there no TVs in this world?" Jiwoo asks scared "I don't think there aren't any TVs here I mean our worlds are pretty identical so maybe he doesn't have one because he doesn't like it" you conclude. Sitting on the couch looking at ceiling, an idea popped on your mind "Can you help me get to the library? Maybe I can find an interesting book there" "Okay, let's go", you support one of your arms around her shoulder and her towards said room.

Inside, you find a comfortable egg chair next to a large window with a beautiful city view and a big comfortable sofa which Jiwoo has already eyes on it. She plops down on the sofa "Don't you want a book?" you ask her "No, I think I'll just let dreamland call me" "Okay" you answer looking through the shelves Maybe we do have things in common, he has rows and rows of fantasy and sci-fi books you smile passing your fingers through the books' spines Apparently he also likes photography maybe it's a hobby of his you think when you see a few books on that subject.

With a book on hand, you sit on the egg chair and start reading. You're so engrossed in the story you almost didn't hear an alarm going off Wow the hour is already up you turn the chair to look at Jiwoo, but find her asleep so soundly she's snoring a little bit. Not wanting to wake her up you decide to hop by yourself to the laundry room. You support yourself with the hall walls, and hop by hop you get to your destination. Pulling out you girl's clothes and his clothes from the washing machine, without paying much attention at the white chocolate smell, you put them inside the dryer, you read the labels on it and a some information from the manual and turn it on Okay another two hours of waiting you think, leaving everything set you hop back to the library.

Inside the library, you see Jiwoo still sleeping and hop back to the comfy chair you were in. The book in your hands has you really engrossed This book is really good, I mean for obvious reasons I've never heard about the author nor the plot, but if this is a series and it's not finished and I leave miraculously back to my world I'll cry you almost hug the book from your thoughts. You keep on reading until that faint alarm is on again. Knowing is from the dryer you get up, hop to see Jiwoo This girl is sleeping way too much…or maybe she's faking it you touch her shoulder with tiny force but that only makes her turn around and wave her hand at you She's so cute you chuckle. Hopping to the library you see a watch on the wall Wow it's almost noon, I'm gonna feel hunger in any moment you pout but continue hoping to the laundry room.

You take out all the clothes and put them in a basket labeled "Clean" with coffee dots around the letters Cute you smile at the mental image of a Taehyung labeling baskets. With basket in hand, you decide it's way too far for you to hop to the library, besides your foot's been hurting a little bit from all the hopping around, so you settle for the living room. You sit on the biggest sofa, from the three available, and pull the table on the center towards you so you could have a place to elevate your foot, already settled you start folding the clothes and putting them in piles next to you on the sofa Ignore Taehyung's underwear, just ignore it, just like you've been ignoring the white chocolate smell all morning. Folding the last shirt you hear ruckus on the door and suddenly a Taehyung filled with bags comes into view once the door is open "I'm home".

"OMG Taehyung, let me help you" you try to rush, but accidentally you stand up with both feet and winced Well if it wasn't hurting before now it definitely is and quickly sit down again. Taehyung watching this closes the door as fast as he can, and runs to you leaving the bags in the sofa next to where you are, and one in particular he leaves it on top of the table "Beautiful you can't do that, you'll hurt your ankle more" he crouches next to you, only the point of his tail moving slowly "Did Jiwoo bandage you? Because it got loose" he looks up at you, with those big brown eyes of him leaving you breathless for a moment, and starts wrapping your foot  "Mmm, no, I did it myself…I swear it was tight but with all the hopping I guess it got loose" you say with red ears feeling a little embarrassed, about the bandage but also about your reaction at him. Then he notices the folded clothes next to you "Did you do the laundry?" "Yeah" you smile at him "Why didn't Jiwoo do it? You know you can't move much" your smile faded "Well, she did the dishes and she was gonna do the laundry but I told her not to because we couldn't find something to entertain ourselves with and I didn't want to feel useless " he finishes bandaging you, but you continue "So I washed the clothes while she washed the dishes and the hopped to the library, because we reckoned your apartment…it's really nice" he smiles at you at that, however you continue "And while the clothes were washing I picked one of your books and started reading, by the way I'm sorry that I've been using your stuff without asking for your permission like your shampoo, body wash, face soap, moisturizer, cooking utensils and now your books" you looked at your hands ashamed, Taehyung almost coos at this and brings his hand to your face, grabs softly your chin and lifts it up "But Beautiful…Well, first, I have a TV is right there" he points at a blank space "You just have to lift it up" you look at him confused, he chuckles "I'll show you later. Second, you're not useless you're hurt, once you're on top shape you can do anything you want" he gives you a boxy smile "And third, you can use anything you want, everything I have here is yours too" you light up like Christmas tree after he says that.

"Let's go eat now, I bet you're hungry" as soon as he says that your stomach rumbles and he laughs "I guess I'm getting to know you better, at least your eating habit" "Shut up" you mumble dreading the embarrassment you're feeling right now. He picks you up bridal style making yell a little bit "H-h-hey I can hop to the kitchen" "Nu-uh, while I'm here you won't be doing that" he sits you down in a stool and exits the kitchen. Now that he's not next to you, you feel how the white chocolate smell has increased since he got home Does it come from him? But I didn't smell this yesterday…ugh, I don't understand and even if I don't want to ask him because this makes me feel like a crazy person, he maybe knows what and why is happening.

He comes back with the bag he left at the table in the living room, and puts it on the island "Where's Jiwoo?" "She's sleeping in the library" "I'll bring her" he turns "Mmm…Taehyung?" "Yes Beautiful?" he faces you again "Can I take out what's inside the bag?" you look at him with bright hopeful eyes "Sure" he chuckles. You open the bag and take out three smaller bags, you open them and take out from each a plate with what looks like lasagna, tiny bags with bread and three bottles with what looks like the soda Taehyung gave you yesterday. You wait sited moving the leg, with the good foot, like a little kid; Taehyung watches this, walking towards you with Jiwoo beside him, and falls for you even more.

Inside the kitchen, Jiwoo sits next to you, rubbing her eyes, and Taehyung, with a pout, sits in front of you "This is one has meat, this one has chicken and this one has meat again but has extra cheese in it" he explains each plate "Can I have the cheesy one?" you ask excitedly "Sure" he takes off the wrap and passes it to you with a fork, he also opens the soda for you "Thank you" you give him a tiny smile, you've read enough romantic books to know these kind of gestures are when the person has a romantic interest in other "I'll take the one with chicken, Taehyung" Jiwoo says "Sure" he passes her the plate, the bottle and the fork. The both take off the wrap from the plate, and all three of you start eating "Wow, this lasagna is so good" you say "Yes, I'll even say it's better than yours" Jiwoo slightly punches you, joking with you "Do you know how to make lasagna Beautiful?" "Yes, sometimes" you smile at him "Then I can't to try it" he smiles at you. You're eating in silence when something pops in your mind "Taehyung, do you work nearby? I mean otherwise how can you be eating lunch with us" "I left early" he answers with mouth half full "Oh, are you sick?" you say worriedly "No? I feel fine" he answers with his head tilted to the side and animal ears standing up "Then if you're not sick how did you get permission?" Jiwoo adds "I just didn't want to be without for too long" he answers so truthfully, you can see it in his eyes, that you almost choke up with what was in your mouth "What is your job?" you finally ask, after drinking a sip of soda "I'm a model" you open your eyes as much as you can when the leopard reveals this "You're a m-mo-model?" you can't believe it, Jiwoo chuckles at this "I knew, someone as handsome as you can't have a desk job" "What kind of modeling you do?" you ask him softly "Mostly photography, sometimes runways" he answers like he's talking about the weather Well, he does it for a living so he must be comfortable talking about it "I had more shoots after the one in the morning but I told my manager to cancel the ones in the afternoon so I could be here with you" he answers before you can make the question "Are you famous? I mean you have a very nice apartment, not to mention big" Jiwoo asks "Maybe? I mean some people think I'm famous" he touches his neck in embarrassment.

You're in shock at what this man does for a living so you just keep eating the lasagna until there is nothing more to eat, not even the bread "Are you okay Beautiful? You stop talking" Taehyung asks, he's nervous because you haven't said anything since he said he's a model Does she not like it? Because I can quit and find another job more to her liking "Do you not like my job? Because I can quit and find something you like" he quickly voices his thoughts "What?!" you almost scream "You can't quit because of me…It's just that I know you're handsome" "You think I'm handsome" he smiles sheepishly, but you don't hear him because you continue your rant "Bu-but I never thought you would be a model and I'm just surprised that's all…Besides you said like we're destined or something and I'm definitely way too normal to be with someone like you" you close your mouth with your hand to stop you from saying anything else, surprised at what you just said "Are you accepting me?" he says with a big smile "I don't know" you answer truthfully "Ohh" he mumbles, a sad expression makes its way to his face, his animal ears also lose their perkiness But she said it, maybe she's just scared of accepting her feelings, I can wait for her. Jiwoo knows she has to intervene now "Uh, Taehyung, what are those bags outside?" "Let's go see what I brought you" he stands up and goes for you to lift you up "Don't say anything Beautiful, I'm not letting you hop" he says seeing how you're about to protest, so you just shut your open mouth.

He leaves you on the couch in the most possible delicate way, and sits down next to you. To leave the two love birds together, Jiwoo sits in the other couch. The first thing he takes out of one of the bags is two boxes "First, I bought the groceries so" he turns to Jiwoo "Jiwoo, can you help me accommodate them" "Sure" she answers "Now, this one is for you Beautiful" he gives you one of the boxes and you notice is a phone "and this one is for you Jiwoo" he gives her the other box "Taehyung, you shouldn't have" you gasp "Of course I had to, besides I wanted to" he smiles at you "Please open it" you do as he says, and gasp once again "It's pink, look Ji it's pink!" you show her "Mine is white" she now shows you her new phone "It already has the most important apps, and it also has my phone number" you notice he put himself in as "Tae " Cute, does he want me to call him like that? I'll have to ask Jiwoo what's his name in her phone…What if I'm imagining things and it's not something special. "I also bought you clothes, it's just a few we can go in a few days again when you're ankle is better" he looks at you, and you nod at him. "Thank you so much Taehyung, you didn't have to" you impulsively hug him, he's shocked but gets out of it fast to return the embrace Wow, hugging her like this I can smell the white chocolate even more he closes his eyes and inhales more, after a while you let each other go at the same time, and smile at each other for a few seconds He's so handsome She's so beautiful.

Jiwoo interrupts the moment to talk about something more serious than groceries, clothes o phones "Taehyung" he looks at her "he have to talk about something" he frowns but doesn't say anything "I think you've noticed how we know almost nothing about, hybrids or technology. It's not because he have amnesia or something like that" At first I did think that, but I guess it's something more he thinks "It's because we're not from this world" he open his eyes, absorbing the new information "But before we explain that to you, we would like to know about your world first and how hybrids came to be" you look at him nodding "Can you tell us, please?".

Taglist: @lovely247 @apathina @kalala22 @singukieee @tinyoonsblog @arantxaglezz @btsiguess-kpop @lachimolala22019 @goldeneclipsedragon @sophiaj650 @sukunasstomachtongue @djodjom1 @uarmyhore @to-see-without-eyyes @chatsgotmytongue @kyuupidwrites @thebisexualonesworld @minjianhyung if you don’t want to be on this taglist anymore let me know :), and if you want to be just leave a comment saying so :)

[neon-junkie]

Fractured

Summary: Tech's recent injury has led him to your Medical Bay, and despite you being excellent at your job, Tech needs additional assistance with easing the pain. You have something fun in mind.

Pairing: Tech x gn!Reader

Tags: Medical assistance, Fractured bones, Medic Reader, Friends to lovers, Oral (giving,) Handjobs, Size kink, Cock worship, Large cocks, Flirting, Pain relief.

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: This is set after Episode 1&2 of Season 2. I actually started writing this back when those episodes aired, but then… depression… lol I have never broken/fractured a bone before (alpha genes,) so I have no idea what actually goes on when you break one lol. I did my research, but… IDK, this is probs off, but you're not here for the medical side of things, are you? Also, I like the idea of nerds with big dicks. I don't really care about size IRL, but Tech with an absolute unit of a cock? Yeah, sign me the fuck up!!!

"You got squished like a bug."

"I did not-" Tech cuts himself off. "Like a bug? Please, restrain yourself from making such comedic remarks about my pain and suffering."

With that, Tech lets out a grunt, and you're unsure if it's at your remark, or an outlet from the pain that he's currently in.

Tech was squished like a bug during the last mission. Splat! As you so put it, after Tech explained what exactly happened in that war chest. The force of a thousand suns flattened his poor leg, and his thigh soaked up most of the damage.

That's what he gets for not wearing thigh armour.

That comment didn't go down well, either. However, Tech should know by now that your wit and sarcasm will never fail you. You have, after all, been running with the Batch long before the Clone Wars fizzled out into… whatever this is, The Galactic Empire, and those who opposite it.

If only Hunter would allow you and the others to join the fight…

Back onto the topic. Tech was carried into the Marauder's medical wing, with Echo's assistance, and left on the medical bed for you to check him over. He was hissing and wincing as he pushed himself up onto the table, his hands flexing whilst he gripped onto his thigh, and pleading eyes met yours as he began going over the series of events.

You were stationed with Hunter and Wrecker, seeing as Wrecker is your loyalist customer when it comes to injuries, only Tech has taken you by surprise!

