#tango post-f&f

[gremlins-hotel]

mermay huh? ... mermay i offer you guys one fresh fish?

[day-azevir]

Frostwalker Tango!!

[audriandae]

gotta love when the plains roommates each have a kill to their name. and they're all lore kills, not ability kills.

Day 2: Ren is outed as a Hand. specifically the King of the Hands. he is killed by Gem.

Day 3: Joel is outed as a Hand. Tango doesn't want anyone else to have to kill anyone in combat, so he remakes Dare to Flare at spawn. Joel swims in lava. Tango placed the lava. Tango made 'the game'. Everyone watches him die like it was a spectacle. It was horrible.

Day 4: Cleo was suspected to be a Hand. Pearl decided to don the Red!Pearl outfit with a black veil and proceeded to murder Cleo at spawn. With a shovel. Named [He deserved better]. Cleo was aligned with the Town

Day 5: No one was voted out.

Day 6: Cub is suspected to be a Hand. False takes him out with one of her many swords. It happens to be a golden sword named [The Sun]. Cub was aligned with the Hands.

And every death after Day 3 that's been a player kill, Tango has been beating himself up for not making a new "safe" way for the doomed to die. And although Joel's death message was 'swam in lava', emotionally Joel's death was his responsibility.

Oh and also gem is dead and false just tried to kill tango, had the equivalent of a seizure and a heart attack, nearly died, but got revived by pearl and gem-in-purgatory all while tango was by himself (with katherine who came over to make sure he wasn't completely alone)

yeah so hows your day going

[tek-imagines]

I'm currently brainrotting over the idea of being poly with Jimmy and Tango during double life and continuing that relationship outside of the life series..

I want to plant so many crops with them. Irl, I've already planted onions (five, to be exact), and I'm going to plant potatoes today (hopefully!). Im excited to think about doing that with Tango and Jimmy. Getting into a playful dirt fight because Tango made a joke. Jimmy has to be the one to water the plants as Tango and I are too scared of the water hurting us. Tango is nervous as he's a blaze hybrid, and he has ZERO clue how water + plant food will react with him. and I'm nervous because of chronic pain, and water does not make me feel good. Jimmy doesn't mind, though! He'd do anything for his ranchers, even if that means making leather gloves for the two of us, just so water won't hurt.

Imaging Tango being a proud onion, dad fills my heart with so much joy! Imaging Jimmy is also so very proud of it. Sure, it's a death game but man! Onions guys? Can you believe that!

[spencersgirliepop]

two left feet

SPENCER REID X READER

warnings + tags: drunk reader, love confession at a bar, dancing

authors note: hope you enjoy! i think they’re so so sweet i looveeee spencer so much

The bar was glowing with that familiar amber warmth that came with post-case relief and the safety of being surrounded by people who understood you in ways no one else really could.

It wasn’t fancy — worn wooden floors, neon signs buzzing slightly overhead, and music that wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out conversation. But it was cozy, and after a week chasing down leads and losing sleep, it felt like heaven.

You were three drinks in — maybe four, judging by the pleasant fog floating in your brain and the way your cheeks tingled. The edge of the booth dug into your back as you leaned against it, watching your teammates laugh and joke.

Beside you, Spencer nursed a club soda, the condensation gathering on the outside of the glass but his fingers never moving. He was listening to Morgan tease JJ about her pool skills, but you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye — always aware, always gently tuned to you like some human radar.

You turned to him suddenly, grinning.

“Spence,” you said, your voice lilting with a smile. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

He looked at you with a sort of cautious amusement. “Because I don’t… dance.”

You gasped in mock horror, placing a hand to your heart. “That’s practically a felony.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Technically, felonies involve much more serious—”

“Don’t you ‘technically’ me, Doctor.” You poked his arm, eyes sparkling. “Come on, just one dance. It’s not like I’m asking you to tango.”

His eyes softened, and you caught the way his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I really don’t know how.”

“I don’t care,” you said brightly, sliding out of the booth and stumbling just slightly. His hand shot out before you could even register the wobble, catching your wrist with feather-light care.

You looked down at his fingers on yours and smiled. “Thanks, hero.”

“You’re very drunk.”

You grinned wider. “Not very. Just… brave.”

He blinked at that. “Brave?”

“Yeah. Liquid courage and all that.” You tugged gently at his hand. “So? Will you be brave too?”

He glanced at the rest of the team. Morgan raised his eyebrows in challenge, grinning. Emily gave him a thumbs up. JJ gave a tiny clap of encouragement. Hotch even offered a rare, slightly amused smirk.

With a sigh that sounded more like surrender than annoyance, he stood.

“Okay. One dance. But I warned you.”

You beamed like you’d just won the lottery and dragged him onto the small dance floor, where couples swayed lazily to a slow, classic tune playing from the jukebox. It was sweet and soft, a perfect contrast to the buzzing neon behind you.

Your hands slid up to rest on his shoulders, and you swayed in time with the music, guiding his arms to rest lightly at your waist.

“There,” you said. “Not so hard, right?”

His brows furrowed in concentration. “I feel like I’m going to step on you.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You’re doing great.”

He blinked down at you, and suddenly you realized how close you were — barely inches from the warm scent of him, the gentle curve of his jaw, the curious tilt of his head as he looked at you like you were a puzzle he never quite dared to solve.

You sighed contentedly and rested your head on his chest.

“See? Told you you could dance.”

He smiled, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re very persuasive when you’re tipsy.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, eyes bright. “You know what else?”

“What?”

“If I wasn’t drunk, I’d probably be way too shy to tell you that I’ve had a hopeless, completely inconvenient, utterly massive crush on you for months.”

His breath caught.

You didn’t seem to notice. “Like… enormous. Like.. love. Your-scarf-collection-is-charming level of enormous.”

Spencer blinked. “That’s… very enormous.”

You giggled and leaned back into him, swaying with the music like you belonged there.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, and you thought maybe you’d crossed a line — but then he bent his head slightly, lips brushing near your temple.

“You can tell me again in the morning,” he said, voice gentle and warm. “Just to be sure.”

Your smile was sleepy, but genuine. “Maybe I will.”

As the music played and your bodies moved slowly in time, the world seemed to fall away — just the two of you, dancing clumsily but sweetly under low lights and laughter, and Spencer thinking to himself that maybe — just maybe — he'd been waiting for this moment all along.

[aciddrattboyy]

Dɾυɳƙ αɳԃ Nαʂƚყ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "you and suna are at a house party and end up getting drunk and nasty idk what else to say"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Suna R. x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 2k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Adult Film] dirty talk(not much), cunnilingus, fingering(f!receiving) orgasming untouched, drunk sex, mentions of spit/saliva, dry humping(just a lil) (characters are aged up) ★ me?? posting???? no way???

▶▶

were loud house parties really suna’s thing? no, not really. he would much prefer a smaller crowd, a much quieter crowd. but the miya twins were notorious for throwing crazy ass parties and somehow suna always got roped into going. the house was almost suffocating, numerous bodies bumping and grinding together to whatever song was playing on speakers so loud suna could have they made the floorboards vibrate. the strobe lights were almost enough to give him a headache and he wouldve tried to sneak home already if it wasnt for you. 

there you were amongst the crowd, laughing and dancing with friends, look every bit of hot and sexy that had suna wanting to drag you back to his apartment. he knew this was more your scene though, and he wouldnt end your night out early. so he contented himself with watching, a lazy smile tugging on his lips everytime you looked over and waved at him.

but after what felt like a mere second of glancing down to check his phone, you were gone from suna’s line of sight. he immediately shoots up from the couch, head on a swivel as he already started preparing himself for the possible fist fight he might get in with some unlucky prick. just then he hears the sound of your beautiful, beautiful laughter and lets his feet follow. there you were in the kitchen, surrounded by a couple of your friends, atsumu, and aron, devising up some sort of drinking game. 

“c’mon we’re going,” suna murmured softly in your ear, already grabbing your arm and pulling you away. but you held your ground, pouting at him with those pretty lips that were begging to be kissed.

“what? no, i wanna play,” your words grabbed the attention of atsumu who was already sporting a shit eating grin.

“how ‘bout you join in. it’ll be fun,” suna was already saying no, taking a step back with his hand still gently wrapped around your arm. but atsumu’s next words make him pause. “or what? you afraid your girl could out drink you?” suna knew it was stupid, knew atsumu was taunting him just for the fuck of it. but pride may have gotten in the way as everyone around the kitchen island was staring at him expectantly.

“come on baby itll be funn. please?” you pleaded playfully, wriggling your eyebrows up at him with a bright smile. and that was all it took for suna to dive head first into a drinking game he knew nothing about. unfortunately for him, his rushed decision made him forget to consider a few things. one, suna hated beer. two, suna hated losinng. and three, suna was an extreme lightweight. 

now, suna was never a really touchy partner in public. but that was when he was sober. not now when you both were fucking shitfaced after a few rounds. it started with a few teasing touches below the countertop as your cheeks started to flush, playful glances that were not at all subtle in the slightest. 

but eventually it became too much and next thing you knew, you were both crashing through the door of the bathroom with his arms wrapped around your waist. suna nearly trips over both his feet and yours as you stumble into the bathroom in some sort of uncoordinated tango until your ass finally hits the counter. both of you were giggling like every bit of wasted idiots you were at the moment. if you were even remotely sober you’d record this moment to show suna later. because suna rintaro didn't fucking giggle. 

suna was definitely feeling the alcohol, everytime he blinked a kaleidoscope of color played behind his eyelids and made the world feel like it was tipping over. the darkness of the bathroom wasnt doing anything to help, the only coming from the strobe lights flashing under the gap between the door and the tile floor. he squints, trying to make out your face through the darkness and dim shadows with a stupid smile on his face that he would not have been caught dead showing sober. 

“y’er so pretty baby,” suna mumbles into your eager mouth, your tongues sliding against the other, exchanging the flavors of cheap beers and overly sweet spiked fruit punch. another giggle escapes his lips as he seemingly trips over nothing, falling against you before quickly uprighting himself enough to push his lips back onto yours. “sooo f’ckin pretty, ‘n so warm.” his slur only got worse with each passing syllable.

his hands sloppily find your hips, pawing at you like a desperate puppy. his breath was hot and heavy against your mouth, hands gripping onto your hips like they were the only thing keeping him upright(probably because they were). he’s giggling again as he struggles to raise you onto the counter. his cheeks were probably sore from the goofy smile that seemed to not be going away anytime soon but he couldnt feel it, nor would he care. because soon enough he did get you onto that damn counter and he didn't waste a moment before stepping between your legs.

“wan’ed to take you home allll night,” he murmurs against your lips, or at least he thought that was where he was kissing. he was extremely uncoordinated now, smearing a mixture of your spit against your cheek, lips, and chin as you desperately tried to catch your lips with his. “y’r jus sooo f’ckin hot,” the bass from the music playing in the house sent delicious vibrations up suna’s spine and god he felt like he was on cloud nine. spit was dripping down his chin now, the feel of your tongue and lips on his almost enough to make him cum on the spot. every little noise you made, every giggle you breathed out was sending heat straight to his cock which was now straining against the fabric of his basketball shorts. 

in a rush hes pulling both his hoodie and shirt off in one swoop when the room suddenly got waaay too hot, letting the clothing fall onto the bathroom floor. was it sanitary? probably not. did he care? no not at all. suna giggles when he sees you drunkenly try to lean in for another kiss through the dim light, eyes still shut as your lips searched for his. he pokes your nose light, his laughter only growing when he watches your eyes shoot open in surprise. you open your mouth to say…something? but his lips are back on yours before you can even attempt to form a thought, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. you press your palms against his chest, feeling the heat radiating off of his body as your hands start to wander, smoothing over his abdomen before resting at his waist, tugging him closer. 

“y’taste soo good baby girl,” he groans against your lips, pulling back enough to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. it takes suna a few tries, but eventually hes able to pull the straps of your dress down. his hands instantly find your tits, groping and squeezing all while rolling his hips against your core. the bathroom felt too hot, way too hot and suna was feeling dizzy, drunk of the alcohol and lust. “need ta be… to be…” his words were muffled, barely having enough strength to pull his lips away from your neck. 

you giggle breathlessly, grabbing onto his shoulders as you roll your hips in time with his. small whimpers escape your lips from the feel, the alcohol making you hyper aware of every point of contact, of the way you could feel every inch of the bulge in his shorts grinding against you desperately. suna’s kisses were wet, sloppy, and you shivered at the feel of the air cooling the saliva trailing along your neck and collarbone. 

suna’s hips began to work more fervently, he needed more of you. he needed all of you. with a strangled whine, he hastily pulls your dress up until its bunched at your hips, giggling lightly when the force causes you to almost fall of the counter. “s-sorrry pretty girl, jus need ya so badd.” with one last kiss that was aimed for your lips and may have missed the mark, suna falls onto his knees rather harshly. but he didn't care, could hardly register anything but the fact that your pretty pussy was now directly in front of his face. 

he doesnt skip a beat before grabbing onto the insides of your thighs and pushing them apart further before shoving his face against your panties and inhaling deeply. the pressure has you bucking your hips against his face involuntarily, clumsy hands finding their way into his hair to keep him close. as if he would ever leave in the first place. 

“y’r so wet,” the words were muffled by your underwear and suna himself might not have even realized he said them out loud. but that didn't matter. he was already pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe up your slit. the taste of you on his tongue sent a shiver down his spine and heat straight to his dick. his hips thrusted upward and the feeling of the now damp fabric of his boxers sliding against the sensitive skin made him hiss softly. 

his lips immediately found your clit, sucking on it like a man starved as he pushed two fingers inside of you. just imagining how you would feel wrapped around his cock instead of fingers was enough to make him moan. and moan he did. by the noises he was making, it was starting to sound like he was the one getting head right now. he ate you out like a man starved and all you could do was take it.

your thighs were trembling, hips rolling to grind against his face. small moans and slurred whines of his name fell from your lips as your head tipped back against the mirror behind you. looking down, you could just barely make out suna’s face through the strobe lights creeping under the door. his eyes were shut tight, mouth working against you in a drunken fervor you had never seen before. 

“suna ‘m- a-ah ‘m close-,” your hips were humping against his mouth wildly now, so close to teetering over the edge of ecstasy that seemed to only be heightened by the alcohol in your system. and surprisingly enough, suna wasnt that far behind you. his hips were bucking desperately into the air and you couldve sworn you heard him whimper. his fingers moved faster inside you, tongue swirling around your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. his free hand gripped your thigh roughly, trying to ground himself. he was too focused on you, the way you sounded, the way you felt, the way you tasted, to hardly even register his own pleasure. 

but feeling you cum against his mouth, cunt spasming against his fingers, well it was enough to send a drunk suna overboard. he turned his head, biting down on the sensitive meat of your thigh with a guttural moan as he came in his shorts, hips thrusting upwards into nothing as his fingers still worked inside you. suna only stopped when he felt your body start to relax, going limp on the counter. 

whether it be from the mind numbing orgasm, or the sheer amount of alcohol in his system, suna fell right on top of you as soon as he stood. you giggled, opening your mouth to say something while trying to push him off. “y’r too heavyy,” you whined playfully, squirming under him. but then your thigh skimmed his now extremely sensitive cock and you paused when you felt him moan against your shoulder. “...did y-”

“‘m sorry baby,” he apologized with slurred words, lifting his head enough to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as his palms ran along your sides. “y’just taste so good, make pretty sounds,” his breath was hot and heavy against yours, smearing your cum against your own lips as he kissed you sloppily, hips jerking against your thigh from slight overstimulation. “jus… gimme a minute an’ i’ll make it up t’ya,”

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[channieskies]

After Hours [SCB] ⏱Pairing: Seo Changbin × Reader [F/Curvy/Plus sized] ⏱Summary: After spending the weekend with Changbin, you struggle with the idea of people at work finding out. What happens when he wants the whole world to know about the two of you? This is the sequel to Stretch You Out: Read the first part HERE (Recommended) ⏱WC: 6,200+ [Reading time: 25 minutes] ⏱AU: CEO CHANGBIN, CEO READER, CO-WORKERS ⏱Genre: Smut, PWP, Friends/Coworkers to lovers, Workplace romance (?) ⏱Nets: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society ⏱Warning(s): MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. ⏱Authors Note: Please reblog or leave a like or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. This has not been proofread or beta'd, so expect errors. Special thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers used in this story. ⏱Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

You didn't bother wiping the crust from your eyes as your feet shuffled you into the cold, crepuscular bathroom. You searched the wall for the illusive light switch with your eyes still closed as you clung to the remnants of your blissful slumber. Your weekend was spent in the best of ways, wrapped up in the sheets with a beefy hunk. It's just that that beefy hunk in particular happened to be your close friend and co-worker, Seo Changbin. 

You hoped things wouldn't magically complicate themselves, not when you'd had the time of your life this past weekend. If you weren't doing the horizontal tango, then you were ordering in from all your favorite restaurants or watching some movie you missed out on because your busy schedule just didn't allow it. Truthfully you'd forgotten just how much fun Changbin was to hang out with, outside of work. You spent your college career living it up, going to parties and local food and music festivals all on Binnie's (as you affectionately called him) dime. But once college and the party was over, work, relationships, and life kind of got in the way of things.

