#and tech would just get more and more flustered | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chanifesto · 9 days ago

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ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

“I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

“It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.”

He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

“Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

“Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

You’re silent for a few beats.

“Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

“I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

“Yeah, just five minutes more.”

There’s a pause. “Okay.”

A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

Of course.

Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

Not yet, at least.

His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

Much like you.

His unfinished integral mocks him.

Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

“Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

“It’s brownie mix!”

He peers at you again.

“Brownies?”

You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

“Brownies are cool.”

Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

All you needed to do was force start.

That’s all.

No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

“Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

“...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

“Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

You’d obliged. Quite happily.

And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window.

Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything?

In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

But, that was just a fantasy.

In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers.

God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

“Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

“I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

“Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

“It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

“You’re not incompetent.”

You blink.

“That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets.

“Now, get to bed.”

His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

You stare back at him.

“Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

But he was doing this to help you.

Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

Because you had looked so worried.

So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

“Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

You gape at his back.

“Sieun!”

Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

“I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

“No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

“Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

“Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

You decide they are.

“I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

Sieun chose to be.

“Why do you think?”

Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

You’d looked so worried, of course.

Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

Say something.

A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

“I knew to force start.”

Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

Had Sieun fallen asleep?

This has to be a dream.

But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

“You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

“This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

“I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

“Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

“Yes, Sieun.”

That was everything he needed to hear.

A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

“You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake.

He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

The ghost of you has vanished.

What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

“You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

“You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

And you had barely touched him.

Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

He kisses the inside of your knee.

Then your thigh.

Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

And stops breathing.

You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

He doesn't finish. He can't.

His hands twitch.

You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

But it does.

It does.

He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

“You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

You don’t have time to answer.

Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

His composure fractures there.

A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

His pace quickens.

He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

He wants it all.

You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

He’s hungry.

Possessed.

And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

“Sieun—” you whimper.

His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

“Come for me.”

Your breath catches.

“Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

“Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

His breath hitches.

Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

Sieun stills completely.

And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

“You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

He exhales shakily.

Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

You both gasp.

You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there.

“God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

“Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

“You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

“Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

He knows.

He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

And you do.

It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays.

Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here ⌯⌲ smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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heyyyy, how are you doing???:)

so I've been seeing a lot of bllk x fem!reader fanfic yk those typical "sneaking in" and "dressing up as a guy" to fit in blue lock. may I request about what the blue lock 11 starters' reaction would be when they found out? i can picture isagi making up different possible scenarios as to how reader hasn't been found and lock off by ego considering he's very VERY meticulous with every player's information? please don't mind this request if you're uncomfortable ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ thank youuuu, have a nice day:)

“𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬”

a/n: heyyy, i'm doing good! i hope you are as well, pretty

thank you for the request, this was more fun to write than i expected!

(art credits go to kaziris_ on x)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, aryuu jyubei, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, niko ikki, gagamaru gin

isagi yoichi

spirals. immediately.

“wait. no. that’s not – wait. how?? ego checks everything. he runs background checks, medical records, locker room rotations –"

cue isagi pacing like a madman at 2 AM trying to piece together how you avoided getting caught.

at one point he’s literally scribbling plays on a whiteboard like it’s match analysis: “okay, so if she never showered when anyone else was around, and faked voice cracks at key points… wait. WAS THAT WHY YOU NEVER CHANGED IN FRONT OF US???”

he’s not mad. he’s actually kind of amazed.

"you're like... the greatest tactical deception of blue lock."

itoshi rin

“... i knew something was off.”

lies. he did not know anything. he’s just salty that you were better than him in the last scrimmage.

lowkey respects your ability to deceive the system. no one else could’ve pulled it off.

“well, if you're still here, guess it doesn’t matter. just don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you're a girl."

surprisingly neutral, but his eyes linger on you more often now.

nagi seishiro

“oh. huh. that’s why your hands are so soft.”

not phased in the slightest.

honestly thinks it’s kind of cool that you tricked everyone. “that sounds like a pain. but also kinda genius.”

keeps accidentally calling you “dude” out of habit and then awkwardly correcting himself: “uh. dudette? nah that sounds weird…”

karasu tabito

laughs SO HARD he literally cries.

“bro. BRO. you mean to tell me you were out here breaking ankles and gender norms???”

starts making up fake backstories about how you smuggled a fake mustache into the dorms or used voice-changing tech.

100% wants to know how you did it. every detail. for science (and blackmail).

otoya eita

the flirt switch FLIPS IMMEDIATELY.

“so you're saying i wasn't crazy for thinking you were kinda hot?”

annoyingly smooth about it. calls you “princess” just to see you get flustered.

absolutely refuses to stop flirting. even more now.

“if you needed help keeping the secret, you could’ve asked me. i’m great at keeping things under wraps, baby girl.”

yukimiya kenyu

dramatic gasp. glasses off. slow-motion blink.

“you… you’re a her?”

the poetic side of him kicks in: “like a rose blooming in a battlefield…”

would never admit it, but he starts fixing his hair more often around you now.

supportive as hell though. tells you he respects your drive and the risks you took.

aryuu jyubei

strikes a pose and fans himself with his own hand. “mon dieu… the betrayal… you mean to say… all this time… i wasn’t the only icon here???”

says you’ve raised the standard of beauty and elegance in blue lock.

insists on giving you a makeover “to match your true self,” even if you’re like, “bro please no.”

might actually fight otoya for flirting too much.

bachira meguru

gasps in dramatic anime fashion.

“NO WAY! you’re a GIRL?! THIS IS AMAZING!”

he’s totally hype about it. takes it as a challenge, like, “you were able to sneak by the whole blue lock team?? you’re a legend, let’s be best friends forever!”

starts calling you “mystery girl” and constantly refers to you as his “partner in crime.”

“i knew you were special, but this is next-level. no one can keep a secret like that and still play like a monster!!”

chigiri hyoma

goes very still. blinks. stares.

“... wait. you're serious?”

he has a lot of emotions. probably more than he expected.

part of him’s like, “hell yeah. girl power.” and the other part is like “oh no she’s hot.”

quietly covers for you when needed. he gets what it’s like to be underestimated.

niko ikki

poor boy.exe has stopped working.

you tell him and he literally just stares with wide eyes like a deer in headlights.

doesn’t know what to say for the longest time. then mutters, “i... always thought your voice was kinda nice.”

gets super flustered afterward and avoids eye contact for three days straight.

gagamaru gin

“HUH???”

pure confusion. “but… you tackled me last week. and cursed at me. in a super deep voice. i thought you were just… intense?”

he's like a golden retriever trying to understand algebra. but he means well.