"It's definitely fractured," you state as you dig through your medical kit, finding something exciting to dial down the pain. Tech has stated that he'd prefer to remain awake, which is understandable, seeing as you won't be stitching him up, or worse, cutting him open.

"I assume I'll have to lounge around with a cast on for the next six weeks?" Tech questions, his eyes watching you as you read over a few labels, deciding which drugs to supply.

"Minimum," you say with a soft nod, half-focused on his words. "These will do," you decide, holding the pill bottle in one hand, whilst the other shuts your medical box.

You turn to face Tech, and with a nonchalant expression, you order, "take off your pants."

Tech's eyes blink wide beneath his goggles, and he lets out a sheepish cough before asking, "pardon?"

"I can't do an X-ray with your pants still on, and do you really want your cast applied over those jeans?" you point to his new pants - casual, straight jeans, which surely can't be comfortable to work in?

Forgive him. It's his first time out in the Galaxy, and a newly freed man is bound to make poor decisions. Live and learn, Tech…

"Oh," Tech mutters. "Understood."

You hand him the pill bottle first, along with a glass of water, and give Tech a strict order to take his drugs before stripping off. "I'll give you some privacy, call for me when you're ready," you inform, and leave the medical wing, the door swishing shut behind you.

Sure, you've seen Tech in all sorts of states, almost naked that one time, back when you were new. Wrecker had found it hilarious to fiddle with the refresher's water supply as Tech went to take a shower, and poor Tech, who was rather reserved when first meeting you, had to leave the refresher with only a towel around his waist. He had barked at Wrecker to, "leave the hot water supply alone! Are you attempting to impress our newest member? Or perhaps, make a fool of me? Both? Do you find this amusing?!" blah blah blah…

-

Minutes have passed, and you overhear Tech calling out, "you may come in."

The door swishes open, and you're greeted by Tech in the same position on the medical bed, relaxing back against the headboard. An untidy pile of armour and clothing has appeared on the floor, not that he has the ability to neatly organise them.

Tech remains in just his turtleneck under armour, his fingertips currently running along the neckline, picking at its tightness. He's wearing a standard pair of briefs, nothing enticing, and the hemline thankfully stops above the X-ray zone. Great! You don't fancy having to order Tech to remove those as they're in the way…

As for the last item of clothing, they're-

"Tech," you speak with firmness. "Are those my socks?"

Tech stops picking at his neckline to gawk down at his feet. His wiggles his toes mindlessly as he sheepishly mumbles, "it appears they are."

"Is that so?" you repeat with a raised brow.

Tech's pleading eyes come out again as he meets your gaze. "I could not find a pair of my own this morning, and seeing as we were in a rush, I opted for the next best thing."

Your eyes trail from his to look at your socks once more, the little tookas on them smiling at you. They're fuzzy, warm and snuggly, and not the sort of item that you ever thought you'd see on Tech.

Omega? Perhaps.

Wrecker? Definitely.

But Tech?

"The next best thing," you repeat his words again. "I'm surprised that you picked the tookas over the voorpaks."

Tech scoffs. "Tookas are the obvious choice. Whilst voorpaks may be pleasing to the eye, they're needy, with no consideration for personal space. Tookas, on the other hand, are far more independent animals, with a…" Tech shuts his mouth, and nervously licks his lips before asking, "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"A sign that the drugs have kicked in," you say with a shrug. "Time to X-ray!"

Tech lets out a defeated sigh, and watches as you set up the X-ray machine. It's a numbing and dull task, but needed, seeing as such a smart man has managed to get himself injured.

The X-ray is taken, and you leave Tech to his own devices as you begin processing the scan at your desk. Whilst you wait for the image to form, you check on a few other things, and in the corner of your eye, you notice how Tech fails to sit still.

His fingertips are running along his neckline again, attempting to find fresh air, even though his under armour has never seemed restricting before. A light glisten of sweat is sitting above his brow, and whenever Tech's hands stray from his neckline, they rest directly on his lap. His fingertips begin fidgeting with the hem of his briefs, only for his eyes to meet yours, and his hands to fall motionless.

"Are you alright?" you question.

"F-fine," Tech mutters. "Just awaiting the results."

With that, the scan is processed, and you hum to yourself as you study it. Tech doesn't look away from you; he studies your reaction, and his shoulders drop with relief as yours do. "It's not as bad as I thought," you state as you rise from your desk. "I'll apply a cast, and unfortunately for you, you'll be bound to the Marauder for the next few weeks."

"Charming," Tech huffs.

You put together a bowl of warm soapy water, and hand it over to Tech, along with a towel. "Give your thigh a good scrub. It'll be the last time it's cleaned until the cast can come off."

Tech follows your orders, and leaves you to begin putting the cast supplies together. He's letting out soft grumbles as he scrubs himself down, not applying much pressure, seeing as bruises have already begun forming.

Within minutes, you're ready, and Tech is attempting to dry his thigh. The bowl of water is discarded, and you softly mutter, "here," as you take the towel from him. "Let me help."

With your order, Tech slowly bends his leg, raising his knee high enough so that you can gently dry the underside of his thigh - a task that he was struggling to do alone. He's still wincing as you dab over the area, but nowhere near as much as he was when tending to himself. It seems you're light on your touch, and Tech is silently thankful for it.

"Keep your leg bent like that," you instruct as you dispose of the towel, and bring your cast supplies over to the workbench.

You gently run your palm over Tech's thigh, questioning if his skin is dry enough to begin the application, and only now do you realise the predicament that you're in.

You're no stranger to Tech's good looks - impeccable cheekbones, a toned chest, nimble fingers, adorable doe eyes, and a hairline so sharp that it can slice through beskar - but the issue is purely that, his good looks. You're attempting to work, and the sensation of your fingertips dancing through the light hair on his tanned thighs is causing quite the distraction.

You scoot your stool over to the medical bed, and adjust the height. Once seated, you let out a deep sigh before beginning your work, attempting to keep your eyes on his forming bruises, rather than allowing it to wander… higher…

Tech looks down at you, quite literally, watching through his tinted goggles as you begin binding his leg, paying special attention to any signs of discomfort - not that he shows any. His fingertips are subconsciously entwining with each other, fidgeting, and attempting to cover up his briefs out of politeness. It's not that you've never seen Tech, or any of the boys in their undies before, but your face is less than half a meter from his crotch, and you're both well aware.

A huff flows from your lips as you fix the soft material in place, the easy part over and done with. Now, it's time to wet the plaster, and apply it one strip at a time - a lengthy process, seeing as you have to wait for each layer to dry before continuing.

As time goes on, you both seem to relax, becoming accustomed to your new-found closeness. Tech even strikes up a light conversation, filling you in on his side of the mission, and speaking highly about the civilian that he met on the way.

"He called me Ace," Tech informs you, "not that I had any issue with it. I found the nickname rather appealing."

Your eyes trail up to meet his, and a soft laugh slips from your lips as you repeat, "Ace?"

"I think it suits me," Tech says with a shrug. "Besides…"

His words continue, shifting into comforting background noise as you do your job. At least Tech is comfortable with you; when you first met, he'd only ever correct you, or information dump on you. Now, you can hold a conversation, seeing as you managed to win him over after correcting him on a minor detail a few weeks into being stationed with the Batch.

The more Tech mutters, the more his form relaxes. His hands move from his lap to adjust his goggles, not that they probably need it, and you can't help but notice something in the corner of your eye.

In hindsight, this was your fault. You shouldn't have looked. You should have kept your focus on your work, and prevented your eyes from prying at Tech's crotch. He is, after all, a grown man sitting in his underwear, with a pretty Medic rubbing their hands along his bare thigh. Tech is a soldier, and it's a known fact that soldiers don't have much leisure time, let alone spare time to do… stuff.

Your lips fall apart, and every circuit in your brain fries within an instant. Your hands, wet and covered in plaster, come to a halt in the middle of a wrap, and all you can focus on is… that.

Tech, after adjusting his goggles, instantly falls silent as he notices that you've come to a halt. He calls out your name, and despite his exceptional mind, it takes him a few moments to realise what's caused you to stop like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh," Tech sheepishly sighs as he puts two and two together. "I…" he stutters, but words fail him. So, thinking on his feet (and fractured leg) he returns his hands to his lap, covering up the issue.

Only now do you realise that you're a karking idiot. Seriously, why did you have to stare?! Why couldn't you have turned away, blushed, and continued working?

You go to apologise, but Tech beats you to it. "I apologise… It's… It's not intentional-" he sputters.

You let out a soft sigh, and shake your head in an attempt to slap some sense into your dense brain. "Tech," you mumble his name, and after blinking heavily, you look up at him.

Tech, with cheeks so bright that they outshine the suns, fails to make eye contact. He's breathing deeply, and mentally questioning if it's possible for him to run away from his problems, even with a half-finished, wet cast around his thigh.

Instead, Tech defends himself even more, seeing as the first option isn't doable. "I have been attempting to control myself this entire time, but it seems my-"

"-Tech," you call out to him again.

Tech finally meets your gaze, but only for a moment. He can't maintain eye contact, he simply can't, that is, until you state something that has his mind spinning in confusion.

"You're huge."

"P-pardon?" Tech sputters, followed by coughing into the back of his hand. That is not what he was expecting to fall from your lips.

You wave your hands defensively, droplets of plaster falling onto the medical bed. "I mean, it's alright, you can't help it," you sputter. Now, you're the one struggling to maintain eye contact, your mind fogging up, clouded with one simple thought.

"Can't help what?" Tech questions. "My erection? Or my size?"

A timid laugh flows from your lips, "I meant your erection, but both, I guess…"

Tech laughs with you, although it's clear that he's nervous. Whatever this is - intimacy, of some form - is new. You're no stranger to light flirting with your boys, and often receiving it in return, but holy Maker. Tech is rock solid, and there is no denying that you're the cause of it; the evidence is right there!

"Well…" Tech's words fall flat, and after adjusting his goggles, he gears up again. Rather than sit in silence, mutually starstruck over the unit sitting in Tech's pants, Tech decides to ramble as much as humanly possible. "…I have chalked my size up as a side effect from my enhancements. There are multiple documented cases that the standard clones all share the same erection size. I am, however, beyond those standards."

"Wait-" you cut him short with a soft laugh. "-There are documented cases of what?"

Tech lets out a chuckle, and shakes his head in awe that he's having to bring this information to light. "It's no secret that we clones have had intimate relationships, and some partners like to… how should I say it? Discuss their experiences with others on the holonet."

You repeat Tech's motions, softly laughing and shaking your head, amazed over this new information. "You mean, people like to jump on the holonet and discuss which Troopers kriff the best?"

"That is one way of putting it, yes."

"Dank farrik," you laugh. You mean, the information that you've been curious about this entire time, has been on the holonet at your disposal? Idiot! Why didn't you simply search for it?

There's no denying that you're attracted to both your squad, and their regular brothers, and as always, curiosity wanders… At least some beings were smart enough to post their findings on the net, along with… whatever else might be on there. You make a mental note to check it out later!

"What were you doing on those sites?" you question, and decide to start working again, seeing as the plaster is slowly drying on your fingertips.

To your surprise, Tech's emotions remain calm as he mindlessly replies, "I was researching my… ahem, abnormality."

"I see…" you conclude. Curious for more, you take a gamble, and up your flirting game. "Has anybody started a thread for Clone Force 99?" you say with a soft purr, causing Tech's ears to perk up as blush begins to form across his cheeks.

"I…" Tech stutters. "Not that I am aware of, no," he says with a nervous chuckle.

Still with wet plaster on your hands, you put on a cheeky grin as you ask, "we could fill in the blank."

Your name comes stumbling out of Tech's mouth as all the heat in his body rises to his cheeks. "You cannot be serious!" He sweats, refusing to maintain eye contact. Nervous hands fiddle with the hemline of his shirt, wringing the fabric tightly in his bare palms, all whilst still attempting to cover up the topic in the room.

"I am," you say with a shrug. "I mean, I've just about seen yours," you gesture to his erection, hidden behind a thin layer of fabric, yet bold enough to make your imagination dance.

"M-Maker," Tech stutters once more. "Where are those pills?"

You laugh as Tech fumbles about with the pill bottle at his side, sliding another one out into the palm of his hand. He doesn't even bother swigging it down with water, dry swallowing the pill like an absolute mad man. "You do know those pills are to ease your pain, right?" you state whilst wrapping another layer around his leg.

"I am certainly in some form of pain. Although I am unsure of the exact type," he sighs, and finally takes a sip of water, correcting his prior mistake.

Biting back a laugh, you suggest, "painfully hard?"

Tech lets out a long and frustrated sigh, meeting your gaze as his shoulders drop in disappointment. "Hilarious," he sarcastically replies, pinching his brow in annoyance.

With a smirk on your lips, you boldly look down at his erection. "It sure seems like you are," you comment, then continue your focus on applying his cast, nearing the end. "You know, sexual pleasure can help ease the pain, and act as a good distraction," you hint, bringing the fact to light. If Tech wants more, then this is his opportunity to take it.

"As delightful as that sounds, penetration would be near impossible in my current state," he gestures to his leg, as if it couldn't be any more obvious.

"There are things that you can do besides penetration, Tech."

Whilst watching you apply the final layer, Tech moves a hand up, fingertips meeting his chin. His brows are furrowed, a sign that he's in deep thought. "You are correct," he hums, before crossing his arms across his chest. "Although I have to question if partaking in such an act will adjust our friendship, and our status within this squad."