This weekend felt akin to old times sake. You pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it towards the hamper. Your eyes caught a glimpse of all the marks the weekend had left behind. Teeth, fingerprints, hickies, Changbin had left his signature all over your body, from your neck down to your ankles. But there was one in particular you were glad hasn't faded; the bite mark on your shoulder from when he came the first time- well, sort of. He proved to you later, just how long he could last, and boy did he last. You showered and did the rest of your morning tasks (makeup, hair, brushing your teeth, getting dressed) and headed out.

You’d settled on your favorite flared black slacks, and a hunter green, sleeveless, twisted halter that showed off your arms and shoulders. You had the mark on display as you sauntered into work. “Good morning, Wendy.” You stood in front of your receptionist desk as she typed away at something. 

“Good morning, Ms. Y/l/n-” The woman's eyes widened behind her large, square framed glasses. She noticed the various marks you had around your neck and chest. You proudly displayed the bite on your shoulder, the rest were just a piss-poor cover up job. “Good morning indeed.” A smile spread on her face. “Looks like you had an eventful weekend.” Your cheeks started to heat up from embarrassment, but you tried your best to hide it. “Did you find someone on that dating app? That fancy business professionals one?”

“Remind me of the meeting later, okay? And switch my two o’clock to three, I’m meeting them for coffee on the other side of town.” You ignored her question, grabbing your regular coffee and breakfast order off of her desk. “Thanks for this! Later!” You could hear her complaining as you closed the door to your office. You couldn't hide the triumphant smile on your face. Wendy was a gossip, a big one. The news of your bite mark would be office news before lunch, you knew that. You wanted the word to get back to a certain coworker of yours, hoping maybe he'd come find you. 

You flipped the privacy glass switch on your office, you always kept it on when you were in there, you liked the semblance of privacy it gave you. You moved away from the door to head to your desk and nearly jumped out of your skin when your desk chair turned around, revealing the man who’d been waiting in your office for you to get there. “Fuc- Felix!” You grabbed our chest, nearly spilling your coffee all over yourself. Thankfully it was blended with ice and not hot.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I couldn’t wait until later.” He got out of your seat as you made your way over to your desk. He held the back of it for you as you sat down. “Changbin is acting funny.” You froze, body stiff from the thought of being found out. This was new to the both of you and you’d both agreed it would be best to explore things before telling anyone, if you decided to tell anyone at all. This was casual. But it had the possibility to be more, if you wanted that. For now, you were completely fine with just getting your back blown out on a regular basis.

You relaxed your posture, putting things away as you spoke, avoiding eye contact. “Acting funny? Did he upload more unserious tik tok videos without you again?” You joked, but Felix really had a fit the last time Binnie did TikTok videos without him. It took a full day of retail therapy and some very expensive computer parts to calm him down. You glanced at him as his eyes widened, he quickly pulled out his phone to check. 

“God- I didn’t think of that-” He let out a sigh of relief, “No-no, he didn’t.” He shook his head and pushed his long blonde locks out of his face. You always wondered how he could be so pretty so early in the mornings. Even though he told you his morning and night skincare routine, it didn’t magically change your face into some magical member of the fae community like you thought it would. It just made you look oily. “No. We had plans this weekend. Well- I had plans that involved him and he was a no show. He didn’t pick up his phone and didn’t text. I couldn’t reach him until late last night. You know that's not like him.” He leaned against the edge of your desk, “I think… he’s seeing someone.” You didn’t mean to, but you burst out laughing.

You had flashes of being on your side with his arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand squeezing your neck lightly while the other lay flat on your stomach as he slowly drug his cock in and out of you. You didn’t know what session you were on by then, but it was just as good as the first, just much lazier. Your laughter quickly subsided as the thoughts flooded your mind.

You cleared your throat, pushing the thoughts out. “Binnie? Seeing someone? Between workouts and work? He must be seeing the chest press or some dumbbells, because I don’t see him dating someone for real.” You shook your head for added emphasis, taking a sip of your coffee to ease your ever drying throat. It wasn’t like you to lie, especially not to Felix. You two had been close since you hired him to be head of digital marketing four years ago. “Do you even remember what happened the last time he decided to date someone?” You both shuddered from the thoughts of Changbin's previous relationship. “You know for a fact he has terrible taste and usually picks the worst people to like.” He nodded, but it was written on his face that he wasn’t buying it.

“True. But-” He stopped mid-sentence as there was a knock on your door.

You could see the stocky build of someone outside your glass door, “Y/n, do you have a se-” Changbin pushed your door open, just to stop as he made eye-contact with Felix. “I’ll just come back later.” Felix shot up from his seat on your desk and ran over to Changbin. He was clad in his usual business attire. Black slacks, white dress shirt with a few (more than a few) buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his chopard watch glimmering on his wrist. His jacket was probably in his office where he usually left it. It looked as if he’d just put product in his hair as it was still a little damp looking , a few loose curls were clinging to his forehead. He had on his blue-light glasses to complete the look of a non-chalant, playboy, businessman.

“No, no. Come, sit, chat. We were just talking about you.” Felix pulled Changbin into the room, forcefully sitting him on one of the chairs in front of your desk as he took the other one. If looks could kill, Felix would have died twice, once from you and once from Binnie. 

“We were not talking. You were talking and I was mostly listening to you being irrational.” You leaned forward to finally address Changbin, who’d had his eyes on you the whole time. “He thinks you are seeing someone.” You leaned back in your seat to see how he would tackle that statement. It wasn’t a test, but at the same time it kind of was.

“I am.” You nearly choked, eyes wide. Changbin, was sitting comfortably, manspreading, arms on both arm rests as he looked at you keenly. He’d tossed the ball back in your court so fast you couldn’t even think of one damn thing to say.

Felix jumped out of his seat, his booming voice filling the space as he yelled. “See! I told you.” Felix sat at the edge of your desk again as his fingers caressed his chin. “But now I need to know who. Who is he around that often? Besides us.” Felix was deeply concentrated on connecting the dots in his mind while you and Changbin duked it out while not saying a word to one another. 

“If you must know Felix, I met someone at the gym.” You pushed your hair off of your shoulder, unconsciously revealing the mark Changbin had left there. He shifted in his seat as he noticed it, blood immediately rushing to his nether regions as the playback of his weekend flashes rapidly through his mind.

“Y/n did say if you were dating, it was probably  a chest press or some dumbbells.” Binnie smirked at that and God, how you hated his damn cocky but sexy little smirks. “Guess she wasn’t far off with that.” Felix moved again, taking his seat next to Changbin once again as you tried to avoid the eyes of the man who hadn’t looked away from you since he sat down. You pretended to answer emails, sip on your coffee and even scribbled some absolute nonsense down, all just to make it seem like you were busier than you were. All just to get yourself out of this conversation. “So, tell me all about them.” Felix was sitting with his legs crossed in the chair, excitedly waiting for his friend to tell him all about his new paramour.

Changbins eyes finally stopped scrutinizing you and focused on your mutual friend. “What is there to tell? From the moment she walked in, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She looked stunning in her matching set, and that was what started the brain fog for me. I don’t think I had a pure or coherent thought after seeing her walk in.” Felix was all ears, like this was a raunchy reality show, while you were at your desk trying your best not to overthink his words or simultaneously combust. “She asked for my help. I guess I look like I know what I’m doing.” He flexed his bicep and you scoffed, which only caused him to smirk again. “Of course I agreed, I wouldn’t have been able to say no to her pretty face even if I wanted to. We started off with stretches..” You tugged on your collar to loosen the grip it had on your neck to no avail. 

“It was easy for both of us at first, our conversation was flowing, she was killing the stretches with my guidance. But I don’t know.. Something just kind of clicked? Snapped maybe? Because we ended up railing right there in the gym without shame.” Felix was intrigued, this had to be one of the best porn plots he’d ever heard. He was used to Changbin being Changbin, but this was far out of even his wheelhouse. He looked from Changbin to you and back. You kept glancing out the side of your eye, watching while still pretending to be working. “We went back to her place. And I kind of spent the weekend with her exploring my body and me exploring hers. It was a weekend well spent. Sorry about bailing on you, she presented an opportunity I couldn’t miss out on.” 

Binnie shyly looked down, he didn’t think he’d be recounting his weekend in front of the woman he’d spent it with. He shifted again, his member was half hard and getting harder any time he thought about all the things he’d done to you and vice versa. And now for you to have that bite mark he gave you on exhibit? You were trying to kill him, take him out. You couldn’t have known what you were doing to him looking like that. If he had a little less shame, he’d ask to take you again. Right here on this desk, right there in front of Felix. Hell- the whole office could watch, just as long as he got to be with you again. The off control for the privacy glass wasn’t but a few feet away and a literal flick of a switch.

“So, what now? Do you plan on seeing her again?” Felix was usually a bit more reserved when it came to other peoples business, but Changbin? Changbin was one of his absolute favorite people on earth and he loved seeing him this happy, especially since it was so unusual.

“I do. If she’ll let me, that is.” Changbin finally looked up again, making eye contact with you. You couldn’t look away this time, trapt in the fire that danced in his eyes. It was like he was trying to convey something to you, but didn’t have the right words. Like he wanted you to feel what he was feeling in that moment and decipher what his words really meant.

“She let you stay with her all weekend, of course she’d take you up on the offer.” Felix said as he texted the group chat that Changbin met someone. Both your phones dinged but neither of you looked away. Felix looked up at you when he noticed you didn’t reach for your phone and that's when he noticed the bite mark on your shoulder. “Wait- what the heck is that on your shoulder?” You quickly covered the mark, averting your eyes from Binnie and back to your computer. Felix got up, making his way over to you, a teasing smile on his face. “Isn’t this a turn of events? You too? Besides Chan, you two are the biggest workaholics here and you mean to tell me-”

“Leave her alone, Felix.” Changbin interrupted the boy, but that only made the alarm bells go off for Felix. “She can have a private life without having to tell her group of all male friends what’s going on in her bedroom all weekend.” Changbin’s body stiffened at his own words. It was like he’d sent an invitation into what had transpired all weekend, just by putting a few select key words in his sentence. He closed his eyes, hoping that Felix missed the underlined meaning to his words.

“Wait….” The wheels in his mind slowly started to turn, “Don’t tell me that..” He put his hand over his heart, “All… weekend? But wait.” He shook his head, not believing the thoughts that were swimming about up there. Binnie’s strange disappearance and your sudden interest in the opposite sex were way too coincidental. “Did you two…? Because this isn’t adding up. If two plus two is four……..” His bright eyes grew wide. “You DIDN’T!?!”

“Stop jumping to conclusions-” You finally spoke up just for Felix to jump to even further conclusions.

“The girl you met was Y/n? You fucked our Y/n?” He didn’t even bother addressing you, treating you like you weren’t even in the room with all his questions being directed at Changbin. “Come to think about it, she did say she wanted to start working out, just last week.” He flopped in his seat as everything started to click for him. His two friends were both avoiding the truth, they had fucked each other this weekend. All weekend long at that. “You knew he wasn't available, because he was with you this weekend, that's why you didn’t panic when I said I couldn’t reach him. Oh my gosh- You fucked Binnie?” He pointed at you accusingly as he spoke the last part rather loudly.. 

Changbin stood to his feet and pulled Felix up and out the seat. “Don’t you have work to do or something?” He gently moved the younger man towards the door. Felix was too in shock to even protest as he was pushed out the door of your office.

Changbin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe they both had been found out so easily. But something in the back of his mind was kind of happy about the outcome. There really wasn’t a reason to hide. There was no company policy about fraternization. You were both adults. You were both single. Plus there was no weird power imbalance, you were both high up in the company. So what was stopping you from pursuing a relationship, especially if that's what you wanted to do?

You leaned back in your chair, fingers pushing into your eye sockets. You sighed loudly, “You know if Wendy gets wind of what Felix has to say, the office will know about us before the morning meeting, right?” You moved your hands, dejected. If you were going to spill the beans, you wanted to do it yourself. Changbin came over to you and placed both hands on the arm rests of your chair, turning you towards him. 

“I know. But I don’t care.” Your eyes widened, confused. “If they know, they know. Who I like is none of their concern and neither is who I’m fucking. Plus, I’m a grown man capable of making his own decisions. I’ll stand firm on that, because you have to live your life with 줏대” He hooked his index finger under your chin to make you look at him. “It’s fine as long as you're okay with it. I want whatever you want.” 

Were you okay with everyone knowing your business? Yes and no. If you did decide to continue this thing you had with Binnie, that meant that everyone would be free to scrutinize your relationship. It also meant that people might start to think you’d gotten your position because of him. That simply wasn’t the case, you’d worked hard to get here and you, Changbin, Han, and Chris had built this company up from the ground yourselves. So people could go fuck themselves if they thought you sucked dick or kissed ass to get to this point in your career.

“You like me?” You teased, causing a slight blush to dust his cheeks as he looked away shyly.

“I-I mean.. maybe a little bit.” You giggled, shy Changbin was the absolute cutest to you.

“Just… a little bit?” His ears were red as he continued to look at everything but you. “What happened to living your life with Jut-whatever it is you said?” He bit down on his bottom lip to suppress a smirk.

“You're right.” He nodded looking down at your lap, before looking you dead in your eyes with fire and determination behind his own. “I want us to be a thing. Not just friends with benefits, either… unless that's all you want, then it's fine. I want to hold your hand In public and kiss you. I want to tell everyone about my hot and smart girlfriend. To not be afraid of what people may think or say about our relationship, because.. fuck’em, right?”

You couldn't hold back the smile that formed on your lips. “Right. Fuck'em.” He was suddenly shy again, trying his best to hold back the giddiness he felt bubbling up on the inside. “That's a yes, by the way.” 

His cheeks rounded out as his lips curled into a smile. “Yes, you'll be my girlfriend?” You nodded and he immediately captured your lips. You don't know how, But he scooped you up and out of your chair to place you gently on your glass desk. He situated himself between your legs, all while never breaking the kiss you both were engrossed in. His hands roamed all over your body, taking purchase of your hips. A lot of things could be said about Changbin when it came to his body, but you could definitely say he wasn’t as aggressive as he looked. He was always gentle unless you asked him not to be. That was something you’d discovered over the weekend.

“How long until that morning meeting?” His lips were still on yours as he spoke. His fingers glided along the waistband of your slacks, itching to get the fabric off your body.

“It's supposed to be at nine forty-five, but you know they never start on ti-” Your sentence was cut short as Changbin tossed little items like pens and a few important papers off your desk.

“Guess we don't have much time then.” You tilted your head, wondering what exactly he meant. But your question was soon answered as he sat in your desk chair and lowered it until he was at chin level to your crotch. “I can get in a good pre-meeting meal.” Quick fingers made quick work of your side zipper, before moving back to the waistband to pull the fabric down and off you. You helped by lifting your hips, unconcerned with your weight on the glass table beneath you. It was sturdy, it would definitely hold, right?

He didn’t waste time pulling your panties off, he just simply pulled them to the side, sighing at the sight of you. “I’ve missed you.” He spoke to your pussy before placing a chaste kiss on it. You chuckled at his ridiculousness, knowing you felt the exact same as him. It hadn’t been a full twelve hours since he’d last been deep inside you, but that didn’t seem to matter to him at all. He needed you. He needed to taste you on his tongue, to feel you on his skin. He needed you carnally. Biblically. And you mirrored that sentiment.

The first swipe of his tongue sent shivers down your spine. His tongue was even warmer than your heat, the temperature difference was delicious. You tilted your head back as he slipped his tongue between your folds, teasing your bud with the tip of the muscle, knowing how impatient that made you. He was toying with you, and you were going to let him. It was amazing how in a matter of days he’d learned how to please you like he’d known your body inside and out for years. He started slowly, swiping and flicking his tongue. But things quickly started to escalate. He pushed your legs even further apart,  indecent slurps started to fill the room. You bit down on your bottom lip. No matter how private the privacy glass in your office felt, it didn’t cancel out noise. You had to be careful of how loud you were, you didn’t want your noisy secretary to let the whole office in on what you and your colleague were doing behind closed doors.

You grabbed a tuft of his wavy hair, tugging on it gently. “Harder..” He spoke against you. You should have known that was what he wanted. He’d encouraged you to tug his hair hard every single time he was between your legs, and sometimes even when he wasn’t. You tugged and he groaned, burying his face deeper into you. Your toes curled in your stilettos, you were close. Teetering on the edge of climax. He pressed his mouth further against you, like he wanted to become a part of you. That's what broke the levy and sent you hurtling over the edge. You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the loud moan that threatened to escape it. When that wasn't doing enough, You covered your mouth with your hand. 

Changbin didn’t come up for air. He coaxed you through with little kitten licks, his eyes staring up at you, watching. He pressed a soft Kiss to your clit once your body finally stopped shaking. Grabbing him up as quickly as you could, you pulled him in, pressing your lips to his in a heated kiss. You could taste yourself lingering on his lips and tongue along with the faint taste of his morning americano. “I hate to break this up, but we need to get to that meeting and I have to…” He pulled back and looked down at the massive bulge pressing against his fitted slacks. “Adjust myself.” 