“wait does this mean we weren’t supposed to share toothpaste???”

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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

Note

i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?”

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections.

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy.

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally.

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!”

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,”

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already.

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule.

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already.

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged.

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him.

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her.

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,”

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?”

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his.

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-”

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure.

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?”

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released.

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words.

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused.

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head.

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,”

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got.

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara.

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,”

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her.

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,”

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt.

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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plushieni · 28 days ago

Note

oooo can i request a Bakugo x gn reader whos a year above him and also in the support course? like Bakugo goes to them for suit adjustments and gadgets and stuff and his friends can tell that hes so down bad

bakugo wasn’t sure when he started to be so keen on seeing you, insisting that you be the one to help him with adjustments and quick fixes. he wouldn’t accept anyone else. bakugo wasn’t one to ask for help, but with how intense his battles had gotten—and how his fighting style had improved—so did his gadgets. it was inevitable.

it all started when he rushed in one day, demanding someone fix his suit, only to be met with a very confused and startled you. at first, you were unsure how to react to the angry hero bursting in, but your calm demeanor had a strange effect on him. ever since then, you two hit it off. sure, he was aggressive and ill-mannered, but somehow, you tolerated it. you saw past his gruff, troubled exterior and soon enough, he was strangely calm with you. and for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words, that made him come back.

his friends noticed the shift too. he’d been visiting the support course a lot more often, getting weirdly flustered when his visits were brought up. he would sit there, silent but fascinated by the equipment you fixed. it was clear to them that something was different.

"soooooo bakubro, how did your support course visit go?" kirishima cooed one day, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"shut up." bakugo snapped, though his usual irritation felt weaker than usual. he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, though.

one day, his friends decided to follow him, curious to see exactly what he was up to when he visited you. they wanted to meet the person behind this softer version of bakugo—who was now less explosive and a bit more… calm.

mina knocked on the door, and you shouted, "come in!" when the door opened, they were shocked to find you and bakugo in… a questionable position. you were so close to his face, fixing his earpieces. if anyone else tried to get that close to him, he’d go nuts. but here he was, blushing like a middle schooler. once he saw his friends standing in the doorway, he pulled away quickly, like he’d been caught doing something heinous.

"what are you guys doing here?!" bakugo barked, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

you gave him a subtle, reassuring look. your eyes silently told him it’s okay. "bakugo, it’s fine… did you guys need adjustments too?"

"nah, just here to see our goooood friend. ain’t that right, bakugo?" denki snickered, causing kirishima to chuckle along with him.

"you guys sure look cozy…" kirishima added, earning a nudge from mina.

bakugo’s face turned even redder, and he clenched his fists in frustration. he wasn’t embarrassed by you—not at all. but he was embarrassed about how his friends were clearly noticing something he wasn’t ready to admit. he didn’t want them seeing him like this, looking like a lovestruck teenager. it would give them something to tease him about for months.

you handled the situation with grace, turning it into an easy conversation, getting to know bakugo’s friends and introducing yourself to them. surprisingly, they were cooler than you expected. the teasing was lighthearted, and they didn’t seem to judge him, but bakugo… was seething.

his discomfort was palpable, his chest rising with each deep breath. every second they stayed felt like an eternity to him.

"so, does this mean you two are like… a thing?" denki teased, raising an eyebrow at bakugo. kirishima was grinning widely, clearly enjoying his friend's discomfort.

bakugo’s eyes widened in alarm. "shut the hell up!" he snapped, a bit of nervousness creeping in despite his best effort to hide it.

the conversation continued, but his discomfort was now obvious to everyone. as the minutes ticked by, the awkwardness didn’t seem to fade. class was starting soon, so eventually, they had to say their goodbyes.

"bye, bakugo! bye, bakugo’s favorite tech support! keep him in line!" mina called out, trailing behind kirishima and denki as they left, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

you turned to bakugo with a teasing smile. "your favorite, huh?" you said, your voice light but mischievous.

his face went from red to a deeper shade, and his eyes widened in horror at the thought of his friends’ words lingering. "i didn’t say that," he mumbled, taken aback.

you couldn’t help but grin at him. "sorry, jus' messing with you," you said, moving a little closer.

his jaw clenched, and he sneered, trying to hide the warmth creeping up his neck. "y’know, all of that is…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence without sounding completely dismayed.

you grabbed his hand, silencing him with a soft but reassuring smile. "it’s okay, bakugo. your secret’s safe with me."

his heart skipped a beat as you held his hand. he quickly glanced away, his chest tightening, though he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. for a moment, all the usual bravado and anger melted away, and he just felt… relaxed. and vulnerable. it was scary, but in a way that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad to have someone who understood him.

"yeah, whatever," he muttered, but it lacked the usual heat. his voice was quieter now, softer, and it wasn’t just his usual irritation. there was a strange… comfort in the way you treated him—like you weren’t afraid to see through his walls. and somehow, that made him want to keep you close.

he didn’t say it, though. he’d never admit that he liked the way you made him feel. it was too much—too real. so he just squeezed your hand, trying to hide how soft he felt under your touch.

"don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere," you said, your tone reassuring.

he let out a low growl under his breath.

but as you stood there, your fingers still wrapped around his, bakugo knew one thing for sure—he wouldn’t trade these moments with you for anything.

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 months ago

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Power Play ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Pairing: Omni-Mark x f!CEO!Reader

Warnings: None

Genres: Fem!Dom budding romantic adventure (what a description lmao)

Word Count: 1330

Synopsis: Omni-Mark thought he was the superior being in any room he entered, that is until he met you.

Inspiration: “I’m Sprung” – T-Pain

a/n: when i tell y’all i am strugglinggg with the next part for Shattered Affections i feel like my brain is going to melt out of my ears. so i had to take a break from it and write something quick & fun instead

Omni-Mark always prided himself on being the epitome of control. Super strength, near invulnerability, the kind of cool and collected confidence that made people look twice. Yet, despite all of that, there was one thing that had him completely off-balance: you.

He’d seen you before, of course. Your sleek, perfectly tailored suits, the way you commanded attention with nothing more than a look, a sharp word, or the sheer force of your presence. As CEO of the most powerful tech conglomerate in the world, you were a woman who didn’t need to ask for respect – it was given, the moment you entered a room.

But Omni-Mark wasn’t just mesmerized by the way you carried yourself. No. What had him sprung was how effortlessly you seemed to break through all the walls he'd so carefully built around himself. It wasn’t just your power or authority. It was the way you saw him – like he was more than just a suit of armor and raw power. You didn’t need saving, but you saw him, and that made him feel something he couldn’t even begin to describe.