"Only if you want it to," you respond, and begin cleaning up, allowing Tech's new cast to dry. "The way I see it, I'm just helping a friend out."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Tech ponders, shifting into deep thought.

Silence fills the air, and yet, you can practically hear Tech's brain ticking away. He's panning everything together, questioning every minor detail, move, motive. Sure, you are helping him out, but wouldn't this lead to other things? Would either of you catch feelings? Have you already caught feelings?

Tech's eyes flick between the pill bottle, and you. He studies you, letting out a soft hum as you tidy up, putting all your equipment away after washing your hands. "I can feel your gaze on me, Tech," you comment, not bothering to look up from your current task.

"Sorry," Tech exhales. "You do have a valid point. This… sexual favour would indeed assist in relieving my pain, yet I cannot accept such a gesture without reciprocating it."

"Let's say that you owe me one, and I can redeem it whenever I see fit," you suggest. You perch yourself on the edge of the medical bed, your form resting against Tech's undamaged thigh. Gently, you tap your fingertips on his cast, testing to see if the material has dried through. "You're all set. So, what do you say?" you offer with a raised brow.

Tech firmly shakes his head in agreement, "I accept your assistance."

"Great," you purr. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, instantly making the man beneath your palm nervous, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "But what do you want me to do, Tech?" you ask, drumming your fingertips against him.

Licking his lips, Tech's eyes wander down to where your hand is resting, before coming up to meet your alluring gaze. "Perhaps you… could possibly…"

"Spit it out," you tut.

"Just… touch me," Tech finally manages to spit his demands out, all whilst looking like he's about to faint. "Your hand alone will be more than suffice," he adds in an apologetic tone, as if he's embarrassed about what has just slipped from his lips.

Eager to see him burst, you ask, "do you want my mouth too?"

"Oh stars."

Tech, the most calm, calculated, and captivating man that you've ever met, is currently turning into putty beneath your fingertips. You've not even touched him, well, at least not in that way, and he looks like he's about to ejaculate at any moment! Maybe it's the pain relief pills that he's taken, or maybe it's because he has a secret crush on you. The answer, you'll never know. All you can do is work with what you've got - a whimpering mess of a man.

"You don't have to answer that yet. Let's just start with my hand," you answer for him. Tech watches through his thick lenses as the hand on his chest begins to trail south, over his lower ribs, across his soft stomach, and now meeting his hips.

Gently, you rest your hand atop of his erection, and Tech just about moans at the minor contact. "I apologise," he sputters, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Don't apologise, I want you to be vocal," you coo. "Well, maybe keep it down a bit, unless you want the others over-hearing?"

Tech shakes his head, then returns his eyes to watching the action. Your strokes are gentle, yet firm, the complete opposite of Tech's rising chest. Is he a virgin? Or has it been a while? Either way, you begin matching his pathetic state once his briefs are adjusted, and Tech's cock is finally free.

"Kriff," you whimper, eyeing up Tech in all his glory. Maker, you weren't expecting such a slender man to be packing so much heat! Sure, it looked rather large when hidden behind his briefs, but now it's here, throbbing in your hand.

You begin pumping his length, slow at first, until finding your rhythm. All the while, Tech is a panting mess, his gaze flicking between your expression, and what's happening between his legs. He all about caves when you slowly trail a blob of spit down onto his tip, lubricating his cock as you continue jerking it.

"This is going to be the death of me," Tech pants. His head rolls back to rest on the headboard, whilst his hands come up to hide his face. He groans into his palms, the odd muscle in his body twitching as pleasure washes through him. When Tech finally does remove his hands from his face, his goggles are on a slight tilt, and surprisingly, he doesn't bother fixing them.

"Oh?" you say with a quirked brow. "I can make things much worse."

"Do enlighten me," Tech suggests, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes.

"How about I show you instead?"

All Tech can do is nod eagerly, yet he fails to prepare himself for what's about to come. (Or who's about to come.)

It's an awkward position, but after readjusting yourself to lie on your side, you manage to make do. Tech's eyes widen as you move your mouth closer to his cock, soon introducing your tongue to the tip. He moans your name, followed by a painful wince.

"Stop putting pressure on your thigh," you look up at him, cock in hand. "That defeats the purpose of my assistance."

In hindsight, you should have propped a pillow beneath his ankle, but something was preventing you from thinking rationally!

Tech mumbles a, "sorry," whilst looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what he wants, and who are you to deny it? You continue introducing your tongue to his tip, his shoulders instantly relaxing at the minor contact.

You soon find yourself sucking the tip, your hand working magic on the rest of his shaft. Already, there's an ache in your jaw, and you silently question how you're going to make this fit… No matter, you'll do what you can, and all efforts seem to be highly appreciated by Tech, who is reaching the state of debauchery as every second passes.

Through the chaos of spit and slobber, a tender hand comes out to rest on the back of your head. The other one finds your free hand, and Tech makes an effort to entwining his fingers with yours. You vocalise your appreciation to his gentle gesture by humming, only that causes Tech to stir. The sensation of vibrations running along his cock earns you another series of pathetic whimpers, and you, being the mischievous devil that you are, decide to only make things harder for him.

Slipping his cock from your lips, you continue pumping the shaft whilst your mouth wanders south. You slip one of his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on it. Tech's mind quite literally explodes! The hand on the back of your head grabs a fistful of your hair, although he is careful as to not hurt you. His other hand, however, removes itself from your palm to grip on the edge of the bed, a desperate attempt at steadying himself.

"Easy boy," you coo, before focusing on his other testicle.

"I c-can't…" Tech sputters. "I cannot hold on any longer, please," he whimpers, begging for what?

"Tell me what you need," you instruct.

"T-To finish… inside your mouth, if you'd be s-so kind," Tech blurts out, his thigh muscles twitching with want. So much for helping ease his pain, hm?

Removing your mouth from him, you peer up to meet his gaze. Tech's hair is askew, loose strands hanging forwards against his flushed face. Desperation is clear in his eyes, although it's laced with warmth and admiration. Tech was right, you two aren't just going to be friends after this, and quite honestly, you're fine with that.

"How can I ever deny you?" you flirt, earning a sigh from Tech. That sigh shifts into a moan as you slip your lips over his tip, and work your mouth to its limit.

Your name is on repeat, drifting from Tech's lips like a prayer. In the back of his mind, he's thanking this strange turn of events. If he wasn't in that war chest, then none of this would have happened, and the pain is most definitely worth it.

A few pumps of Tech's shaft, and he loses himself in the warmth of your mouth. Tech has to remove his hand from your hair to bite his knuckles, a poor attempt of silencing his final moans. The Marauder does not have soundproof walls, so you two will need to come up with a story for when you finally decide to enter the medical wing, and regroup with the Batch.

"Thank you," Tech repeats, over and over, panting as if he's just run a marathon. He looks exhausted, yet you're the one doing all the hard work!

After removing your mouth from his tip, you swallow his load, which only causes Tech to fall even deeper into admiration. "How do you feel?" you ask whilst grabbing the glass of water, left forgotten on the workbench besides the medical bed.

"Euphoric," Tech responds without missing a beat. "The pain was worth it," he adds.

"Are you still in pain?" you ask, offering him what's left of the water.

He swiftly responds, "no," before downing the rest. "You seemed to have worked wonders on me," Tech comments.

You let out a soft chuckle, and rise to your feet, eager to get out of the awkward position. After wiping your mouth dry with a towel, you assist in cleaning Tech up, not that he needs it. It's his leg that's fractured, not his cock, but you're too sweet on the poor man. "You need rest," you comment as you tuck his cock away, putting his unit to bed within the confinement of his briefs.

Tech ponders, and only now does he straighten out his wonky goggles. "I have already asked so much of you, but I have one last request."

"Let's hear it?"

"I… require some assistance with getting to my bunk," Tech sheepishly asks, earning a laugh from you.

"Of course I'll help you with that!"

It's quite the task, seeing as Tech has the upper hand when it comes to height, but you manage to help him to his feet, swinging an arm across your neck for extra stability. You turn to leave the medical wing, until something crosses your mind. Gesturing to the pain relief pills, you state, "you'll probably be needing these."

A smug grin creeps over Tech's lips. "Oh, I don't think I will," he flirts. This time, you're the one blushing, yet you agree with his statement.

Hobbling down the Marauder, Tech's cabin soon comes to your reach, and before you know it, you're helping him into bed. Thank the Maker that the others have retired for the night, hopefully none of them heard that!

After removing Tech's shirt, a pillow is placed under his ankle, providing extra comfort throughout the night. You retrieve him a glass of water, re-entering his cabin to see that he's tucked himself under the covers, his goggles lying on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" you offer, soon expecting to be in your own bunk. It has been a long day, and you're oh-so-eager for your own rest.

"Actually, I was thinking…" Tech trails off, which causes you to raise your brow. "Surely you should spend the night here with me? You know, in case I require support throughout the night-"

"-I know what you're hinting at, Tech," you say with a light laugh, shaking your head at him. "You don't need an excuse, but sure, we can use that when the others ask why I'm leaving your cabin tomorrow morning."

Tech chuckles, watching eagerly as you strip down into your underwear, soon joining him in bed. You're greeted by his stretched out arm, offering you a cuddle, which you gladly accept, all whilst keeping his injury in mind.

"Goodnight, Tech," you exhale, resting your hand on his chest as your head finds its place within the curve of his neck.

"Goodnight," Tech repeats, holding you tightly.

"And remember, I owe you…"

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE I: SCRAPS

you didn't have "anti-capitalist revolution" on this year's bingo card, but you never turn down a good time.

pairing: lee felix x reader | series masterlist (1/4) | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — childhood friends to strangers to something ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst + some fluff word count: 15.4k rating: 18+— minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + trainer!felix, edgerunner!reader, pov switches, time skips, reference to food insecurity + reader living check to check, reader has cybernetic retinal mods + one in her hand, reader experiences temporary vision loss after being knocked out, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v penetration. a/n: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

You don’t deal in absolutes, but you know two things for sure: vending-machine burritos are a crime against humanity; and Han Jisung is a dirty, rotten bastard.

The firm stance you’ve taken on the latter may or may not have something to do with the former, but you can’t draw that conclusion now — not with the abuse your taste buds are currently suffering, anyway.

“Who the fuck —” 

You cut yourself off to spit a mouthful at the ground. Notably, the remnants of that half-chewed abomination look just as awful on the way out as they did on the way in.

 “— Replaced this queso with battery acid?”

Chipmunk cheeks stuffed to bursting, Jisung blinks back at you. He says nothing — suddenly too polite to speak with his mouth full — and shrugs, unbothered. That’s when the realization hits you like a boot to the skull. Drenched in disbelief, your muttering comes out in slow-motion: 

“You spent the last of our cash on these.”

He swallows, though you don’t know how he could bring himself to do it. That act alone makes the rage you’re simmering in bubble over. 

You repeat yourself through gritted teeth, pausing emphatically between every word, “The — last — of — our — cash!”

“My bad?” He eventually offers. Tongue flicking out, he tries to gather the unidentified sauce that clings to the corner of his mouth. He fails. “Not sure what else I was supposed to find with that little money in this part of town, but go off, I guess.”

You bite your lips together to hold back the guttural yell you’re seconds from releasing. At your sides, your empty hands clench tightly. Instead of snapping — with your words or your fists — you close your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose. Deep breaths won’t do you any fucking good in this smog, but your brain tends to work a little bit better without visual interference.

I can go another twenty-four hours, you think. Maybe.

It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten and even longer since your last job. This isn’t out of the ordinary; gaps are to be expected when you live on the fringe, jumping from thread to thread. Still, it isn’t like Changbin to leave you hanging the way he has been lately. It sure as shit isn’t like him to dodge your calls, either.

So, you figure, if you make an unsolicited visit to his office — the stock room of a bar you know better than to frequent — he won’t have a choice. He’ll have to look you in the eye and explain the dry spell, personally. He owes you at least that much.

With your plan finalized, you hold out your left hand to Jisung. In the few moments you’d taken your eyes off him, he’d apparently gone from sitting on the hood of your car to reclining fully with his own eyes closed. Basking like a little lizard in the sunlight, it’s a miracle the hot metal hasn’t burned a hole in his shirt.

“Come on.” You nudge his bent knee with your knuckles to no avail.

As Jisung is wont to do, he pouts. “But it’s so nice out — and your car still reeks, by the way.”

The absolute, rakish audacity.

If you didn’t love him, you’d probably kill him. 

Strike that. 

Love is irrelevant. You wouldn’t kill him unless and until there was a price on his head. After all, your mother taught you better than to do the things you’re good at for free.

“Do we want to talk about whose fault that is?” You ask with a roll of your eyes. The affection’s still there; you know he sees it. “If I recall correctly — and I think I do, having been the only sober person present — you were the one who got blasted and barfed on everything I love in this world.”

“I got blasted and barfed exclusively on the floor of your car.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Exactly. End of list.”

Groaning, Jisung rolls his eyes as far back as they’ll go, but he still takes your hand. He always does, always has. With your help, he scoots his ass down the hood and lands with both boots — precisely where your ejected burrito bite did, not five minutes earlier. You can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading when he whines again, this time louder and with twice as much despair.

After playfully shoving your passenger towards his door, you unlock your own. You don’t dump yourself into the seat, however; not yet. A wall of horrible heat is waiting for you the second the door opens, and you know better than to run into it, headlong.