Your eyes followed his, locking in on the thickness pressed against the zipper of his pants. You were tempted to tell him, “fuck the meeting”, but you know exactly what that meant. Boyfriend or not, you both were in high positions in this company and had obligations to it. You rubbed your hands over his bulge and sighed, “Fine. We will put a pin in this. But know this, Mr. Seo, I will return the favor.” His lips curled into a smirk, hands moving to rest on your hips.

“Oh, I know. And I can’t wait.”

The meeting and the work that seemed to pile in afterwards had the two of you beyond busy. Any thoughts of running away to his or your corner office to canoodle had been ripped off the table along with eating a good lunch. There were issues with the distribution plan for your fall launch as well as some manufacturing issues with a few of the pieces, so that meant this issue came first. That meant you had to cancel any other plans you had for the day and add even more hours to your fifty plus hour work week, after hours. The time in the day seemed to melt away - along with parts of your sanity-. You were back and forth from the conference room to your office, in hopes of finding a solution to your distribution issues, to no avail. 

“If I have to listen to one more excuse from our distribution partners, I swear I’m going to flip this fucking table.” Chan groaned, running his fingers through his curly hair. “No one seems to want to take the blame, even though they are aware there is a problem.” There was honestly no hope left in the room. The fall launch was supposed to go on presale soon, but there was no way the company would be ready in time with a recall on half of apparel.  He let out a harsh sigh, digging his fingers into his eye sockets to relieve the tension. “This can’t be solved tonight. Let’s break for the night and resume this in the morning.” 

Everyone was tired and hungry at this point, multiple people having missed out on an actual lunch. You’d settled on a handful of nuts and your third coffee for the day for lunch and your stomach sure was letting you know it had a problem with that. “Fine with me, Minho keeps texting asking where I am. Something about the cats missing me.” Jisung said nonchalantly as he packed up his things. 

“So, he misses you and wants to blame it on the cats. Got it.” You chuckled. You found their relationship to be super cute, even if Minho would cut you down with just a look for even thinking about it. You said your goodbyes, opting to stay around and look for other solutions. As the chief marketing officer, it was your job to make sure that all of your marketing was set and in place for every roll out of products. You couldn’t do your job to promote the fall line if there was no fall line. You said your goodbyes to mostly everyone, taking notice of how Changbin stayed behind, watching all of your friends leave one by one.

“I thought they would never leave.” You chuckled, mind slightly preoccupied with finding a solution to all of the company's mounting problems. “What do you need me to do? Put me to work.” Changbin was the C.O.O. of the company, this really had nothing to do with his role, but he stayed around just to help you out. “I can look for documents. Contact international retailers to let them know of the incoming delay. Go get you and I some food from that Thai spot you like around the corner. Or I can rub your shoulders, feet, or scalp, help you relax. Or, I can help you relax in other ways….” With a wink, he slowly made his way around the large conference table. His warm hands landed on your shoulders, massaging gently, helping to relax all of the tension you’d been holding there since the first thing that morning. 

“Can I pick ‘D’, all the above? Because it all sounds delightful.”  You never took your eyes off of your screen, even with you melting into his touch. 

“You can have whatever you want, babe.” You could hear the silly little smile he had on his face in his tone. “Unless we are talking about me fetching the moon for you, that will take a little more than a trip down the street.” You chuckled as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Let’s start with food, you need to eat. And my stomach might actually revolt if I don’t get anything in it soon.” You agreed with a nod. 

He put in an order of your usual and you took the time away from the computer to sit and eat with him. It honestly helped to calm the anxiety that you were beginning to swim in the deep end of. Even if your new found relationship was just beginning, you somehow knew that Changbin was the best decision you’d made to date. 

He pulled out his laptop to help you search through correspondence between you and the manufacturer. You needed to tackle the issues with the clothes before you could even get towards distribution. You both silently combed through emails and emails of correspondence, before something finally jumped out at you. You held your breath, reading over every line of the email. “....We have settled on a swatch, the color #33ffe9 and #000000, for the fall line breathable legging, scoop neck tee, and the flex sports bra! The fabrics chosen are a mix of man cellulosic fibers and elastane!” You screamed the last part. “I found it! Bin, baby, I found it!” His eyes were starting to gloss over from his tiredness. There was no amount of coffee that could remedy it. His eyes shot open with your screams.

He cleared his throat, hoping to clear any of the sleepiness out of it before he spoke. “Re-really?” He was unsuccessful. You smiled, making your way over to him. He pushed back his chair to let you take purchase his lap. You settled into the plush seat of his thick thighs. His arms naturally wrapped around your waist, one hand resting on your hip. “So they messed up?” He asked, stifling a yawn. You nodded, kissing his sleep riddled eyes.

“Yes, baby.” You couldn’t hide your smile as you looked at him. So happy that you took the leap into this relationship with him. You knew him well enough to know that he would make you very happy and that you would try your damndest to do the same. You pressed kisses to his face as his eyes closed. Your lips ghosted over his and his breath hitched.

“As sleepy as I am, you are about to awaken something else in me… tread carefully.” You chuckled, ignoring the warning he gave you. Pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his lips. That grip on your hip tightened as his control started to wavier. “Babe…” You disregarded his words, focusing on playfully loving on him. He let out a heavy sigh as you continued. You clearly had forgotten what kind of day he had. How he ate you out early this morning on your desk, or how he had denied himself a release to prioritize the urgent meeting this morning. It had been a long day of him busying himself to keep from thinking of the lingering need inside of him.

You had no idea what was happening until your ass was placed on the table. “Wha- when?” His lips moved to yours in a torrid kiss that immediately leaned into. His hands were needily pulling and tugging on your clothes.

“I need you.” You nodded, not even trying to refute a fact that you already knew. Before you knew it your clothes and his eyes strewn across the conference room table and floor without a care. His fingers hastily played between your folds, finding you to already be wet for him. “Already?” You bit back a smile and nodded. “This is what I do to you?” You hit his shoulder softly as one side of his lips curled into that ‘oh so cocky’ smirk that you’d grown to love. 

Your eyes rolled back as he slipped one, then two, then three fingers inside of you to stretch you out for him. No matter how needy he was, he knew his girth wouldn’t be able to just slip inside no matter how wet you were, not without him hurting you. He never wanted to hurt you. With only a few pumps of his fingers in and out of you, you were wet and ready for him. He distracted you by putting his lips on yours in a heated kiss as he slipped inside. You pulled away from his lips, letting out a wonton moan as your walls stretched to accommodate him.

“Fuck.. Bin.. baby…” You couldn’t even form coherent thoughts as his thick length speared in and out of you at a slow but consistent pace. You could feel your wetness dripping onto the table beneath you as well as coating his member, making the slide in and out of you even that more delicious. He groaned, wrapping his arms around you tightly, pulling you into his chest and lifting you off the table, continuing to pound into you. You were a mess, your hips moved on their own, grinding against him as he held you up, fucking into you as he stood. Your moans bounced off the conference room walls that were usually filled with business negotiations and meetings. Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, causing him to whine under you. “Please Bin… I-” 

You could barely get the words out before you were coming around him. Painting his cock with your thick white come. His hips stuttered, even if he spent the weekend paving his way into your cavern, it still didn’t prepare him for how tight you’d still be. “Shit.. babe.” His hips stopped moving as ropes of his come shot deep into you, coating your walls with it. You moaned, feeling the warmth he filled you with. He stumbled back, thankfully landing in the chair he had pushed back. You squeezed your tired walls around him, making him groan. “Yo-you haven’t learned your lesson yet, have you?” He asked, dragging his nose across the side of your neck. His voice horse from the passionate love making paired with the long day you both had endured.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t. But you have plenty of time to teach it to me.” You teased.

“And I plan on doing just that.”

It took nearly an hour to clean the conference room. The both of you were so tired, you opted for a hotel room across the street, rather than trying to make it to either of your homes with such heavily lidded eyes. Being the consummate business professionals that you both were, you both had a nice change of clothes stored in your office or in the back of your cars, so it wouldn’t look as if you spent the night fucking in the shared space that is the conference room. 

The next morning, the light poked through the hastily closed curtains, painting Changbins beautifully full face with light. You couldn’t help it as your fingers brushed over his soft yet manly features. “Keep that up and I might think you love me.” He spoke, eyes still closed. You chuckled.

“You never know, Binnie. I might.” His eyes shot open.

“Is that a confession? Because, I didn’t want it to be after I fucked you. I wanted my confession to be romantic.” A soft blush coated his cheeks. Your eyes widened.

“Huh?”

“Huh?!” Panic quickly set in over his features. “I mean-” You cut him off with a chaste kiss, lips lingering against his, savoring the cute moment.

“I love you too, Binnie.” His face relaxed as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I love you too, babe.”

FIN

[mr-yuugo]

Can't Get Enough

[Riddle Rosehearts X F!Reader] [SMUT}

Words: 708

Summary: Reader and Riddle do the devil's tango

I also posted this on my AO3 as well as Wattpad!

He couldn't stop as his slender fingers went through your hair. He liked the feeling of having your soft chest so close to his. Your quiet moans only fuel his desire. The feeling of his lips on yours was something that was familiar as you have done so many times before.

He knew this sort of thing was wrong. There was an appropriate time and place for this and it was definitely not now. "Please Y/N, what if Grim comes back..." He pleaded between kisses. You only groaned at his words as you continued to straddle him.

"You're enjoying yourself." You smirked as you stopped kissing him. Your hands slide down to his torso. You noticed him shiver as you began to caress his body. "I don't think you wanna stop, your face is so red and it's not because you're angry..." You whispered in his ear.

Your hand landed on his chest, your fingers made a circular motion on his hardened nipples. "Of course, we can always stop if you really want to." You sighed as you lay him down on your bed. You purposely got on top of his erection as you began to grind your clothed sex on him.

Riddle's eyes widened as his lips parted. A stream of whines left his wet lips. His hands went to hold on your thighs as you arched your back slightly. Savoring the feeling of his hard dick against you. You chuckled as your own face turned a lovely shade of pink.

"S-so what will it be Riddle?" You asked him through lidded eyes.

...

The sound of skin slapping could be heard echoing throughout the room. Thought the sounds Riddle was making easily overpowered it. Your body on all fours in front of him. His hands rested on your hips. He loved the feeling of your hot insides. The way he slid so easily in and out of you burned into his mind.

His hair was a mess, his face burning in pleasure. He gulped down the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth as he thrusts into you, the way you would clench around his hard cock drove him mad. "Please please please Y/N...keep doing that." He whined as he kept his pace steady, not wanting the feeling to ever go away.

"Mhm, Riddle~" You moaned his name out as you began to move your body to meet his thrusts. "Just cum in me please." You cried as your eyes rolled back. Your back arched in an impressive way, allowing Riddle to only reach deeper.

His eagerness only soared higher at your pleas. He loved the way you would cry out for him. His voice got louder as he began to get closer to which his movements slowed down. His breathing turned ragged as he could only focus on the warmth provided by you.

He noticed the way your body trembled beneath him. You were babbling nonsense as he could only make out his own name. The grip on your hips tightened as he came. He closed his eyes as he let out a needy moan when he felt you tighten around him.

The sudden feeling of his hot cum making you spasm made you moan in delight. Riddle leaned his body forward. Letting himself rest on your back for a few seconds as he pulled you close to him. His breathing went back to normal as he brought his face close to your neck. Leaving small kisses that trailed to your back.

He went back to the position he was in. His hands were still on your hips as he slowly pulled out of you. He let out a pleased sound as he watched his cum leak out of you. Taking his hands off of you he brought a finger up to your hole and pushed it in causing his cum to stop leaving you.

You gasped at the feeling as your knees weakened. "Riddle...no more." You moaned as your hands balled into fists as he continued to push his finger in and out of you. He hummed at your words before shaking his head. "No, let's keep going. You started this anyways..." He smirked.

"I simply can't get enough of you."

[risuola]

ENTRY #14 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You taught me to feel and it overwhelmed me.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nsfw, virgin!reader, reader discretion is advised — wc. 4224

a/n: this series is my baby, i love it so much so please don't mind me posting for it so often, but here goes the long awaited smut entry — enjoy!

series masterlist

It’s beautiful.

Despite the clouds, the sky still hints some pinks; the orange hues of sunset peeking through the grey fluffy layers that sparsely canopied above, a tell-tale of late hours and looming night. The air is warm and humid, thick with scent of grass and dew and somewhere, far in the distance, a thunder rumble. And then, warm, summer mist of raindrops starts to fall — cool and refreshing, a pleasant relief from the sweltering heat. It feels calm, soothing as the smell of rain makes its way up the atmosphere.

Or maybe it’s you.

You’re there, basking in the serene atmosphere and Satoru thinks you’ll get sick from it, but he doesn’t stop you. You are too beautiful. Smiling and spreading your arms, reaching your face up towards the sky and he watches you, allows you the relief, allows himself to commit the picture of you to memory.

Thin fabric of your dress clings to your body; peaks of hair stick to your forehead and neck but you seem so careless, so happy — he envies you, he envies those strands, he envies the cotton. Your feet are bare, shoes long gone as you stroll through the green meadow, as if all the care of the world had suddenly disappeared. The meeting you’ve both been on just hours ago forgotten, now it’s you and him in the middle of nowhere.

You notice him staring, he’s way too obvious, but you smile at him and he forgets about the world around. “Turn it off,” you speak softly, your voice like silk, and you reach your hands up to cup his dry face.

For a moment, he looks at you, studies you — the way raindrops cling to your skin, to your eyelashes; how they trace the curves of your cheeks and nose, only to drip from the tip of it. He follows the one that makes it lower, languidly running down your cupid’s bow and onto your lips and then, he leans in, kissing it away and letting go of everything but you.

Raindrops are pitter-pattering against his skin and it’s foreign. Clothes grow heavier and goosebumps scatter across his form, but Gojo isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of the rain running down his spine or you in his arms. Maybe it’s you; your fingers teasing at the nape of his neck, nails running through the undercut and your body pressed to his own, your mouth against his mouth.

His eager tongue darts out, seeking permission at the seam of your lips and you part them, allowing him in. The kiss deepens into a tango of passion; an addicting kind of dance that ignites a fire within him and the cool drizzle no longer feels refreshing. Taste of rain mingles with the sweet flavor of you and Satoru’s heart is pounding in his chest, matching the rhythm of raindrops pelting your bodies. Your clothes are soaked, but neither of you seem to mind as you pull yourselves closer.

He wraps his arms around you, tracing the shapes of your hips and back. The warmth of your body pressed into his chest is contrasting vividly with the cold shower from heavens and he craves more. His breath catches in his throat as you reach to unbutton his jacket, your dainty fingers dealing swiftly with the gold button and the zipper — then you pull it off and he lets you, following your movements like an obedient puppy he sheds the outer layer only to have your hands run across his bare skin. The short sleeve sticks to his frame, cotton losing its softness and he feels the sprinkle hitting his back, his arms and neck. It’s running down his body, trickling his muscles and making him shiver in nothing but anticipation.

He grips the fabric of your dress; nervous fingers searching for the zipper and he feels you smiling against his lips. Then you pull, cause him to bend, to sink onto the wet grass and he’s got you on top of his lap. You swallow the gasp that left his mouth and he’s too eager to break the kiss, burning with want and losing his mind over the feel of your weight resting on him.

You’re smiling, panting but not missing a beat in the way you touch him. You explore his shoulders, his back and chest. His needy hands are gripping your sides, running up and down your back as they inch towards the fastener lined with your spine and you moved, tracing his jawline with kisses, savoring the whimpers that barely stand out over the monotonous buzzing of the rain and soft swooshes of wind dancing in the foliage. You kiss his neck, nip at the sensitive spots, discovering them along the way and then, you tug at his t-shirt to reach more of his collarbone and shoulder.

Satoru pulls at the zipper, too harsh, too desperate, but you don’t mind. Your frame shakes gently with giggle and he chuckles too. He loves you. It’s a thought that pops up in his mind for a while now, he loves your smile, your laugh, your taste. You had become a center to his universe, your orbit the only one he wished to follow. Is it weakness? He doesn’t feel weak.

He’s eager, pulling at your sleeves, pushing the fabric of your dress down, crimpling it at your waist and the sight takes his breath away. You’re gorgeous like this, soaked wet and with water trickling down the ups and hollows of your figure, the valley between your breasts, the tender flesh of your stomach and the curve of your hips. The bra you have on, made of nothing but lace, clings to your skin; the crowded pattern of it taunting him with the peek of what’s below and he takes a moment to just admire as he swallows thickly. A knot forms in his throat and stomach and he feels hot, mustering the power within him to gently brush away the wet strands of hair that glued themselves to your collarbones and neck. He swallows again. He’s nervous.

Your eyes flicker to his lips and they’re parted. His breath hitches and you inhale, leaning in and kissing him again. His hands are wandering, exploring your flesh, absorbing the warmth and gliding over your rain-soaked curves. He kisses you — with passion, with need and you feel yourself trembling in his hold. You love him — his eyes, the way he cares, his taste.