He still remembered the first time you’d asked him to meet. The corporate event at the annual tech summit. He’d been there, of course, his presence always required when heroes and villains needed to play nice for the sake of business. But that night, when you’d extended your hand to him with a smile that was both knowing and curious, something inside him had snapped.

“Invincible, right?” Your voice had been smooth, rich with a slight but powerful edge. It made his name sound like a compliment, like you knew the weight of it.

"Yes," he’d said, his throat suddenly dry. "Nice to meet you, uh... Miss Y/L/N." He stumbled over the words, heart hammering in his chest.

But you hadn’t let that fluster you. Instead, you leaned in a little closer, as if you were truly interested, and he swore he could feel the heat of your gaze sink into him. “I like what I see,” you had said, barely above a whisper. “I think we could make a lot of things happen together.”

Make a lot of things happen. A simple phrase, but one that had played over and over in his mind ever since. He’d seen countless powerful people come and go, but none had ever made him feel like you did.

It was stupid, really. He was a viltrumite. Strong. Unstoppable. And yet, every time he saw you, he felt a little weaker in the knees, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers.

—

Tonight was no different. He’d just left a fight—one that had left his body aching, his mind scattered. But when you texted him to meet at your office for a "quick chat," it was as though all that mattered was getting to you. You had a way of making everything else irrelevant.

His flight through the sky was sharp, clean, his usual speed, but his mind raced at a different pace. What was he even doing? He was superhuman. Yet, all he could think of was the way you looked in that black pencil skirt earlier today. The way your heels clicked with authority as you walked through your skyscraper. And the way you spoke to him when no one else was around—soft, but no less commanding.

When he arrived, he touched down in front of the glass building. His stomach flipped at the sight of the towering structure, where everything seemed to be in its place, and yet somehow, the only thing that truly made him feel grounded was you.

The elevator ride up was quick, his mind swirling. He wasn’t sure what to expect from tonight. Maybe another conversation that would leave him tangled in his own thoughts, or maybe, just maybe, something more.

The doors slid open, and there you were, waiting for him in your office. The blinds were pulled back, and the night’s skyline sprawled out beneath you. You looked every bit the CEO—cool, collected, in control. But there was something in your eyes as they met his that made his breath catch.

“Mark,” you said, standing from your desk with a slow, deliberate movement. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

He couldn’t help but smirk, the tension between them thickening. “You call, I come. That’s the deal, remember?”

A small, amused smile danced across your lips, but it was the glint in your eyes that got him. You were testing him. Pushing his boundaries, like you always did. And for all his strength and invulnerability, he found himself falling deeper into the trap.

You stepped closer, a move so confident it left him breathless. “You’re always so serious, Mark. Don’t you ever just let go?”

Your words hung in the air, daring him to admit what he already knew: that the stoic mask he wore was slipping, and it was because of you. He was trying to keep his composure, but you were already too close, your perfume an intoxicating blend of power and elegance. It clouded his senses, and he swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

“I… I don’t know if I can let go,” he finally admitted, voice low, strained. “But you make it hard not to try.”

Your smile widened, satisfaction lighting your face. “That’s the idea, Mark.”

For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the air between you thick. Your gaze softened, and he found himself mesmerized by the way you looked at him, like you truly saw him—beyond the hero, beyond the mask. It made his heart beat a little faster.

He knew the risks. He knew how easily things could go wrong. But right now, with you standing in front of him, there was only one thing on his mind.

You stepped closer to him, eyeing him evenly for a moment before gesturing to the chair across from you.

“Sit,” you commanded, your voice cool and unwavering.

Mark’s eyes flickered to the chair, his stoic expression momentarily shifting as if weighing the command. But he didn’t resist. He simply lowered himself into the seat, every muscle in his body tense yet still, as if awaiting the next move.

You paced around him, slow and deliberate, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each step. The sound echoed around the room, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way he was already reacting to your presence. His gaze tracked you as you moved, his breathing shallow, betraying just how much control you had over him without even touching him.

You circled him a few times, each lap making him more and more aware of the power you wielded. The tension in his shoulders, the slight clenching of his jaw—it was all confirmation that you had him right where you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stopped in front of him. You stood there for a moment, your eyes locking with his. And without breaking your gaze, you lifted your foot and placed it in his lap, delicately at first to gauge his reaction before pressing harder into his crotch.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white, but there was no fight in him. No resistance. Only the mild hint of a groan being suppressed in his throat.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your lips curling into a satisfied smile. The words were simple, but they were enough to make his heart race. You could see it in his eyes now—the realization that he was completely under your control.

“You’re mine now,” you added softly, the power of those words settling between you both, unspoken yet undeniable. And with that, you knew for sure that Invincible, the powerful and stoic hero, had become your willing captive, and he wouldn’t fight it. Not now, not ever. And your fun with your new toy was only just getting started.

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #omni mark x reader #mark grayson fanfic #variant!mark x reader

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stevesgother · 8 months ago

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I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :)

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.”

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself.

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’.

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color.

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to.

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time.

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?” It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

Note

Since we've all unanimously decided that Mohawk and Sinister would absolutely wear collars, what would the other petvincibles wear? You mentioned something about some of them wearing necklaces and chokers instead, so I'm curious 👀

Petvincible and their collars

Sinister Mark

One of them choke collars, or those collar-muzzle combos made out of a viltrumite-proof material. The muzzle has a gag of some kind, cuz he loves to drool and gnaw on something.

High-top Mark

A thinner more normal collar, the kind that clips on the back. Has a star design on it. Has a cute name tag.

Prisoner Mark

I don't see him liking any of the restricting or heavy collars. Wears a necklace instead.

20/20 Mark

Shock Collar, or choke collars. Cuz this guy screams freak who breaks rules so he gets shocked.

Flaxan Mark

Seems the type to have two collars. A heavy sturdy collar with blunted spikes, and a choker that is similar to those bracelets made out of parachute cord. Paracord? Idk what they're called.

Mohawk Mark

Got the strongest shock collar out of all of them. One of those massive clunky ones that covers most of his throat, cuz he loves how he can feel it every time he breathes and moves his head.

Long haired Mark

Has a choker, or a thing chain necklace. Wears something close to his neck so it doesn't get tangled in his hair.

Bug eye Mark

Thin and smooth leather collar with a name tag. Will claim its a fashion choice if asked.