Jisung is less patient. He’s also more regretful, face twisting in self-imposed anguish when he drops down onto the sun-scorched leather seat. And, to your delight, the hits keep coming. You watch with a smile when the consequences of last weekend’s actions hit his nostrils. The look he gives you falls somewhere between humbled, apologetic, and absolutely dead inside.

“Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit it.” He acknowledges with a wave of his hand. Resigned, he sighs, “I’ll scrub the shit out of the floor mats the next time we can afford a wash.”

Satisfied, you finally climb behind the wheel. Pushing through the slightly-muted sting of the seat against the backs of your bare thighs, you put your foot on the brake and lift your right hand to press your thumb to the ignition port. The roar of the engine covers the way your breath hitches, but Jisung doesn’t have to hear it to notice the grimace that accompanies it.

“Still sore?” He asks. 

To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned as he reaches across the center console and takes your hand in his. It’s gentle, the way he tilts your palm up, but the movement burns in every single one of your tendons. This time, you know you have a captive audience, so you don’t flinch. 

Despite the trouble it’s giving you, you have to admit that the new enhancement looks beautiful in the sunlight. In the center of your palm, two rectangular, silver brackets refract iridescence. Their shine contrasts sharply with the matte, midnight black cybernetic plating that now covers the majority of your palm, spreading to the first knuckle of your fingers but coating the length of your thumb in its entirety. 

More than beautiful, it’s deadly — and it aches like a motherfucker.

“I read a study about these ballistic co-processors last night while you were knocked out,” he hums. 

Classic Jisung. 

He has no medical or academic background whatsoever but wastes his time reading crank doctors’ research for fun. And, of course, he makes sure to mention it — casually and apropos of mostly nothing — in order to impress.

Gingerly, he runs his finger along the edge of the cyberware, mumbling, “It usually takes five days from installation for the musculoskeletal inflammation to chill.”

Your fingers twitch of their own volition, which prompts him to look up at you curiously. 

“Yeah, well…” You grunt.

Less carefully than you should, you pull your hand from his, tap the gear shift, and throw the car into reverse. Peeling out of the lot, you scoff without even bothering to look his way:

“It’s been ten.”

When the War came and went, it took the old way of life with it on its way out. You might’ve been late to the party by fifty or so years, but you’ve got the gist now. It goes something like this:

Korea, as it was once known, crumpled like a beer can in the face of a corporate uprising and was quickly kicked curbside with the trash. In its place came the New Republic — in all its stolen, neon glory — promising technological revolution, profit in excess. Although the world’s eyes were trained on the peninsula then, not everyone stuck around to watch democracy die in real time. 

Not up close, anyway.

Some people had enough cash to run but not enough to make staying worthwhile. With their tails between their legs and their life savings in hand, they left before the capitalist rot could set in fully; chose willful blindness and headed for countries where corporations rule from the shadows rather than broad daylight.

Most people, however, didn’t leave. People like your grandparents, who hadn’t looked up long enough to notice things going to hell in a hurry. And if they did — well, maybe they saw things for what they were: shitty, same as anywhere else. 

Five decades later, that fact hasn’t changed much.

Regardless of why a person opts to stay in the New Republic, their options for survival are effectively limited to two. Simply put, a person can sell their soul to the very corporations that strangled the state, or they can starve.

Nobody ever chooses the latter.

You can safely assume everything you need to know about a person based on where their next steps take them.

For example, those who crave both chic, penthouse apartments and blood-soaked streets are most likely to fall in line with WraithCo.. The name suggests that it’s a criminal enterprise run by fucking ghouls because that’s essentially what it is. More than that, it’s the arms manufacturer monopoly that out-manned and out-gunned the national military without breaking a sweat. 

The high-powered, highly-paid WraithCo. executives find joy in three things and three things only: designer suits; missiles that explode into clouds of fiberglass upon impact; and testing said missiles out on non-violent nomad encampments outside city limits.

Fucking ghouls.

Despite being the most openly violent of the major players, you find WraithCo. to be the most boring. They lack nuance, don’t bother with a false front or a positive PR spin — it’s all a little too predictable. Thanotech, on the other hand, is subtle; the perfect  cover for those who like to convince themselves they’re doing more good than harm.

In furtherance of that delusion, Thanotech replaced all public hospitals with state-of-the-art, for-profit rejuvenation centers. Worse, their lobbyists ensured that medical licensure was limited to employees of those centers, outlawing the provision and receipt of medical care outside of authorized Thanotech facilities. 

In short, those who can’t afford Thanotech’s astronomical rates — specifically, poor fucks like you — are left to fend for themselves in back alley clinics; to pray that they don’t wind up worse-off than they started, that the police don’t sniff them out, and that their new modifications aren’t just garbage-tier knock-offs.

Of course, some people give more of a shit about these designer mods than the patients who may or may not wind up with them. In that case, the last of the three titans has them covered.

It’s no fucking surprise that the Ulsan Corporation is the crown-jewel of the New Republic — it’s primarily responsible for killing the old one. As the world’s premier technology and cybernetics conglomerate, Ulsan is also primarily responsible for the research, development, and distribution of cybernetic enhancements.

Like the one your body is currently acclimating to.

No such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, right?

Ulsan may be less obvious with its bastardry than its counterparts, but as far as you can tell, it’s not good guy behavior to eat an established state and shit it back out. Even if you can’t tie any specific, ongoing atrocities back to them, you have no qualms about adding the desperate state of the union to their indictment.

You can blame them for the desperate measures they’ve necessitated, although you won’t give them an ounce of credit for the spark of resistance they so recklessly lit.

Despite it all, there are still people out there who refuse to accept things for what they are. They find an alternative to the comply or die ultimatum — run along the razor’s edge, taking what they can get, whenever they can get it.

Like Changbin, one of Seoul’s best-connected fixers.

Like you, a gun for hire. 

Like Jisung, sitting in your passenger seat as you drive across town, who’s just happy to be included.

Generally speaking, piss and vinegar don’t mix well with club security.

If you were anyone else, rolling up to The Crypt like you own the place would be ill-advised. More than that, it would be asking to get your teeth kicked in faster than you could say, “I’m on the list.”

Thankfully, as it often does, your reputation precedes you. Nobody in the block-long line bats an eye when you cut right to the front, a fact that has Jisung smirking in a way that might otherwise get him killed. Still, the bouncer shoots you a look that says you’re more trouble than you’re worth; and you agree.

Before your friend can change the muscle’s mind, you grab Jisung by the wrist and tug him through the front entrance. You don’t let go when the door shuts behind you, although it’s more for convenience than concern for his safety. He has a tendency to wander, and you don’t have the patience.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he muses as you drag him towards the main bar, head turning to look in every direction except the one you’re moving in.

You don’t slow down.

Winding your way through the drunks at the counter, you inch closer to the large booths along the far wall. Inside, draped nonchalantly over the plush benches, sit the big guns — mercenaries with far more sway than you, far fatter wallets. They’re living the high life you’ve always dreamed of, and they don’t even notice you staring as you pass.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung waves overhead to one of them, reminding you without trying that he — unlike you — has other friends.“S.Coups, where have the fuck have you been, man?”

You still don’t slow down.

Not when you reach the stairwell at the far side of the main floor. Not when you shuffle down the steps to the employees only section. Not even when the security camera overhead silently demands that you do.

There’s only one locked door amongst the few; you fly to it like a homing pigeon and beat against the metal with your free hand. It isn’t until the burning ache sets in that you realize you chose your right.

“Goddamn it.” You growl down at it, as if your hand will apologize for hurting. Turning your vitriol towards the door, you kick it hard, steel-toed boot forcing out a thud. “Changbin, open this shit up!”

Jisung glares as he scolds you, “Manners, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but his expectant expression doesn’t budge.

“Fucking — fine, okay? Fine.” Hands thrown up in defeat, you take a deep breath. Your next words come out saccharine, accompanied by fluttering lashes that can’t even be seen. “Changbin, darling, could you please open this shit up?”

The two of you wait in dead silence for several seconds before Jisung’s hands fly up to your hair, unprompted. Your surprised yelp doesn’t faze him. He grabs the bobby-pin from where you’ve stashed it under your ponytail, drops to his knees, and starts to work.

You snort, “Well, damn. Look at you!”

Truly, you’re impressed. Jisung normally leaves the dirty work to you, yet here he is — breaking and entering.

They grow up so fast.

He tries not to look proud of himself, but his cheeks blush a shade of sakura and rat him right out. Though you’re sure he’d love to, he can’t even lift a hand to wave you off before the lock clicks. With a quick twist of the knob, he pushes the door open.

Changbin’s office looks close to normal, with a few notable exceptions. For starters, he’s not in it. The man you’re dealing with never sees the light of day if he can help it.

Jisung pipes up first: “Okay, what the fuck?”

The office chair Changbin normally occupies is spun to the side, as if his ass left it in a hurry. Even odder than that is the small, green light which indicates that he didn’t shut off his computer before leaving it unattended. It’s not a decision someone like Changbin — neurotic and paranoid to a borderline clinical degree — makes on his own.

That, you know outright, is a problem.

Cautiously, you slip past Jisung and walk on eggshells towards Changbin’s desk. You know it’s stupid, that no one would bother rigging the floor tiles to blow under the weight of your boots, but you can’t ignore the way your gut twists with every step. That dread only gets worse, the closer you get.

To the right of his primary screen, there’s a half-eaten vending-machine burrito that’s so covered with ants, you almost mistake them for pepper flakes. That sight makes bile rise in your throat, in and of itself, but it’s the untouched cup of coffee that sends a tingle of panic down your spine. Around the base of the glass, hardly visible on the sheet of paper underneath, is a water ring. 

That coffee — at one point, however long ago — was iced.

Changbin would kill you for it if he were here, but he isn’t, so you drop down into his chair. You pause as soon as your ass settles onto the leather, still not convinced that one wrong move won’t set off some sort of trap. The breath you’ve been holding leaks out slowly when your actions go without consequences.

A quick glance up at Jisung confirms that he looks exactly as spooked as you feel. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

He knows the answer before he asks, but that doesn’t stop him. It comes out scratchy, riddled with hesitation that says he doesn’t really want to hear the response. “He hasn’t been here in days, has he?”

You shake your head, just barely, then turn to the desk. Bottom lip pinched between worried teeth, you scan the surface for anything you missed on your first pass.

Give me a hint, you motherfucker. All I need is a breadcrumb.

It’s the absence of something that grabs your attention. Eyes narrowing, you lean forward in your seat to get as close as possible to his monitors.

“Does that…?” You start to ask but your voice trails off before you finish; thoughts moving too quickly to inventory before the next one arrives.

Though black, the screens in front of you aren’t lifeless. If anything, they’re still backlit, glitching subtly in a way they shouldn’t — not if the system had been locked, powered off, or otherwise put to sleep. You don’t have to be a netrunner to know that someone is running an opp, fucking up the computer’s processing and leaving it brain dead.

It’s so small that you almost miss the minimized window at the bottom left-hand corner of his secondary monitor, screen otherwise barren. Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and press a trembling finger to it.

Jisung is hovering so closely over your shoulder that you can practically taste that burrito on his breath. You elbow him once in the chest, hard.

He coughs, pointing to the screen as he sputters, “What the hell are those?”

“Numbers, Jisung.” You deadpan. “They’re called numbers.”

Ignoring the way he grumbles in response, you grab your mobile from your pocket. It springs to life at your sudden touch and broadcasts a holographic home screen in the air just centimeters above the glass. Just as fast, it tracks the movement of your eyes flicking through the list of applications. With the faintest shudder, the GPS navigation consumes the screen.

You repeat what you hope are coordinates:

35.2029, 128.6001.

As the map loads, you and Jisung exchange glances that are underscored by tense swallows. He knows it, and so do you: 

No matter where that pin ends up dropping, you have no choice but to go.

It takes three hours to drive from Seoul to Changwon. Although it’s not a route you’ve taken in years, or one you ever expected to take again, you still know it like the back of your hand. You can still navigate every turn — every crater and curve — with your eyes closed, even now. 

Despite that fact, your decision to race to the southeast this time has nothing to do with sentimentality for the hometown you left five years ago. 

This is just for Changbin, you repeat like a mantra, pressing harder on the accelerator. 

With every stoplight and thought you race through, the background grows blurrier but the big picture gets clearer. Changbin himself has nothing to do with it; and you’re not as selfless as your inner monologue keeps claiming. You correct yourself:

This is for me and my empty bank account.

Really — who could blame you?

You need steady contracts in order to eat. Without Changbin, those get fewer and farther between. It’s the transitive property, or whatever; basic math. You might starve without him, and that is the one thing in this life that you’re unwilling to do.

In the passenger seat, Jisung stirs. When he speaks, his voice isn’t weighted down with exhaustion in the way it usually is, halfway through a car trip. For some reason, it makes your stomach turn to consider that — for what is probably the first time ever — he isn’t sleeping through a drive.

“He left in a hurry,” he quietly notes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him and confirm the presence of that worried crease between his eyebrows. It’s not accompanied by the usual, furiously-bouncing knee. That makes your stomach turn, too. Clearly, he’s vaulted over mere anxiety and landed somewhere close to shutting down.

You nod. “He did.”

It spooks him when you take your right hand off the steering wheel and give his elbow a brief squeeze. You’re not the affectionate type; you both know this. It always makes your rare touches more ominous than comforting.

“Do you think he was running to something, or running away from something?”

Leave it to Jisung to say the quiet part out loud. 