You feel his fingers dancing near the clasp of your bra, struggling with it, shaking. He manages to do it, to unhook it and you move your hands away from his hair to let him slip it off. Satoru’s impatient, he tugs his own t-shirt off as you barely pull it up and then, his strong arms are wrapped around your middle, pulling you flush to him. Skin touched the skin and he forgot how to breathe.

Then, you’re down, your back on the grass and he’s right above you. He gasps, allowing his eyes to run down your frame because you are a sight to admire — with your wet hair scattered around your head and your half-bare body glistening from water, surrounded by green glass and delicate flowers. They wished to have your charm. You blush underneath his gaze, warmth spreading across your cheeks and the tips of your ears but you keep smiling, keep panting. He wants more.

Satoru leans in, kissing your lips, your chin and down your neck. Raindrops are drumming against the expanse of his back as he hovers above you, kissing you, tasting you. He presses his nose against your skin, inhales you — the subtle mixture of your natural scent and the perfume you always wear makes him dizzy and he licks you. He’s biting, nipping at your skin ever so gently, sucking little red spots all over you as the reminder that you gave him what he finds the most valuable in the world — yourself.

He wants everything, he craves everything and you’re willing to give it to him. One of his hands run up the curve of your hip, his thumb brushing the underside of your left breast — a silent plea for permission to go higher and you purr, he feels it under his cheek and his nose. A soft groan escapes his mouth as he feels the soft flesh of your chest, both under his palm and his lips and you whimper when his tongue flicks against your nipple; the hot muscle a stark contrast to the cold rain on your skin and you bury your fingers into his hair, finding purchase in the wet, white strands.

Satoru feels like he’s starving and only you can ease his hunger. He licks the raindrops off your body, tease the sensitive spots and nips. You are a feast he cannot get enough of; his tongue twirls and flicks, his teeth grazing your nipple as he latches onto it, kissing and suckling the bud and skin around it, making it red and swollen — all while his hand finds the other one. He cups your breast, his thumb brush around the nipple and he’s rolling it between his pads, tweaking and tugging at the sensitive peak. He’s lost in the taste of you, the feel of your skin under his tongue. He groans against you, sending vibrations through your body and you gasp aloud from the intoxicating pleasure of his touch.

You’re a putty in his hands, soft and pliable, responsive to his whims and he can hear your heart drumming below the cage of your ribs, echoing through your sternum as he presses a searing line of kisses along it. Then he trails lower, reaches your stomach, follows the curves and edges, and leaves his marks here and there — each of them causing those tiny sounds to leave your mouth. Satoru loves the melody.

He reaches the layers of your gathered dress that pool around your hips and tugs at it and you raise your hips off the ground to help him. Satoru groans at the sight of your underwear, a simple cotton adorned with the same lace that your bra was made from, now soaked wet and translucent against your complexion. The sight is teasing, taunting and he’s still hungry.

The kisses he leaves on your thighs burn, sending waves of heat throughout your body. There’s lava inside your veins, reaching up the very tips of your frame. You feel admired, worshipped by the god himself, you feel loved. Desired. You’re hot, feverish, the excitement is bubbling inside your chest and pooling below your stomach; narrowing your thoughts only to the man that kisses your ankles as if you were a goddess he wished to devote himself to.

“You are so beautiful,” he voices his thoughts, the only ones he has right now. “I need you, my god, I need you more than air.”

“I’m yours,” and he’s hooking his fingers at the band of your panties, tugging them off, tossing them away — the soft lace gets lost in the tall grass but he doesn’t care. He’s gentle with you when he pulls you closer, when he runs his palms up your inner thighs, when he leans in and kisses the most intimate parts of you. Your back arches and your head fall back; a soft, quiet moan slips through your parted lips when his tongue finds where you need him the most.

The first lick has him moaning, his tongue parting your sensitive folds and running up between them until he reaches your clit and you’re twitching beneath him. Satoru’s messy about it, sloppily slurping and licking, sucking and teasing. He’s making out with your pussy, wetly lapping at your puffy bundle and setting your nerves alight, making you squirm against the wet grass and even the downpour isn’t enough to cool you down anymore. You’re seething, whimpering, writhing in his grasp and he holds you firmly — one hand set around your thigh, the pads of his fingers digging into your plump flesh, and the other ghosting at your entrance, spreading the slick and saliva all over your pretty pussy. He could stay there.

Gojo’s deliberate when he eases his way into you, sinking his long digit in slowly and he begins to move, soon finding the rhythm that matches his oral ministrations. You’re so tight, so responsive, so delicious. He’s addicted.

“Feels good?” He asks, panting and kissing your trembling thigh, pressing his cheek to the plush of it. His cerulean blue eyes, lidded with heat and desire, search for yours and he smiles, seeing you so hazed.

He looks ethereal — with his hair down and wet, messily brushed back and with few loose strands stuck to his damp forehead. His lips are glossed with saliva and your juices, so red and swollen, you wish to kiss them, to bite them. Drops of rain are running down his cheeks, he looks like an angel crying. You want to worship him.

“S’good,” you reply, the sound barely leaving your mouth in a coherent way before you’re moaning again. The second finger slips into you and you struggle to accommodate him at first. Then, he’s back at the supper, his tongue working overtime at your swollen clit, flattening against it and twirling around, delving deeper and deeper. His hand holds onto your hip as he devours you, his fingers moving in sync, in and out, scissoring inside you, stretching you bit by bit and he curls them, searching for the spot that will send you over the edge.

“There it is,” he grins, his words muffled by the way he keeps himself nose deep into your sopping cunny. You’re arching off the ground, crying out his name, seeing stars and he’s learning your body, studying it, memorizing. He wishes to know it all and then, he hopes he’ll forget and learn it all over again.

Satoru rubs his fingers against the spongey spot inside you and your thighs tremble, close on him. He feels your muscles tensing, clamping his fingers and his name is slipping through your lips in a whiney melody that has him humming — the soft currents of vibrations go straight into your clit. He doubles the efforts, lapping at it, pressing wet kisses all over you and each time his mouth moves to find the plush flesh of your thighs, his thumb is rubbing heated circles along your folds, toying with you.

He looks up at you, watches as you come undone; all the pushes and pulls, jolts and trembles telling him that you’re close — so very close that if he only wished to, he’d push you over the edge. But he doesn’t. The pleasure stops and your chest is heaving. He swallows the moan that leaves your mouth with a wet and messy kiss, all teeth and tongue and you can taste yourself on his lips.

“I’m—so, so sorry—” he mumbles between kisses and he moves down towards the pulse on your neck. “I need to feel all of that on myself, I—” he whines, “I need you to come undone while filled with me—” His words blur against your skin, they mingle in his mouth. He’s so pussy-drunk, he can barely think. His cock is straining against his pants, aching to feel you, begging for any kind of friction and he’s close to be grinding on you. He feels like an animal in heat. Thirsty. Desperate.

You hum — whimper — and grip him suddenly, pushing him over, rolling on top of him and Satoru’s brain short circuit when the plushy weight of your ass rests on top of his aching crotch. The sight of you on him nearly makes him lose his mind — your naked, perfect body scattered so beautifully with red marks of his mouth and teeth. Every beauty mark that adorned your skin, every scar and every crease made him wonder if god worked on you himself. Your hands running up and down his chest, exploring his toned body cause his blood to boil with desire. Then you kiss him, kiss his chest, tease his nipples and he thinks he’ll implode just like that. His hips buck up, his rock-hard cock twitching, begging for any sort of friction and release and he feels the sticky precum soaking his underwear.

You move down and your fingers shake a little when you unbutton his pants. “Take your time,” he coos, rubbing the sides of your thigh despite the urge to take you then and there. Despite the need to fuck you silly, he stays gentle with you. His breath pauses and the first contact of cool air and raindrops with his cock has him moaning. And then, you wrap your fingers around him, your warm, soft palm struggling to envelop him whole, but it’s perfect to him. He’s ready to bust.

You move along his dick, thumb gliding over the slit at the top, collecting the pearls of precum and spreading them down his shaft. His veins are prominent against the pads of your hand, he’s heavy as you hold him, twitching at your touch. His abs are tensing, feet plant themselves onto the ground and you know he’s desperate. “Sweethea—haah,” he whines, his fingers dig into your thighs and you know it’ll bruise.

He looks at you and you offer him a soft smile — one that’s sincere, it’s loving and he could just melt against the green bed of nature.

And then, you move again and his mind goes blank. You stroke him again, spreading the slick all over him and then, the tip of his cock slides between your folds. You’re teasing him, not allowing him to enter just yet as you make sure your juices coat him thoroughly and he moans again. The way you roll your hips, the way your slippery pussy rubs along the side of his erection has him seeing stars. Sticky ropes of precum coat his lower belly, stretching between his skin and the tip of his cock when you’re moving. “Please, I beg yo—” he tries but words die down on his tongue when finally, finally, you sink down onto him.

It’s good, too good, it’s too much. It’s not enough.

He’s overwhelmed, his senses struggle to catch up.

There’s nothing else but you.

He reaches his hands to find purchase upon your waist, he holds onto you as you slowly nestle yourself on top of him. The sight of his cock being swallowed whole by your gummy walls for the first time is so deeply erotic, he thinks he’ll never see anything better. You’re dizzy with pleasure as you dig your nails into his skin. Satoru reaches up to cup your face, brushing soothing circles onto your cheek as he watches your features contort in discomfort — you’re new to this and he’s your first; he’s planting his feet onto the slippery grass, keeping his hips in place despite the desperate need to buck them into you. In seconds, the pain fades into nothing and your body relaxes.

He stretches you so good, so fucking good, you already feel the knots forming at the pit of your stomach. “It’s okay,” you promise, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm and kissing the heel of it. Then his hand falls back to rest on your waist; the muscles in his body ripple underneath his pale skin and he grunts lowly when you move for the first time. Your hips rolled against him and he could die like this.

“My god, you’re—” he whimpers, pulling you onto him, flush to his chest and bucking his hips upwards. His arms wrap around you, his lips find yours as he finds his pace — slow and steady first, then faster, and wetter, and deeper, “perfect,” and he kisses you, wet, sloppy, “so tight, so—“, he needs more, “I love you so much,” he whispers and you moan.

He’s leading the movements, despite being on the bottom and you let him. Your lips never leave his skin, you press your nose to the crook of his neck and your eyes are tightly shut. “I love you,” you cry out, “I lo–ve yo–“ you love him. “I love you—” you do. It’s a whisper, it’s a plea, it’s a scream. The words are shattering in your throat but you’re desperate to let them out, to let him know.

“I love you,” he echoes, his fingers digging into your flesh and he’s about to lose himself. The wet, slapping sounds of two bodies colliding bounce between the trees, it’s mingling with the melody of ecstasy and lust. He feels so good, you feel so good.

Satoru’s hips stutter, he feels his balls tightening. Your walls clench and pulsate and you bite onto his shoulder to muffle the screams when one of his hands snakes between your bodies, fingers eagerly rubbing at your throbbing, puffy clit. You’re close, you’re squirming, trying to run away, you’re so close, but he holds you. His name is all your vocabulary, he’s all your thoughts, he’s the air you breathe and the blood in your veins.

“’m s’ close,” he whines, nuzzling his nose into your wet hair, “w–where—?”

“Inside, you can com—aah,” you cannot take it any longer and Satoru moans loudly. He pulls your head to look at you, he wants to see your face. Your walls tighten as you come, pushing him out and sucking him in at the same time, milking him for all he’s worth and he feels your juices coating him in a sticky layer of filth. A thick, white ring of cream gathers at the base of his cock and he’s soon coming as well — his moves are rushed, erratic; hot torrents of seed sprouting deep inside your tight canal as he pumps it deeper, coating your insides with white, filling you to the brim and overflowing.

Your eyes are glazed with tears and his are not better. Your breaths mingle as he kisses you — slowly, messily, nearly missing your lips. His head falls back, white hair spread against the grass and you relax on him as the final stutters of his hips calm down.

Satoru has never felt as much as right now.

No infinity, no barriers.

Just him and the wet grass tickling his shoulders, his nape, his cheeks, and hips. The rain drumming gently against his skin, cold on his hot body. The wind, ghosting over him and then you.

You.

Your breath fanning his sensitive neck, your nose nuzzling somewhere beneath his jawline. Your weight resting on top of him — comfortable, relaxed, perfect. Your hands on his body, your skin pressed to his skin.

He has never felt so much.

And he loves you.

He has never loved anyone that much.

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

♡ EXTRA ♡

You giggle softly and his mouth is curved into a sheepish smile. You didn’t expect this when pulling him onto the vibrant green grass, you truly didn’t see that coming but here you are — your hands buried within his hair, lathering the third round of shampoo and you massage his scalp, brushing your fingers through the once pristine white strands, now scattered in green-ish stains.

Satoru’s lips are glued to your skin, pressing gentle kisses all over your neck and chest and he doesn’t care about his hair. In fact, he’s grateful for the incident because it allowed him to have you there longer — in a hot bath that you both agreed that you needed after spending so much time in cool rain and on the wet ground. You’re on his lap, the soapy foam is running down the curves of your body and you try to wash his hair, to bring it back to its usual snowy shade and he’s sure you’ll manage to do so.

His hands run up and down your hips, trace the line of your spine and he loves his place in between your breasts. It’s warm and soft, it’s close to your heartbeat. “How is it going?” He asks, though he doesn’t care. Your fingers rubbing his scalp feel heavenly, he wishes the green is still there.

“Let’s see,” but you’re serious about it as you tug at the strands just enough to prompt him to tilt his head back and you grab the showerhead, beginning to slowly rinse the lather off. He watches you, the focus on your beautiful face, the adorable pout on your lips and the joyful glimmer in your eyes. You’re gentle with him, not a drop of shampoo or water reaches his eyes and he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. “There we go,” your face breaks into a grin, “white like new, no more green spots,” you seem proud of your achievement and he’s proud of you.

He hums in response and your eyes flicker to him; you lean in and kiss the very tip of his nose. In few moments his hair is covered in conditioner and you slowly allow yourself to sink under the surface of warm water, resting your head on your husband’s peck and nestling into the strong embrace of his arms. His lips press to the top of your head.

It’s a dream. It must be.

And if it is, he doesn’t want to wake up.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe @fortunatelyfurrygiver @lolita-h @sweetpo1son

[would-they-listen-to-that]

How to Make a Self-Ship Playlist (when you're too afraid to ask)

hey there! you! yeah, you, lurking in the f/o tag, i see you. so you wanna make a self-ship playlist but don't know where to start? welcome to "would-they-listen-to-that" radio, ran by a self-shipping veteran! this post is a special request from an anonymous caller, so let's get into it! how do we make a self-ship playlist when we have zero idea what we're doing?

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ STEP ONE: BLORBO ROULETTE ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

The first step is to pick someone who catches your eye! Who's that fictional character lurking in the back of your mind? Who have you thought about snuggling with to distract yourself from the monotony of a three-hour geometry lecture? Whose tag did you take a "casual stroll" down last night? If you've got someone in mind from those questions alone, there's your target!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ STEP TWO: DATING ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

No, not that kind of dating. I'm talking about historical dating! The time period your character comes from influences the music they listen to! Are they a vampire from the late 1980's? Try some early trad-goth bands and hair metal! Are they a magical girl from the early 2000's? Try some y2k girl groups and rnb! "But mod, what if my character is anachronistic, and their whole shtick is they act like a 1940's jazz singer yet they live in 2020?" If you somehow catapulted Ella Fitzgerald into the nowadays, don't be afraid to be anachronistic with your playlist! Billie Holiday can go right next to Billie Eilish!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ STEP THREE: SOUNDING IT OUT ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

If your f/o has one, listen to their soundtrack for inspiration! What genres are present in their soundtrack? If they sing, in what style? What do they sing about? What kinds of music reflect their environment? If the character has any musical inclination or is a fan of certain musicians, take that into account! If your blorbo is a canon Weezer fan or sings along to Frank Sinatra, that gives a strong basis of what they listen to.

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ STEP FOUR: ULTRASOUND ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

That's right, you gotta look inside yourself. You're a character in this self-ship too. It takes two (at least) to tango! Find songs that are meaningful to you. What types of music do you enjoy? What songs do you believe are integral to your relationship with your blorbo? What songs describe your feelings towards them? If you have an enemies-to-lovers relationship, look into songs that have a similar theme. Don't be afraid to explore new music too! Who knows what you might find? There's always an opportunity to hear your new favorite song!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ STEP FIVE: BE FREE ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Seriously, cringe culture is dead. If it's not, I'm giving you and your f/o hammers so you can kill it. You're allowed to have fun with fiction. The FBI isn't gonna swarm your house because you wanted to give Batman a kiss. It sounds cheesy, but the first (and only step really) to making a self-ship playlist is to have fun and be yourself. You don't need to listen to this post! I'm not the be-all end-all of self-shipping! Whether you take my advice is totally up to you! There really are no wrong answers here!

If you made it this far into the yap session, thank you so much for reading! I hope this advice serves you well! If not, that's okay too! As always,

thanks for dialing in!

[sailorrlino]

Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part. 

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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

Any work is good work. 

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building. 

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor. 

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down. 

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co. 

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.” 

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.” 

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers. 