Half Mask Mark

A chain that's not very big but sturdy. Might have a lock on it just to send the message.

Maskless Mark

Has a cute flat buckle collar that he doesn't wear a lot cuz he gets flustered. Wears a necklace on the regular.

Full Mask Mark

Something sturdy and thick, so that the reader can grab onto it and wrench him around when he needs it. But wears a choker in public.

Moustache Mark

A flat white leather collar that's always shined and cared for. He treats it like part of his usual uniform and keeps it in the best condition. Has a cutesy pink frilly collar he keeps hidden that hes too embarrassed to wear.

Shiesty Mark

Different chains he wears depending on where he is. At home it can be a thick heavy chain, in public it's more a thin normal chain necklace.

Omni-Mark

Has two collars. One's a normal looking necklace. The other is more a dog collar in red with a heart shaped name tag with the name “wife” written in it. He very rarely wears this, as he would mostly wear it when yall are alone.

Viltrumite Mark

Stylish and sturdy shock collar. Nothing as bulky as what the others wear, this will look like a stylish white choker, but theres electricity in it. He likes the small snaps of it, to remind him that you are there and paying attention.

Bulletproof Mark

Wears a golden chain or necklace, will have a lock on it where the lock matches the one on his, ahem, cage. Reader has the key.

Faceless Mark

The kinda collar you can tighten or loosen very easily, so you can choke him with it quicker and release it when he needs to breathe.

Empire Mark

Will wear a normal choker in public. But at home he wears one of those collars with a ring on it, so you can pull him around by it.

Cyborg Mark

Some sturdy tech collar, or like those throat mics that soap in COD wears. I have no idea what they're called.

Evil emperor Mark

Stylish collar with gems on it, or other kinds of glammer. His collar is mostly for show cuz he LOVES to show off, but of course it can still be used for its purposes.

#male reader #gator rambles #invincible #mark grayson #alternate mark grayson #original alternate mark grayson #cyborg mark grayson #evil emperor mark grayson #sinister mark grayson #mohawk mark grayson #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #invincible imagine #invincible headcanon #mark grayson x male reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson imagine #mark grayson headcanon #petvincible

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bettelaboure · 2 months ago

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a small piece of GD, I had in my drafts for too long. maybe someday it will be a full fic 🤍

You were already regretting the heels.

Not because they hurt—though, they did. Not because you weren’t used to them—though, you weren’t. But because every time you walked past his office, you heard them click against the marble like a countdown to your own humiliation. A slow, echoing reminder that you were a terrible liar when you said you didn’t like attention.

Especially his.

“You’re late.”

His voice was velvet wrapped around a razor. You didn’t even look up, just held the stack of folders tighter to your chest and stepped inside his office.

“I’m not.” You weren’t. You were three minutes early.

Ji-yong, CEO of KJ Holdings, tech prodigy, fashion icon, and certified menace in a three-piece suit, leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world to watch you squirm. Which he probably did.

“You were supposed to be here the moment I started thinking about you,” he said, without missing a beat.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“That’s… not in my job description.”

He grinned. “We should renegotiate your contract.”

You moved to his desk, setting the folders down between you like they could shield you. “These are the Q1 reports you asked for. The numbers from our Japanese team are—”

He reached out, casually brushing his fingers over yours as he picked up the top folder. It was the lightest touch—barely there—but it shot straight up your spine. Your breath hitched, and he heard it. Of course he did.

“You’re so jumpy,” he murmured, not even glancing up as he flipped open the folder. “You always act like I’m going to do something terrible to you.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.” His eyes lifted to meet yours, lazy and hot, and just a little amused. “And I haven’t even started yet.”

Your throat went dry. “Ji-yong…”

He raised a brow. “Mr. Kwon. While we’re at work.”

You swallowed hard. “Mr. Kwon. Right. Sorry.”

“I like when you say my name like that,” he said, flipping another page. “All formal. Obedient. Makes me wonder how else you might sound if I told you exactly what to do.”

Your entire body flushed—your cheeks, your ears, your everything. You took a step back before your knees gave out.

“I—I’m going to go get coffee.”

“Black,” he said smoothly. “Unless you’re bringing yours too. I’ll take it how you like it.”

You paused mid-turn, heart thudding. “Why would you want it the way I like it?”

His smile sharpened. “Because then I can taste it on your mouth later.”

You fled the office.

The first time you met Kwon Ji-yong, he was barefoot.

You’d shown up ten minutes early for your final interview at KJ Holdings—one of Seoul’s most elite tech firms—wearing your best blouse and your most fake confident smile. The receptionist had been flustered, muttering something about the CEO being “in one of his moods,” and then, without any warning, you’d been ushered straight into a massive corner office where a man with platinum hair and absolutely no shoes was standing on a desk.

You froze in the doorway. “Um… am I interrupting?”

He looked over his shoulder, one brow raised like he’d been expecting someone far more interesting. “Only if you’re boring.”

You were too stunned to answer.

He hopped down, walked toward you, and held out a hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Kwon Ji-yong. CEO. Potential disaster. You?”

“Y/N,” you stammered. “Your… new assistant, I think.”

He looked you over once, eyes pausing on your mouth a little too long. “Pretty.”

You coughed. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘pretty impressive resume,’” he lied with a grin that made your stomach flip. “You blush easy, don’t you?”

You hadn’t said a word. You just sat down and tried not to fall in love with a man who didn’t believe in boundaries or footwear.

That was six months ago.

Now? You were wearing pencil skirts you didn’t even own back then, had memorized the schedules of three department heads, and knew—without asking—exactly how Ji-yong liked his coffee, his whiskey, and his chaos. And every day, you walked the tightrope between professional assistant and flustered wreck.

Because he never stopped.

“You know you don’t have to look like a snack just to sit in meetings with old men, right?”

You turned toward the doorway of the executive boardroom, where Ji-yong leaned, watching you adjust the hem of your skirt. His tone was casual, but his eyes? Anything but.

“I didn’t dress for anyone,” you said.

He stepped closer, slow, like he wanted you to feel him coming.

“I know. That’s the best part.”

You tried to maintain composure, eyes flicking back to the stack of files in your hand. “Do you flirt with all your employees, or am I just lucky?”

“I don’t flirt with employees,” he said. “Too messy. Too many lawsuits.”

You gave a tight nod. “Good to know.”

Then his voice dropped, low and husky. “But you’re not just an employee, are you?”