Normally, you have an answer for his constant questions; and if you don’t, you resort to lying or guessing. This time, however, you don’t bother with either of those tactics because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the correct answer is, it’ll still feel wrong because Changbin doesn’t run.

Period.

Full stop.

So, the conclusion your brain keeps trying to come to is that he didn’t — he wouldn’t — if it came down to choice. The only reason Changbin would’ve disappeared like this, suddenly and wordlessly, is if he was taken.

Pulse hammering loudly in your ears, you don’t hear Jisung announce that your destination is only a few hundred meters down the road. Without his emphatic pointing out the windshield ahead, you simply would’ve continued racing forward, taking the speed limit as a suggestion to be ignored. Thankfully, your lead foot switches to the brake with enough time to make your turn. Tires hit dirt; your car fishtails as it transitions from the road to the worn-out path to your right.

“The fuck is this place?” You mutter, more to yourself than to Jisung.

It’s obsolete, you know that much. 

Something akin to an industrial park, but one that clearly hasn’t been used since before the War. There are electrical towers dotting a perimeter around the space, none of which are operational; the grid system was replaced by wind power, then by solar energy no fewer than fifty years ago. The driveway below is so cracked that patches of weeds have overtaken most of what remained of the pavement. All the rest is weathered, reduced to broken bits of cement and dirt.

Your car slows to a stop halfway down the parkway, surrounded on both sides by empty storage units with doors either broken or missing entirely. Hair raising on the back of your neck, you park but don’t kill the engine. Slowly, you rest your right hand over top of the holster strapped to your thigh and open your car door with your left.

The sun set a few hours into your drive. Its absence hasn’t done a damn thing to break the thick heat waiting for you outside. Humid air settles on your skin and leaves a sheen of sweat behind like a handprint, sticky.

“These were the coordinates,” Jisung affirms with a sigh. He stays seated inside the vehicle, leaving you to wonder why. He’s either too panicked to move, or correct in assuming you’d tell him to sit his unarmed ass back down before you made him.

You don’t respond. 

Instead, your eyes continue to scan the property for signs of — well, anything. Movement, a heat signature, whatever might register on your optical mods. There’s nothing, save for the stray tumbleweed somersaulting across the empty lot. You narrow your eyes to zoom in, heart pounding with anticipation.

You almost scream when you see it, but you swallow the urge. Fear won’t do you any good, but the semi-automatic strapped to your thigh might. It’s in your palm before you can blink, cocked and aimed at the figure ahead. At the bottom of your field of vision, your ammo count glows in translucent, block letters.

So, the ballistic co-processor is worth the pain.

Their posture is casual, legs dangling from the metal catwalk they sit on. Their elbows rest against the railing in front of them, as if they’re leaning on a counter in a bar and not spying on you from a scaffold four meters overhead. The way they’re watching in silence is unsettling enough; the wooden tal obscuring their face is fucking nightmare fuel, if you’ve ever seen it.

Head tilted curiously to the side, the stranger stares down at you through small eye holes, wooden mouth frozen in a hand-carved smile. Whoever they are, they’re immersed in the bit. They exaggerate every slow movement for their audience of two.

Good for them, you scoff to yourself.

Gloved hands come up to pantomime “don’t shoot” mere seconds before they grab hold of the railing in front of them. Just as quickly, they swing themselves underneath with a kick of their legs until they’re falling, falling, falling towards the ground below. They land easily on their feet without so much as a grunt. All the while, dust swirls in pirouettes around their ankles, spot-lit by your car’s headlamps.

“What — what the fuck?” Jisung squeaks. 

You don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his question, over and over.

Hands still raised, the stranger slowly closes the distance between you. Their fingers wiggle slightly in some demented version of a wave; they’re taunting you. The unhealed part of you wants to shoot those fingers off, one by one. 

You’ve never been fond of clowns.

“If you like having kneecaps without bullets in them, I suggest you stay still, chingu,” you scoff, now more annoyed than alarmed.

To your surprise, they listen. Their feet still, side by side; and their hands stay where you can see them. That is, until they curl all of their fingers into their palm, except for their right index finger. With it, they point silently over your shoulder.

As soon as you can whip your neck around, a gloved fist collides with your temple. The last thing you see before your vision goes black is a second, wooden smile looming over you.

A hushed tone manages to nudge you awake.

“You really can’t keep doing this. Seriously, your people skills are awful.”

The whole world’s blurry, and you can’t make out the source of the sound, but you’re coherent enough to know it when a second voice chimes in. It’s much less gentle than the first, higher in pitch and twice as exasperated. It snaps, “She was armed.”

“I had it under control,” the first voice huffs. 

The two seem to be too lost in their argument to notice your eyelids fluttering or your fingers twitching. Your wrists aren’t bound, you realize, but that fact doesn’t help you much in your current state. Back resting heavily against the thin nylon cloth of a cot, it’d take more energy than you have to spare in order to get to your feet. Worse, your eyes don’t seem interested in cooperating.

They should be by now. 

They’re open, you’re conscious, and —

Motherfucker.

The more awake you become, the more the ache in your temple reverberates down your jaw. You know without looking that the right side of your face is bruised to hell and back. Scraped up, too, if you had to guess; you hit the gravel like a bag of bricks.

They must’ve done it on purpose, hitting you exactly where they needed to in order to scramble your visual input. The most you get is shapes, black and white static. It wasn’t the hardest knock you’d ever taken to the head — not by a long shot — but it was perfectly targeted and timed. 

Clearly, they’re no amateurs.

One such shadow kneels down next to you. Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while their other hand tilts your drooping head to the side. 

They tut, “Just look at what you did to her face.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s been through worse,” the second voice scoffs. You watch the shadow’s shoulders as they shrug, wishing you could focus on their face well enough to bash it in.

The retort comes quickly, but it doesn’t come in Korean. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

The hands that gently cradle your face pull away, leaving you cold. The action itself isn’t as jarring as the sudden use of English, though — especially the accent it’s spoken with. You may not be fluent, but you can sense what’s missing: the consonant on the end of that last word.

You sense something else, too, but you’re still too disoriented to follow that thought from start to finish. It’s on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Who — ?

The bastard that broke your brain must notice your face scrunching in confusion because their next words seem to be aimed at you. Clipped and unapologetic, they mutter, “Should be fine within the hour. Already been out for —” 

They suck in a breath through their teeth. You can’t tell if they’re stalling in order to toy with you, or if they’re genuinely doing the math. 

“— Seven hours or so, now.”

Fuck!

One of the two snorts out a laugh; it’s the only reason you piece it together that you spoke out loud. Emboldened by the confirmed functionality of your voice, you speak again without thinking it through first. 

You don’t care where you are or who you’re with. You only have one question:

“Is Changbin still alive? Because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

The man kneeling next to your cot chuckles, soft and low, but he doesn’t acknowledge your question beyond that. Instead, he addresses his hamfisted friend. “Can you please get her some water?”

“Am I a waiter now, Yongbok-ah?” The other snips, though his tone is devoid of any real heat. If his face wasn’t blurred out of existence, you’d likely find a sneer on it. “Should I roll some gimbap for her, too?”

“Actually, you should,” counters this Yongbok. His response is buried so deeply under his breath that his back talk may as well be a secret for your ears only. “Punched her clean into the next weekday — so, yeah. It’s the least you could do.”

It grows silent enough that you can hear every incredulous footstep as the waiter storms off.

The remainder says, “Sorry about him,” and for whatever little it’s worth, he sounds like he means it. You say nothing, simply marinating in your resentment. 

Meanwhile, he shifts from his knees in order to sit fully on the ground next to your cot. Elbows extended, he leans back onto his palms and sighs gently, “Minho’s not as bad as the first impressions he makes.”

You scoff so forcefully that you feel it in your sinuses. “This is the second. His first is the reason I can’t see who’s holding me hostage.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shape beside you sits up suddenly. He sputters, “You’re not a hostage, and this isn’t a kidnapping —”

“Then what the fuck is it?” You snap, “Huh, Yongbok?”

Blindly, you throw out a half-balled fist in a half-baked attempt to even the score. It misses by a mile, nearly knocking you off balance in the process. Your wrist is encircled by the same warm fingers you felt before, doubling over but exerting no force.

“We were scouting you. You know, like, soccer?” He chuckles sheepishly. “Changbin mentioned that you were a free agent, so to speak, and we thought you might wanna join the team.”

What the fuck?

“And — it wasn’t supposed to wind up like this.” His shadow’s hands gesture vaguely at the room you can’t see. “I did try to warn you. You just didn’t turn around in time.”

There are too many questions swirling around in your skull to choose from. One of them must break free and nudge your retinal chip back into place because something turns the lights back on. Glitching wildly, your vision flickers from low contrast to high definition. It doesn’t hurt, but the surprised gasp you choke out could easily be interpreted that way.

The man next to you is back on his knees in a second, both hands finding your shoulders to either comfort you or immobilize you — and you aren’t sure which. Against your better judgment, you ignore the reflex that tells you to fight or flee. Instead, you reach out and touch his cheekbone to confirm that the faint spots you see are freckles and not lingering sensory damage on your part.

He doesn’t even blink, much less say a word. There’s no jerk to get away, and there’s not a single question asked about what the fuck you’re doing — just tolerance. Far more than you’d be extending if the roles were reversed.

Freckles.

You aren’t embarrassed, but you drop your hand quickly and scowl at him until he does the same. Once again, he raises them as he leans back. Notably, he doesn’t wiggle his fingers like the first time you crossed paths.

That reminds me —

Abruptly, you draw your arm back to deck him in earnest. 

Just like the last time, he catches you before you can strike him; however, instead of capturing your wrist, it’s the entirety of your fist. His palm absorbs the shock, fingers closing around your hand. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been ensnared in, which you hate.

Smart of you to prevent another attempt.

“Can I finish explaining myself?” He asks, voice soft. 

Bright doe eyes scan over your face cautiously as he contemplates letting your hand go. It’s disarming, sure, but you’d rather die than admit it. 

You give him absolutely nothing to work with, so he adds, “You can hit me when I’m done, if you still want to.”

All you give him in return is a glare, which he somehow correctly interprets as permission to keep going. The grip on your fist loosens, although it wasn’t constricting to begin with. Like nothing happened, you pull it away and cross your arms.

As if nonchalance has ever been your strong suit.

He stares at you, deep in thought, for longer than you know what to do with. Eyes sweeping over your features like he’ll be quizzed later, taking in every detail. It’s unsettling — what about you is even worth gawking at?

When he frowns, that spark of light in his eyes stays put. “You don’t remember me.” 

It’s not a question because he isn’t asking; he’s telling. And you have no goddamn clue what he means, no matter how loudly the voice in your head screams that you should. The familiarity buzzing through your brain can’t place him — not the button of his nose, not even those fucking freckles.

“I don’t know anyone named Yongbok,” you counter, frustration evident.

You wouldn’t be this harsh if you know how not to be. Part of you feels guilty when you see the hurt flicker across his face, but both emotions — his and yours — are gone as quickly as they appear. Consequently, the walls stay up, refusing to give. Despite you, the corner of his mouth hitches up in a lopsided version of a smile. 

That’s familiar, too.

“Never really went by it,” he chuckles. As he does, he tilts his head quizzically. 

Another bell rings, yet you can’t name the note.

Shyly, he takes his half-smile with him and looks anywhere else. The anticipation is spinning cartwheels in your stomach, tingling down the back of your neck, and you’re seconds away from trying to smack the trapped words right out of him. 

Who are you to me?

After a deep breath in and out, he glances back at you from the corner of his eye. His hesitation does nothing to prepare you for his response, which isn’t his name at all. It’s yours — a nickname, more specifically. One no one has used in damn near a decade.

“Been a while, Scraps. Hasn’t it?”

Felix has never seen anyone freeze the way you do when the realization finally hits. For a minute, he worries that Minho did more damage to your poor brain than either of them initially diagnosed; it wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s never been known to be careful or tactful.

Your silence — and your total lack of physical response — doesn’t last, though. He nudges your kneecap with his knuckles just to make sure you can feel it. You blink rapidly, as if you’re just now remembering how.

He starts to ask, “Are you ok—?”, but your fist flies out, pops him right in the jaw, and he chokes on the rest of that question. Hands flying up to cover his face, he collapses back onto the floor with a groan. When the initial shock wears off, it dissolves into laughter that shakes his shoulders.

Honestly, what did he expect?

In a flash, you shove yourself off your cot. You’re on top of him before he can blink, pinning him down. You grip his shirt in one fist and raise the other. He braces himself for impact but doesn’t flinch, too taken aback by the fury you’re capable of communicating without a single word.

“You’re fucking with me,” you spit, breaking the silence.

Your glare is borderline feral — burning — and that makes him laugh even harder. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

To both of your surprise, you don’t hit him again; you don’t even try. You freeze, but unlike the last time, your eyes are shaking. Your raised arm is, too, like it’s taking all you have to keep whatever you’re feeling to yourself.

Classic Scraps.

You mutter, “You’re dead,” and it’s not a threat. 

Not even close, really. It’s a declaration, one accompanied by an expression that’s as close to vulnerable as he’s ever seen from you. All at once, you lower your arm; the rest of you slumps, too. Whispering, you repeat, “You’re dead.”

Something about your tone hurts worse than the burgeoning bruise near his mouth. It aches, even more so when he frowns. You deserve an explanation — an apology, too — but Felix doesn’t know where the fuck to start.