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket. 

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows. 

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first. 

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward. 

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep. 

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes. 

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways. 

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy. 

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever. 

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes. 

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife. 

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery. 

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious. 

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over. 

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get. 

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it. 

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top. 

Any work is good work. 

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop. 

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable. 

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch. 

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards. 

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure. 

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood. 

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic. 

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat. 

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth. 

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?” 

“Who is to say?” 

“Just tell her I’m here.” 

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.” 

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars. 

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass. 

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.” 

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door. 

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top. 

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder. 

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand. 

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?” 

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver. 

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.” 

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face. 

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data. 

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face. 

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.” 

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.” 

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on. 

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow. 

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft. 

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns. 

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver. 

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches. 

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her. 

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.” 

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.” 

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt. 

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him. 

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here. 

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in. 

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises. 

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 

-

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock. 

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.” 

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.” 

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.” 

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?” 

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently. 

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that. 

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time. 

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection. 

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy. 

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why. 

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal. 

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web. 

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?” 

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.” 

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.” 

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know. 

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of. 

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you. 

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.” 

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.” 

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces. 

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave. 

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood. 

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface. 

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop. 

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it. 

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now. 

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses. 

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go. 

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be. 

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring. 

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up. 

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.” 

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work. 

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life. 

-

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less. 

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself. 

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts. 

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made. 

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating. 

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way. 

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel. 

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates. 

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl. 

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process. 

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline. 

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him. 

There was crazy, and then there was that. 

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you. 

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true. 

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them. 

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team. 

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl. 

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch. 

-

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling. 

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight. 

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.” 

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history. 

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning. 

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing– 

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill. 

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection. 

Irreversible. 

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed. 

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he? 

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning. 

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit. 

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth. 

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again. 

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room. 

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves. 

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave. 

It’s clinical. 

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work. 

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers. 

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list. 

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure. 

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman. 

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments. 

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too. 

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone? 

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway. 

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him. 

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops. 

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible. 

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside. 

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair. 

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door. 

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.” 

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf. 

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.” 

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers. 

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.” 

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?” 

“You’d be surprised, Collector.” 

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me. 

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.” 

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd. 

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force. 

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking. 

Act of faith. 

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable. 

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires. 

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him. 

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes. 

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.” 

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.” 

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together. 

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.” 

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.” 

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.” 

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun. 

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise. 

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.” 

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you. 

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun. 

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does. 

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.” 

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.” 

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little. 

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over. 

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel. 

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert. 

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face. 

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face. 

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.” 

“I… don’t have an argument.” 

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?” 

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again. 

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin. 

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down. 

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.” 

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light. 

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours. 

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark. 

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you. 

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?” 

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.” 

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not. 

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?” 

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?” 

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly. 

-

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t, 

An act of faith. 

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust. 

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers. 

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens. 

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?” 

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.” 

“Who owns that place, anyway?” 

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.” 

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.” 

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.” 

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing. 

“Where are we going?” 

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.” 

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.” 

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.” 

Minho bites back a grin. 

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline. 

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence. 

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern. 

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh. 

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist. 

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.” 

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation. 

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive. 

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.” 

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.” 

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?” 

“Of course. Swan likes strays.” 

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.” 

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.” 

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side. 

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something. 

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching. 

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide. 

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does. 

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean. 

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse. 

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane. 

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.” 

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.” 

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive. 

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them. 

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night. 

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island. 

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been. 

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within. 

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge. 

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him. 

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house. 

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities. 

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.” 

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home. 

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto. 

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed. 

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you. 

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay. 

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel. 

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling. 

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.” 

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.” 

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder. 

A little braver. 

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.” 

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look. 

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?” 

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist. 

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his. 

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans. 

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous. 

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane. 

You. 

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else. 

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth. 

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple. 

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too. 

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes. 

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead. 

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in. 

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.” 

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?” 

“Need it.” 

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger. 

“Hmm. Sweet.” 

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is. 

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward. 

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it. 

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth. 

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.” 

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart. 

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left. 

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it. 

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating. 

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.” 

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.” 

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together. 

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again. 

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen. 

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there. 

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you. 

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down. 

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in. 

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?” 

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.” 

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.” 

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.” 

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling. 

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.” 

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.” 

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo. 

-

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@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

[ghostbustting]

hihi, i love your writings! can i get a 80 slash fic where it's around halloween time and the reader was force to attend a party with her friends. Slash notices reader and how hot her costume is. ( a bit modest version of the playboy bunny outfit ) Slash is cocky but the reader doesn't know who the hell he is but after a few drinks...they are upstairs doing the devils tango. 😈

Idk why this took me so long yet so effortless, but october seems to be the perfect month to post it 🙌

♯ ; “𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑵𝑵𝒀„ ༘⋆

Saul "Slash” Hudson x Fem!Reader.

Contains SMUT ; p in v, squirting, dirty talk (?),

oral (f receiving).

The smell of booze and sweats fill my senses, I guess you can already imagine how terrible it is. I can't even remember when did I ever agree to step a single toe into this god awfully packed Halloween party? At this point, I'd rather go trick or treat instead around the neighborhood and receive some sweets by the end of the night.

The whole night I made it my quest to try and stick close to my friends, following them, a similar sight to how dogs would follow their owners around. It was never my desire to attend this party anyways, wasn't quite of a party person at the first place, let alone a Halloween party where I have to dress up in costumes and shit. Yet my friends were quite hard to resist, forcing me to come with them to this party.

So here I am, standing at the corner of this unknown loaded house in my terrible attempt of a Playboy Bunny costume, buying my costume from the nearest store available just a day before the party, despite the cheap fabric making it look like I only put on a black swimsuit and a bunny ears bandana. It was quite revealing, I could feel eyes on me as I walk around, but who the fuck cares?

My friends were long gone from my sight, last thing I seen from them was when they were dirty dancing around some dudes. Unfortunately, I was no fan of that activity, leaving me to just stand in the corner of the party like an absolute outcast. I didn't mind. I had my cup of drink and that was enough to keep me occupied till my friends are ready to take me back home.

News flash, they never did take me home.

In fact, I have completely lose sights of every single one of them. Those little fuckers dragged me here and literally left me to rot between all of these party animals when I could've had a movie night back in my place. What a waste of a Halloween night. Isn't it?

I crush up the empty red plastic cup in my grasp and swiftly threw it away into the trash can, which everyone seems to be oblivious of, judging from all the empty plastic cups laying around on the floor, ready to cause someone to trip and fall.

However, the still fueled up plastic cups set on the table have managed to catch my attention yet again as I find myself making my way back to that table and seeking another cup of drink, which makes this my... third drink..?

My mind shrugs off the forgotten count of drinks as I spot one particular cup with more liquid filled inside besides the other cups. A grin on my lips, my arm stretches and my hand reached out for the cup.

Only to be met by another hand.

A big calloused hand that belonged to a man I couldn't place who or where I would recognize him from.

My eyes trailed from his hand that was lightly touching my own, up to his face, which was mostly covered by those voluminous curls of his hair, a hat sitting perfectly still on top of those curls. Behind those curls, were eyes that peeks through his own strands of hair with a gaze that met mine almost instantly. Almost as if he was inspecting me just like the way I seem like I was inspecting him.

"This cup's taken, sweetheart." He spoke to me, his voice causing a rather odd and unfamiliar tingling feeling in my stomach.

Only then did I realize how warm the feeling of his skin was against my cold one, his voice able to mute out the loud rock music that has been blaring through the speakers all evening as he say, “Or should I say.. Bunny.” This time, he ends his words with a chuckle, eyes trailing up and down my costume.

I raise my eyebrow at him and reluctantly let go of the cup from my hand, “Whatever.” I muttered before taking a different cup displayed on the table, yet somehow still feeling the gaze of those eyes that belonged to him on the side of my head, gaze so strong that he was practically burning a hole right through me. Just as I turn to him again with a sip of the drink, it was proven that he was indeed still gazing over me.

A sigh left my lips from the liquid that cleared my throat, my hip carefully leaning against the table while I listen as words seem to leave him yet again, “No company, Miss Bunny?” He ask, his hand reaching up to deliver the cup to his lip, I watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallow the liquid.

”My friends are here, but they… well, they found other companies.” I shrugged.

I hear him click his tongue and shake his head, “And let you isolate yourself over there in the corner? Sounds like a bunch of fakers to me.” He scoffed, a small smirk playing devilishly on those lips he owned on his face.

”No, no..” I shake my head with a small chuckle, “I didn’t want to attend this party at first anyways, so—”

”Well, why the fucking hell not?!” He threw his arms up, the liquid spilling from his red cup just a little, “With a costume as sexy as this, I surely thought you’d be much more of a party animal.” WIth each words he spoke, I can feel more and more the way his gaze seems to caress the skin of my body up and down. It was rather odd… it made me feel a certain feeling in my heart that made it beat faster, my thighs clenching just a little. Or was it just the effect of the drink? I couldn’t even figure it out before he spoke yet again.

A step was taken from his shoe, his body moving closer to my own, “How ‘bout I show you the real fun of the party? Some talking, dancing, more drinking maybe?” The mysterious man suggested, that same smirk on his face, “I’ll keep it appropriate. I promise, Miss Bunny.” He spoke almost in a teasing way that I was quite confident this night wouldn’t end up in such an appropriate ending anyways.

”Fine then, rockstar looking guy.”

The moment I let my decission slip out, the moment names were shared, and the moment my third drink became my fifth, time seems to fly in a way that is quicker than ever. Each joy of a party that the guy— Slash showed me became a comfort I found building up in me around him. My still somewhat sober part of a brain tried desperately to comprehend whether this feeling is caused by the alcohol in my system or just purely by the fact this man is so mesmerizing. Perhaps even both of those.

The more information I learn about him, the more I feel a magnetic sort of pull towards him, I just hope my pupils aren’t heart-shaped at this very moment. As time passes by, it feels as if I’ve known him for decades and decades already, in knowledge of small details of his very own life. HIs famous band, Guns ‘N Roses, his love for snakes, his guitar skills.. Can he be any more interesting?

Touches were shared here and there, especially when we joined the people dancing around to the music. His large warm palm on my waist was a touch that have been spiritually tattoed onto my skin, a touch to think back every now and then about the strange and mysterious— yet charming stranger I met at the Halloween party.

I mean, honestly, I didn’t know how it all ended up this way.

However, my half sober guess was a 100% correct guess as the first moment we were just dancing and drinking innocently, the second moment we were in some random bedroom, the third moment.. I'm on top of his body, stradling his naked lap as I bounce up and down his large cock, moans pulled out of my lips like a dirty prayer. His hands were yet again placed on both of my waist as he help me bounce up and down, the tip of his cock that was already slick from my saliva moving smoothly in and out of my hole.

”Oh god, yes!”

I gasped, my head thrown back as dirty moans cannot stop pouring from my lips which were smiling widely from ecstasy. Looking down, my eyes lands on the ripped stockings I wore and the way his cock slipped in and out of my dripping cunt, not to mention the way one of his hands have moved to use his thumb on my clit, rubbing harsh circles.

The bastard was smirking back up at me, small grunts leaving his lips as he buck his hips up to me every here and there, “Shit— How are you so fucking tight?” He chuckled breathlessly through his grunts, the circles he rubbed over my clit became more urgent while his hold on my waist tightens to the point it might leave a mark.

My mind was clouded, I couldn't think of another thing other than how good his cock filled me up, fitting just perfectly inside of me as if his cock was made specially for my cunt.

Eventually, my body fell ontop of him as my body became weak, limp with his cock still burried deep inside of me. Slash didn't let that stop his fun though as he suddenly flipped our position, positioning me on my stomach on the bed while he took his position behind me, hand on my hip and the other on his member.

"Gonna fuck this pussy so hard.." He grunted as he finally pushed his head through my folds, pushing a lewd moan out of my throat, "You like that, mm? Such a good bunny, aren't you?" He laughed, his hand coming down to smack across my ass.

The sting that lingered on from his palm caused me to gasp loudly, eyes rolled to the back of my head till they were shut tight with my face pressed into the pillow, "Fuck! Please.." I cried out as he thrusted in and out of me with a pace of no mercy, no resistance, hips snapping back and forth as sounds of skins slapping fills the room.

His arms slowly trail to wrap around my stomach, as if they were snakes lurking around me and ready to feast on me. I feel him placing his weight on me, chest on my back while he press his lips onto my ear, "Gonna fuck you dumb. Now you can be a real fucking rabbit."

Those were the last things I managed to hear before I feel him thrusting in and out of me again. Hard. And fast. I could hardly utter out a letter as my words were taken away by each pump. He was fucking me like rabbits would, humping like rabbits do. It was rough. It was dirty. And I loved every single second of it.

I can feel the veiny skin of his cock dragged in and out of my walls, the tip hitting every single spot that made the pressure bunch up even more in my stomach which only increased when he tightened his arms around it. Nasty moans left my lips, so loud that it eventually turned to lewd screams, eyes rolled to the back of my head.

"S-shit!" I gasped, "More, more.." My words came out in a desperate pant of lust, my ass trying to grind back against him.

Yet another breathless laugh escaped him, "Dirty slut.." He spat, one of his hands trailing up to slip two digits of his fingers past my lips, to which I instantly sucked on like— as he worded, an asbolute dirty slut. Humming around his digit and swirling my tongue around them, I feel him twitching right inside me.

Yet somehow, he never ever changed his pace, staying determined on that rough and deadly pace that made me feel like I'm on cloud nine.

I pull my face away from his fingers as I gasped out, "Close.. I'm so close.." My hand flew to his arm as I hold it tightly, needing something to hold on before I could pass out right on his devil of a cock. "Please.. finish me.." As much as I hate hearing myself and admitting it, I sounded the whiniest I've ever been, underneath him, begging him to give me the best orgasm I ever had.

"You're fucking crazy if you think I wouldn't.." He grunted, fingers digging into the soft skin of my waist as he finally starts slowing his pace, obviously just as close as I was, at the same time he reached down to my sensitive clit, rubbing those same harsh circles he did earlier.

It didn't take long enough before I let out the loudest moan I did tonight right as the fluids of my cum came squirting out of my cunt, "Oh fuck! Fuck!" I gasped, never once experiencing an orgasm like this. Eventually, I feel his own thick cream filling me up till I'm full of him, his voice groaning right in my eyes, something I wish I could listen to every sinful night I went through.

As soon as we finished, Slash pulled out of me and pulled my hips up so my ass was in the air. Being in my fucked up stance, I didn't know what was going to happen till I feel his warm tongue lapping our mixed cum that was oozing out of my folds, eating it out like he was starving man.

My throat was way too tired to even be loud anymore, only letting out a quiet and strangled moan as he finished, hopping onto the spot on the bed right next to me, a wide devilish smirk already on his glistening lips that was soon attatched to mine, my tongue tasting both of us with a grin building in my own face.

I feel him reach for my bunny ears and took it off me. Only when we pull apart that I noticed he have put the bunny ears on himself and place his own hat on my head.

"You look stupid."

He laughed at my statement while one of his thumbs ran over my ruined and smudged make up. "You still look sexy, bunny."

Well damn it, I guess I love Halloween.

[gyuwoncheol]

Takes Two to Tango

Pair: Scoups x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary: Cheollie to the rescue on a bad day

Warnings: angst, mentions of Cheol’s torn ACL injury. There is, in fact, no tango happening at all.

WC: 1.7k

Author's Note: Wrote this a while back but have always waited for the right time to post it. I’ve had an exhausting week, probably the most tired I’ve been in a long while. I just want to be conforted by Cheol. Dedicating this also to all my carat friends going though a rough patch right now. You must remember our boys and our leader love us so much 🩵🩷

Author's Note 2.0: Written because I truly miss Cheol and I know he misses us just as much. I always feel slightly disoriented when I don’t see him in the promotions. I also just really miss having an ot13 comeback 😞

“Babe?” It’s the first thing you hear when you enter the door and you’re already cursing at how Seungcheol just knows it’s you.

“Hmm,” You drop your keys and took off your shoes, taking a quick glance at the mirror by your main door, wiping the dried tears that marked your cheeks. Kkuma eventually got to you and pawed at your legs gently. You pick her up and cuddle into her a good few minutes, sighing heavily as you shut your eyes closed.

There wasn’t really any other way to put it. You had an absolute shit of a day. You got a flat tire on the way to the office, consequently making you late to a very important meeting. You were given a new workload that wasn’t even really part of your scope anymore but there was really no other person who could take it on, while another important project you’d been taking care of had to be delayed because of a manufacturing problem. Everyone in the office seemed to need to meet you that you ended up taking lunch 2 hours late, and just when you were about to take your 3rd cup of coffee for the day, the lid had popped open and spilled the brown liquid all over your very white top. By the time you left the office, you were cranky and hungry, like you wanted to scream and fight with anyone. It was only when you arrived at home and caught sight of the warm light that peeked through the windows that you were reminded about Cheol being home.