Your heart skipped. He was so close now you could smell his cologne—something dark and woodsy and completely unfair. You backed away slightly, and he grinned.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

You stayed late that night, half because you had actual work to do and half because you didn’t want to admit how much you liked being the last one in the building. The office was quiet after dark. Safer. No Ji-yong watching your every move with that smirk that said he was imagining you bent over your desk instead of working at it.

You thought he’d left.

You were wrong.

He came in without knocking, two glasses in hand and a bottle of Japanese whiskey tucked under his arm.

“Midnight oil,” he said. “You look like you need some.”

You blinked. “Aren’t there rules about drinking with your boss?”

“Sure,” he said, pouring you a glass. “But we’re just coworkers now. It’s past business hours.”

You took the glass from him with a suspicious glance. “And this isn’t inappropriate?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, settling onto the edge of your desk, “if I was being inappropriate, you’d be shaking too hard to hold that drink.”

You stared at him, cheeks flaming.

Then he tilted his glass toward yours. “To blurred lines.”

You clinked.

And drank.

And hated how much you wanted him to blur every single one of them.

He started texting you after hours. At first it was harmless—updates, reminders, small talk. Then it got… not harmless.

JI-YONG [10:42 PM]:

What are you wearing?

You stared at your phone like it might explode. Then you typed:

YOU:

Pajamas. Why?

JI-YONG:

Just picturing you. Cotton or lace?

You didn’t answer.

JI-YONG [10:45 PM]:

Let me guess. You’re all sweet and shy at work, but you’ve got a drawer full of pretty little secrets, don’t you?

You turned your phone off and threw it across your bed.

You didn’t sleep.

#fanfic #bigbang #big bang #kwon jiyong #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon scenario #gdragon

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kaszuma · 1 year ago

Text

Certainly Yours | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 1 of "Certainly Yours"

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro × fem!reader

summary: you and soshiro had been friends for a while now. But sometimes he really tests those boundaries of his

warnings: none. Just light touches but nothing suggestive.

wc: 1,420

note: first time writing for Hoshina. Sorry if there are inconsistencies or mistakes.

Soshiro Hoshina had always been unreadable. Even in the most dire of circumstances, you were always one step behind at predicting the carefully planned steps he took whenever you had the chance of encountering him.

It was evident in the fact that his smile never seemed to reach the crinkles under his eyes. And that cat-like appearance of his, though slackened. Had always made you feel as if he had been observing things thoroughly from a distance. Watching with keen interest as if he knew more than he let others perceive him to know.

And today was no exception.

The constant proximity between each other had been…frustrating to say the least. Whether that would be brushing his shoulders against your own during official meetings. Or placing a steady hand on the small of your back as he moved across the very open spaces of the hallway. You couldn't help but sneak glances at the way his expression had not changed one bit. In fact, it looked rather bemused. As if ignorant to the little touches he'd stolen from you during work. Let alone the glances you two would share even when Captain Ashiro had been right in front of you. Discussing more important matters that surely the Vice Captain had not been listening to.

But to your surprise, he always did. And was usually the first to provide solutions whenever the captain would ask. Leaving you to be the one flustered as you had not been distracted by his knowing gaze.

Because of this, your mind was instantly on the lookout for his next scheme.

I mean who would blame you?

You couldn't help but think this was all another gimmick of his. Entertainment. Just like how he had taken interest in that new recruit they had gotten recently. His motivations are as sly as they are intriguing it seems. And the more you try to decipher his laid-back facade, the less information you get. Keeping his cards close to his chest, as usual.

The Vice Captain had always been like that. His earnesty was often hidden from prying eyes. Though very few were privy to it, there were only very few who were familiar to him. Even Okonogi; likely the one who stuck around with the two Captains, would just let out a sigh at his jubilant expressions.

It had only been a good few years since you had been deployed to work under the Defense Force. Tasked on maintaining the Combat Suits in the case that they needed upgrades, or maybe a few repairs. And since then, the Vice Captain of the Third Division's force had always hovered behind like a thorn on your side.

Close enough so that it's able to poke and scratch you, but far enough away that it doesn't overstay its welcome. Yet somehow you lingered for those touches to stay just a little longer.

His usual friendly quips and visits had been frequent. But they were always curt, his teasing would always leave you with heated cheeks before he would soon disappear as quickly as he came. Like a storm who came to pass by momentarily. He was sure to make a mess out of you.

But the tension had always been palpable between you and Soshiro. Especially now when he had just so happened to enter the premises of your Lab. Wearing that familiar Tight-fitting Combat Suit of his. Respiratory mask and all.

“Vice Captain.” you had smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you grace me with your presence.”

“Just a maintenance check.” He replied just as quickly. Making you raise a suspicious brow.

“Oh really?” You had moved away from the desk. Neatly brushing away the stack of blueprints that had been piling up. Likely a courtesy from Izumo Tech who were your previous employers. “What's wrong with the suit?”

Hoshina had not wasted a second to step much closer to you. And though normally you would feel a little giddy from his proximity, you wasted no effort to move closer yourself. Hand against the coarse texture of his Combat Suit that hugged the hard ridges of his body. Willingly searching around for any such deformities in the armor. As even the slightest malfunction can mean life or death for frontliners like him. But alas, no such cracks were found. Leaving you to stare at his unwavering eyes.

“I don't see anything wrong with it. Can you tell me anything specific that I can fix up?”

Soshiro had hummed for a moment. Taking his time as he pretended to be deep in thought.

“I guess there's none that I can think of.” Soshiro had let out a soft chuckle. And although the mask had covered half of his face, you could tell that grin of his was definitely there.

“What? Then why did you even come here?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again.

“Aren't I allowed to visit a friend?”

And you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes. The clear faux reasoning of his was amusing at most. But it's definitely making you second guess yourself.

“Friend you say?” You had chuckled, leaning back on your chair whilst facing him. His form had towered over you who had been caged against the chair and his arms.

“First time I've heard of it.” You shrugged. More of a jest in your tone.

“Hey now, and here I thought we had something special.” He chuckled, displaying faux hurt.

And you couldn't help but be frustrated at the way he so meticulously words things.

Something special, huh?

If it were any girl, they'd probably start getting delusional from his words alone. But Soshiro was someone who had no trouble deceiving. Facades and all. And you knew better than to take his words at face value.

But if it were not a joke, then..

…

“Are we Friends?” You had asked again. Just to make sure that you had not been misunderstanding things.

And there was another moment of silence between both parties.

You didn't know exactly what came over you at the moment. It just blurted out, almost as if you had been so frustrated at the way he tiptoed around you. Any confrontation, any meaningful conversation would always be cut short as soon as it started.