Maybe he should cash that reality check first.

“Is that what people are saying?” He asks.

He’s not sure what about that trips him up. It makes perfect sense that this is the conclusion people wound up jumping to. After all, he left without a word and never came back — didn’t leave a trace, either. 

Felix wasn’t the first teenager to slip through the cracks, so he’d figured that his would be another run-of-the-mill disappearance. Sure, people tend to notice when kids go missing; but that doesn’t stop the world from turning. Sooner or later, people stop looking, either too busy or too hopeless to keep holding a torch.

Eventually, they forget.

At least, that was the reality Felix had subscribed to — that, after a while, he’d slipped through the cracks of collective consciousness. It was easier to tell himself that he wasn’t missed. His guilt couldn’t keep him up at night if nobody remembered that he existed in the first place; especially when a decade slipped past in his absence.

But you did remember. 

You missed him.

You lift your knee so that you’re no longer straddling him and drop onto your back at his side.

It’s funny, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling. The two of you spent years just like this, albeit on the hood of some junkyard sedan. Two pairs of wide eyes were always fixed on constellations, dreaming of something bigger than both of you. Of some future where you weren’t still stuck in the gutter.

“There was no trace of you anywhere.” You speak so softly that Felix is left to wonder whether you’re talking to him or yourself. “No records that you fled, no word from you, no hits on CCTV — nothing. The cops said there’d be a trail if…”

Your voice fades out before you can finish that thought, so Felix picks up where you left off: “If I was alive to leave one.”

There’s a long pause before you speak again. 

“This is where you disappeared to?”

He feels a shift beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way you’ve tilted your head to gaze at him. By the time he does the same, the moment is gone, and you’re taking in the room around you. 

It’s not much, but it’s all he has: A small room in a decommissioned factory, smelling faintly of sawdust despite not containing any. The cot you just sprang from is where he’s spent most nights since he was fifteen. 

The floor underneath it — underneath you — is more dirt than concrete now, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed it; and the few iron shelves that hang along each wall are just as gross. So are the knickknacks he’s set on them, but he doesn’t mind.

The site itself is long forgotten. It’d be an eyesore if anyone ever looked, but no one bothers.

Even satellites have stopped paying it any attention, leaving it to fade into dirt and obscurity, not even a shadow of what it used to be. Once plush and inviting, the surrounding forest was leveled in a firefight that ended with ninety-percent of the nearby buildings getting blown to shit. 

The New Republic could’ve easily organized a relief team to dig through the shattered city. At any point in the last fifty years, they could’ve rebuilt what burned in that failed uprising, but they didn’t; and Felix knows they never will because that rubble has a function. Apart from burying one of the country’s most impoverished districts, it serves as a cautionary tale. A threat left behind to the masses: this is what happens when people pose risk to profits.

Still, flowers can grow within cracks in concrete. After all, his life with you started just a few kilometers away.

“Are we still in Changwon, or did you and that asshole drag me out of the province?” 

That edge of yours is ever present, and Felix is glad. It’s one of the million things he’s missed about you; a feature on the long list of reasons he wishes he could’ve called — messaged, sent a smoke signal, anything — to keep you around in whatever capacity he could.

But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t.

Felix feels the weight of a lost decade sitting heavy on his chest, so he does what he always does: he chooses light. Smiling brightly, he asks, “D’you remember that junkyard we used to run away to after curfew?”

You roll your eyes. You don’t have to say it out loud; he knows you do. The two of you spent more time there than you did in your own homes, lining glass bottles along the wooden fence posts and firing stones at them with a homemade slingshot.

“We’re a few kilometers up the road, actually.”

At this, you sit up so that no part of your body stays pressed against his. Dead silence settles in the space between you like a brick wall. You bristle, then you snap, “All that time you were dead, you were still within spitting distance?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond, but your rigid posture makes it clear that you have no desire to listen. He closes it again without saying a word. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

“Traded in your family, your home, your — Me.” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice breaks. It’s too late. “And for what, Felix? To haunt some abandoned building like a ghost?”

You clench your fists, like a grip tight enough might keep you together. That part of you hasn’t changed either, it seems. Neither has the extremely unsettling way you get quieter, the more upset you are. Just like that, he’s reminded of what you used to say: the more it hurts, the less it shows.

“I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking lineup despite all of that history,” you whisper, deflated. “And you were here the whole time.”

Talking won’t do him much good, so Felix opts to show you. Palms pressed to the ground, he pushes himself to his feet, and he doesn’t bother dusting off the back of his pants once he stands. It won’t make a difference, anyway, when the whole damn city is covered in it.

Once he steadies himself, he extends his hand to you, half-expecting you to slap it away. You don’t budge. You never do, he recalls fondly.

“One chance?” His eyes are pleading, even though you don’t look up to meet them. “It’s hard to explain, but it’ll make more sense if you see it.”

Without looking, you lift your arm and slap your hand into his. A small concession, but it’s enough to make his smile reappear. He’s practically beaming when he hauls you to your feet, and you grip his forearms to keep steady.

“Fine,” you concede with a huff. 

Then, you round on him with one pointed finger, jabbing him in the center of his chest with force. It’ll bruise, but he supposes that’s the whole point. 

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics, or I swear to god —”

“You’ll make me swallow my own teeth?” He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle and tugs you along after him on his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — Heard that threat a thousand times, Scraps, and you’ve never once made good on it.”

Just to emphasize his point, he looks over his shoulder at you and grins with all thirty-two of them.

All things considered, you take everything in stride. You don’t react much at all when you discover that the abandoned building is anything but; refuse to bat an eye when the two people you woke up to are revealed to be a tiny fraction of the whole.

You even keep your hand in his as he ushers you from room to room — through the clinic, the makeshift and woefully under-equipped armory, the Hub — and introduces you to whoever you come across. He might even go so far as to call you friendly, which is a first. Receiving any kind of warmth from you typically requires high-level security clearance. 

Or, at least, it used to. Felix has to remind himself more than once that, small echoes aside, there are parts of you he doesn’t know anymore. This could very well be one of them.

Halfway through the tour, you finally offer up more than a lukewarm greeting and your name. It’s just the two of you now; you don’t have to make yourself palatable anymore. Blunt as ever, you throw out, “This is a cult, right? You ran away from home to join a cult?”

There she is, he thinks.

Felix pulls a face in disapproval, which you either don’t catch or don’t care about. Instead, you turn your head in the opposite direction and let your gaze sweep over the loading dock you currently stand upon.

It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a sitting room, filled with the only comfortable furniture they could get their hands on — half-busted arm chairs, ratty old couches, tables held together with duct tape and a prayer. You drop suddenly onto one such couch, jerking him back until his ass winds up next to yours on a tattered cushion. 

Felix can’t tell if you pulled him down on purpose, or if you simply forgot that you were holding onto him. Either way, he doesn’t mind, but part of him hopes it was the former.

“It’s a collective,” he corrects you, lips flattening into a firm, straight line.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. If it’s a sex cult, just say so.”

He tries not to laugh — really, he does — because the last thing you need is an enabler, but your deadpan delivery has always hit him where he’s weakest. He tries again while swallowing a chuckle: “It’s the Black Screen, home to the most talented and ungovernable motherfuckers on the peninsula.”

You don’t look impressed. Felix doesn’t take it to heart.

“We’ve got a reconnaissance team, netrunners —” 

As if he’s doing a roll call, he points to nearby stragglers with every position he names. 

“— corporate defectors, combat vets, medics, ex-fixers —”

He nudges you with his elbow, wiggles his eyebrows and murmurs, “— Edge runners —” 

If that look in your eye is any indication, you still hate it when he does that.

“And a couple of wayward drunks who — well…” Felix pauses for a moment to think. It doesn’t help, so he shrugs, snickering, “I dunno how they got here, and they don’t contribute much, but they’re fun to have around!”

The corner of your mouth twitches, ever so slightly. He grins down at you, as if to say gotcha. 

“So, it is a sex cult,” you repeat flatly after a beat.

Felix can’t beat your bit, so he may as well join you in it. Bested, he sighs, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You hum in acceptance of his defeat, clearly amused by how easily he still gives in to you. 

With pursed lips, you continue to take in your surroundings. Your brow furrows while you process the information you’ve been bombarded with so far, but you don’t offer up any further questions or snide comments. Thankfully, the silence that falls over you both feels a lot less like lead than the previous one.

Felix’s gaze stays fixed on you, though you’re too busy looking elsewhere to notice. Maybe you couldn’t recognize him, but shit — he’d know you anywhere, anytime. You’ve gotten older, of course, finally grew into those features of yours. Still, there are hints of the kid he used to know hidden all over your face.

Original traits aside, the new additions — the tattoos, for starters — all read like you. In fact, Felix is fairly confident that he’d know who they belonged to, even if the other context was removed. After all, the cyberware installed into your hand can’t undermine the familiarity of it resting against his palm. 

And it sure as shit still hits like it used to.

He considers it a blessing, really, that so much of you survived the years that flew by without him. That the scrawny girl next door — ready and willing to fight God over a single slight — still rolls her eyes the same way, still speaks in that satoori his non-native tongue could never mimic.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” you announce suddenly. The unexpected sound of your voice startles Felix so much that he jumps, knocking his shoulder into yours in the process. You ignore his reaction and continue, “This just looks like someone is collecting people as a hobby. What are you all doing here?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“We’re… starting a fire,” Felix muses. 

You arch an eyebrow expectantly, although the rest of your face remains impassive. It’s less of a demand for him to continue than it is permission for him not to stop.

“And we’re going to burn it all down.” He hits you with a devilish grin, drops his voice low in a way that makes you shiver involuntarily. “The corpo-rats, the lies they sell — all of it.”

“Sounds like anarchy,” you say, tilting your head to the side. There’s a beat, then you grin to match his. “Sign me up.”

Felix stands at the far side of the dining area with his arms crossed and his head leaning back against the cinder blocks behind him. His legs are crossed at the ankles, knees aching from the sheer amount of time he’s been holding the wall up. 

As much as his body wants to sit, the rest of him is out of options. The only table that isn’t full is the one you’re occupying with Changbin and Jisung. After the day you’ve had, you deserve time alone with something familiar. He recognizes that he isn’t that. 

Not anymore — and not yet, either. 

He finds it hard to stray too far, though. You’ve always been able to fend for yourself — that black-and-blue jaw of his is proof enough — but it’s a role he can’t help falling into, looking out for you. Muscle memory.

Although Felix can’t quite make out anything that the three of you are saying, it’s clear as a damn bell when you slam your palms down on the table. Just as obvious is the split second in which your anger gives way — when the pain in your right hand finally registers in your brain.

“That one going to be a problem?”

Hyunjin, as usual, seems to appear out of thin air. He sidles up to Felix and takes up the spot next to him along the wall. All it takes is one quick glance to confirm it — he’s exhausted. Dark half-moons sit in the wells beneath his eyes like ink, silently informing Felix of yet another all-nighter; still keeping secrets as to where he goes at night when everyone else is sleeping.

But Hyunjin isn’t a mystery Felix will ever be able to solve, so he looks back in your direction and asks, “Who, Scraps?” Then, with a shake of his head, he sighs, “No. She’s a cherry bomb, but she’s reliable. Far more than most, actually.”

It’s odd, Felix thinks, that Hyunjin didn’t already know the answer to that question. As the reconnaissance leader of the Black Screen, there isn’t much Hyunjin isn’t aware of. Felix doesn’t comment on that piece, however. Instead, he does his best to interpret your reaction.

“If I had to guess, Changbin just told her about the fake kidnapping.”

And Hyunjin doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his smirk. That was his plan, after all. 

Two weeks ago, Seo Changbin stumbled upon a lead by accident. While Felix isn’t privy to the details of what Changbin dug up, he knows it must’ve been significant. That’s the only explanation Felix can come up with as to how Changbin wound up at the rendezvous point. Nobody — not the corporate ghouls, their war dogs, or any other sorry soul  — finds the Black Screen unless they want to be found. 

Felix is privy to what happened next because it’s the only reason he wound up involved in this at all:

Whatever intel Changbin had was groundbreaking enough to score an invitation to the revolution, but he had more to offer the higher-ups than that. He dropped the name of someone who could be an asset, under the right circumstances. Someone who wouldn’t follow a breadcrumb trail for free but would tear the peninsula apart to find whoever owed them.

For what it’s worth, Felix disagreed with that characterization the second he heard it. Despite the mask you like to wear, you’re incapable of being self-centered. You’ve never been profit-driven, heartless, or attachment-avoidant. Just hellbent on survival for you and the people you feel responsible for, even as a kid. 

The only reason Felix hasn’t asked you about your motive outright is because he knows you’d lie. The truth is simple: Unless it was for someone you care deeply about, you wouldn’t waste gasoline on speeding back to a place you hate.

Hyunjin clears his throat, pulling Felix out of the daze he’d fallen into. Given the pointed look on his face, Hyunjin must be repeating himself when he says, “She got you bad, huh?”

Confusion forces Felix’s brow to furrow. 

“This?” He takes a wild guess and gestures to the bruise on his jaw before waving dismissively. “Nah, her form is terrible. Truly garbage-tier follow-through. I can teach her, though.”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and moves to exit the dining area. As he passes by, he gives Felix a patronizing pat on his shoulder. “Not what I meant, Yongbokie.”

Felix frowns, unsure how to take what he’s being given. 

The fuck?

“Not even close,” Hyunjin calls over his shoulder. 