Your boyfriend who was nursing a torn ACL and evidently spent much of his day at home. Your boyfriend who was sweet and loving enough to check in on you throughout the day, but he barely got substantial replies. Your boyfriend who didn’t mind cause he knew you were busy. Your boyfriend who was now looking at you with the softest eyes as you approached him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi baby,” he greeted, arms open wide as he remained partially immobile on the couch.

You hesitated about going in front of the couch and receiving his embrace, your heart feeling like it was squeezed at the moment. To your better judgment, you hugged him with one arm from behind and a quick kiss on his lips instead.

“Can i just go clean up first? I.. i got coffee spilled all over me,” you excused yourself, averting his gaze.

Seungcheol nodded and watched you scurry away to your shared bedroom, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He normally gets sulky when you avoid his hugs, but this time he had already sensed something was off with you. It was the way you wrongly messaged him “take care at rehab” at 1pm when he actually had his appointment at 10am. You’ve never forgotten any of his appointments. It was also in the way he had noticed you enter the house only 20 minutes after your car park at the garage. He obviously noticed how tired you looked and the little smudge of your mascara from tears. It broke his heart that you chose to keep this with yourself, you normally always ran to him for refuge when you needed it.

You stood idly in the shower for what felt like forever. If it were up to you, you would’ve never gotten out but alas, you could only hide forever and the water bill will spike up so you got out and got changed, drying your hair and pulling on one of your boyfriend’s large shirts, your favorite one.

“Oh my god!” You jumped at the sight of Seungcheol on the bed when you got to your bedroom, “you scared me. How’d you get all the way here?!”

“Babe, I can already walk you know? Just slowly, but I still get to places.”

“Right, yeah, sorry. I was just surprised,” you shook your head, “uhmm.. i’m gonna go get water…”

“There’s water here,” Seungcheol pointed out, gesturing towards the small table which indeed had drinking water

“Oh. Okay. Then i’ll just go and fix up the liv—“

“Y/n,” Seungcheol called out softly but still firm, freezing you on the spot by the door. You closed your eyes at the nickname, and you just knew he knew you were avoiding him. “Please look at me?”

You turned around slowly, eyes only peeking open after taking a deep breath. You glanced at him and immediately, tears already began pricking at your eyes, so you looked down at the floor instead, standing there like a child that just got scolded. Cheol waited to see if you’d get closer or if you’d at least bring your gaze back to him but when you didn’t he worried even more. Slowly, he swung his leg off the bed to make his way to you.

“What are you doing?” You panicked with his movements.

“Trying to get you to me.”

That seemed to do the trick, your feet padding towards him quickly and helping him raise his injured leg on the bed again, “just stay put. I’ll do it.”

Seungcheol grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly for good measure, “Jagi, what’s wrong? Could you please tell me?”

You looked at him once more and Cheol had the warmest gaze fixed on you. You sat by his side, feeling bad you were worrying him. “I just had a bad day at work, that’s all.”

“Wanna tell me more?” He prodded, thumb rubbing soothing circles at the back of your hand.

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You clearly aren’t,” Seungcheol retorted, “babe, you know I won’t pry if I didn’t think something else was wrong but you’re worrying me, you always run to me when you have bad days and problems, why are you shutting me out now?”

Your boyfriend sounded pained and you cursed yourself for making him feel that way. “Cheollie, i’m not shutting you out…” you whispered, “I just don’t think it matters to you is all.”

Cheol watched you shrug at your words, as if trying to convince yourself of what you just said. “It matters when it’s making my girl sad, why would you think it wouldn’t?”

“Becauseeee,” you whined, “you clearly have worse problems than I do. You’re uncomfortable, you have a hard time moving, rehab is painful, i know you’d really rather be with the boys doing work but instead you’re stuck at home. You have it much worse than I do. It’s just a bad day at work. I’ll be fine.” You said everything so fast you hadn’t even noticed a tear had rolled down your cheek but your boyfriend was quick to wipe it away before you pulling into his chest.

It crushed Cheol to see you like this. You weren’t one to hold off on your emotions to him. “Baby, just because im having a bad day doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to. My ‘bigger’ problems,” your boyfriend raised his fingers to gesture air quotes, “shouldn’t invalidate yours.”

“I know, but..”

“No but’s… your feelings are valid. Period. And I’m always here for you. We’re a team, remember?”

You looked at Seungcheol properly for the first time tonight, tears in your eyes as you studied his features intently, and then the dam broke loose. You hide your face on the crook of his neck and sobbed, little hiccups and squeaks coming out of you. Cheol could feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he embraced you in his arms, patting your hair with one hand whispering encouragements to just “let it all out”.

“I’m j-just… just so tired, Cheol,” you whispered softly in between cries, “I s-swear…. it’s nothing else… jus’ t-tired.” And it was true, there wasn’t anything else bothering you, you just simply felt tired from everything going on in your life, “I just didn’t w-want… t-to tell you and burden you. S-so I… i k-kept it in… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shhhh, no need to be sorry. I believe you and i’m always here for you. Never a burden, jagi. Remember that.” Seungcheol squeezed you tighter, wanting to just take away all of the hurt and exhaustion you were feeling.

He continued to speak soothing words as he let you release more pent up feelings, his face scrunching up when you’d let out a strangled gasp. It hurt for Cheol to even think about how long you’ve felt this way, he has been injured for quite a while now.

You wipe away your tears after what felt like forever, the tip of your nose was positively red and your eyes were now swollen. Your boyfriend offered you a weak smile before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you,” you say after clearing your throat, “thank you for listening.”

“Of course, jagi. I love you too. I’m sorry if all this,” Seungcheol gestures to his knee, “has disturbed our routine—“

“What? Cheollie, no,” you interrupted, “don’t be sorry. I’m not blaming your or your injury at all.”

“I know. I’m just saying I know things have been a little more difficult than usual for us, but I know we’ll get through it as long as we do it together, yeah? You don’t always have to give it your all, you know. I’m always going to be here to fill in the gap for you, the same way you do with me. You’ve been so good at taking care of me lately, I just hope you’d remember that I want to take care of you too, even with a bad knee.”

You giggled at his last words, knowing full well that even with his disability, Seungcheol would cross rivers and move mountains for you. That’s simply how he is as a person. It showed with how he flew to Japan to support his brothers and see their fans for their show. You witnessed it in the way he’d wake up early in the morning even when he didn’t have a schedule just so he could take breakfast with you and send you off for work. Saw it with how there was always dinner ready on the table when you got home. Sometimes they were cooked by him, sometimes just delivered, but it didn’t matter to you. You knew it was his way to make good on his promise of using all this time at home to make up for lost time with you.

Some people think it annoyingly stubborn— some people being his doctors— but to you, it meant that he was passionate, determined and most importantly, he loved fiercely.

He loves you fiercely.

You gently nodded at his words whilst cupping his face in your small hands. Seungcheol did the same, his thumb wiping your dried tears after placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Together?” You asked despite knowing the answer.

“Together.”

[aliferous-ly]

A ghost haunted season 10. Certainly not a malicious one, if a bit mischievous - and one had to keep a careful eye out to catch him.

Jevin heard him first, deep underground. He was hunting iron, early in the season, and he was having the worst luck. He even looked up where iron should be, to make sure the updates hadn't changed anything! Alas, the iron evaded him. Jevin might have to resort to begging and then jump straight to a farm.

And he kept hearing these crackly, faint snickers. At first he thought he'd been on a voice channel accidentally, but, no, his comm wasn't connected. Then, just to make sure, he disconnected it entirely - but the laughter prevailed. Jevin chalked it up to too many sleepless nights, and went to find an overachieving hermit already building an iron farm.

Stress heard him next, but as someone who heard murmuring monsters on a good day, she didn't give it a second thought. Clear as day she heard an, "oh, bugger." She thought, you and me both, monster, before going along with her day.

Then it was Xisuma, though he didn't hear anyone, he saw. It was a mere glimmer out of the corner of his eye. White hair, stout, pickaxe slung lovingly over a shoulder. When he looked back there was nothing. He resolved to run diagnostics on his helmet, because something was clearly haywire.

And in Joel's defense, he was both exhausted and brand new to hermitcraft. It wasn't like people had nametags on, they were a group of friends! So when an old man grumbled by, lost as could be within the shopping district, Joel furrowed his brows but ultimately was too tired to ruminate. He overheard the man saying something about shroomlights and called out, "Tango has the permit, but he doesn't have a shop up yet!"

The man startled, muttered something about "permits?" before scuttling off like a spooked horse. Joel shrugged. It was called hermitcraft, after all. There had to be loads of people he hadn't met yet.

Small instances added up. Scar fell asleep making a tree, hidden amongst the branches, and was spooked awake by the sound of a player dying. But when he checked his comm, nothing showed up. A dream, he thought uneasily.

I just need sleep, Tango thought.

Wow, someone's wearing a sick costume, Skizz thought. Too bad I'm too busy to go chat right now!

Who's messing with my hourglass now? Doc thought. Only, there wasn't anyone else on the server at the time. Probably an armor stand prank.

It all came to head when Hypno stumbled across his fifth stripmine in one mining session. He rolled his eyes, because of course Wels had created tunnels beneath Hypno's place just to be a nuisance. Except when he pointed it out to Wels, who was on call with Hypno but was busy caving, Wels expressed confusion.

"I've only made one or two strip mines. And they're not near you," Wels said.

Hypno saw a wisp of white hair turning a corner. "Haha, very funny, Wels. Come on out."

"I'm not joking?" Wels said in confusion. In the same beat he got the achievement for sneaking successfully past a shrieker for the first time and Hypno was far too high up to be near an ancient city.

"Maybe it's someone else?" Hypno murmured, checking who was online. Grian and Joel, who were having their own shenanigans blowing up the comms (it involved TNT, so the blowing up was quite literal). Impulse had just left. Etho, who could be a contender if Hypno didn't know he'd fallen asleep at the post office three hours ago. Plus, what sort of prank would this be, from Etho?

He explored the endless strip mines and got so lost that he had to dig his way up. When he mentioned the strangeness to Keralis, the man lit up and exclaimed that he'd found the same thing, how weird was that, huh?

Hypno investigated. If there was a bug in the world he'd need to know.

"You know, it might not be a bug," Cleo said meaningfully. They fidgeted with a tear in their clothes.

"What else would it be?" Hypno asked, mystified.

"Maybe it's a player. You know. Someone we never removed from the whitelist."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't in their nature to beat around the bush, but at the same time they didn't want to act crass. Not for this.

Tentative realization trickled through Hypno. He nodded and abruptly left, unsure how to feel.

The information spread slowly through the rest of the server. Joe took to leaving boxes of torches and iron pickaxes about, and every so often would have to refill them. He didn't ask, but everyone swore they hadn't been stealing. Who would need an iron pickaxe at this point, anyway?

One night, Cub let off a slew of fireworks that were spherical and solid green. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze, and raised a drink in quiet salute.

So, yes. A ghost haunted season 10. But ghost haunting had such a negative connotation, didn't it? The hermits, if they spoke about him at all, much preferred to call him the True Hermit who never left.

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Heat | Wonwoo [NSFW]

Jeon Wonwoo - Seventeen

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~8.5k

Pairing: Wonwoo x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Acquaintances-to-Lovers, This One Actually Has Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Minor Background Character Gets Shot (Wow! Plot), Pet Names (Pretty, Pretty Girl, Princess, etc.), Daddy Kink (oops), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Wall Sex, Marking/Biting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!)

Author's Note: This one has way more actual story than Hoshi's and Woozi's. Wonwoo tends to need time to warm up to people, so I didn't feel like I should do a quick one-night stand deal with him. So, I wrote in some story so he and the reader weren't total strangers.

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Woozi's <-

-> S.Coup's <- (2)

-> Mingyu's <-

Revised (1/30/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"You have GOT to be kidding me…" You grumble, huffing a few harsh breaths, and trying again. There’s something stuck under the sand, and you really want to see if it’s worth anything. However, every time you get close to brushing enough sand from the surface to see the logo, a gust of wind covers it back up again. Adjusting your head covering over your mouth again so won’t sand in your mouth, you also brush off your goggles of the fine particles sticking to it. You’re starting to work up a sweat, the blowing dust and sand mixes with the perspiration and coats you in a horribly scratchy paste. Whatever is under the sand is big, and that’s what you’re looking for. However, you really need to determine the make and model of the crashed ship to determine if it’s worth reporting for salvage.

"Finally!" You groan, getting the metal brushed clean. You quickly snap a photo with your holo-tracker, the blue paint still relatively solid, enough to identify. The device spins, trying to connect to the extranet and you click your tongue as it takes for seemingly forever.

"What?!" You swear multiple times when the device flashes, 'no results found’. Maybe you can show it to someone at the Assembly office that’ll know something. You already have a few pictures and coordinates of a few smaller wrecks you can report, but they probably won’t grant very many credits. This thing is huge though, so at least the scrap metal will be worth something. Another blast of wind nearly knocks you over as you stand back up, trying to climb out of the small crater to get back to your rover. The crappy thing about wrecks on Sierra-Vector-Tango, since the entire planet is a desert, is that they’re quickly covered by sand; even if they create massive craters when they fall to the surface. However, that means more money for finding salvage than some other planets. Bad thing? Sand worms. Their saliva gets into the particles and can make it acidic, which makes digging through the sand more dangerous. This, once again, causes the number of credits to be higher.

"Let’s go back for now." You jerk back with your entire body weight as you pull the handle for the door of your rover. It finally opens and you huff, throwing the end of your head scarf aggressively to wrap it around your neck better. Crawling up and into your rover, you rest back in the seat, trying to catch your breath.  Pressing the button to start the vehicle it roars to life and the air conditioning flares to life and you just sit in the cooling air for a few minutes.

"Water!" You gasp dramatically, grabbing your canteen from the passenger seat, and drinking so aggressively the liquid spills out of your mouth some.

"For fuck's sake…" You groan hard, the water mixing with the layer of sand on your skin, thickening it.

"I need a real shower, with water." Shifting the gear of the rover, you start to drive back to the main road so you can start heading to the nearest Assembly office. It’ll be about an hour to Drent, and a little under two for Jaron, but you really don’t like going to Drent. Not only does it have the name of some dude-bro fuck boy, but it’s also full of them too. Drent has one of the biggest…adult establishments in that quadrant. Not only do they have sexy blue alien ladies dancing on tables, but it also allows you to sleep with them. Last time you went you nearly got mugged, and the guy just wanted your underwear. No thank you. Jaron is farther away, but a much nicer place and has a very old-style diner reminiscent of Terra from the 1950s. It’s cool to go somewhere that’s reminiscent of a time over two-hundred years in the past. Plus, they have a hotel with real water showers instead of the air-blasting kind that’s more common. It’ll be more expensive, but worth it.

"This time I wanna rock with you~" You sang along to the song playing over the speakers, drumming your hands on the steering wheel of your rover as you get back to the main road. Turning right to go north toward Jaron, you set the autopilot on and plug in the town, sitting back to watch the view as your rover drives itself. When you can start to see the sign for the town, you shut the auto-drive off and take control again. Large vehicles like yours aren’t allowed in the city proper, so when you reach the entry checkpoint, you pull off to the side and get out. The sun is setting, nearly below the horizon, stars starting to twinkle in the night sky. Getting out of the rover, you slam the door as hard as you can to get it to shut and go around to the back. Grabbing your big pack and smaller bag, you also have a make-shift safe that you keep smaller salvage pieces in. You let it fall to the sandy ground with a thud and jump back out. Keying in the code on the side, the rover beeps as it locks, and you head to the entry booth.

"How old is your rover?" The kid at the booth is at the most eighteen, and his condescending tone is completely unnecessary.

"Doesn't matter." You try not to sneer, slapping your credit chit on the counter and he slots it into the console. He really has no room to talk, his setup is just as old if not more so than you rover. Sliding the chit back out, he grab a small holo-disc and lets the machine stamp it with the time and date.

"Thank you." You emphasize with fake kindness, and he rolls his eyes as he lets you into the town. You let the parking disc fall into your bag along with your credit chit and start to head down the road. Your 'safe' is basically a suitcase that you made more secure and added a few locks to, so you can roll it behind you. The wheels thunk over the creases of the pavement and you wonder why the town is so dead. At that time, most people would be milling about after supper and going to bars and such. As you pass a store, you see a sign blinking on the glass advertising some kind of political rally, must be where everyone is at. At least the hotel is still being manned, though you aren’t sure the old man behind the counter is even still alive.

"Hello, dearie." He smiles up at you, wrinkles so prominent his eyes nearly disappear.

"Hello, sir. Can I get a single room for…" You think, sucking air through the side of your mouth in thought, "how much is four nights?"

"At 250 credits a night, that’ll be about a thousand…If you stay one more night, I will keep it that price?"

"Sweet! Thanks!" You smile back, digging through your bag to look for the chit once again. It’s a bit pricier than you normally like, but it’s worth it to get a shower with water.

"A single bed, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think we only have two-bed rooms…this one is two singles, does that work?"

"Sure!"

"Water shower?"

"Please~" You groan, and he chuckles.