And you wonder if you had made the mistake of mentioning the giant elephant in the room.

His expression is as unreadable as ever. And for a moment, you thought you had made a fool out of yourself. Maybe whatever hint he was playing at had all been in your head. As if you had convinced yourself somehow that his interest in you was something more. Something that could indeed grow special. But second-guessing is part of Soshiro's package. And you can't really trade one without the other.

And for a moment a sinking feeling had placed itself in the pit of your stomach. Like you had made a painfully unwise decision that would leave you embarrassed for the next seven years of your life.

But Hoshina had simply stared. It felt like only mere seconds before he leaned in. Hands gripping the arms of the chair you sat on. Effectively trapping you with his body. With no chance of escaping away from his answer.

And just as you are sandwiched between him and the back of the chair. His face had neared your ear. And you could hear the faint breaths from the mask he wore.

“I'm yours certainly. Whether you are mine is up to you.”

His voice had gone an octave lower. And it made you wonder if you were truly hearing him right.

Yeah, no. Friend was definitely not the right word for this. But the admission of it was harder to coax out of him than when you had internalized the thought. The only way to have him say it straight is if you yourself came in like a bull seeing red.

And you sigh at your own lack of subtlety. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe.” The slight hesitation in his answer made you raise your brow at him. And you end up sighing, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Your delivery could use some work.”

“I know.” He spoke with an awkward smile. “Do I take that as a yes?”

You smiled. This time, intent on playing his game of cat and mouse. “Maybe.”

And god will you be the death of him.

#kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #definitely self indulgent #might make a part 2 #friends to lovers #cheeky bastard #anime

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bomber-grl · 8 months ago

Text

Peter Parker Dating hc 🕸️

Pairing(s):Peter Parker (Tom hollands)x Gn!Reader (both civilian and superhero included)

As a civilian you were probably unaware of his secret identity for a good awhile

Until you inevitably found out and began dating

How you found out well, well let’s just say it wasn’t ideal

You had been friends for awhile and the only way Peter would ever let you near him or his room (while having a crush on you) would be if he forgot something at your house or something

So you knocked and May let you know he wasn’t there but still let you in

I mean she wasn’t just gonna let you stand outside waiting for him, if anything he was to blame for not being responsible about the time you two established for meeting up

Queue you walking into his room and he’s half suited up and the both of you are just staring at eachother

That interaction led to some discourse, obviously

But after the initial shock you (surprisingly) moved on

Now if you’re a superhero working for stark for some reason then you met that way and there’s no secret identity reveal

Tbh the two of you have to have something in common

Whether its interests in comics or “nerd” stuff

something had to have led to the two of you getting together

Or maybe you’re just into easily flustered, needy men, who knows 🤷‍♀️

Like if you’re a hero then you met that way and share that in common (including tech if you’re into that)

So just imagine Peter, whose very nervous/ excited, just absolutely rambling about some interest that was briefly mentioned and that you both shared

The thing is, you’re on a date right now and he’s absolutely embarrassing himself (in his opinion)

He’d try to plan everything to perfection and gift you what he can even if he feels it might pale to what you’re used to (if you’re wealthy)

Your first date was especially memorable since not only did he display his nervousness so obviously but it was as if the universe couldn’t let his plan run smoothly

He had tripped, stuttered, made too many mistakes to count, just a piece of work all in all

To you though? It was endearing

He had wanted your first date to be the upmost perfection, even if it wasn’t an average persons “ideal” by the end-

It didn’t matter because you could tell the genuine affection he had for you so much so that he had planned this all, and unfortunately (for him) embarrassed himself beyond return in front of you

“Kill me now”

- Peter probably

He doesn’t really seem like it, if anything he seems pretty self actualized but there’s obviously moments where he feels a bit sorry (?) for the lack of a better word

He’s just always clumsy, and getting flustered easily

Especially around you

So although he might think that you probably think less than ideally of him, he couldn’t be more wrong

If anything it adds to his charm and anything he does is pretty endearing

So when you decide to share such words with Peter while you’re chilling in his room

Well, he’s floored

He thanks you but then that spirals into him stuttering and tripping over himself

Despite the fact that you complimented him to not only ease his worries but also to just let him know-

He’s groveling (exaggeration) and apologizing for, again, being himself…

Blud needs to chill out…

Usually after missions or whatever they’re called- Peter usually has minor injuries or cuts

How do you know this? You’re his main source of comfort so he’s sneak in through your window into your room as often as he can

A particular moment was when you both decided to have a sleep over at your house

It was definitely a huge progress in your relationship but you should’ve known better

While you were asleep, he snuck off and att the end of his little escapade, he snuck back in

Only thing is that he returned back through the window he snuck out from just to be met with the lights on

He visibly sunk at your disappointed gaze once he noticed you up

He isn’t in the best state so you take it easy on him and just go rummaging through your cabinets- you hoped to have something for his wounds around there somewhere

As you’re searching, Peter has taken it upon himself to convince you his injuries are nothing, just go back to bed, and is just overall downplaying his condition

You pause and just stare at him

Obviously he’s taken by surprise but he realizes he can’t do anything to stop you and just lets you continue

Even while your cleaning his wounds or bandaging him up he’s making jokes about the situation

Well maybe not jokes but we all know how rambly he gets when he’s nervous

Somehow digging himself a grave right there

On that same page

We’re all aware of how difficult it is for Peter to balance his civilian and superhero life

I’m not up for debate- it might as well be canon

He’s always having to leave school for superhero work in which it has consequences or he leaves superhero work and still has consequences in the franchise so respectfully: 🤫🤐)

Peter tries super hard to be there and include you in what’s going on but sometimes he needs to cancel or leave hang outs abruptly

You understand this obviously but it’s still upsetting, not as much if you’re a superhero id imagine

But yknow

Still annoying asf

You don’t give him hell for it even if you want to because either 1. You do the same thing (superhero) 2. He can’t help it and he already gets enough shit

He’s also super protective

Especially if you’re a civilian

It’s sort of endearing/ annoying- somehow both simultaneously

Now if you’re a hero/ avenger then you both understand things about your secret identities

Particularly about hiding them

Yknow how Ned would always help Peter out? Well you and Peter do that for eachother

If u have family or others who aren’t aware like friends- Peter has your back and vice versa

It’s just the price you need to pay

Especially since it’s not easy balancing lives

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leapingbadger · 7 months ago

Text

Confined

Summary: The Batch are grounded on Kamino but are unsure why. Takes place after Echo joins but before they meet Omega. (Read it on AO3)

Word Count: 2729

“Crosshair, if you flick a toothpick at me one more time I’m going to stab you in the eye with it,”

“Nice talk, Reg. I’d like to see you try,” Crosshair spat, as Echo scowled and sank into his hammock.