He shoots Felix a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door the same way he entered it — like a goddamn apparition.

“Wow. Recruited? That’s — wow.”

Jisung is doing a terrible job of pretending he isn’t blushing. He clears his throat to keep his voice even, but it’s useless. He’s not fooling anyone. 

“I didn’t realize we were so sought after.”

“You’re not,” Changbin responds bluntly. He gestures across the table to you but maintains his eyes on Jisung. “She is. You just happened to be present, and they couldn’t leave a witness behind.”

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide the way his face falls. When he opens his mouth to whine, you raise your hand and silently demand that he spare you the earache. It seems to work; he slumps dejectedly and leans with his elbows against the tabletop. You proceed to ignore him.

Affect flat, you stare straight ahead at the source of all your fucking problems. The half of you that wants to hug Changbin for being alive and well is significantly quieter than the half of you that wants to grab him by the nape of his neck and shove his face into his yukgaejang.

Bastard.

“I no longer give a shit how I ended up here,” you state coolly. Liar. “That ship has sailed, and to keep it a buck with you, Binnie —” 

He cringes at the nickname, which is exactly the reaction you sought. 

“— I’m not interested in stroking your ego for getting one over on me. It won’t happen again. What I’m still waiting on —” 

The only reason you leave that clause hanging in mid-air is to see the anticipation stir in his eyes. From where you’re sitting, it’s what he deserves: a little bit of unnecessary suspense. Really, it’s a form of reparations for the giant fucking inconvenience he’s been lately. His balance is way past due. 

Jisung, perpetually along for the ride, shovels shrimp chips into his mouth while his eyes dart back and forth between your face and Changbin’s.

You shoot Changbin a sly smile and grab his beer, tilting the can his way in lieu of a bow. His eyes narrow, visibly annoyed with your stalling, but he doesn’t audibly complain when you down the rest of his drink. Resigned, he accepts the empty can that you hand it back to him

At long last, you clear your throat.

“— is an explanation for why you’re here,” you finally sigh.

Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that they go all-white for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he glares across the table at Jisung. 

“You know, my life was way more pleasant before you dragged this one,” he huffs, gesturing to you with his chopsticks, “Into my bar.”

Just for a moment, Changbin sits with his annoyance. He’s entitled to some of it, you’ll concede. You’re not easy to love — you never have been — and you’re occasionally even harder to like. Despite that, he’s been known to look out for you in his own, mostly useless way; even in moments like this, when you’re being a fucking gash simply because you can. 

But the fact remains that you dragged your ass across a peninsula for him. He knows damn well that you accept payment in the form of secrets when cash is too hard to come by, so…. 

“Spill,” you demand.

That tough exterior of his collapses like wet cardboard, just like you knew it would. He glances around the room quickly to confirm that no one is listening in, then he pushes his empty bowl out of the way. With the threat of staining his white t-shirt neutralized, Changbin leans in and asks, “Do either of you know Jung Wooyoung?” 

Simultaneously, you and Jisung respond:

“The boxer?”

“The biter.”

Just the same, your friends turn to you with identical looks of bewilderment. You shrug, declining to elaborate because Changbin asked if you knew him, not how or how intimately. Truth be told, you’re not sure that he’s prepared for that answer.

“Anyways,” Changbin segues after clearing his throat. “He’s not up to either of those tasks these days.”

Genuinely curious, Jisung asks with a frown, “Did someone finally kill him?”

Fair question, you think.

With the way Wooyoung runs his mouth, it’s a wonder he’s lived as long as he has — assuming, of course, that he’s still alive. Beyond picking fights with people three times’ his size, his specialties include fixing matches and swiping other fighters’ significant others. If he’s not dead yet, you figure, it’s only a matter of time until the consequences of his antics come calling.

Changbin shakes his head, and the look on his face seems weirdly solemn, like the answer is even worse than that. It’s sobering; it knocks the smirk right off your face.

“He was short on cash, so he signed up for some clinical trial promising a million won for participants.”

Jisung, the resident non-doctor, sits up at this development. “Thanotech?”

You’re in the middle of rolling your eyes when Changbin intercepts, grimacing: “No, that’s the fucked up part. Well, one of the fucked up parts.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes lock on him.

“It’s Ulsan running the trial.”

You don’t pretend to be well-versed in any of the biomedical, cybernetic shit going on around you, but you do know that this particular corporation never leaks details of its research and development — not ever. Doing so would run the risk of a lesser titan swooping in to try and to dupe it. 

But that’s not the only revelation that smacks you upside the head.

“Ulsan pays for lab rats now?” You scoff, surprised by your own interest. “Here I was, thinking they used ex-employees for that shit.”

It sounds callous when you say it out loud, but it’s a universal assumption. Part of the New Republic’s mythology, so to speak.

In your lifetime, you’ve never come across a single person who used to work for the Ulsan Corporation — not one. Just the same, you’ve never heard about anyone leaving; no one you’ve ever met has. It’s beyond the realm of possibility that a corporation like that has no turnover, so where do people go when their turn is over?

The dumpster out back, some say. According to others, they wind up in a secret mass grave in the oil fields.

“When he came back, I didn’t know where he’d been or why; I just saw him wandering around like a fucking zombie.” Changbin shivers. “He’s empty now, all sucked dry.”

Jisung looks pointedly at you, shit-eatin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what happened when you —?”

An elbow to the center of his chest stops his question before he can finish asking it. He yelps instead, scooting his chair further down the table to get away from you, your sharp edges, and your even sharper glare.

“It freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t have any answers, so I started poking around for something — anything — that might make sense of it.”

“So, that’s how you got pulled into the web.”

The voice from nowhere makes all three of you jump. You whip around to find yet another stranger. 

How many fucking people do I have to meet today? 

This particular wild card sits on top of the table directly behind yours with arms gently crossed over her chest; not closed off but cold, judging by the goosebumps making themselves known across her bare arms. Her boots rest on the chair in front of her, one chrome leg shining next to flesh-and-blood.

Whoever she is, she’s beaming. That fact confuses the shit out of you because you’re not often met with friendliness, especially from unknowns. Or maybe, you think, it’s a well-concealed effort to disarm you. Whatever it is, it’s working; the urge to snap at her for intruding is dead on arrival. 

You open your mouth to ask what she means, but you can’t get the words out before someone else interjects. 

Minho, that bastard, shouts from across the room, “Spider! Got a minute?”

Her eyes light up in a way that says she has several, so long as he’s the one asking. Without another word, she hops to her feet and pushes the chair that held them back under the table. As she heads his way, she sends you an apologetic smile, like she somehow owes you anything.

“I don’t know what they unraveled by pulling that thread,” Changbin sighs, nodding towards the pair exiting the room. “But this place has been buzzing since I got here.”

You need something to chew on that isn’t this, so you reach over and grab the bag of shrimp chips from Jisung’s unsuspecting hands. The frown he gives you is cartoonish, but as usual, he doesn’t put up a fight. Your version of an apology is holding a spare chip out to him, which he happily accepts.

After shoveling a handful into your mouth, you mumble, “So now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but if these guys —” Changbin gestures vaguely around the room with his index finger pointed. “— Give me a target to point at, I’ll pull the trigger.”

You snort, “That’s a lot of trust.” 

It doesn’t mean much, coming from you. Your metric is beyond fucked, and you know it. That word is foreign, though; so far out of your grasp that you can’t wrap your brain around it.

“Maybe it is,” Changbin mutters while he looks down at the empty can in his grip. 

For a moment, that’s all he says. All he does is stare into the black hole of its opening, as if there’s some answer lurking in the emptiness below it. He must not find it, though, because he crumples the aluminum like a piece of scrap paper. 

When he glances back up at you, you see the uncertainty in his eyes. It reads like fear, which manages to unsettle you.

“I just — I can’t see what I saw and do nothing.”

Your second month in the compound starts with a bang — no, a thud. 

With your body being forcibly ejected from your cot, crashing onto the ground, and your jaw clenching shut quickly with a click of gritted teeth.

“How many fucking times are we doing this?” You growl, less than half-awake. 

Already past today’s quota for rage, you form a fist and swing your arm back violently against the capsized cot; it scrapes along the cement floor and skitters further away from you. The sudden burst of movement doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, but it was worth a shot, you suppose.

Felix, whose sunshine smile is too goddamn bright for this hour, crouches down in front of you. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he lilts, “Until you learn to wake up to an alarm, I fear.”

He pauses, eyes scanning for any genuine distress beyond your shitty mood.

“Does that hurt?” He frowns.

Bleary eyes follow his pointed finger to your elbow, now prickling with blood where you skinned it against the floor. It doesn’t; and you’re not even remotely concerned about it, so you swat his hand away without answering his question and shove yourself to your feet. Once standing, you wander over to your steamer trunk to grab something clean enough to wear. 

The shadowy one, Hyunjin, brought your shit to you a week ago —  thank god. He provided no explanation whatsoever for how he knew where you lived or how he managed to get inside your building, but you’re a beggar, not a chooser. You’d rather enable his burglary than keep wearing the same, re-washed clothes you came here with or borrowing from people you still don’t know well.

As you peel yesterday’s tank-top up and over your head, your gravelly voice flies out to Felix, who stands and moves to lean against the wall. “You at least going to feed me breakfast before you bore me with more target practice?”

That’s most of what your time together has been so far, anyway. The chain of command is sorting out details above your pay grade; and you condition yourself to jump as high as they may eventually ask you to.

Felix doesn’t answer you, which isn’t like him. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and find him staring up at the ceiling, like his life depends on it.

“What are you —?” 

Oh.

You glance down, cutting your question off midway through. He’s giving you and your semi-exposed body privacy, that’s what. 

Sensing blood in the water, you swim in to scoff, “You have no problem flipping my bed when I’m in it, but bras are where you draw the line? What kind of gentleman are you?”

Still averting his eyes, he rolls them. You do him the favor of tugging on a different, slightly wrinkled tank-top; but you don’t give him the courtesy of letting up.

“Where do you stand on ass, Felix?”

“Are you always this annoying, first thing in the morning?” 

Amusement slips through the cracks despite his efforts to conceal it. You slip out of the cotton shorts you slept in, dip your toes under the fabric pooled around your ankles, and flick them at him. He concedes his staring contest to the panels overhead in order to catch them.

Impressive reflexes.

“I’m this annoying at all hours of the day.” You grin impishly for just a second, then shrug. “You’re just less able to handle it, first thing in the morning.”

Bending back over your trunk, you dig through for something denim. You land on black, high-waisted shorts with a triumphant, “Aha!”, and make a big show of raising your trophy overhead. Once again, you glance at Felix to see if your attempt to get a rise out of him was successful. In a way, yes, it was — just not in the way you expected.

Based on the way his gaze lingers on your thighs and the curve of your ass, you don’t think Felix even noticed your theatrics. You don’t think he means to stare, either. As far as you can see, it’s the perfect opportunity to fuck with him further.

“Admiring the tattoos?” You arch an eyebrow and wait for him to blush out of panic at being caught. “I can recommend the artist, if you want to hit them up.”

To your surprise, you don’t rattle him. Dark eyes flick up from your body to your face, and they don’t seem ashamed of where they’ve been. Your plan backfires. More than that, it blows up right in your face, which is starting to heat up.

“The cantine closes in five minutes. Training starts in ten,” he states matter-of-factly, holding your gaze. “So, you can either eat, or you can keep pretending you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t even snap back at him before he chirps, “The choice is yours, Scraps,” with a playful smile.

With nothing more to say, Felix leans away from the wall. On his way out the door, he gives you a lazy, two-finger salute. Dumbstruck, you stand there, watching him leave; wondering where the hell your bumbling, sweetly shy friend from back home managed to disappear to. 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Felix waggles his finger at you. A smug smile toys at his lips when you let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s the problem.”

He takes a step away from you, raises his fists to mimic your posture, and throws a right jab out into the air ahead of him. When he draws it back, he pauses with his shoulders even.

“D’you see the issue with this?” He asks, loosening one fist so that he can gesture from shoulder to shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Is it that nobody’s currently hitting you?”

Felix, to his credit, is completely unbothered by the attitude you keep giving him. He’s far more patient than he should be with you. You, however, do not take criticism well.

“You square yourself off instead of retriggering an attack,” he gently corrects you. “By not turning and leading with your shoulder —” He twists slightly backwards, so that his body is angled similarly to the way it was when he struck in the first place. “— you leave all this surface area open.”

Okay, fine. 

You’ll concede that this makes sense, but you will not admit to poor blocking. In fact, deflecting is what you’re best at, so that’s precisely what you do. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to block hits that aren’t coming?”

Felix relaxes his stance with confusion scribbled all over his face. You don’t wait for him to ask what you mean, plunging right into your notes for him:

“This sparring shit doesn’t feel real because you refuse to hit me. It’s been weeks, and there still aren’t any stakes. If you’re going to insist that I learn this — which, by the way, feels pointless when I’m already armed —”

You gesture down to your thigh, where your pistol is normally strapped. 

“— then you have to make me care.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, opting instead to quietly chew on the challenge you’ve raised. For a split second, you think you’ve finally grasped the straw that’ll break his back. He turns towards the door and walks away, seemingly giving up on trying to teach a rabid dog new tricks.

But Felix defies your expectations yet again, grabs your gear off the counter at the far side of the room, and heads back to you. As he walks, he pulls back the slide to fish out the round that waits in its chamber. Bullet still in hand, his focus shifts to the magazine, which he easily removes from the base of your pistol’s grip. After tucking your ammunition into the back pocket of his jeans for safekeeping, he holds your now-empty firearm and thigh strap out to you. 