"It’s quite slow today for the rally, so I do not think any restaurants are delivering…" The old man works faster than you thought he would and when he slides the chit back to you, he includes the room key. It looks like a glass playing card and has the room 24H-13 on it.

"It’ll be the second floor, take a right to the fourth hall, then its room thirteen." The old man smiles, and you thank him, heading for the elevator, the wheels whirling on the tile floor. Once you get to the room and inside, you put everything in the room hastily before dashing into the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you shed the extremely sandy clothes, and you notice what looks like an old-style clothes dryer in the corner. It only has two settings, one of which is covered with a piece of tape and the handwritten words, ‘FOR SAND,' on it.

"Perfect." You shrug and shove all of your clothes in the drum, shutting the door, and letting it spin and get rid of the dust and grit.

"Oh~" You hum in delight when you see the water heating panel on the wall. You plug in the best temperature and the water immediately comes out perfect. Standing under the spray, you stand for nearly ten minutes just letting the water flow over your tired body. Glancing up at the shower head, you click your tongue in annoyance, it’s fixed on the wall without a hose…

"Need to find a guy…" you grumble and then proceed to actually wash up. The soaps and cleansers all smell of Terra fruits and you wonder what they might taste like. Getting out of the shower nearly an hour later, you wrap a towel around yourself and your hair, heading back to the main room of the hotel. Flopping onto the bed, your stomach rumbles loudly, and you sigh dramatically. No delivery…The only place that’s probably open is the diner and luckily it’s right next door to the Assembly office in the strip mall. It’s always open since the employees of the Assembly will eat there most of the time, but they never deliver anyway. When your skin finally no longer feels wet or sticky, you put on your set of spare clothes and grab your smaller bag.

"Sandy." you mumble, going back to the bathroom, taking your now sand-free clothes out. Taking everything out of your bag and setting it on top of the machine, you put your bag in to get the sand off and while you wait, putting your boots back on. As it continues, you brush your hair out and braid it again. Looking at your face, you have a slight tan line from your goggles, but it’s nearly unnoticeable thanks to your head scarf covering most of the rest of your face. The machine dings and you retrieve the satchel, putting everything back and making sure you have your chit and keycard, you leave the hotel room to go get dinner. Waving to the old man at the desk, you dash out to the street and jog down the sidewalk. The rally is still going, you can hear the shouting and cheers in the distance. Must be a more local election or campaign because you don’t recognize the politician on the flyer. Most of the store fronts are closed, even as you turn the corner to get to the main street. In the distance, you see the light pouring out of the windows of the Assembly office and the diner, shining like a beacon among the darkened stores surrounding it. Like a good child, you look both ways before you cross the road, despite there not being anything or anyone nearby. The doors slide open when you approach the office and the guy behind the counter looks up lazily from where he’s counting something at the desk.

"Can I help you?" He sounds very tired. You dig in your bag once again and pull out your credit chit as well as your ID so he can see you’re a legit scavenger, but also a freelancer. Freelancers actually tend to gets more money than their own employees because they don’t have to pay benefits and all that other stuff.

"I'll let the Salvage Officer know you're here." The guy hands you your stuff back and you go to sit in the empty waiting area. Tapping your toe on the floor, you look into the entrance of the diner through the windows and door inside the office. There’s only one or two customers inside and just one waitress. There’s a guy sitting in the back corner, thin glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read. A paper book? Who has physical books anymore?

"(Y/N)." Your name is called by a familiar voice, and you smile at the owner.

"Junmyeon!" He motions with his head, and you follow him into his personal office.

"Didn’t know you’re working here now." You sit in front of his desk, and he chuckles, relaxing back into his office chair.

"I just transferred. What have you found?" He takes the holo-tracker from you when you hand it over and plugs it into his console.

"Most of them are small…" You dimple the corner of your mouth, looking at the monitor the best you can from your angle. He shifts the screen so you can see better, and you point to different marks and give more details.

"What one is this?" He’s looking at the blue logo and you shrug.

"I have no idea; it’s huge though. Looks like a Meteor-class size ship, maybe bigger. It’s totally covered and left a huge crater." You emphasize with hand motions, and he pans the picture out to get the measurements before he taps the logo so the computer can analyze it. As it spins you dig through your bag, looking to see if you have lip balm or something. You don’t notice your business friend simply watching you, more like staring. His eyes flash to your lips as you paint the balm on your lips with your ring finger. When the console dings, it brings both of your attention back to the machine.

"Oh, wow." He leans in to read the information.

"I need to make some calls, can you come back in a few hours?" He looks at you and you nod, standing.

"I can grab something to eat in the meantime!" You wave goodbye and don’t even notice when he tries to calls after you. Heading back to the front of the office, you go to the door leading to the diner and the door slides open with a ding.

"Just you, girlie?" The older waitress calls from behind the counter, and you nod, going to sit at said counter.

"What can I get for you?" she asks, sassily chewing her gum. You look over the menu and make your choice, pulling out your holo-tracker to play a game as you wait for your food. You glance over to the back corner over your shoulder, looking at the guy reading.

"Who is that?" you ask the waitress when she comes back with your drink.

"He's been hanging around here for a few days. I'm not sure what he's doing, but I know he's waiting for something. The secretary in the office might know." She nods back to where you had been, and you tell her you’ll be right back. Leaving your bag on your stool to save your spot, you jog back into the office and the guy at the desk casts you a tired glance.

"Who is that guy?" You point toward the back corner, leaning your elbows on the ledge of the front desk.

"He's a bounty hunter of some sort I believe. He’s looking for someone for some reason, and is waiting there for leads. He's offering money for any information." He shrugs and you nod in acknowledgement and head back to the eatery. Your food is ready by the time you get back, and the waitress chuckles at how fast you shovel it in. When you’re done, you hand her your chit and meander on over to the guy.

"I heard you're looking for someone?" You start casually and he looks up at you over his glasses and your eyes widen. He’s freaking gorgeous. His left eye is highlighted red, it seems he has some kind of hologram-like contact in it or something. His black hair is styled half up, his bangs resting over his brow. He’s got a few ear piercings, his left nostril has a simple loop ring, and a matching one in the middle of his bottom lip. A chain hangs around his neck with a pendant on the end that’s some kind of upside-down triangle design. He simply hums in response and puts a slip of paper in his book and shuts it, taking his glasses off. You sit on the end of the booth, a big gap between the two of you since he’s sitting in the corner of the circular seat. He slides his holo-tracker across the table showing you a blurry image from some kind of security feed. It’s a person, that’s about all you can tell, and they have a hood up over their head and only the bottom part of their face is visible.

"This it?" You look back at him, and he’s sitting there stiffly, just looking at you. He’s really hot, actually. He has a tan, old-style button up on with the top few buttons undone. His pants are a brown leather of some kind, and he’s got a belt on with an attached thigh-holster that holds a pistol blaster.

"They stole some schematics. I need them back more than to find the person." He taps the screen as he looks at it upside down and it shows a second image. The person has a cylinder with a strap hang over their back.

"It’s a set of old maps, they were stolen from the archives at the museum in the Capital." he explains, and you slide your finger over the full image, zooming out to see the area.

"You a bounty hunter?" You slide the holo-tracker back to him and he puts it back in his pocket.

"Not really. I'm a Ranger."

"You're a Ranger!?" You perk up and he seems taken aback by your sudden excitement. Rangers are a small and elite group, they’re essentially vigilantes, freelancers. They tend to do more things like rescues or arrests, or other odd jobs. They have a pretty strict rule of not killing.

"So, you want the maps but don't need the thief?"

"Yes. It would be nice to get both, though."

"Hm. I'll ask around and see, I travel quite a bit-"

"Scavenger?"

"Y-yeah." You chuckle nervously under his intense gaze.

"Be careful out there, if you get a lead, message me." He gets his tracker back out and you scanned his with yours to save his ID.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Wonwoo…"

"(Y/N)." You smile and get up from the booth, going to retrieve your chit.

"I'll let you know!" You grin and wave goodbye, heading back in. Your timing is perfect because Junmyeon is finished and he tells you the first wrecks aren’t worth a whole lot, but the last one is.

"Two million credits?!" You balk at the number.

"Yeah. Seems it was some kind of cargo vessel, and they think it might still have all of the packages on it still. You can get even more depending on what's inside." He smiles at your gawk, and you finally shut your mouth.

"Woah..."

"I can get you the two million now-"

"Really!?"

"Yes." He chuckles and you dig your chit back out and he slides it into the console so he can transfer the credits.

"Shit…" you whisper, your hand shaking a bit as you take the chit back.

"Are…you staying in a hotel tonight?" Junmyeon asks as you scroll on your holo-tracker, admiring the giant number registered in your account.

"Yeah! I might upgrade my room~" You giggle, and he takes a breath, trying to psych himself up, but no words come out before you stand to leave.

"Thanks, Myeon! I'll make sure to come here when I can, kay?" You wave goodbye and he sighs as you dash out of his office. As you leave to head back to your hotel, you see that Wonwoo has left his booth, and you wonder why. Getting outside, you realize the rally has gotten out, floods of people now walking the streets, a big crowd heading toward the diner.

"Ew." You sneer at the globs of people and dash back to the hotel. When you get in the lobby, you skip up to the front counter, ready to ding the bell and call the nice old man out for assistance.

"Oh?" Someone is sitting in the lobby, a book in his hand.

"Run away from all the people?" You speak a bit louder so he can hear you and he glances up over his glasses again. His face isn’t quite as cold as before, but he isn’t smiling either.

"Yes." His tone is also lighter.

"There's about to be a bunch more. The campaign team is staying here and will be back soon." The old man comes out of the office, and you sneer as he laughs.

"Are you staying here too?" you ask Wonwoo who puts his book away and takes his glasses off.

"I hadn't checked in yet."

"We don’t have any more rooms available, sir. We just had an influx of online reservations since the rally got out so late…" The old man sighs, and you hum.

"I have a second single bed in my room…?" You suggest not meeting his eye as he comes to stand by you. He has a small duffle over his shoulder. His eyes finally meet yours, and he seems a little nervous, but you can only see it in his eyes, past that red glowing contact.

"Is that alright with you?"

"Yes? I wouldn’t have offered otherwise…" You huff and the old man hums.

"Here, I will get you a key as well." You both wait and when Wonwoo receives the clear keycard, you both scurry to elevator, people starting to enter the lobby. Neither of you say anything till you shut the door to the hotel room.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you ask him, he’s even stiffer than before.

"Y-yes." He clears his throat, and he goes further into the room, taking the bed near the window since your stuff is on the other one. He tells you he’s going to shower, and you nod as he dashes past you. Sighing, you shake away some very impure thoughts, and go to your safe, rolling it over to the bench under the clothing rack and hauling it up onto it with a grunt. It takes two physical keys as well as two padlocks and a dial lock. You click each one open and then you’re able to open it. The air seal 'shunks' as you open it, and you carefully rest the lid on the wall so it won’t scratch it. Looking over your objects, you have some small crystal-like artifacts that you’re worried just fakes from some kind of gift shop. You also have some intact parts for ship consoles and even jewelry. There had been just a random case you found washed up on the shore of an oasis once that had gold and silver necklaces and rings inside. It’s never reported missing, so you just kept them. Other bits and pieces are inside as well, and your mind goes back to the image Wonwoo had shown you. The hood was what caught your eye. The person was experienced, knowing how to hide their face from all angles, so they’re probably an experienced thief. Who would want ancient maps though? Especially from Terra.

"What is all that?" His deep voice startles you; you hadn’t even heard the bathroom door open. Glancing up, you swallow hard at the sight. He’s put most of his clothes back on, but his shirt is still unbuttoned, allowing you to see his toned torso. He’s flops a towel onto his head to dry his hair and puts his glasses back on. Trying to ignore how freaking sexy he is, you clear your throat and start to point things out. When you get to the crystals, you let him pick up the one that’s shaped like a pyramid.

"I don’t know if they’re worth anything, they might be fakes.”

"Have you shone light through them?" he asks, and you hadn't even thought of it.

"No?" He hands it back and you dig through your bag and find your flashlight, holding it to the crystal.

"Woah!" You gasp as a map of the stars shines on the ceiling as the light passes through the crystal.

"Is it worth anything?" you ask him. It’s cool but could still theoretically be from a gift shop.

"The fakes have a button to turn on the light, that's the real deal. Where did you find them?" He’s buttoning his shirt up, unfortunately, picking up the three other crystals and coming to sit on his bed across from you. There’s a sphere, one that looks like a big diamond and an obelisk. You hand him the flashlight and he shines it through the other ones. The sphere shows a projection of a globe, but it isn’t S.V.T or even Terra.

"Mars." he mutters, and you look closer, recognizing the small dots over the surface as the towers that hold the barrier around the planet. The diamond one lights up a bright aqua blue, but that seems to be all it does. The obelisk projects the time and date, but it seems to be from Mars as well.

"I found them in some cave. How the did does they get all the way out here?"

"Were these the only things in the cave?"

"Yeah…So even though they’re legit, are they worth anything?

"Hm. Maybe to a collector. I can take them to the museum when I go back-" he halts, "If you're okay with it, I'll pay you back." If he wasn’t a Ranger, you’d be more hesitant to allow it, because he could just pocket the money. You don’t think he would though, not with the reputation of his group at stake otherwise.

"Sure." You shrug and he takes them and puts them in his own pack, and you go back to your safe and lock it up.

"Thank you for letting me stay here." He calls suddenly as you try to figure out how the holo-screen works and what channels there are.

"Sure. I'm not a fan of big groups of people either and this is the best hotel in town." You smile at him, going to hand him the remote.

"Oh, no, you can choose. I'll just read." You nod and don’t press to continue the conversation. While it’s quiet between you two, it’s companionable and before you know it, you have drifted off the sleep, listening to some show and the flipping of his book pages. When you awake, he’s gone, but it’s like ten in the morning, and there’s an unread message on your holo-tracker.

Sorry I left without saying goodbye. Thank you for letting me stay in your room for the night. I am heading back to the capital for now and will get your crystal projectors estimated. Please let me know if you get any leads on the map thief.  - Wonwoo

You sigh, a little disappointed he just left, but he seems quite shy and closed off. Whatever. For the rest of the day and the next few you laze about and do some fun things to spoil yourself after your big payout, enjoying your little vacation. Over the week afterwards you’re having trouble finding anything significant and have stopped at a small tavern set up near a small oasis. You sit at the bar, laying on it dramatically. The bartender has moved the fan closer to you so it could blow straight on you as you lazily sip from the straw in your fruity drink. You glance casually at the entrance when another person enters, and you zero in on their face. They have a hood on, but that doesn’t mean it’s for sure the person Wonwoo had been looking for. After he got the money from the crystals, more than you thought but not a huge amount, he’s sent you more information. It was a woman, presumably, and she’s pretty tall and even always wears heeled boots. Your gaze shifts to their feet but can’t see for sure and you can’t even tell it’s a woman. You and Wonwoo have actually been messaging some even past leads on the thief. You don’t have many friends and while he has the other rangers, he says it’s nice to talk to someone new. As you sit at the bar, you watch her, pretending you aren’t. You casually take out your holo-tracker and take a picture of the person as discreetly as you can, then head out. You continue to wait and watch in your rover, ready to take a picture of their vehicle when they leave. You think you know which one it is, but don’t know for sure, so you wait till they come back out. They get in the one you’d been eyeing, and so once they head off, you send the two pictures and a few more details to Wonwoo. He thanks you for the update, then asks where you are. He then tells you to meet him in the next town of Falko, and since you’re headed there anyway…

~

The town is much smaller than Jaron, so there’s only one small motel, so it’s easy to find where he is and get to his room. He’s on the first floor in room three. You knock and barely wait before he opens it. He’s…smiling. You didn’t know he could do that. You forgot how gorgeous he is.

"T-thanks." You smile bashfully and follow him inside. It seems he’s been there awhile based on everything spread out across the room. There are a few consoles set up as well as tablets and other tech.

"What's going on in here?" You motion around the room.

"While I'm looking for the map thief, I'm also trying to get the Ranger's new communication array set up. I'm making the program myself so it can't be hacked by outside sources." Wonwoo shrugs, moving various tablets from one of the beds so you can sit down. He sits at the small desk and turns to face you. He asks a few questions about the person you saw, and you give him more details from the pictures. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but if it is them, then he now has their vehicle information. Before you can talk past leads on the thief, his holo-tracker goes off and he read the message. He sighs.

"What's wrong?"

"My partner is coming back. It might be better if you leave." He stands to lead you out and you grimace.

"I-It's not…I just don’t want him to meet you…" He mumbles and you want to press the issue. His cheeks are slightly red, and he flashes another genuine smile as you leave the motel room.

"I'll let you know if the lead pans out." You nod and before you can turn and leave, he’s holds something out for you.

"What's this?" You take the little holo-card.

"Um…it's my address. If you are ever in Ratalla…I won’t be back home for a few more days, but I should be working from there after…" Wonwoo rubs his hands on his pants, then shoves his hands in his pockets when you notice.

"Thanks." You give him your own smile, then leave giddily.

~θωθ~

Nearly another month passes before you see him in person again, but you’ve messaged back and forth quite a lot. There was once you were near his hometown, but he wasn’t there, so you missed the chance of seeing him again.