A sheet of rain slammed against the window of their bunk room. They had been grounded for days and the tension was starting to get too much for them all. Hunter wasn’t sure why they were able to stay civil on the Marauder, in much tighter quarters, but when stuck in the sterile halls of Kamino, friction erupted quickly. Maybe Kamino just brought out the worst in them.

“Easy fellas,” Hunter said in a warning growl.

“How long do we have to be stuck here, anyway?” Wrecker wined from his bunk, tossing his tookah doll, Lula, in the air and catching her.

“If I knew that I would have told you already,” Hunter said grumpily.

“Perhaps you could use the time to clean your bunk. You still haven’t located the origin of the smell,” Tech said, without looking up from his latest project.

“You’re one to talk,” Echo said looking at Tech’s bunk scattered with machinery, wires, bolts and other detritus.

Tech raised an eyebrow to his newest brother, “While my bunk isn’t up to regulation standards it isn’t the biohazard Wrecker’s is,”

“Yeah? Well, at least I clean myself. When was the last time you hit the fresher?” Wrecker asked accusingly.

“I’ll have you know that…”

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. They all needed to get out of here before they killed each other.

“Where are you going?” Crosshair asked as Hunter crossed to the door.

“To get our orders,”

“Don’t they usually come to us?” Tech asked.

“Yeah, but I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you?”

With the whoosh of the door, he disappeared into the bright, clinical hallways of Kamino.

***

Hunter made his way through the winding halls of Kamino. He wished he’d thought to grab his helmet. The bright, white light of the halls almost made him squint, and his helmet was the perfect buffer.

He wasn’t really sure how to go about getting their orders. He could go to the command room, but most of the time the Regs didn’t have anything for them. Their missions came from unknown sources, whichever commander happened to be in the room when someone asked for them. But at least he was doing something, and out of the stifling bunk room with his baying brothers.

He weaved in and out through Kaminoan medical techs, hovering droids and Regs on their way to the mess. Two shinies made their way past him.

“What kind of armor is that?” Hunter heard one asked the other.

“Special ops. I think that’s one of the Kaminoan pets” the other responded with a grin.

“Pets?”

“Yeah, the head scientist has her own group she runs experiments on,”

Hunter had stopped in his tracks, forcing others to walk around him.

“You got a problem, reg?” he asked, moving his way over to their side of the corridor. Both men, stopped, looking startled and flustered. Hunter hated how similar they looked to him, or him to them. They may have had regulation haircuts and been devoid of tattoos, but his own eyes stared back at him, and he despised it. He may not have quite reached their height, but he knew how to intimidate when he wanted to, and he wasn’t even trying this time.

“No, eh, everything’s, fine. Sorry.” One of them spluttered, searching his batch mates face for assistance. None was forthcoming.

“It’s Sergeant, or Sir.” Hunter said, authoritatively.

“Yes, sir,” the Regs said in unison.

“Your heart rate’s up a little,” Hunter said to the trooper on the left, “you might want to get that looked at.”

Hunter watched as they scurried away and smiled to himself. He knew he shouldn’t mess with the Regs as a sergeant, but they had started it. They deserved it. He was glad Crosshair wasn’t with him otherwise they both would have ended up in the med bay, and Hunter would have had a mountain of paperwork to complete.

Hunter rounded the corner and almost collided with a Kaminoan. On second glance he realized it was Nala-se. A medical droid hovered over her shoulder.

“CT-9901, we have been trying to locate you. You and your squad are required for testing.”

Hunter balked; they hadn’t been tested since their early missions in the field. What would be the point of doing so now?

“Why?” Hunter asked suspiciously.

Nala-Se ignored his question and began to walk in the direction he had just come from. “Your squad are already in the medical bay. This way.”

Hunter passed the two shinies on his way back through the corridors, the one on the left looking smug. He scowled but felt his cheeks burn as he was led to the med bay, like a creature on a leash.

The whurr of the droid’s boosters, the light of the hallway and the sterile smell of the medical wing all threatened to overwhelm his senses. He was relieved to be led into a large, dim ward and see his brothers each occupying a bed.

“What’s this about?” Crosshair snarled.

Hunter shrugged his shoulders, “What do you think, Tech? can you find out anything?”

Tech pushed his goggles up on his nose from the bunk at the far side of the room. He was bent over his data pad, feverishly pushing buttons.

“I have been searching since we were brought here. There is nothing in our files that would indicate the need for medical intervention. I doubt we will be informed. Short of asking Nala-Se directly.”

“Yeah, I already tried that,” Hunter grumbled.

His brothers were all stripped down to their blacks and Hunter started disassembling his armor without being asked. They had all been through enough Kaminoan experiments and tests over the years to know the drill by now.

When the door on the far side of the room whooshed open, Nala-Se entered, her large black eyes resting of each of the squad mates in turn.

“CT-1409. We shall start with you,”

Hunter watched Echo stand up obediently and give a reassuring nod to the sergeant. He followed the Kaminoan out of the room without a word.

“So, this was why we were grounded?” Wrecker asked

“Must be. Although why they didn’t schedule the tests remains a mystery. This is a deviation from standard procedure.” Tech responded, stroking his chin.

“Maybe this isn’t republic testing. Maybe it’s the Kammies checking up on us.” He said grimly. The four brothers exchanged looks. It had been a long time since they had been strictly under the jurisdiction of the Kaminoan’s. Once they had won their place in the field, they were Republic soldiers first, even if they were Nala-Se’s ‘pet project’. Hunter bristled as he thought of going back to the old way. The testing, the fear of deactivation. They had proved their worth again and again. He wouldn’t let his squad be turned back into science experiments. They’d leave before he let that happen.

It wasn’t too long before the door slid open again and Echo reentered the room. He gave a shrug as he sat down.

“CT-9901” Nala-Se said slowly from the doorway. The Kaminoa’s were nothing if not predictable. Always numerical order when testing.

Hunter gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to his brothers and followed her out of the room and across the hall to a smaller exam room. The lights were brighter here. A large scanner sat in the middle of the room and Hunter hopped on without being asked.

Nala-se spoke briefly with another Kaminoan pressing buttons on the control panel before retreating. Hunter knew she would be lingering behind the mirror on the far side wall. She was never too far away from her experiments.