“Gear up.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused. You accept the items he pushes into your hands with both eyebrows raised.

“Are we giving up on hand-to-hand, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix snorts with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to prove the necessity.” When you don’t budge, he waves his hand to hurry you along. “C’mon, Scraps. Strap in.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you slip the vertical strap over your belt loop and fasten it before doing the same to the horizontal piece around your thigh. Once it’s nestled snugly against your skin, you slide your weapon into its resting place. 

Holding your hands up, you fire off a saccharine smile like the brat you are. “All done,” you chirp.

The smirk that appears on his face makes your stomach flip for two reasons, the least of which is the anticipation of his next move.

“You want it to feel real, right?” His voice drops so low that you feel it deep in your abdomen. “Fine by me.”

Like before, Felix steps slightly backwards. With a nod of his head towards your firearm, he challenges you, “Draw.”

It’s unfamiliar, seeing him counter you like this. Growing up, he was content to go in whichever direction you nudged him in. The version of Felix you knew back then was passive, agreeable to fault. You may not know what the fuck he’s planning now, but he radiates newfound authority that you almost want to respect, so you listen.

“Fine,” you demur while your fingertips trail over the cool, metal grip. “Make your point and move onto something useful.”

The next sequence of events flashes by so quickly that your brain can hardly keep up. 

Just as soon as you pull the gun from its holster, Felix turns in his spot, channeling the momentum into a strong push off the ground. He’s in the air before you can even level the barrel; and in the blink of an eye, the side of his boot collides with your hand, forcefully ejecting the gun from your grip. The power behind his kick sends the weapon flying several meters away, where it clatters to the floor with a smack amidst the quiet.

Gasping more so out of surprise than pain, you recoil your stinging fist and clutch it to your chest. He reads your expression incorrectly, if his widened eyes are any indication. Immediately, Felix breaks his stance to step across the distance in between you.

Worried hands come to rest on your biceps, squeezing gently. He urgently asks, “You alright?”

You blink back at him, throughly stunned by how fucking fast his reflexes are, and he misinterprets that, too. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sputters. His next words come out so frantically that they bleed together over the course of one breath. “I really didn’t want to hurt you; I just needed you to understand that your gun can’t always save you. Sometimes, you have to —”

“That was insane,” you blurt out.

Felix’s eyes widen, caught completely off-guard by your interruption. It’s understandable, you think. After all, it’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given him over the past few weeks. 

He peeps, “Oh?”

You nod vigorously — and there’s that sweetly shy boy from down the block, blushing slightly under the weight of your attention. 

Somehow, seeing him this way feels like home; the one you knew before he disappeared, that you might actually admit to missing. Acting solely on instinct, you unfurl your right hand and seek out the warmth of his cheek, like it’ll flip a switch and turn the clock back.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t — but you can’t help feeling like this is fine, too.

Until you realize what the fuck you’re doing, and you see the starry-eyed look he’s giving you. Then, you do what you always do.

You dodge.

Patting his cheek patronizingly, you breeze, “I guess I’ll let you train me, then,” before turning to retrieve your gun.

“Oh, really now?” He laughs, like he’s already forgotten the way your mask just cracked. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for this, or disappointed. “Is violence all it takes to win you over?”

Disappointed. 

You wish he’d called your bluff again, like he did so long ago in that closet you’re currently calling a bedroom. Once wasn’t enough; you want to be caught out, to have someone refuse to let you get away with the bullshit you’re always trying to pull. For some proof that you’re not the bulldozer you pretend to be.

Felix raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head teasingly to the side. “Are you actually going to shut up and take instruction this time?”

Like that.

“Maybe.” You crouch down to grab your discarded pistol off the ground, lips pursed to keep the satisfied smile off your face. “Are you going to stop pulling punches?”

Three weeks of sparring tick by before you manage to clean his fucking clock.

It came as a surprise to both of you; not just that Felix slipped up in the first place, but that you were fast enough to capitalize on an opening he’s otherwise never created. You might’ve gasped even louder than he did when you managed to seize the opportunity — but that memory is fuzzy already. It doesn’t matter, anyway, not to him. Either way, the point stands: 

You actually learned from the shit he’s been trying to instill in you.

Having hobbled from the training room to his bedroom, Felix now sits on top of the old, metal counter that once served as a workbench. It’s not comfortable by any means, but he’d rather die than move from his current position. Between his knees, you stand close to him, holding a frozen sponge to his left eye with your right hand. 

Funnily enough, that particular hand is the reason he needs an ice pack in the first place.

For a while, the pair of you exist in comfortable quiet. It’s nice, he thinks, just being present. He would’ve been happy to carry on that way for as long as possible, but the shitty voice in the back of his brain keeps yelling that he’s letting more moments slip by than he has to spare. Wasting time that he should be making up.

He clears his throat to shake off the rust, prompting you to glance down from his forehead to his eyes. Your expression is hard to read, but there’s anxiety in there, somewhere. Felix worries that you’re worried; you’re searching for a sign that you’ve somehow injured him further.

“You’re a quick study — if and when you want to be.” His teasing sounds pathetic because his voice is barely more than a groan. Still, he smirks, “Those corporate mercenaries won’t stand a chance.”

With his good eye, Felix watches as your mask cracks a little further in the shape of a smile. 

For once, you simply nod in acknowledgement and let the compliment slip through your defenses without trying to deflect it. He wants to compliment you for that progress, too, but he’s hesitant to push his luck when he’s already flying half-blind by the seat of his pants. 

Then again, it might be worth the risk to push the envelope — even if you succeed in punching his goddamn lights out for good. He doubts that he’d complain, if that were the case. You’d be an incredible last sight to ever see, wouldn’t you?

His internal monologue pipes up again, demanding that he gamble.

Every single muscle he has aches after spending hours sparring with you, but that’s not at all what he’s talking about when he says, “You’re a knockout, Scraps.”

It’s a cop out, but it’s something. 

Just for a second, Felix wonders if you heard what he meant, and not just what he said. All his doubt disappears when that shy smile tugs even harder at the corners of your mouth.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, chuckling quietly. “If you want to get technical, you didn’t even lose consciousness —” 

Carefully, you bring your free hand up to his forehead and brush flyaway strands of hair out of the way of the makeshift ice pack. By contrast, your fingertips are warm enough to simmer on his skin.

“— so you’ll have to try that joke again when you actually do.”

Although you could, you don’t take your hand back after unsticking his hair from the condensation on his skin. You lower it gently, let it rest on his shoulder, and leave Felix to wonder if it’s a choice, a convenience, or a reflex. 

This eats at him.

A long time ago, this little gesture wouldn’t be something he’d have to guess at. He used to just understand, never once needed to be told. So far out of practice, he’s no longer fluent in your body language — and he hates it.

Unwilling to leave anything else up to interpretation, Felix looks up at you with one, unobstructed eye. “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs.

You freeze without meeting his eyes. 

If he didn’t know better, he might think your retinal mods had been knocked loose again. You don’t seem to see him, and that’s all he wants. All he gets is quiet, so he tries again: “And I’m not bullshitting you, either.”

It’s his low voice speaking your real name that finally draws you out of hiding. Surprised for just a moment, your expression softens when you notice the way he’s studying your reactions. You don’t speak at first, but your bottom lip is pinched between your teeth; a telltale sign that you’re trying to.

“Since this is apparently honesty hour,” you start with an exhale.

Felix braces himself for whatever evasive maneuver you’re going to throw next. 

Shockingly, you don’t throw out a joke to change the subject. You take the ice pack off his eye so he can see you properly, set it down next to his thigh on the counter, and scrub your hands sheepishly over your face.

“You freak me the fuck out.”

You laugh despite yourself, and then you pause just like that; like you’re waiting on him to laugh at you, too. When he doesn’t, you take it as your cue to keep going: “Am I insane, or does this feel easy?

“I think both things can be true.” You shoot him a look that could — and might — kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, but he keeps his eyes locked on you. “And I know you’re not used to easy.”

Felix doesn’t know what he expects you to do next, but your next move isn’t one he would’ve guessed. In the end, it’s your still-chilled palms reaching up to meet him, and your fingers filling the empty spaces between his. Brow furrowed, you study the way you fit together, like the words you’re searching for are hidden somewhere in the gaps of your chain-linked knuckles.

“I’m not used to it because I avoid it,” you correct him, frowning. “Easy scares the shit out of me. It just feels like a trap, you know? Like, the second you stop looking out for it, the other shoe will drop and knock your unsuspecting ass to the dirt.”

Keeping his fingers interlaced with yours, he lowers your joined hands until they rest against the tops of his thighs. You watch them go; he watches you, and he can’t help thinking that he’s the reason you armored up in the first place. That him leaving was the blow to the head that taught you to wear a helmet.

“I’ve got good reflexes,” Felix whispers, squeezing your hand.

At this, your eyes flick upwards. A microscopic crease forms between your eyebrows, and he knows exactly what’s coming next, so he says it first: “Excluding today, obviously.”

When you smile, it hits him even harder than your right hook did.

“What are you saying, exactly?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you narrow your eyes.

“Fuck the shoe.”

The look on your face suggests that he can’t possibly be serious, but he’s never been more so. Maybe he can’t promise you easy in a world like this one; and he can’t keep that fucking shoe from dropping, but he swears he’ll catch it when it does.

Felix has to let go of your hands to hold you properly. You lean into his touch when he snakes his arms around your waist; and you rest your forehead against his, careful not to press into the bruise that borders his eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers. You hum in reply, confirming your willingness to trade. “Kiss me now, and we’ll batten down the hatches later.”

Felix may have called you a quick learner, but you have to wonder what his basis for comparison is. From your vantage point, it’s him that catches on in a heartbeat, like nothing unexperienced is truly new to him. 

Coincidentally, it’s also him that’s kneeling between your thighs, bearing the weight of your hinged knees over his shoulders and making you shake with his tongue alone.

“Fuck, fuck — nngh — fuck!” 

It’s all you can say because it’s the best you can do. 

Over and over, too drunk on the sensation of his mouth, you let profanity spill out of yours. He has you dripping in more ways than one, pooling on that godforsaken counter, and you can’t spare a single thought about the mess you’re making.

Every neuron fixates on him, the cotton-candy blue strands gripped tight between your fingers, and the way he devours you, like he’s making up for skipped meals.

“F-Felix,” you beg, breathless.

Looking up at you from under his lashes, he feigns innocence. It’s bullshit — he knows you’re on the brink of death, knows your whole damn body is buzzing — and his sweet smile doesn’t match his actions. You jolt, wailing, when another kitten lick trails over your clit.

“Hmm?” That low timbre of his vibrates through you when he pulls back, panting.

God, you’re spent already, but you can’t collapse until you know what he feels like, buried to the hilt in you. Something about that need makes you shiver; has your bottom lip quivering when you manage to squeak, “Please.”

Absolutely boneless, you slump against the wall behind you. With far more grace than you, Felix maneuvers his way out from under the tangle of your legs. He ensures that they fall gently back into place on the countertop.

“Gotta work on that stamina if you’re gonna help wage a war,” he teases.

The half-powered glare you shoot at him doesn’t stop him from leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t keep his fingertips from tracing languid lines down the lengths of your bare thighs, either.

Your voice is fucked out and weightless, far softer than you’ve ever heard yourself sound. “Is that what this is? Conditioning?”

The hand not caressing your thigh comes up to cradle your jaw, like it’s something fragile. It’s the first time anyone’s touched you as if you’re breakable, worth protecting — and motherfucker, you’re one soft smile away from crying.

“No.” 

He states it much more firmly than he kisses you. So gentle that you can’t believe it’s real until you taste yourself on him, so warm that you dissolve like a sugar cube on his tongue. 

Fuck any other person that’s ever pressed their lips to yours and called it a kiss. They’re liars, all of them. One by one, their names disappear with every passing second in which you know better.

“Need you,” you moan into his mouth. 

Fistfuls of his shirt can’t bring him close enough. Even when his head dips down and his lips are at your throat, the ache wins out. You crave him anywhere — everywhere — all over you. 

“Going crazy —” You gasp when his teeth nip at your collarbone. “— waiting on you.”

Greedy hands drop to the button of his jeans, fumbling to no avail. Apparently, your dexterity flew out the window two orgasms ago. A frustrated whine jumps out after it, pushing your head back as it goes.

Felix’s low chuckle soothes you, but it’s nothing compared to the relief you feel when his hands nudge yours out of the way. That, too, is a drop in the bucket; bliss crashes in waves when there’s no denim left to separate you. His hands land on your hips, fingertips pressing into your flesh as he guides you further down his length. 

Never — not fucking ever — have you made a sound quite as pathetic as the one you bury into the crook of his neck. You can’t classify it, not as a moan or a whimper. It’s desperate — loud. It’s an air raid siren; every fucking barricade you’ve built over the years being blown to smithereens.

This is it, you think.

Fuck your bank account. 

Fuck staring at the sky and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Fuck your contracts, your shithole apartment, and the million different ways you were set up to lose in this life.

This isn’t about you at all. It’s about you and him; all the space and time you’re dead set on reclaiming.

This is for us.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’ve been working on this since JUNE, and it’s a much bigger undertaking (creatively and….. mentally) than anything else i’ve done before, so i’m scared and also excited to start sharing it with y’all.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet

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