You’re currently meeting with a repair man in a city called Guro; your rover hasn’t been driving straight. It seems he’ll need it for a few days to even determine the issue, let alone what to do after. At least you’re in a place with lots of activities. You had actually gotten another half a million credits from the giant wreck you found and had more funds than you know what to do with. As you leave the shop, looking up on the extranet for the nicest hotel, someone catches your eye. Despite the heat of the desert and the midday sun, there’s someone slinking around with a hood on. You watch them, eyes glancing at their feet. Heeled boots. It’s also a woman, and her height matches the parameters. There’s even a cylinder vessel hanging over her shoulder. It’s her. The area has mostly warehouses, and she might be meeting a buyer, so you decide to follow her. You send Wonwoo a message with your coordinates to see if he can send someone by as well, or better yet, call some Guards. You trot behind her, trying to stay out of sight and remain quiet. Hiding quickly around the corner, you watch her go into an unmarked warehouse after looking around for followers. Not well enough. The thief goes in through a large open garage door, so it makes it easy for you to follow. Crouching against the wall right near the edge of the door you peer around the corner and see she’s alone, probably waiting for someone. She glances at her holo-tracker, then goes further in, toward the garage door on the opposite side that opens to a scrap yard. Looking for another hiding place, you dash forward and hide behind a column. When you peer around though, she’s gone.

"Why are you following me?" A voice calls from behind you, and you spin to see the thief, holding a pistol blaster aimed at you. Your heart falls and sweat breaks out on your brow. Those maps must be really valuable if this person is willing to shoot you to prevent the interruption of the hand-off.

"I-I was just trying to figure out who-" The woman pulls back the hammer on the weapon and your stomach drops.

"Shit!" You scramble up and try to at least get around the column when you see her finger going to the trigger.

"Fuck!" You slam your back against the column, seeing a smoking scorch mark on the ground.

"(Y/N)!" a familiar voice shouts, and you’re shocked by Wonwoo's presence, distracting you.

"Stupid bitch!" The thief is back behind you, and you spin to see the gun nearly at your head. You yelp when something yanks you back and you fall into a hard body. Leaning into him, you watch in terror as the woman falls back onto the ground, a hole in her head. Then you notice not only are you breathing hard, but so is he. He spins you around to look over you, his hands on your shoulders, one going to your jaw to adjust your head so he can look you over.

"Are you okay?" He’s nearly frantic, his face and tone full of panic.

"Y-yes." You aren’t sure if you should be more surprised by his sudden appearance or the clear worry he has for you. It makes your heart thud but for a much different reason. When he’s finishes looking over you and determines himself you are okay, Wonwoo pulls you into a hug. You return the embrace, more trying to comfort him than anything.

"Fuck, I was worried..." He sighs right in your ear, his deep voice rumbling through you.

"You were?" He pulls back enough so he can meet your eye and huffs.

"Of course. You didn’t reply when I messaged you to stay away…" His hand goes back to your jaw, his thumb brushing over the skin of your cheek, which is rapidly getting warm and red. When you meet his eyes again yours widen, he gets close again and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" You chuckle a bit, kind of worried. He’s never shown this level of emotion before.

"Yeah." Wonwoo pulls way, petting your hair then goes to the body of the woman. You try to avoid looking at her as he takes the map holder from her and soon the Guards show up. It’s another good hour or maybe two before you both are finally allowed to leave after giving statements and answering questions.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" he asks you as you leave the warehouse district.

"Not yet. I was just about to find a hotel when I saw her…" You drift off, pointing with your thumb in the general direction of where you just were.

"I got a crap ton of money from a wreck I found so I’m going to go somewhere fancy." You smile wide and he gives you a smaller one. Wonwoo takes a step closer, looking a bit nervous, his voice has a slight waver when he speaks.

"Wanna get a room together?"

~υ3υ~

From everything after he asked that question, till your back hit the door of your hotel room, was a blur. You got one of the deluxe suites of the nice hotel, so the bedroom is separate from the living area, and there’s a small kitchen even. As soon as the door closes, he presses you against it, his lips swallowing yours. His big hand goes to the back of your head, making sure it doesn’t hit the wood of the door. When your lungs start to burn for more air, he finally pulls his mouth from yours. As you catch your breath, just looking at each other, Wonwoo leans in to whisper in your ear, "I'm going to fuck you on every surface in this place." He promises. Your head swims at the statement and you whine.

"Please~" As soon as he gets permission, he grabs and turns you around, your front pressed to the door and his nose nuzzles behind your ear. You let him do as he wishes, running his hands under your thin top, starting to suck on the skin in the crook of your neck. You’re a bit worried about him having to stoop over so far since he’s so much taller, but if he isn’t complaining, neither will you. You can tell he’s marking your skin as he licks, sucks, and nibbles over your neck and shoulders. His hands quickly get your shirt off and as his hands dance over the skin of your stomach, you toed your boots off, shoving them to the side. Before he completely removes it, Wonwoo slips his hands under your breast band, palming the flesh, making you shiver. Undoing the latch, he takes the wrap off and it falls to the floor as well. Not turning around to see for sure, you hear more fabric rustling and assumes he’s removing his own top. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, holding your back to his bare chest, the right hand cupping your left breast, and his other hand skating over your stomach. He smiles at the whining moan you let out when his hand finally goes into your pants, long fingers stroking the wet patch on your panties.

"So wet, pretty girl." He kisses behind your ear, fingers tweaking your nipple.

"Wonwoo~" You whimper when his bare fingers finally meet your folds, and he groans.

"Let's see how tight you are." Every time he rumbles words in your ear, it makes your entire body shiver. Sighing when his finger slides inside, he huffs, his hips twitching as your gummy walls suck his finger in. You can feel his hardening cock through his pants, pressing into your back side. When Wonwoo adds a second finger, crooking them up and pressing hard into your back wall, your legs buckle, and the only reason you don’t fall is his arms around you.

"Need to get your pussy ready for me, pretty." He smiles against your neck when your groan fades into a whine.

"Fuck~" You practically cried as his palm dig into your clit and you’re already close.

"No!" You gasp when his fingers left right as you’re getting to the edge.

"Wonwoo?" He’s pulls away entirely, you only knows he’s still behind you because his hands are on the waist band of your pants. He pulls them along with your underwear down and kneels behind you, helping you get them off without falling over.

"Hold on, pretty girl." While you aren’t sure what he’s about to do, your fingers dig futilely into the wood of the door. Your breath escapes you when he, without real warning, shoves his tongue into your cunt, his thumb flicking your clit. Your legs immediately begin to shake, a mewl escaping with each rapid breath. You’re done for when his lips seal around your clit, barely flicking with his tongue, and your nails dig into the wood as you cum on his tongue. He chuckles, your cunt dripping release onto the floor.

"Gonna have to clean this place good…" You joke, breathless and he laughs harder. Wonwoo hums, standing back up. There’s more shuffling as you rest against the door panting. You sigh when his arms come back to you, pulling you back into his now completely naked body. His cock is wedged in the crook of your ass, and you swear under your breath, why is he so freaking big? He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, and apparently has to have a fat cock as well.

"Fuck!" You groan when the head of his cock goes to the entrance of your core. One of his arms wrap around your ribs, the hand resting under your breast, and the other is at your hip.

"Ready?" His tone shifts, it’s playful and cocky, a slight laugh accompanies the word.

"Please!" You gasp as he starts to push in, your legs shake as his dick stretches you open. You hadn't been fucked in a long time, and longer still fucked good. You pant out little whines as he keeps filling you, and it seems like he’s going to end up in your throat. Your entire body is trembling when he finally bottoms out, his strong hips pressing against your ass.

"God, your cunt feels so good, princess." His groan rumbles through both of you. You can’t see, but his head is thrown back, adam's apple bobbing as he tries to get used to how tight you are. When he realizes you’re on your tip toes trying to compensate for the height difference, he shifts to ease the strain. He backs up so you can lean forward more, and he angles his hips down. Your feet are no longer burning, and his new angle seems to get him even deeper somehow. Your cunt is burning too, trying to accommodate his size, slick walls fluttering from the stimulation. He still barely moves, letting you adjust, but you’re growing close again.

"Move…" Your request is very quiet. You’re trying not to moan likes a bitch in heat even though that’s exactly how you feel.

"Slow? Fast?"

"Fuck- Wonwoo, just-" He pulls out about halfway and thrusts back in, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. You both moan, his hands leave their original positions to grip the flesh of your ass, and he chuckles when you nearly sob as he starts. Only pulling out part of the way, he’ll fuck back into you hard, grinding his pubic bone into you each time.

"Fucking hell, Wonwoo~" You end up back on your toes just from the pleasure and you hope they won’t fine you too bad for the scratches your nails are carving into the wood. All your breath gets fucked out of you when he finally gives a full thrust, your orgasm slamming into you.

"Shit-" Wonwoo grunts when your already tight cunt squeezes him even more, he has to slow down just to keep himself from cumming as well. He smirks, watching your fingers twitch as you claw the door, your head flopping forward between your shoulders.

"No, no, no!" You babble as he pulls out all the way, huffing in amusement at your whining.

"Come here, pretty." Wonwoo easily lifts you, somewhere between like a sack of potatoes and a princess. Your head is still swimming from your orgasm, so the move to the next location is a bit blurry. You shiver and mewl when he sets you on the counter in the mini kitchen of the suite, the marble very cold on your bare thighs and pussy. He laughs at your yelp when he pulls you so your butt is right at the end of the counter, and doesn’t hesitate to bury himself back into you. The thrust is harsher and faster than the first and your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself as he restarts the brutal rhythm that he’d fucked you against the door with. The man groans when your nails dig into his skin instead of the wood, so he decides to mark you himself.

"Wonwoo~" Your voice wavers, eyes starting to tear up at the feeling of him fucking your brains out. His mouth goes to your own shoulder, at the base of your neck. He starts with open mouth kisses, then sucks the skin before lightly sinking his teeth in. He can feel your whimper against your throat, and you feel his responding hum from his lips. Wonwoo tightens his grip as well, wanting to leave bruises shaped likes his hands on your skin. He’s struggling to hold you upright enough, so you don’t bang your head against the counter, and his knees keep knocking into the cabinet.

"Hold on…" He grunts, and you squeak when, without withdrawing, he picks you up, holding your legs around his waist. Not going far, one hand holds your butt and the other goes to hitch your leg over his elbow as he pins you to the wall. Luckily the paint on the wall isn’t textured, your back rubbing over the surface as you bounce on his cock. Wonwoo looks even more gorgeous than normal like this, naked, sweat covering his brow, pupils blown wide. The red, dancing hologram of his eye contact contracts and spins, and you wonder what it does, if anything. With hazy thoughts, you glance down at his body, whining at the sight of his abs, clenched to work his hips and hold you up.

"Fuck, pretty girl-" He exhales harshly, his thrusts getting less regular as he grows closer to his orgasm.

"Inside, please, fuck!" You plead and he has no desire to argue. His forehead lands on your shoulder, and he moans higher than you thought he could go as he pumps his cum into you. In the silence, cutting through both of your panting breaths, your combined release drips onto the tile floor. Your head is so empty you nearly don’t realize you’ve cum again as well. You try hard not to slump like a rag doll since he’s completely holding you up, but you nearly have no strength.

"Let's get to the bed." Wonwoo stands up straight, staying inside, his cock still rock-hard and he carries you to the separate bedroom of the suite. While he means to set you down on the bed gently, you flop onto it, letting yourself finally go boneless, your muscles and mind are mush. You aren’t sure if you can go any longer, but despite a bit of sweat on him, he’s unaffected.

"I've been waiting to fuck you since you came to my motel room in Falko." He admits, shifting you higher on the bed, following suit, his hard cock covered in both of yours cum resting between the folds of your cunt. You barely registered the confession before your back arches, his cock finding its home inside of you again. It’s hard to fully catch your breath, he’s battering his cock into your dripping cunt without any mercy. As he rolls his hips just right to hit every single good spot inside of you, his hands grip your thighs, maneuvering your weakly shaking thighs so they press to your chest, knees at your ears.

"D-daddy, go slower!" You cry out and his hips immediately stops. You’re too far gone to feel anything but a bit of respite, head flopping so your cheek rests on the pillow.

"Fucking hell, princess." Somehow his voice has gotten deeper, and he starts the brutal pace back up, snapping his hips even harder than before. If you have the strength to scream you would, but your throat is hoarse, so you just mewl and squeak, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth, tears down your cheeks.

"You love daddy's cock ruining your sweet little cunt, huh?" He huffs when your glassy eyes meets his. The red hologram spins and dances, and while you can’t see, through the lens he has a much different view. Little numbers and labels show in the air around your body, telling him how and where your brain is firing, your heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure. He can even highlight where blood pools to the bruises his hands have made.

"Yes~!" You gasp as his thrusts slow down, but just as hard, he barely pulls out before grinding down into you. Different sensors from his lens flashes on and he can tell you’re getting close already. Even without it, he can feel your walls pulsing, more of your wet dripping from where your bodies meets.

"You wanna cum, pretty?" You nod rapidly, whimpering positively.

"Cum for daddy, then." And with one more thrust you fall over the edge. Not just from his words, but also the rough friction of his pelvic bone meeting your clit. Wonwoo chuckles as he feels your pussy spasm, more of your cum squirting from your quivering folds, coating his skin as well. He has a feeling you’re spent even though he knows he could keep going. He’s still inside of you, so he doesn’t overstimulate you too much, and he isn’t for sure you’re still conscious. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on the bed up by your head. He smiles warmly, cooing at your fucked out state, letting your legs go so they can rest onto the bed as well. When he pulls out you shudder, a long shaky whine floating from your parted lips. He’s shocked at the globs of thick, white cum that drip out of your swollen cunt and he’s still unfortunately still very hard. After feeling your core milk him dry, he isn’t sure even a cold shower will calm him down. Though, seeing you laying there, he feels a little bad he’s caused you to become so worn out and doesn’t want to be selfish.

"Oh, princess." Wonwoo leans back over you, kissing your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then softly presses his lips to yours. You sigh and it makes him grin, you’re at least conscious.

"You're still hard." Your voice is quiet, higher than normal, almost whiny.

"It's okay, pretty, you're tired." Wonwoo nuzzles the side of your neck under your ear, lightly sucking on your ear lobe. If he wasn’t careful, he won’t be able to resist sliding back inside you. With the little strength you have returned to you, you push him back just enough that you can flop over onto your stomach.

"(Y/N), we don't-" You don’t let him finish, grabbing a pillow to shove under your hips, lifting your butt a bit higher.

"Please, daddy~" You look at him with shining eyes over your shoulder, and who is he to resist?

"Oh, fuck, princess. If you insist…"

Master-List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

[heartofbusan]

Is this right? As long as it's with you, it is.

This great blog post got me thinking 🤔...

It got me thinking about timelines.

I'll be extremely curious to see if, at any point in the show, we get to see them react to the news of their buddy enlistment. That might honestly break the internet.

I wonder if the enlistment played any part in the way the trip is framed at the start, middle and end of it. Because, that news could be like a sword of damocles hanging over their heads for 2/3's of it...

*queue dramatic music*

KM started their travel show in NY in July of 2023.

They went to Jejju, either in August or the end of September.

October is allegedly when they found out they got approved for the buddy program.

We got a happy JK TikTok around this time. I'd insert the gif, but it's hella distracting 😔 he's naked, it's bouncing..and well, I'm only human.

OK FOCUS.

They went Japan, Tokyo and Sapporo in November.

If the first two trips are possible 'last time we get to spend free time together' trips, and the Japan trip is a celebratory one, wouldn't that make the experience that much more loaded?? It would be a different vibe in Japan compared to NY, for sure! But will we see that?? Is that part of the dramatic arc of the story..or is that part of what gets censured to spare the guys their real human feelings for the sake of a friendly buddy travel cop show?

I'm fine either way, but it would feel like a lost opportunity in storytelling. The again, IS STORYTELLING EVEN PART OF THE REASON THEY WENT IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Was the 'spontaneous' nature of the trip, as per Disney really what happened? A curious turn of phrase for bangtan. When have they EVER able to be spontaneous when it comes to work? When it comes down to official content we often joke that BPD has been planning things since 1756.

What do we know, aside from the Disney press blurb? JK himself said on Suchwita that the plans for the trip were formulated rather out of the blue.

I wonder if this 'f*ck it, I guess it's now or never' kind of plan was born out of a real fear of missing out on the other for nearly 2 years. After a year in which the two had both been busy AF, and missing eo AF, they pinned one last hope on togetherness on the buddy program, but if that plan failed to materialize, then they would face a challenge unlike any Jikook have had to face before. Living apart for a year was also new, sure. But being able to beg and plead (while nakey in bed) for the other to come over for drinks, chicken or horizontal tango is quite impossible once you're enlisted.

I'd be very curious to see if this conversation, this fear is talked about during their trip. Because applying for the buddy system was a gamble. Traveling together was a wild plan. It's a type of content we've never seen any of the tannies do before. And once they knew they had it in the bag, that's when they get to breathe easy. That's when it goes from being an excuse, to becoming a statement.