Hunter laid down when prompted. The metal bed beneath him was cold through his blacks. The lights above him left spots on his eyes and he closed them in an attempt to make them go away. The machine around him hummed to life, pulsing every few seconds. The sterile smell of bacta and disinfectant filled his nose, so much so he could taste it.

The humming of the machine grew louder. He felt warmth, then heat from either side of his head and knew that the scan was about to start. He felt the crackle of the electricity next to his ears and with a loud whirr, it began.

He opened his eyes long enough to see white light out of the corner of each eye. The warmth he had felt earlier began to slowly lick his skin, then penetrate his skull. It wasn’t painful. The sensation was one of heat, energy and vibration. It wasn’t pleasant but Hunter had received enough blaster bolts, stab wounds, bruises and other maladies over the years that this was tame by comparison.

He didn’t have a sense of how long it took but It ended as abruptly as it had started with no direction from the Kaminoan still in the room. Hunter focused on the glass and closed his eyes to see if he could hear anything. Nala-Se was keenly aware of his enhancements and usually refrained from speaking when he was around.

“…Due to the unusual cranial activity, it is difficult to determine whether it is functioning as intended. I hypothesize that until the order is given, we will not know more. Unless removal and analysis is required before hand.” Nala-Se spoke in her slow, sing-song voice.

“No. They are Kaminoan assets. Test the rest for our files and release them. We will keep a closer eye on them until it happens.”

Hunter couldn’t be sure, but the second voice sounded like the Kaminoan Prime minister, although why he would be involved in routine testing he didn’t know. He sat up on the bench and waited to be dismissed.

Nala-Se reentered the room, her pale, ghostly face indeterminable. She led him back across the hall where he could reclaim his place amongst his brothers.

Hunter watched as each brother in turn followed the scientist across the hall and back. Each one relaying the same experience he had had. Each none the wiser for why they were being tested and what for.

Crosshair was the last to follow Nala-Se. But after the standard time (fifteen minutes according to Tech) he didn’t return. Hunter stood up from his bed and started pacing the length of the room as Tech rattled off the reasons for the delay.

“Perhaps the machinery malfunctioned after repeated use. Or Crosshair could have assaulted one of the medical droids, it wouldn’t be the first time…”

“I don’t like it,” Echo said, “want me to scomp in and see what I can find?” he said, glaring at the astromech interface in the wall under the door panel.

“If you did, they would know,” Tech said with the air of someone stating the obvious. “I’m sure Crosshair can handle anything the Kaminoa’s can throw at him,”

As the time ticked on, and Crosshair failed to return the rest of the batch became as restless as Hunter. Tech’s leg had started to jiggle nervously, Echo’s scomp would whir absentmindedly and Wrecker followed behind Hunter, pacing the same path with heavy footfalls.

It was another forty-five minutes before their brother walked through the door. His shoulders were slumped, sweat beaded in his hairline and he cradled his head in his left hand as though nursing a particularly severe headache.

Nala-Se stood in the doorway, her lanky silhouette blocking out most of the glaring light of the hallway. “You are dismissed,” she stated formerly. “You will return to your barracks. Your new orders will follow shortly.”

“You okay, Cross?” Hunter asked as soon as the door had slid shut behind the Kaminoan.

Crosshair grunted a response. Tech picked up a med scanner from a nearby console and waived it over his brother.

“You seem in perfect health but perhaps we should return to our room to rest. We do not know what the new orders will be.”

Hunter nodded in agreement, “Wrecker, give Cross a hand.” The bruiser nodded and swung his arm under his slender brother, taking most of his weight.

Hunter lingered behind as the others followed them out. He did a double check of the room and his armor and doubled his stride to catch up. He’d told the others of the conversation he overheard but no one had an idea of what had just transpired, even Tech.

***

The atmosphere in their room was entirely different when Hunter walked through the door after their time in the med bay. His squad had scattered to their respective bunks. Wrecker had convinced Crosshair to lay down. The lights had been dimmed, a soft glow emitting from the fairy lights wrecker had made when they were cadets. The smell that had been so noxious to Hunter earlier had faded, or perhaps, he was just getting used to it.

Echo leaned over the side of his hammock as Tech showed him something amusing on his datapad. They both chuckled and leaned closer as Tech’s fingers danced over the keys.

Hunter sighed as he sank into his bunk and started slowly removing his armor again. The rain that had been hammering on the window earlier was lighter now, a restful patter that threatened to lull him to sleep.

He looked over at Crosshair, curled in the fetal position under the blanket Wrecker had lovingly pulled up to his shoulders. Hunter listened intently to his slow heartbeat and was satisfied that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Why had they kept Crosshair so much longer than the rest? He had been hoping to ask him but that seemed unlikely now.

They spoke to each other in quiet voices as Crosshair’s chest rose and fell slowly. There was a sense of relief that whatever the Kaminoan’s were testing for, they had all seemed to pass.

Tech had already hacked into their updated files but found no information about what the long necks were looking for. “I will check again in a few days. If something is there, I will find it.”

Interference by the Kaminoan’s always set Hunter off kilter. He had been lulled into a false sense of security, but today’s events reinstated the notion that their lives were not their own, and not the republics either.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Crosshair was back to his old self after a few hours sleep although couldn’t tell them much about his experience. He didn’t seem to remember the testing.

The squad spent their remaining hours on Kamino spread around the large table in the center of the room. Tech’s projects had been pushed to the far end, much to his chagrin and Sabaac cards sat in front of each squad member.

“Who’s going first,” Wrecker asked, Lula tucked under his arm for luck.

“No using your enhancements,” Echo said, eyes narrowed at his new brothers but a smile on his lips.

“I can’t turn my ears off, Echo,” Hunter said with a laugh, “it’s not my fault your heart rattles in your chest like bantha in heat,”

“I was actually taking to The Brain,” Echo said, shooting a suspicious look at Tech.

“I am no more able to shut off my brain than Hunter his senses,” He replied matter-of-factly and he held his cards up to his goggles.

“Can we just get on with it?” Crosshair hissed. His eyes were still dark from his experience in the med bay, but otherwise he seemed back to his usually charming self.

“Don’t even think about flicking that at me,” Echo said, eyes narrowed at the toothpick in Crosshair’s hand.

“What are you gunna do about it, Reg?” Crosshair said, affectionately.

Hunter signed, a smile crossing his lips. He knew once their new orders came down, they would swing into action. He felt a twinge of worry at the events of the day but tried to push it to the back of his mind for now. He wanted to relax and enjoy the rare, peaceful time with his brothers. Whatever the future brought, he knew they would be able to handle it, together.

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